Battle for Proxima

By Michael G. Thomas

CHAPTER ONE

Following the secession of Kerberos, the division of the Church of Echidna and the Zealot based insurgency coalesced into what became known as the Echidna Union. Those that had worn suicide vests in the past became militia leaders and local army commanders. The secretive underground became public and vocal. The term Zealot even started to fall out of favour, now being used often just to describe the non-Biomech forces used by the Union.

A Brief History of the Zealots

Spartan checked the suit’s built-in scanners and moved through spectrum modes. There was almost no light underground and he was forced to switch between infrared and thermal imaging to make adequate progress. The other Vanguard Marines stood out in his visor from their substantial heat signature. It was a problem when facing guided weapon systems and something the engineers had so far been unable to mask. A large metal pipe hung down low and he was forced to stop underneath. The structure looked barely inhabited but he was well aware of the dangers that dwelt deep inside this site and it filled him with dread.

Spartan thought back to the news report he’d watched prior to boarding the assault shuttles to the planet. It was a month after the liberation of Prometheus. The propaganda coup of the video footage and information recovered from there had polarised opinion throughout Proxima. The response in the last forty-eight hours was an announcement from Kerberos concerning a new and worrying development. According to their religious spokesman Typhon, the colonies that had freed themselves from the yoke of the Confederacy were to form a new partnership. The name of this new foe was the Echidna Union and it comprised all the elements the Confederacy had been fighting to hold off. The Zealots, the extreme right wing of the insurgents had officially handed in their weapons and disbanded.

This news concerned Spartan deeply as many of these places, including Kerberos itself, were areas he had already visited. Contact with the seceded colonies had been cut off and any vessels approaching them were now being seized or fired upon. Though the war was technically over, Avagana, the only remaining loyal colony on the surface of Prime, was known to be the epicentre of the insurgency. It was potentially the source of the Biomechs that had surged out for their assault months earlier. The colony was being constantly reinforced with combat forces from the orbiting taskforce, as supplies and materials were ferried back to the vessels of the Fleet circling above. It was obvious to everyone that although there had been no major combat for six months, both sides were gathering their forces for a single showdown. The Confederate military needed as much information on the enemy as possible. They could ill afford further surprises.

Spartan had managed just two weeks rest on board the CCS Santa Cruz with Teresa, before their assistance had been requested for a special intel gathering mission on Prime, the most important planet in the Proxima System. This mission however wasn’t to the surface, it was underground in a place most combat units dreaded being near, the Bone Mill.

The inside of the now ruined site was inky black, the only source of light being provided by the wide beam search lights fitted to the marines’ suits. In the past, it had been the home of the Metallurgical Research & Mining Company on the northern continent of Avagana. It was a massive site that continued hundreds of metres underground with scores of rooms, tunnels and rock faces that hadn’t been seen for months. The interior of the structure had been massively damaged in the months of fighting and bombing between the insurgents and the forces of the Confederacy. The added problem of thousands of Biomech warriors surging from the underground facility, had forced the marines to use thermite charges and bombs to finally seal the place up. With the phoney war still keeping both sides from open conflict, it was the perfect time to find out exactly what had been going on down there. The heavily armoured platoon made slow progress through the debris. Each of the marines stepped cautiously, looking for tripwires, bombs or signs of the enemy. Spartan watched his team carefully, helping guide them though the treacherous area. He noticed one marine starting to push too far ahead of the platoon.

“Private! Take it slowly, advance unit watch your scopes for movement, nobody do anything stupid!”

“You think we’re really going to find the source of the Biomechs down here?” asked Corporal Henderson.

“Well, we know the ones on Prometheus were being manufactured. Either they did the same here or they must have shipped them in,” said Spartan as he glanced about the ruined structure.

He stopped for a moment and looked back at his new unit. Spartan had very recently been promoted to Lieutenant, a far cry from his position as a private in the Marines Corps just months before. His platoon of had been selected from different units in the 5th Reconnaissance Battalion of the Confederate Marine Corps to form a new special assault unit, known as the Vanguards. The plan was for a new elite company to be formed that was made up of three platoons, each led by an experienced officer and ready to be used for the toughest assignments. Armour had been redeployed from ships and barracks across Proxima to give the company enough for them all, with suits to spare for repairs or losses.

