by Daniel Gibbs
Weapons Free
Battlegroup Z Book One
Daniel Gibbs
Contents
CSV Zvika Greengold Blueprints
SF-86 Sabre Blueprints
Starchart - Sagittarius/Orion Arms
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
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Acknowledgments and Afterword
Weapons Free by Daniel Gibbs
Copyright © 2020-2021 by Daniel Gibbs
Visit Daniel Gibb’s website at
www.danielgibbsauthor.net
Cover by Jeff Brown Graphics—www.jeffbrowngraphics.com
Additional Illustrations by Joel Steudler—www.joelsteudler.com
This book is a work of fiction, the characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permissions please contact [email protected].
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Battlegroup Z
Book 1 - Weapons Free
Book 2 - Hostile Spike
Book 3 - Sol Strike
Echoes of War
Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight
Book 2 - Strong and Courageous
Book 3 - So Fight I
Book 4 - Gates of Hell
Book 5 - Keep the Faith
Book 6 - Run the Gauntlet
Book 7 - Finish the Fight
Breach of Faith
(With Gary T. Stevens)
Book 1 - Breach of Peace
Book 2 - Breach of Faith
Book 3 - Breach of Duty
Book 4 - Breach of Trust
1
System 36XNZ—Asteroid Belt
Terran Coalition Border Zone
27 September 2433
Four swept-wing space superiority fighters flew through the void, maneuvering around asteroids and ring material.
First Lieutenant Justin Spencer piloted the lead craft, a Terran Coalition SF-76 Sabre, around the latest hazard to crop up in his path and readjusted back to the flight plan.
The belt was unusually dense, composed of not only standard hunks of space rocks but also material from the rings of a gas giant. The science report Justin hadn’t bothered to read had probably laid out the how and whys, but all he cared about was the challenge of flying through the muck.
“It’s so beautiful out here,” he said into his commlink.
“It would be more beautiful if we had something to shoot,” Second Lieutenant Elisabeth Mateus replied. She hailed from Brasilia, one of the member worlds of the Terran Coalition. The planet was populated primarily by descendants from a Brazilian colony ship that had fled Earth during the Exodus of 2072. “Watching rocks go by for hours on end is boring.”
“But required to keep up our flight certifications.” Justin glanced at the LIDAR readout on his Sabre. It still showed no contacts, aside from the four of them. He stretched his neck. At almost two meters tall, he was at the maximum height to fly fast movers. “Another hour of dodging rocks, and we can head back to the barn.”
They were only out there to ensure their reserve fighter squadron had enough flight hours to keep its wings during the upcoming flight evaluations.
“Alpha Three to Alpha One. I’m showing something anomalous on my forward LIDAR threat tracker,” Second Lieutenant Dvora Feldstein said. “Do any of you see it?”
Justin quickly pulled up a sensor overlay for his HUD. It showed nothing out of the ordinary. “Negative, Alpha Three. Pass your sensor data.”
“Acknowledged, Alpha One.”
A moment later, Justin’s HUD came alive with the new data. A moving contact flickered on the screen. Looks like something’s there. Very faint. Probably space debris but worth putting ourselves through the paces to track. This is training, after all. “Possible bogeys at our ten o’clock, twenty degrees declination. Break to heading three-two-zero.”
The four Sabres streaked toward the new direction, engines coming alive with bright-blue cones of energy. The fast turn’s twelve Gs would have pummeled the pilots if not for strong inertial dampening.
“Tracks increasing in sensor resolution,” Mateus said. “I count four separate bogeys.”
“Confirmed, Alpha Four,” Justin replied. He toggled the comms channel to the primary fleet frequency. “Zvika Greengold Command, this is Alpha One. Do we have any friendly birds on our patrol route?”
After a pause, First Lieutenant Gopinath Singh’s voice carried over the commlink. “Negative, Alpha One. No other contacts on our scopes. You should be clear.”
“Understood. We’re going to run it down.”
“Acknowledged, Alpha flight. Zvika Greengold out.”
As the group of Sabres accelerated toward the contacts, Justin let out a breath. “Looks like our bogeys are small-craft sized. Definitely not cargo vessels.”
“Concur, sir,” Feldstein said. “Who the heck is out here? It’s an abandoned system used as a training ground for the fleet.”
“Well,” came the rich baritone of Second Lieutenant Jackson Adeoye, “don’t forget about the automated helium-3 mining facility here.”
“This is too weird,” Justin muttered. He toggled to the guard frequency, the standard emergency band. “Attention, unidentified spacecraft in vicinity of 36XNZ asteroid belt—this is Lieutenant Spencer, Coalition Defense Force. Squawk IFF and identify yourselves immediately.”
