Sol Strike (Battlegroup Z Book 3)

back.” Justin turned on his heel and hurried to the pilots’ locker room. Aside from a scramble situation, he’d never put on a flight suit as fast in his life. Once he’d tested the seals and ensured his helmet was properly connecting and operational, with its integrated HUD, he quickly strode back to the hangar deck. As promised, MacIntosh was still there, waiting for him. A short ladder had appeared, allowing him to climb into the cockpit of the Ghost fighter easily.
“You weren’t kidding, Spencer. Pretty fast for a pilot.” MacIntosh gestured to the ladder. “I hope it meets your approval.”
“The only thing I care about is accomplishing our mission objectives,” Justin said. “Well, and maybe have a little bit of fun at the same time, but as Major Whatley is apt to point out, our fighters are mechanical tools we use to achieve a goal.”
“Delightful fellow, that CAG of yours.” MacIntosh made a face. “A real gobby.”
Justin narrowed his eyes. “I don’t follow.”
“He’s a loudmouth.”
“That loudmouth has saved my life several times, Captain.” Justin crossed his arms in and frowned. “So kindly keep your remarks about Major Whatley to yourself.” What the Scottish officer had to say was no different from comments made in private by the pilots, but something about it annoyed Justin. He realized it was because whatever Whatley was, he was their commander—and no one else got to talk smack about him.
“Aye, laddie. I get it.” MacIntosh took a step back. “Let me know how she performs.”
“Will do, Captain.” Justin threw one leg onto the ladder and quickly climbed up. The cockpit matched the simulators to a T, down to the seat configuration. He parked himself and strapped in.
The controls were unfamiliar. He’d spent years learning where every knob, button, dial, and lever was on the Sabre. I’ve got to master this thing in a few weeks? Justin forced himself to focus on one problem at a time. Muscle memory of the controls would come in time.
“Alpha One, this is the air boss. Commence preflight when ready.”
Justin toggled his commlink to the launch control channel. “Aye, aye, ma’am. Beginning preflight checklist.” He flipped his HUD to the series of tasks, mostly focused on ensuring the craft’s safety. Once they were completed, Justin said, “Preflight complete, ready to launch.”
“Alpha One, you are cleared for launch.”
The deck crew had cleared away. MacIntosh stood toward the back and flashed him the thumbs-up sign.
“Acknowledge, Control. Launching fighter.” Justin pushed the throttle forward. He was used to a sustained rush from the engines followed by rocketing out of the hangar bay, but that didn’t happen in the Ghost. Instead, the craft eased ahead and gathered speed. Attempting to compensate, Justin moved the throttle up to fifty percent power. Gratified when it caused forward momentum to increase, he made a mental note to test acceleration and top speed metrics during the test flight.
After clearing the Zvika Greengold, Justin took in the solar system they occupied. There seemed to be no habitable planets in range of his sensors, though numerous ship contacts flashed onto the fighter’s LIDAR screen. I wonder what those are. Rumors had circled that a Coalition Intelligence Service agent had threatened the bridge crew with treason charges if they talked about what was seen there. I don’t want to know.
MacIntosh’s voice filled the commlink. “How’s it going, Captain Spencer?”
“Well, since I just got outside and haven’t even opened up the throttle yet, I can’t tell you much.” Justin grinned. “Give me a few minutes, okay?”
“Sorry. We’ve put a lot of work into this. The lads and I are anxious about whether they’ll meet specifications.”
“I’ve got to fly the thing into our enemies’ home system, so that makes two of us.” Justin shifted his focus back to testing the fighter and pushed up the engine’s thrust. Although it accelerated, it was nothing like the fast response he was used to from a Sabre. “Hey, MacIntosh. Is there an overcharge mode or something? Afterburners?”
“Uh, no. Why?”
“Because this thing moves like a one-hundred-twenty-year-old man.” Justin chuckled. Several times, he slowed forward momentum then accelerated, confirming the results of his first test. Nothing to do except see how it performs in advanced combat maneuvering. Moving on to the second phase of the flight, he engaged in a tight series of turns, simulating a dogfight. Or better put, he tried to. The Ghost’s turn ratios resembled a bomber’s more than a space-superiority fighter’s. By the end of three interlocking scissor movements, he was sure even a novice enemy pilot would’ve killed him on the first pass.
Unwilling to give up, Justin tried different thrust configurations, reducing shield and weapon power and feeding the reserves into the engines. While it helped some, the end result was the craft didn’t meet the specifications they would need to succeed in combat against the League. With a sigh, he cued his commlink. “Captain, I’m done. We’re going to have to meet with the rest of the team, but… it’s not there yet.”
“I understand.” MacIntosh sounded like someone had shot his dog. The shame was palpable.
“Hey, we all knew it wouldn’t be perfect on the first time out,” Justin added, trying to inject some hope into his voice. “I’m confident you’ll sort it out.
“Thanks. I’ll let the major know to assemble everyone.”
“Okay, see you in ten minutes. Spencer out.”
Gloomy was an apt description of the mood in the Red Tails ready room. Following test flights by Justin, First Lieutenant Francis Martin, and First Lieutenant Adrianne Green, among other pilots in their various squadrons, they’d all filed in to discuss their findings with Whatley and MacIntosh. None had fared better than Justin’s test flight, finding the same fatal flaws with lack of Delta-V acceleration and limited maneuvering capabilities.
“Well, mates, if you’re looking for positives, at least these things handle better than the Mauler bombers my boys and girls are used to,” Martin said as the discussion got underway.
Justin eyed him. “Have you ever seen a bomber score a fighter kill