Bandits Engaged (Battlegroup Z Book 4)

by Daniel Gibbs

  The man shrugged. “You can try, but your weak force will be overwhelmed by the strong.”

  “I think not.”

  ”We’ll see if you change your tune after the battle, because when we’re done with you, there won’t be anything left to bury.”

  The vidlink went black as the connection cut.

  “I think they hung up on us, Skipper.” Wright snorted.

  “Worth a shot. I’d rather not fight with Nosamo Aerothermic Technologies vessels here. It’d be an awful black eye if a bunch of civilians were killed—even megacorp civilians.”

  “Conn, TAO. Fifteen minutes to weapons range, ma’am.”

  The imminent onset of hostilities served to focus Tehrani’s mind. She closed her eyes and whispered in Arabic, “Allah, protect us as we do battle with the enemy. Grant us victory over this foe who blasphemes Your name. Strike the evildoers so that Your name may be known throughout the heavens.”

  “Amen,” Wright said.

  Tehrani turned her head and grinned. “Amen, indeed.”

  Time marched on as the red and blue dots rushed at one another.

  17

  Even beauty can be tedious. After two hours of staring at gas clouds, that was the only conclusion Justin could reach. Gone was his endless fascination with the stellar nursery in its raw state. He just wanted to find the freighters, tag the enemy, and get back to the Greengold, hopefully without being fried by the energy discharges randomly erupting from the energy fields around him.

  Justin had carefully plotted several groups of possible contacts during his grid search. However, the first two contained nothing but highly charged plasma pockets. Ships had possibly been there, but there was no way for him to tell.

  He was on the way to the third set of coordinates. It feels odd to be out here alone. Justin missed the camaraderie and banter of the rest of Alpha element. A few pangs of fear worked their way into his brain as he dodged discharges of ionized gas. If I take one of those head-on, I’m dead. Alone. No one would ever find me. The consideration was sobering.

  Scanning the sensor display in his HUD, Justin perked up a bit at the tightening resolution of a contact. By the looks of it, something big too. The range between him and the target vessel dropped quickly. With the extremely low visibility of the nebula, Justin couldn’t make anything out until he closed within five kilometers.

  The hull of a freighter loomed out of a cloud of bright-green gas, energy discharges crackling around it and off the vessel’s shields. To avoid ramming the ship, Justin wrenched his flight stick to the side, barreling away from the oncoming hazard. Too close. Between deep breaths, he began to reconfigure his sensor system.

  With the cargo ship located, Justin’s focus shifted to finding the enemy. The entire operation was predicated around the idea of the pirates tagging vessels in the nebula, where they couldn’t be seen. Once he figured out the course and speed of the freighter, Justin began a slow and steady loop around it.

  A few times, a whisper of a contact appeared on his HUD, necessitating a quick change in direction to intercept. None panned out, however, so Justin persisted, circling the vessel again and again.

  After twenty minutes, a kernel of doubt appeared in his mind. Maybe I’m at the wrong ship. They could’ve already tagged this one. Justin pulled up the expanded sensor screen in his HUD and superimposed the possible contacts he’d plotted during the grid search. Two remained, though they were much farther away. At least an hour of flight time at max speed, assuming a direct course. Which was unlikely, thanks to the gas clouds and energy discharges. The pirates might not even be here.

  Following a few minutes more of circling, Justin decided to try his luck at the next possible freighter location. He rotated his craft away, pushed the throttle up to maximum, and settled in for another long trip through the nebula.

  Even though as a trained, battle-tested fighter pilot, Justin knew to keep constant watch of his visual situational awareness, inside the never-ending nebula, he relaxed. The first indication that was a severe mistake was his Ghost rocking to the side and the aft-shield strength indicator dropping like a stone.

  What the hell? Justin’s first instinct was he’d taken a glancing blow from one of the energy ribbon discharges, but as his deflectors continued to collapse, it was clear that wasn’t the case. He wrenched the fighter to the right, and the hits abated for a moment. Shit. Someone’s out here shooting at me.