The name Vanguard was based partially on their duties of operating as the first unit into action and also on the name of their armour. It was all very new, but experiments on Prime during the heavy ground combat had shown the need for a more permanent heavy assault unit. This was the first formalised one of its kind. The Vanguard armour was a fancy name for what was formally known as Combat Engineering Suits or CES for short. These suits were the thick exo-armoured suits that had been used by sappers for clearing mines, explosives or digging battlefield positions for nearly fifty years.

For now, the unit was based around a complete platoon that operated from the Marine Transport CCS Santa Cruz. The intention was to expand it to a full company and perhaps even a regiment when time, personnel and resources allowed. It was the dawn of a new type of fighting and one that suited Spartan’s aggressive style just fine. He was very experienced in hand-to-hand combat and small unit tactics. This had proven invaluable in operations from Prime through to Kerberos, Prometheus and even boarding operations.

Though the 1st Vanguard Platoon lacked the numbers for what they were likely to face, each of them was highly experienced in fighting the Zealots and Biomechs. Many of them had served on the surface of Prime during the battles months earlier. There were few groups of warriors anywhere in the Confederacy with the same level of skills and knowledge for this kind of warfare.

“Lieutenant Spartan, you’re showing clear. No signs of Biomech activity within your operation area. Your entry to the Bone Mill is authorised,” said the Commander. He was observing the operation from the safety of a ground base three kilometres from the perimeter of the Bone Mill.

“Affirmative, Operation Flare is active,” he replied, shaking his head.

“Commanders, always the same!” he said to himself.

The section they were now in had at one point been the loading area for trailers and equipment. In had previously been a mining station and in peacetime, hundreds of tons of raw materials had been brought up from this spot. The first two squads lumbered forward, half of the units were armed with retrofitted L48 rifles and the rest with the standard excavator gear. Though the suits had been given a new name they were still engineering gear. In close confines, the armour and digging equipment had proven surprisingly useful against the Biomechs, as well as suicide bombers and improvised explosives.

At first glance, the Bone Mill appeared to be simply a mixture of hewn rocks and broken machinery. It was hardly surprising it had taken the Army engineers over a month to dig down far enough to give the marines enough space to get inside. The first squad to enter hadn’t been heard from again. It was now time for Spartan and his reconstituted platoon in their Combat Engineer Suits. The heavily armoured suits gave the operators greater safety against both the elements and the enemy hidden deep down in the darkness of the place.

“Lieutenant, I’m picking up the objective, electronics are still operating five hundred metres to the east, roughly where the control centre should be,” said Corporal Jackson.

Spartan checked his tactical display, ensuring his group were close together and in position. There was no chance he was going to let anybody be taken.

“Switch to thermal imaging, if you pick up any insurgent or Biomech activity you know what to do,” he said quietly through the suit’s intercom unit.

The group of heavy metal machines clanked and groaned as they picked their way through the debris. Later models would hopefully be improved in both size and sound, but for now they had to manage with what they had. The use of some of the excavator gear was essential for clearing some of the more difficult parts of the complex. As they broke past the last large chunks of debris, they reached the ruined landing zone. It had been a large rectangular area, suitable for bringing aircraft down to drop off men and equipment. It was over two hundred metres from the surface, with a mechanical access door for a ceiling long ago destroyed and blocked off. Just a few small chinks in the debris above them indicated it had once been clear. As they moved, a sensor light on Spartan’s suit flickered, indicating potential trouble.

“I’m picking up a bloom three hundred metres further inside the tunnels to the east. There is no sign of movement, it could just be a blip,” said Corporal Antoniou.

“Maybe. We aren’t taking any chances though,” Spartan said as he checked for further signals. He altered the filters before picking up the same source.

“I have it, they are near the power coils for the elevators. The entrance is just ahead, through the service shaft. Sergeant Morato, take the shaft and clear it of any infestation. 2nd Squad, you’re with me. We’ll scout the Control Centre. Sergeant Lovett, get them ready. 3rd Squad, establish a defensive perimeter here on the Landing Pad until we’ve cleared the area. If anything moves towards you, call it in.”

“Then destroy it!” added Sergeant Keller.

“I expect nothing less,” said an amused Spartan.

