Earth Strike by Ian Douglas

many of its members had not.
    Bastards …
    The five Navy zorchies were settling in on the landing field now, the fighter icons gathering at the field’s north end.
    “Carleton!” he growled.
    “Yes, sir!”
    “Get your ass down there and get Stores moving on those g-fighters,” he said. “I want their tubes reloaded and those ships ready to boost, absolutely minimum on the turnaround.”
    “Aye, aye, sir,” his adjutant said, heading for the door.
    Hamid had been right in principle, if not in execution. The faster they got those ships reloaded and out on patrol, the better.
    Another nine hours before the naval battlegroup arrived.
    It was going to be close.

Chapter Six
    25 September 2404
    CIC, TC/USNA CVS America
Eta Boötis IV
2320 hours, TFT

    Rear Admiral Koenig walked through the hatch onto the Combat Information Center deck. He’d spent the last six hours trying to sleep, but not even the various electronic soporifics available through the ship’s medical resources had helped. He’d finally dozed off with a trickle charge to his sleep center, but he felt far from rested now.
    The battlegroup was now deep inside the Eta Boötean solar system, closing on Haris. He checked his internal time readout: twenty-seven minutes, fifteen seconds more.
    And then they would know.
    Traveling now at just over the speed of light, each ship of the battlegroup now effectively was locked up in its own tight little universe. They couldn’t see out, couldn’t see the starbow as they’d approached c , couldn’t even see the light of the local sun growing more brilliant ahead.
    “Captain Buchanan,” he said softly. The AI monitoring CIC picked up the words and linked him through to Buchanan, on the America ’s bridge.”
    “Yes, Admiral.”
    “How’s she riding?”
    “Twenty-seven minutes, and we’ll know the worst.”
    “It’ll be fine, Rand. There won’t be much scattering, not after a short hop like this.”
    In fact, he’d been surprised at how closely in proximity to one another the ships of the battlegroup had emerged out in the Eta Boötean Kuiper Belt early that morning after the thirty-seven light year passage out from Sol.
    “I know, Admiral. I’ve brought America to general quarters. We have all five squadrons set to launch as soon as we bleed down to Drift, one on CAP, four on strike. The keel weapon is charged and ready to fire. Battlespace drones are prepped and programmed, ready for launch.”
    “Very good.”
    Cut off from all contact with the other ships of the battle group, Koenig had to assume the other ship captains were following the oplan, bringing their crew to quarters and preparing for the coming battle. For the past several months, the battlegroup had been training, shuttling between Sol’s Kuiper Belt and Mars. Practicing the maneuvers necessary to break out of Alcubierre Drive in the best possible formations, allowing for both flexibility and strength in combat.
    There was no way to anticipate what the tactical situation would be in the inner system, and no way to guess how successful the initial gravfighter strike had been. The battlegroup might emerge to find Blue Omega in command of the battlespace, the Turusch vessels destroyed or having fled.
    More likely by far, they would find the Turusch bloodied but fighting mad, ready and waiting for the new arrivals. They wouldn’t know until they actually dropped out of metaspace and saw the situation for themselves.
    At least that damned Senate liaison had finally taken the hint and was staying out of CIC. That was one particular aggravation he didn’t need at the moment.
    Koenig had already lied to the Senate Military Directorate about one key aspect of this operation, and he wasn’t eager to face Quintanilla’s questions.
    That particular problem could wait its turn.
    Blue Omega Seven
Eta Boötis IV
2335 hours, TFT

    Daylight had come and gone with astonishing swiftness, and it was dark now. The optics implanted in Gray’s eyes