Sol Strike (Battlegroup Z Book 3)

at hand. That’s why Sabres excel at engaging enemy small craft, and Maulers are meant to attack ships. One is fast, agile, and lightly armored. The other is a beast, capable of shrugging off sustained point-defense attack. What you’re proposing is to take a tool—designed to gather intelligence and get out—and turn it into a combo craft that will suck at everything it tries to do.” Whatley set his jaw. “And that gets my pilots killed.”
“Major, I was on the bridge of the Victory when General Irvine—perished.” MacIntosh locked eyes with Whatley. “I know what loss looks like. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe we could retrofit these fighters, and your pilots could use them effectively to defeat the League.” His voice was steel, one that spoke to dedication and determination.
Whatley nodded once then turned to Tehrani. “I won’t order my people to fly these things unless we put them through their paces and all squadrons sign off.”
MacIntosh held up his hands. “Special Projects wouldn’t have it any other way, sir. We’ll work with you, iron out problems, and do whatever it takes.”
“This is a difficult situation.” Tehrani spread her hands out on the table. “Orders are orders, however.” Her gaze took on a piercing quality. “Make this work, CAG.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Tehrani turned her attention back to MacIntosh. “Continue.”
“The broad strokes are that we’ll have the Zvika Greengold link up with a force of stealth raiders and a resupply vessel, traverse the galactic arms, and stay out of solar systems as much as possible. From a position of safety, where we assume the League can’t track our ships, the Greengold will launch its fighters to attack Earth. The stealth raiders will nose around Sol prior to this, gathering information on possible targets. We’ll make some noise, blow up some Leaguers, and head home.”
“It’s at least two and a half months’ travel time from our side of the arm to theirs,” Justin interjected. “We’re talking a six-month operation here.”
“I didn’t realize you’d studied navigation,” Wright replied with a smirk. “That’s correct. What of it?”
Justin glanced between Whatley and Tehrani. “It’s been six months since most of us saw our families in the flesh.”
“That’s war, son,” Whatley said. His tone was stern but held an unmistakable softness. “This is one of the parts that suck.”
“I get that, sir, but we should get an opportunity for shore leave.” Justin spoke without much thought going into the words. Mom always said to think before I used my mouth. It hadn’t stuck as a kid or as an adult.
Tehrani spoke. “Especially when there’s a good chance we won’t be coming home.” At sharp glances from all of them, she shrugged. “Gentlemen, I’m only admitting what we’re all thinking. And yes, I’d like to be able to say goodbye.”
Justin thought about the last time his daughter, Maggie, had ridden on his shoulders in the park or when he’d felt the loving embrace of his wife, Michelle. He closed his eyes briefly, willing away a tear. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Tehrani replied. “Okay. We’re obviously not leaving next week. What’s next, gentlemen?”
“Outfitting and training with the new fighters at a classified weapons-test facility.” MacIntosh touched the holoprojector, turning it off. “Once Major Whatley and you are satisfied, ma’am, we’ll be off. The battlegroup is forming up in the same system—so we can practice maneuvers as a unit.”
Who knows how long this is going to take. Justin leaned back. The giddiness he’d felt at the prospect of attacking Earth and extracting some payback on the League had evaporated. I’d do anything to hold my little girl again. The war had helped put so many things into perspective and reordered his priorities. I should’ve been focused on them more before all this.
“Very good.” Tehrani stood. “Let’s get to it. XO, have Captain MacIntosh assigned some quarters in officer country.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“Dismissed, gentlemen.”
Once Justin cleared the hatch, Whatley slid next to him. “I don’t recall giving you permission to address the colonel.”
“We need to see our families, sir,” Justin replied. “It would do us all good.”
“Yeah.” The door to the gravlift slid shut behind them. “Looking forward to flying a Ghost?” Whatley asked.
“You bet. Followed closely by blowing a League freighter to bits.” Justin forced enthusiasm into his voice. Fake it till you make it. For the rest of the ride, he tried to shake the melancholy feeling he’d acquired during the briefing.

2
White House—Government Complex
Lawrence City—Canaan
7 February 2434
The daily presidential war intelligence briefing was what President Jason Nolan seemingly built his life around. For thirty minutes, he received a condensed version of the “status of the war.” It had a dual effect: creating both dread and hope that the news would be good. For while the president set overall strategic objectives—protect a planet, liberate a colony, defend a set of border worlds, et cetera—the nuts and bolts of fighting the war against the League of Sol were left up to the Joint Chiefs of Staff and various combatant commands that made up the Coalition Defense Force.
Bright and early at 0730, Nolan strode into the White House’s situation room, the seat of executive power in the Terran Coalition. General Antonio Saurez, as always, was already in attendance along with Nolan’s chief of staff, Abdul Karimi, and a host of other civilians and military officers. They all stood as he entered.
“As you were, folks.”
“Good morning, Mr. President,” Saurez said.
“Same to you, Antonio.” Nolan gestured to the chairs. “Please, be seated.” Taking his own advice, he sat at the head of the table. “Now, how are we doing?”
“There was a major engagement during the night, sir,” Saurez began. His eyes had bags under them along with dark circles. It appeared as if he’d slept little. “It was touch and go for a bit, but the Saratoga, Abraham Lincoln, and their respective battlegroups held their own against a powerful League invasion force consisting of four battleships and a carrier plus escorts.” A fierce warrior’s grin spread across his