Sergeant Lovett and Keller acknowledged his orders over the radio before organising their own twelve man squads. Spartan hadn’t seen Lovett in combat, but his sheet said he had been involved in the operation to recapture the transit stations during the Siege of Titan. It had been a bloody mission and his platoon had suffered fifty percent casualties taking the complex. He, like Spartan, had been just a private back then. Marcus Keller, on the other hand, was his friend from his days training in the Marine Corps. As well as learning to fight, shoot and work as a team on board the Santa Maria, they had also seen their first action in the battle for the Titan Naval Station. The two had seen a lot of action together and the big, gruff German had proven a worthy ally in his many adventures.

Marcus took his squad away from the group and started to site his men in defensive positions. As he moved away, he called out to his squad over the intercom. The men continued to work as he spoke.

“Most of you have fought them, so you know how they work. The Biomechs are faster, stronger and more resilient than us. They can see in low light and some are strong enough to literally tears chunks off our armour. They can come from the ground, out of the ceiling or from any other direction. Spread out, clear your lines of sight and keep cool.”

Four of the marines started to move debris out of the way to clear their firing arcs, the rest helped heap some of the masonry to give them a degree of cover and protection in case of an attack. It wasn’t pretty, but by the time they finished it would resemble a dugout firebase with very basic protection and clear lines of fire.

Spartan nodded to himself, as he watched the group move quickly and efficiently under their Sergeant’s orders. He knew he could trust Marcus to watch his back. Turning to the remaining squad, he signalled for them to follow in the direction of the shaft that ran to the Control Centre. According to the plans he’d examined, the Centre was originally connected to the safety and communication systems. Whether that was true now though he had no idea. A lot had happened since the Zealots had first overrun the complex. As they moved away, he glanced over to his side to spot the twelve Vanguard Marines moving slowly inside the corridor towards their objective. He looked back towards his own objective and starting scanning the area. Taking a few more steps, the intercom buzzed.

“Lieutenant, it is only wide enough for three of us at a time. It’s going to slow us down,” explained Teresa. She looked inside the low ceiling and damaged corridor. Parts of the ceiling had collapsed and there was water running down the walls, presumably from a ruptured waterline somewhere else in the base.

“That isn’t a problem. Just take it slow. You need space in there, move in two by two, and give yourselves room to breathe. I don’t want you bunching up.”

“Understood, Sir,” Teresa answered with a hint of familiarity in her voice that she was trying to hide, with little success.

Sergeant Morato and Spartan had become close, very close since they met on the CCS Santa Maria before the war had begun. After a period of being separated, due to fighting and Spartan’s capture, they had pushed hard to be in the same unit. They were both hot headed and equally used to getting themselves into trouble with other people and authority. Teresa had recently been promoted following the Prometheus incident. The new rank gave her responsibility for a full twelve-man squad, serious responsibility.

“We’re moving on,” she said and pushed ahead to the front of her squad. As she moved the other eleven followed, each looking around them as they walked. The concern of Biomech attacks, from the ground or ceiling, was always a present danger to ground units. If they were careful they had a major advantage in combat. Even a small squad like theirs carried enough firepower to take on several companies of conventional infantry. Underground and in the enclosed spaces their armour and weapons would make the group almost invulnerable, providing they weren’t overrun or succumbed to friendly fire. This was often a danger in the maelstrom of combat.

“1st Squad, keep watching. I’m still picking up the bloom. This place has already been fumigated, so if anything is left alive it won’t be human!” she said, pushing away.

“Not human equals something we kill!” laughed Private Willis before being flashed a harsh stare by Sergeant Morato. Her stature may have been small, but in or out of the suit she was a real firebrand, and he knew it.

The group stomped forward, the heavy metal suits crushing the broken masonry and metal beneath the powered metal feet. Each movement produced a series of whines and whistles as the gears and pneumatic parts moved in the dusty environment.

Spartan waited for a moment at the entrance of the shaft to the Control Room. 1st Squad was already making its way to their objective and he wanted to make one final check before pushing on. Inside the suit was a scan of the hand drawn maps he’d made just minutes before the start of their operation. They hadn’t the time to map it onto their tactical mission software, but the image of the complex was still useful. He just had to remember that the structure was now so different it made the original maps almost useless for anything other than rough planning.

“Okay, follow me and keep alert, I want every marine to come back from this one!” He stepped inside first.

The shaft was wide and easily big enough for half a dozen marines to stand abreast. He looked back at the warm yellow glow coming from the twelve marines as they bathed the tunnel in the powerful beams. Each was equipped with at least two armoured searchlights fitted to their shoulders as well as extra navigation lights. It made them easy to see but that wasn’t an issue in this place. It was better to be able to see than to be discrete and end up falling into a pit to your death. They moved at a slow, careful pace, each checking his sensors for potential trouble. The intercom crackled with an emergency signal from the sentry aircraft that was providing intelligence and surveillance operations in the area.