Static was the only reply. A few seconds later, the bogeys suddenly split into two groups and headed directly toward Alpha flight. Justin gripped his flight stick as adrenaline coursed through his veins. What are the odds of combat on my last space patrol, at the end of my two-week reserve tour? Especially when we’ve been at peace for thirty-five years?
“Alpha One, this is Alpha Two. I’m being spiked by a bogey. Request permission to arm weapons and lock the target.” Feldstein’s pitch rose with excitement.
“Negative, Alpha Two. We remain weapons hold. Wait one.” Justin clicked his comms channel back to the fleet. “Zvika Greengold, this is Alpha One. Bogeys have spiked my wingmen. Request weapons-free status.” What the hell is going on here?
“This is Zvika Greengold actual. Say again, Alpha One?”
Justin was surprised to hear Colonel Banu Tehrani. She was the commanding officer of their carrier.
“We’re being spiked by
LIDAR, Colonel.”
“Negative on weapons-free status, Lieutenant. Maintain weapons hold. Attempt identification of the bogies and do not fire unless they take offensive action.”
“Understood, Colonel.” Justin clicked the comms channel back. Dammit. Do we really have to wait for them to open up first? He detested the idea of being held back by rules of engagement that didn’t allow them to fire until the enemy took the first shot. “Command thinks it’s nothing. Maintain speed and activate electronic countermeasures.”
“ECM online. They’re maintaining lock,” Feldstein said.
A missile-lock-on alert from Justin’s onboard-threat-assessment computer diverted his attention back to the battlespace. The bogeys heading their way had spiked the entire flight.
Ten seconds to engagement range—at least for our weapons. He bit his lip. This is wrong. His entire body seemed to rebel, and even though he’d never once fired a shot in anger, he knew the incoming was hostile, which made his next order simple. Weapons hold allows us to return fire. Nothing wrong with ensuring we can. “Alpha flight, arm missiles and get a hard lock. Designate all contacts as bandits.”
Sounding alarmed, Feldstein asked, “Sir, are you sure? We’ve got direct—”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Justin snapped. He selected the closest bandit and triggered the LIDAR autolock. Seconds later, the missile tone sounded in his cockpit. He flipped the comms channel back to guard. “Inbound craft, this is your final warning. Squawk IFF and break lock immediately, or we’ll fire.”
What felt like an eternity passed. For a moment, he thought the bandits might be an elaborate test by their CAG—the Commander, Air Group—Major Gabriel Whatley.
That hope shattered in an instant, when a missile blasted from the nearest incoming craft.
Time seemed to stop as his brain leaped into overdrive. “Alpha flight, you are cleared to engage bandits bearing zero-zero-five. Weapons free. I say again, weapons free.” Justin squeezed the button on the flight stick that triggered the launch of an LT-47F Vulture active LIDAR-tracked warhead. Military craft stuck to the tried and true: buttons and levers requiring affirmative touch to move, especially when firing weapons. “Alpha One, fox three,” he called, using the code to notify his wingmen of the type of weapon fired.
Each of the four friendly fighters loosed a missile, and so did the enemy contacts. The weapons crossed paths as electronic countermeasure systems on both sides went to work. Many of the warheads were spoofed by decoys or ran into ring material, exploding prematurely. A few of the Vultures that missed their targets looped around, attempting to reacquire.
The bandits split into two elements of two fighters each and sent another wave of warheads into the fray.
“Alpha Two, break left. You’ve got two missiles inbound,” Justin called as he pressed the missile launch button to fire another Vulture. “Alpha One, fox three.”
“Alpha Three, fox three,” Adeoye added. A moment passed. “Alpha Three, splash one. Splash one bandit!”
Justin checked his HUD and confirmed that they faced one fewer enemy. Who are these guys?
He considered the flight characteristics of their opponents. The delta-V—shorthand for changing velocity—displayed by the opposing force wasn’t as robust as the Sabres’, but it was higher than any civilian craft he’d ever seen. Whoever they are, that’s military-level tech. Pirates simply didn’t have access to the latest and greatest equipment.
The thought passed as his Vulture struck home, and the targeted fighter disappeared from his HUD. The two remaining contacts turned directly toward Alpha Two and accelerated.
“Alpha Two, watch out. They’re on your twelve.”
“Roger,” Feldstein replied. “I think they want to dogfight, sir.”
Standard CDF fighter engagement doctrine was never to engage the enemy in a close-in, tail-chasing dogfight but to stay solely in beyond-visual-range combat. At the rate of closure, Justin decided to allow the combat to develop, since they appeared to have a turning and acceleration edge over the bandits. Trying to lose an enemy in the muck they were flying through just to allow reengagement with missiles seemed foolhardy to him. I guess we’ll see how good these Sabres really are.
