Sol Strike (Battlegroup Z Book 3)

Sol Strike
Battlegroup Z Book Three


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
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
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Sol Strike 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 info@eotp.net.


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Also Available from Daniel Gibbs
Battlegroup Z
Book 1 - Weapons Free
Book 2 - Hostile Spike
Book 3 - Sol Strike
Book 4 - Bandits Engaged
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
CSV Zvika Greengold
Canaan Orbit—High Loop Three
3 February 2434
Captain Justin Spencer’s alarm went off as usual at 0430 hours CMT, Coalition Mean Time, and like every other morning, he jumped out of bed. After he’d spent nearly six months on active duty, the routine was ingrained. Following an hour-long workout, he returned to his quarters, showered, and dressed in the uniform of the day, then he made his way to the pilots’ mess.
As he finished his hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, corned beef hash, and coffee, his handcomm beeped. The screen showed an order to appear in the deck one conference room at 0630—in fifteen minutes. I can make it with time to spare if I go now.
Justin sprang from the table, dropped his tray and cup into the used-utensils receptacle, and quickly strode out of the mess.
The Zvika Greengold was a Thane-class escort carrier. Even though it only held thirty-six combat spacecraft in three squadrons, it still had large numbers of personnel. From the soldiers who ran the ship itself to the aviation crew that was nearly a thousand strong to Marines, medical support, and engineering, the vessel carried almost three thousand souls. It was a small city in space. Meanwhile, the larger Saratoga-class fleet carriers had six or seven thousand soldiers and supported over two hundred fighters and bombers each. Maybe I’ll get to one someday. Justin had plans beyond returning alive from whatever mission he was assigned to fly, and serving on a Saratoga-class carrier was still his goal.
He stepped off the gravlift to deck one and was greeted by a short passageway with only a few hatches off of it. One led to the bridge and had two Marines to each side, standing guard twenty-four hours a day. Justin’s destination was the conference room, situated on the corridor's right-hand side when one exited from the lift.
He pushed open the hatch to find Colonel Tehrani, the commanding officer of the Zvika Greengold, already seated at the head of the table. Justin immediately brought himself to attention. “Captain Justin Spencer reports as ordered, ma’am.”
“At ease, Spencer. Have a seat,” Tehrani replied, gesturing toward the many available chairs. No one else was present.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Justin sat and maintained a ramrod-straight posture.
“How’s your squadron holding up?”
Justin commanded the Red Tails squadron, named in honor of the first integrated fighter command hundreds of years ago on Earth. When the Coalition Defense Force had been formed, the unit was reactivated and filled with citizens of every nation-state, religion, and creed within the Terran Coalition.
“Good, ma’am. The loss of Higgens last week was a blow, but his replacement should be here tomorrow.”
Nearly constant loss had become the norm. The flight element he commanded, Alpha, had suffered several close calls but had yet to lose a pilot. Justin knew in his heart it was only a matter of time. Heck, it should’ve been me after I was shot down. He still didn’t quite understand how or why he’d survived.
Further chitchat was cut off by the arrival of Major Wright and Major Whatley—the XO and CAG of the Zvika Greengold. Both men hailed from American-controlled planets, as denoted by the American flags on their uniforms’ left shoulders. Tehrani, as far as Justin could tell, was from the Republic of Persia.
“Colonel,” Wright said as he sat. “Our guest will be here shortly.”
“Thank you, XO.”
Whatley took a seat next to Justin. “What’d I tell you about showing up early to get points with the skipper?”
While the remark seemed like a dig, Justin had long since learned to accept the CAG’s unique sense of humor—in all of its acerbic glory. “Well, I had to represent aviation, sir,” he shot back.
“Ha.” Whatley smirked and turned toward Tehrani. “Any hints to what this is about, ma’am?”
“Oh, I think it’s better if you hear it from our newly assigned officer.”
Whatley looked at Wright with a raised eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware of any—”
The hatch swung open, revealing a tall newcomer. The man wore a khaki CDF duty