“Lieutenant Spartan, we’re picking up a seismic disturbance under your location. Advise caution!”

“Understood.” He switched to the tactical net so he could speak to the entire platoon.

“Incoming seismic disturbance, brace yourselves!”

Each of the marines positioned themselves in a stable location. Those near the wall or debris grabbed onto them with their armoured, but fully articulated hands. No sooner had they moved, than a series of small quakes shook the tunnel. Chunks of masonry dropped around them, several knocked one of the marines down. It was over in seconds, but not before clouds of dusts made visibility on all but thermal scanners impossible.

“Report!” called Spartan.

Each of the squad commanders called back to report no injuries. Spartan was please to see the fallen marine lift himself up and shake as the dust dropped off in clouds.

“Good work, keep moving ahead,” he said. They didn’t get far. Just thirty seconds after continuing through the two tunnels, further vibrations started to spread through the structure.

“Lieutenant, part of the Landing Pad has just collapsed, we’ve redeployed to the side walls for cover,” said Marcus over the intercom.

“Understood, all squads watch yourselves. I think we’ve been noticed,” said Spartan. He lifted up his right arm with its twin linked L48 rifles loaded and ready.

“Sensor readings have just gone off the charts. We’re picking up movement ahead, unknown number of heat source and they are coming this way,” said Sergeant Morato.

“Okay, remember your training, people. Listen to your squad commanders and maintain discipline.” Spartan didn’t like giving orders from a distance like this. He was used to small groups where he could see and assist when things became difficult. Right now, in this situation, all he could do was help his own small group and hope that the training he’d been working on provided effective.

Teresa double-checked her tactical display, all her weapons showed as functional with a full load out of ammunition and no problems showing up. The suits had been massively improved since their last outing and in training only two had failed, due to servicing problems.

“1st Squad, check your weapons and sensors, report any issues immediately,” she said firmly.

Back in his own tunnel it felt to Spartan like he was on another ship, for all the good he could do. Nagging doubts in his mind almost made him turn and move back to provide assistance, but he knew Teresa was strong, well trained and easily able to handle herself. He just needed to give her the time and space to prove it to the rest of the team.

“2nd Squad, keep moving, just one hundred metres to go. Anybody picking up hostiles yet?” he asked.

A series of negative responses came back. The last team that had come down into the depths of the Bone Mill had been a mixed Marine and local Army militia unit. They had been well armed and equipped, but were very green and high after their success in saving the colony of Avagana. When they were attacked during a significant ambush, the Army recruits had panicked and turned back, running directly into the advancing marines. In the panic of the retreat over fifty had been killed. Only three made it to the surface, all with terrible wounds from which they died.

“How far away are they?” he asked.

“Seventy metres and closing fast!” Teresa answered.

“Okay, Sergeant, you know the drill, execute the salve formation. Everyone else stand your ground!”

“Yes, Sir,” she said firmly and then took a breath before continuing.

“Salve formation!” she called out to her squad.

“Private Alsop, kneel beside me. Next two close up behind us and rest your guns above us.”

They moved quickly and in just a few seconds the first two were on their knees. The large armoured suits lowering themselves enough to allow the next two marines to close in and shoot above them. It was a position they had been practicing to allow smaller units greater protection and firepower when engaging the Biomechs. According to Spartan, it was an old system used by soldiers with primitive gunpowder weapons. Teresa didn’t care about that. As long as it worked, she’d use it.

“Sergeant, there!” shouted Alsop. He moved his main beam to the right. With just a minor change in position, the four marines at the front were able to get a glimpse of the first Biomechs they had seen underground. The bright light and hard black shadows it was impossible to judge much detail, but they were smaller than those they had met on Prometheus. The creatures were slightly bigger than a man but with a bestial look about them. Their limbs were thicker and most carried improvised weapons. A flash of light came from the end of the tunnel as one of them fired a rifle at the marines.

“What the hell, they have guns?” shouted a private.

“Quiet!” ordered Teresa as she pointed her arms in the direction of the approaching enemy. Sporadic gunfire hit around them but their armour was strong and they stood fast, watching the enemy through their enhanced optics.