Justin kicked up the afterburners on his craft, adjusting his heading slightly. On his HUD, the computer displayed a targeting reticle that glowed green as his fighter’s forward neutron cannons ranged. They were smaller cousins of the CDF’s primary anti-ship energy weapon and packed a serious punch against small craft. He squeezed the trigger on his flight stick, and bright beams of blue stabbed out, forming blue bolts as they raced into the darkness of the void. “Alpha One, guns, guns, guns.”
While some races—like the Kellions, a nation of bipeds farther down the galactic arm than the Terrans—built small craft as armored balls with a pilot in the center, with imaging systems to provide full vision, the CDF didn’t. Human pilots had long insisted on being able to see the outside world, even with the risks it entailed. The cockpit of the Sabre had a bubble of transparent alloy that allowed a three-hundred-sixty-degree field of view.
Justin blinked as a blur of a black triangle with a red emblem raced by his canopy. His HUD froze the image, showing a stylized logo with a raised fist. I’ve never seen anything like that before. Scans of the enemy craft showed a weakening in its deflector shields, but it didn’t appear as if his shots had caused damage.
As Justin whipped his Sabre around, the missile-lock alarm sounded, cutting through his mental clutter. His HUD revealed that it was a heat seeker designed to home in on his engine. He deployed flares, and they streaked away. The enemy missile exploded, mistaking the decoy for his fighter.
He adjusted his heading toward the bandit and toggled his comms to the command frequency. “Zvika Greengold, this is Alpha One. We’ve engaged four bandits after they fired on us. Request immediate backup along with search and rescue. Two bandits splashed. I say again, two bandits splashed.”
“Alpha One, this is Zvika Greengold actual. What is your current status?” Tehrani asked.
“Colonel, we’re in an active dogfight with unknown hostiles. Request immediate assistance.” I don’t have time to brief the damn brass right now. Justin rocked his Sabre from side to side, dodging a wave of what appeared to be red balls of energy, something new in his experience. “Alpha One out.”
Justin shifted in his flight harness as his fighter traded spaces with the bandit during a series of high-speed scissor turns. Finally, he ended up behind his quarry and opened fire with the neutron cannons. Several hits later, he was rewarded with the explosion of the craft in front of him. “Alpha One, splash one.”
“Alpha Two, splash one. That’s all of ’em, sir.”
Before Justin could catch his breath, Colonel Tehrani interrupted. “Say again last, Alpha One.”
“Colonel, we’ve now splashed four hostiles.” Justin focused on calming his breathing, though his hands shook almost uncontrollably. “Again, request search and rescue.”
“Can you identify your attackers, Lieutenant Spencer?” Tehrani’s voice was calm but held an undercurrent of concern.
Rightfully so. Enemy fighters weren’t a regular feature of solar systems designated for CDF training operations, especially not ones well within the Terran Coalition’s territorial boundaries. “No, ma’am. I’ve never seen anything like them before. I’ll transmit my full sensor logs immediately.”
“Understood, Lieutenant. Pack it—”
Feldstein cut in, “I’ve got more hostiles on my LIDAR.”
“Additional bandits inbound, Colonel. Alpha One out.” That’s the second time I’ve cut off a senior officer today. Make that in my career.
Red dots appeared in his HUD, roughly one hundred kilometers away. “Form up on my wing, Alpha flight. Stand by for maximum missile range.” This time, we’re not waiting for these bastards to shoot first.
2
System 36XNZ—Open Space
Terran Coalition Border Zone
27 September 2433
Colonel Banu Tehrani stared straight ahead at the Tactical and Navigation consoles in front of the commanding officer’s chair on the CSV Zvika Greengold. While the escort carrier was over thirty-five years old, it had an illustrious name that went all the way back to Earth’s military history. As she sucked in a breath, numerous thoughts ran through her head, mostly centered on who was shooting at her pilots. After twenty-two years in the CDF, she’d only seen combat a handful of times and never as a CO.
Tehrani turned to her right and looked at her XO, Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin Wright. “Pirates?” She adjusted her ball cap, which was adorned with the Greengold’s logo and motto—Semper tempus, which translated to “Always in time.”
Wright shook his head. “Out here? No way. Pirates hit trade depots, not CDF fighters in an asteroid belt.” He shifted and pulled down the black space sweater he and most other officers and crewmen in the CDF wore over his khaki duty uniform. “Maybe the Coalition Intelligence Service got their hands on some advanced drones and is testing us. Though that seems outlandish, even for them.”
“Could be the Saurians,” First Lieutenant Zachary Bryan, the Zvika Greengold’s tactical action officer, interjected. “I don’t care what anyone says. They never forgave us for the plastering in the last war.”