“I don’t want to know,” Tehrani replied with a chuckle. Of course, she was well acquainted with the traditions of breaking in new spacers who hadn’t jumped out of a solar system before, but it wasn’t a topic for the bridge. “Navigation, status of our Lawrence drive?”
“Course computed and locked in, ma’am,” Mitzner replied.
Tehrani glanced at the mission clock. Forty-five seconds were remaining before showtime—enough time for prayer. She closed her eyes and whispered in Arabic, “Allah, Revealer of the Book, swift to account for transgressions, help us to defeat the League of Sol. O Allah, defeat them and shake them so they flee our lands.”
“I don’t know exactly what you said just now, but I think I got the gist. Allow me to add an amen,” Wright interjected softly. “Now, let’s give ’em hell.”
“That’s something I can wholeheartedly say amen to myself,” Tehrani replied. She let out a breath as time ran out on the clock. “Navigation, activate Lawrence drive.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The lights dimmed as the massive Lawrence drive generators sucked in every available scrap of power. Visible through the windows on the bridge, a vortex formed off the bow. It contained a rich kaleidoscope of colors ranging from red to purple to blue to orange.
“Conn, Navigation. Lawrence drive wormhole stable.”
“Navigation, all ahead flank. Take us in,” Tehrani said as she leaned forward.
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The Zvika Greengold shuddered and lurched forward under the thrust of its sublight ion engines. The maw of the vortex beckoned them closer, and suddenly, they were inside. Moments later, the stars twinkling in the void returned front and center as they exited the wormhole.
“Conn, Navigation. Transmit complete, ma’am. We’re within five thousand kilometers of our intended destination.”
After a few seconds, Bryan offered his report. “Conn, TAO. LIDAR shows no contacts.”
“So far, so good,” Wright interjected.
“Don’t jinx us now, XO.” Tehrani grinned. “Reset the mission timer for two hours, and ensure engineering is ready for a double jump. We’ll go to battle stations at H minus thirty minutes. Oh, and, Major, remind all crew chiefs we remain at EMCON Alpha.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
As Wright busied himself carrying out her orders, Tehrani gazed out the bridge window. She could do nothing except wait for the Astute to signal a successful detonation of the EMP weapon Spencer’s fighter carried. And hope we don’t get jumped by a League battlegroup.
The shuttle bay of the Astute was so small that Justin couldn’t risk opening the canopy of the captured League craft. So he sat in the cramped cockpit, his knees in an unnatural position. The intelligence analysts had taped translations of the French and Russian letterings under each of the major controls. Some weren’t marked, and Justin wondered what those knobs and dials did. Well, at least I know where the throttle, missile launch, whatever passes for chaff and flares on this thing, and flight controls are. He glanced down at a lever under the pilot’s seat. Don’t forget the ejection release. Not that I’m interested in ever ejecting into the void again.
After an hour and forty-five minutes of staring at the space doors leading to the void, Justin was ready to get on with it. While he was on edge, over the months, he’d learned how to focus his anxiety into something positive by preparing for the mission. To that end, Justin spent the time studying an ever-expanding sensor image of the League deep space installation. Slowly but surely, the Astute stealthily probed its outer edges and ascertained the locations of most defensive weaponry. The enemy had multiple defense satellites and two fighter patrols. Most of the time had been spent tracking the routes of those patrols. The more detail we get, the higher the odds I come home.
Justin superimposed the confirmed route of the enemy over the Astute’s current path. They intersected at the farthest point from the station.
The commlink in his helmet crackled. “Can you hear me, Lieutenant?” The voice belonged to Lieutenant Colonel Fielding, the commanding officer of the Astute. He pronounced the word lieutenant as leftenant.
“I can, sir.”
“We’re closing in on our intercept point. I again apologize for not letting you out to stretch your legs, old chap.”
“Would rather not risk it, sir.” Justin gripped the flight stick as he spoke.
“So, we’re going to light up those two buggers and, once they’re down, let you loose to do your job. How’s that sound?”
“Best idea I’ve heard all day, sir.” Justin grinned. He wanted to get on with it.
“In that case, sit back and relax for a few more minutes. You might find yourself jostled about a bit. The old girl tends to buck when we start using our primary missile armament.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Right. Well, cheerio, Lieutenant, and do make a mess of those Leaguers for us.”
“You got it, sir.”
Justin switched the commlink mic off and yawned as he stretched—or more accurately, tried to stretch without hitting anything. On the HUD, the Astute was well inside weapons range. I guess the colonel wants to be close enough that they won’t have time to react. While the strategy made sense, it also produced nail-biting tension. He was well aware that stealth raiders had limited defenses. Their shields were paper-thin, and the sensor-deadening tiles that lined the outer hull of the boats protected them from sight. And that’s how they survive. No one sees them until it’s too late.
One moment, he was staring at his helmet-integrated HUD. Then all hell broke loose. The hangar deck seemed to pitch up, and Justin was thrown backward. Multiple blue icons separated from the Astute and seconds later merged with the red representing the League patrol fighters—which immediately disappeared.
“Alpha One, both contacts destroyed. We’re opening the bay doors now,” Fielding announced. “Good hunting and good luck out there. Oh, and when you get back to the Greengold, assuming we survive this, you’ll find yourself a nice bottle of scotch waiting, because you might just be the bravest man I’ve ever met.”
Justin keyed the throat mic. “Thanks, Colonel. You golden