  As Justin’s heart skipped a few beats, energy-weapons fire flashed by his cockpit canopy. He began a series of wild maneuvers, hoping to throw off his pursuer and turn the tables. A pang of fear built in his soul, as there was no one else out in the muck to help him. If I’m going to die, it will be alone.

  “Conn, TAO. Thirty thousand kilometers to maximum weapons range, ma’am,” Bryan called out.

  The words roused Tehrani from her pondering of the tactical plot. With numerical if not quality superiority as well, the pirates had spread out into a double-wing formation. They seem to want to envelop us. There was no indication they’d detected the Astute, which was looping around to catch the hostiles in the flank. “Flight status?” she asked Wright.

  “Eighteen craft in the void, ma’am. CAG’s leading the charge. We should have the rest of our birds out within five minutes.”

  “Good. Send the Boars and the bombers at the corvettes. We need to knock down as many of those things as possible, quickly—before we’re overwhelmed.”

  “Concur, ma’am,” Wright replied as he sucked in a breath. Blue light played over his face, making his nose seem more prominent than usual.

  “Navigation, adjust our heading to zero-four-eight, declination six degrees. Communication, signal the battlegroup to match.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied.

  “Conn, Communications. All vessels acknowledge your orders, ma’am.”

  The icons representing the CDF ships shifted on Tehrani’s monitor, heading toward the formation of hostiles off the carrier's starboard bow. “TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Six.”

  “Firing solutions set, ma’am,” Bryan replied.

  Tehrani counted down the seconds as they traversed the distance remaining to the enemy fleet. The moment the red line representing the Greengold’s weapons range crossed the first red icon, she spoke. “TAO, set primary fleet target as Master Six.” She counted out three seconds. “Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

  The blackness of the void came alive with bursts of color. Blue neutron beams reached out from the Coalition vessels, crisscrossing the darkness and smacking the shields of the pirate corvette. The Marcus Luttrell let loose with a withering barrage of magnetic-cannon shells backed with anti-ship missiles, while the Earnest Evans and the Vasco da Gama added their own weaponry into the mix.

  The pirate ship’s shields buckled under the onslaught, flaring brightly before blinking out. Multiple Starbolt warheads, magnetic-cannon shells, and neutron beams laid into its armored hull. The corvette returned fire with its plasma-cannon emplacements and meson emitters while taking more punishment than a vessel its size had any right to endure. After a good ten seconds of pounding, one of the Coalition neutron beams connected with something vital, and the ship blew apart from what appeared to be a reactor explosion.

  “Conn, TAO. Master Six destroyed, ma’am.”

  Watching the carnage and picking a new target, Tehrani knew they were in for the enemy’s counter-attack. Her chair seemed to pitch up as she gripped the sides. “TAO, set primary fleet target as Master Seven.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  The remaining four corvettes swept through the small battlegroup. Rather than split their fire, they concentrated everything they had on the Vasco da Gama. The Saurian-turned-CDF frigate initially bore the attack well, rotating to present its ventral shield to the enemy. Between a stream of bright-red plasma balls and a missile that made it through the vessel’s point defense, the ventral shields failed, and
small explosions from the plasma balls dotted the hull.

  Wright tapped Tehrani’s arm. “Skipper, Sierra Three’s taking damage to her engines.”

  His voice held concern. She shared it, as speed was a fast space-warfare vessel’s true advantage.

  As she watched, the da Gama slowed further. “We’d better order her out.”

  “Conn, Communications. Flash traffic from Major Whatley, ma’am. He’s engaging the pirate’s fighter cover and requests we avoid neutron-beam fire as his wing approaches.”

  “TAO, warn the fleet to avoid firing in the direction of the CAG’s formation.” While a space-superiority fighter easily avoided most weapons in a CDF warship’s arsenal, neutron beams moved at the speed of light and could destroy small craft with even a glancing blow. Better not to take the risk.

  “Ma’am, we can’t afford to reduce our firepower,” Wright said as he leaned in. “Everything counts right now.”

