Sol Strike (Battlegroup Z Book 3)

the flight control center. Justin rocked the craft from side to side, testing the inertial damping systems. Better. Much better. “Alpha One to Alpha element. Commence maneuvering test.”
“Wilco,” Feldstein replied.
Adeoye’s fighter zoomed ahead as he jammed the throttle to maximum. It left the rest of them in the dust. The planned test took them through a series of checkpoints with an eye to speed, though deft maneuvering would be required.
Justin accelerated to maximum speed rapidly and cleared several waypoints. “MacIntosh, so far, so good. I think I could dogfight in this.”
“Good to hear it, Captain,” MacIntosh replied. His smile radiated through his words.
Fifteen minutes later, all four Ghosts reached the end of the test range. Adeoye won the race, as it were, with Justin, Mateus, and Feldstein in order after him. Justin double-checked his readouts, specifically for engine performance. With the higher levels of power directed through the thruster system, overheating was a distinct fear. It appeared the engineers who originally designed the craft did an excellent job—everything on it was overengineered.
“Alpha One to Command. We’re green over here. Recommend proceeding to dogfight test, beta program.”
“Approved, Alpha One.” Whatley’s gravelly voice carried over the commlink. “Don’t hold back. Your lives are on the line if these improvements don’t pan out.”
Don’t remind me. The stark reality of the situation was never far from Justin’s thoughts. It would be a miracle if anyone got home, much less most of them. “Understood, sir. You heard the major, ladies and gents. Feldstein, you and Mateus pair off against Adeoye and me.”
“Boys against girls, eh?” Mateus replied. “Come on, Dvora. Let’s wipe the floor with our male pilots.”
Justin chuckled. “Aren’t we kinda past the whole battle-of-the-sexes thing?”
“Oh, some healthy competition never hurt anyone,” Feldstein replied in a goofy voice. “So, are we flying out to twenty paces before turning about?”
The comment went over Justin’s head. “Eh?”
“We’re dueling, right? Old-school duels were marked off twenty paces before the combatants fired on each other,” Feldstein said. “Wait, I know something about history the great Captain Spencer doesn’t?”
“She’s got you there, sir,” Adeoye said between laughs.
“How about twenty kilometers, then? This isn’t about missile volleys. What we need to measure is a close-in knife fight and how these things perform.” Justin set his weapons to simulation mode. Doing so meant the computer network between the four craft and the Zvika Greengold would decide hits and damage then calculate kills.
“Works for me,” Mateus replied. “No matter the range, I will splash you hard.”
“Less talk, more shoot,” Justin said as he kicked up the throttle and angled his craft away from Feldstein’s and Mateus’s fighters. “On my wing, Lieutenant.”
“Roger, sir,” Adeoye replied as his fighter slid into the wingman position directly to the port and behind Justin’s Ghost.
All four quickly traversed space before slowing thrust and lining up more or less on a direct heading toward one another.
Justin did one final sweep of the squadron-readiness report on his HUD, ensuring everyone had simulated weapons mode engaged. “Okay, people, let’s have some fun. May the best man win.”
“Oh, cute,” Feldstein said. “I’m rolling my eyes, in case you can’t hear it in my voice.”
Justin snorted. “It came through loud and clear.”
“Would you two go ahead and get a room?” Mateus said as she laughed. “Bring it. Both of you.”
“All pilots, break and engage.” Justin jammed his throttle to maximum thrust, and the Ghost shot forward like it had been launched from a cannon. Adeoye pawed the vacuum, maintaining position as they closed on Feldstein and Mateus, who’d also powered up their engines and surged forward.
Simulated missiles raced from all four craft, crisscrossed space, and proved largely ineffective, thanks to CDF electronic countermeasures. The fight quickly morphed into a fast-turning tail chase in which both sides were almost equally matched. To an observer, the dogfight would’ve been boring, as all four pilots knew each other well and flew together regularly. They countered one another move for move.
After a few minutes of chasing Feldstein’s six o’clock and only scoring a couple of miniature-neutron-cannon hits, Justin decided to change tactics. He noticed Adeoye falling behind Mateus in a series of scissor maneuvers and thought he could use it to his advantage. He pulled his flight stick back hard. The Ghost rapidly turned one hundred eighty degrees, while the g-forces pressed Justin into the pilot’s chair.
The action caught Feldstein entirely by surprise, and Justin was able to gain enough distance from her to shift his focus to Mateus. She’d taken up position behind Adeoye and was attempting to gain a guns solution on him while a scattering of neutron-cannon bolts hit and weakened his shields.
Justin toggled the Ghost’s missile-launch system to double-fire and selected his active LIDAR-tracking warheads. The lock-on tone sounded, and he squeezed the trigger. “Alpha One, fox three.”
Tunnel vision was a bad thing in any endeavor, and it was deadly for a fighter pilot. So focused on splashing Adeoye’s Ghost, Mateus didn’t realize the simulated Vultures were incoming until it was too late. A last-second jink and dive coupled with a burst of chaff didn’t throw them off her tail. Both impacted on the craft’s shields and battered them down.
Justin was in position to capitalize and filled the void with dozens of neutron-cannon bolts. The tactical computer on Mateus’s fighter decided enough had hit to knock it out, and the craft shut down.
“That’s a kill,” he said. “You’re next, Lieutenant.”
“We’ll see about that,” Feldstein replied.
With a glance at his HUD, Justin confirmed Feldstein’s position—she was headed directly for Adeoye and had two heat-seeking missiles tracking him relentlessly. One hit, and she, too, sprayed a barrage of neutron-cannon bolts. A moment later, Adeoye’s Ghost powered down, another simulated kill.
“Just you and me, Captain.”
“I see that.” Justin grinned. “May the best pilot win.”
“You’re going to owe me a drink tonight.” Feldstein looped around in a way that took her away from Justin’s front arc while positioning for an intercept.
She’s too good to head directly at. Especially with all the training we’ve been doing on