  “And if a power conduit blows from the engine to the reactor on the da Gama?” Tehrani shook her head. “I won’t be responsible for the needless deaths of two hundred soldiers.”

  Wright pursed his lips and finally nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Communications, signal Sierra Three to jump out to deep-space rally point Charlie.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied.

  On the tactical plot, Whatley and a mass of small craft engulfed the nearest pirate corvette. Tehrani prayed he would be successful before having to break off to engage the inbound enemy fighters. Two down would even the odds, if only for a few minutes. Allah help us.

  18

  Rolling away from another burst of energy-weapons fire, which was barely discernable against the backdrop of the nebula, Justin got dizzy. He blinked a few times as the world spun from multiple barrel rolls. Keep it together. Affixing his gaze on a gas cloud and steadying his right hand on the flight stick, Justin tried to regain the initiative. First, I’ve gotta find this guy.

  The scanner was next to useless. Sensor echoes, false readings, and energy signatures littered the display, but when Justin zoomed in, a persistent blip seemed to be following him. Maybe that’s the enemy fighter or drone or whatever the hell they’re using. He pulled back hard and sent his Ghost into a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn.

  Immediately met with more red bolts of incoming fire, Justin squeezed the trigger on his neutron cannons. He fired blindly in the general direction the bolts originated from, with no illusions of hitting the target. His sole hope was to give the hostile something else to think about besides him.

  The commlink beeped with an incoming message. Justin glanced at it for a split second and realized it was on the guard frequency. Who’d be transmitting on that out here? Hopeful that perhaps one of the freighters had seen him or could help somehow, he toggled the channel. “This is Captain Justin Spencer, Coalition Defense Force. Go ahead.”

  A bitter laugh hit his ears. “Did you think someone was here to help you, Terran?”

  Shivers shot down Justin’s spine as he realized the voice belonged to the person trying to kill him. “Well, color me surprised. I wouldn’t expect a pirate to up and surrender.”

  “I’m not surrendering, Terran. Why are you here in our nebula?”

  Justin scanned his HUD. No contacts beyond the flickers. “I wasn’t aware you’d formed a nation-state and laid claim to it. My bad. Did I miss the border inspection station?”

  More laughter issued from the commlink. “You’ve got some spunk, Terran. That’s better than most of you God botherers. Always blabbering on about how everyone else isn’t as good, and the Terran Coalition is the ultimate arbiter of justice.”

  Mildly confused, Justin hoped the conversation was distracting the other pilot. Because it's sure as hell distracting me. He looped around, avoiding gas clouds and searching for the hostile craft. “We’re here to protect innocent freighter crews from being blown out of space by the likes of you.”

  “Not so innocent, though, are they? Carrying materials for your war machine.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  The other man snickered. “So, tell me this, Terran. Why do people who cling to faith in some fairy-tale man in the sky go around killing people? Your ship has murdered dozens of my friends in the last few days. I thought killing was against your supposed Godly laws.”

  “We kill in self-defense against enemies that attack us. That’s not murder.” With a start, Justin realized he’d not even thought to challenge the pirate’s assumption he was a believer. Wow. I have changed.

  “Allow me to share some wisdom with you, Terran. The fairy-tale man doesn’t exist. All that’s out there is what we can hold with our hands and see with our eyes. Nothing else matters.”

  “I used to think that,” Justin replied. He whipped around an energy discharge and reversed direction yet again. Wait. Triangulate the comms signal! Suddenly it made sense why the other pilot was engaged in the conversation. “But I’ve changed my mind.” Justin quickly configured his sensor array to lock on to the other signal.

  “A Terran that doesn’t believe?” The pirate’s voice shot up an octave. “Surprising. Not surprising that you were forced to change.”

  “No one forced me. I… I realized there’s proof of a higher power in the beauty of the universe. In how everything fits together and how it’s finely tuned for life. I’m still not sure what God is, but I know He’s there, and I’m searching for Him.”

  “In that case, Terran, I guess I’ll be doing you a favor.” The harsh chuckle returned. “After all, you God botherers seem to think there’s life after death. You’ll find out shortly.”

  Justin’s sensor screen blinked with a new contact. Gotcha. He flipped his Ghost around and accelerated to maximum thrust. “Maybe.” LIDAR tracking missiles were out of the question, but Justin decided to try a heat seeker. Toggling the selector switch to launch two warheads at a time, he calculated the speed of the enemy craft. It’s got to be running on afterburners, because it's moving too fast to be solely ion engines. “Maybe not.”

  “Oh, God going to intervene on your behalf, Terran?”

  The enemy craft blew by, less than five kilometers away on the Z-axis from Justin’s fighter. “God helps those who help themselves.” He pulled back hard on the flight stick, pushing himself and the Ghost to its limit. The moment the heat-seeker lock-on cone was achieved—thirty degrees from aft—he pressed the launch button. Two Eagles dropped from the internal weapons stores and zoomed away. Justin watched them on his sensor screen. God, if You’re watching out for me, now would be a good time.

  One of the downsides to being the CAG of any embarked air wing in the CDF was lack of flying time. For Gabriel Whatley, it had almost led him to reject the post in favor of continuing as a squadron commander three years ago. Now, he only launched in emergencies, which was a blessing and a curse. It guaranteed a target-rich environment where he could take out his frustrations on the enemy, but if he was fighting, the odds weren’t looking good for them to win.

  Strapped into a Sabre and rocketing toward the enemy was where he wanted to be, however. Spencer’s not having all the fun for once. He keyed his commlink to the all-pilots channel. “Alpha One to all pilots. Bandits steady at bearing zero-zero-zero, range one thousand kilometers.”

  While the Greengold, her battlegroup, and the pirate corvettes slugged it out, the enemy carrier stayed to the rear of the formation. As a result, it had disgorged its craft farther away from the battle than perhaps it could’ve, which was fine by Whatley. All it means to us is we get to fight it out without point defense from either side getting in the way.

  The distance steadily closed between the two formations, and Whatley took the time to examine the enemy. There appeared to be twenty-eight of the heavy fighters previously observed along with six to eight bombers. Clustered tightly together, the small pirate craft were so close that sensors had a hard time determining exact numbers.

  “Sir, I can tell you from experie
nce we’re outgunned here.”

  Whatley recognized the voice of Feldstein, who was using a private commlink channel. He cued his mic. “Do you have an operational suggestion based on previous engagements, Lieutenant?”

  “It would be better to engage them within range of the Greengold’s point-defense emplacements, sir.”

  “Should we ask them nicely to follow us back, Lieutenant?” Whatley’s voice dripped acid as he spoke.

  “Sir—”

  “Lieutenant, we’ve got one mission here. Kill these bastards before they get into range of our battlegroup. Period. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That means we’re going to kill them and keep killing them, and when we’ve killed the last one, we’ll blow up their carrier and send them all to hell. Clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied in a clipped tone.

  “Good. Now, get off this channel and do your damn job.” Whatley clicked the commlink off without waiting for a reply and pulled up his internal-stores display.

  After quickly confirming Vulture LIDAR-tracking missiles were selected, he switched to dual-launch mode. “Alpha One to all pilots. Stand by for maximum range. Dual-launch mode. Put as many Vultures as you can into the void.” Having read over the after-action reports, he’d already determined the best way to fight that particular enemy was to flood the battlespace with warheads then close in and mix it up.

  The tactical network computing system that linked all CDF craft assisted in massed targeting of missiles, ensuring even distribution. Whatley settled into a vector toward one of the closer enemies at the front of the formation, and his LIDAR lock-on tone buzzed. “Alpha One, fox three,” he called as he mashed the launch button.

  “Alpha Two, fox three.”

  “Beta Four, fox three.”

  Other pilots across the wing called out their launches. The void came alive with streaks of ion-engine exhaust as both sides flung dozens of warheads at each other. On Whatley’s HUD, the scanner was so full of red and blue dots that he lost situational awareness.