“Remember your training, short, controlled bursts and watch for friendlies.”

She turned her head, the reinforced metal head twisting slightly so that she could check on her squad. They were ready and waiting for her orders and unlike the rookies that had been here before, they were disciplined and professional.

“Open fire!” she cried.

The quiet of the tunnel vanished as the twin-linked large calibre automatic weapons fitted to the Vanguards opened fire. With each blast the shells pushed back their arms, the recoil proving substantial. Teresa had twin weapons on both arms and as she fired the tunnel flashed white and yellow from the muzzle flash. The two marines behind her leaned slightly forward, partially to absorb some of their recoil but mainly to help keep the first two in position as they continued shooting. The solid block of metal looked like an immovable bunker with a myriad of weapons bristling across the front of the marines. The second two targeted the surviving Biomechs and added their own fire, filling the tunnel with explosive rounds that allowed nothing living to approach them. The only thing that could have survived would have been another group of Vanguard Marines.

“Cease fire!” she called as her sensors indicated all movement had stopped.

The lights on the suits bathed the tunnel, but the smoke and dust from the shooting made it almost impossible for anybody to see. With a quick tap, she switched back to thermal imaging. The visor clicked and it was clear the enemy attack was over. There were large numbers of hot bodies across the tunnel floor and the remnants of superheated shells and shrapnel.

“Lieutenant Spartan, the tunnel is clear. Looks like we were hit by about twenty standard size Biomechs, some armed with small arms. They must have taken them from the last team that was down here.”

One of the marines bent down, lifting a smashed Biomech body with his mechanical hand. The creature was bigger than a man and this one was only partially clad in clothing and armour. Its muscles were excessively big and the jaw and neck puffed up with enhanced muscles. He pointed to the built-in rifles on its head.

“Stop! I said, cease fire!” roared Teresa as she took three steps towards him. Pushing out her arm she grabbed the dead creature and tossed it aside.

“Get on point and stay awake!” she growled.

Spartan interrupted as the intercom in her suit crackled with updates from the rest of her squad.

“Good work, Sergeant, keep moving and get that tunnel cleared! We can’t afford any access points for the enemy. It’s easy to get overwhelmed down here. My squad is approaching the Control Room. Let’s hope the place is still functional.”

“Affirmative, Sir.”

“Jones, you stay up on point and keep moving, everybody else stay in formation. Let’s go,” she said.

They stomped ahead, some of them having to tread directly onto the bodies of the recently fallen. Luckily, the sickening sound of crunching bones could be avoided inside the armour. That didn’t stop them being aware of what was going on. In the lead, Teresa had a clear view of the tunnel. Rounding the corner, she almost walked directly into a large chunk of partially collapsed ceiling.

“Damn,” she muttered, bending down to look under the shattered masonry.

From her position, she could only see a few metres before more broken metal and rocks blocked the area.

“What do you think?” she asked Private Alsop, who was next to her.

He shone his powerful beam into the debris, looking for gaps they could push through. It was useless. “No way, I’d say the collapsed section is at least twenty metres long, it could be a lot longer than that.”

“What about them, could they get through?”

“I doubt it, maybe a small animal like a cat or dog, but the Biomechs? No way!”

Teresa stood up looking left and right. There was no possibility of moving any further.

“Lieutenant, the tunnel is blocked. We’ll leave a sentry back in the tunnel and regroup with 3rd Squad at the Landing Bay.”

“Okay, Sergeant, regroup and await my orders,” he said curtly, evidently busy with his own work.

Back inside his own tunnel, Spartan’s team were now just a short distance from the crossroads on his map. According to the intelligence he had been given, the Control Room was on the left, opposite three small offices formally used by the Station Chief and the duty crew. The first fire team moved to the door, the other two spread out to provide cover.

“Private, the door!” he called to the nearest marine.

Lifting his armoured foot the man smashed forwards, knocking it open and to the side. An inexperienced team might rush the room, but not the Vanguards. With the door blasted open, a cloud of dust and dirt flew out to obscure their vision. One marine moved closer and bent down to check the floor for signs of explosives or triggers.

“Looks clear, Sir.”

Spartan gave him the nod and with great care he stepped inside. The lights from his suit lit up the room to show ruined desks, smashed equipment and a partially collapsed ceiling. He looked back at Spartan.

“Nothing in there, Sir, the room is destroyed. Looks like it has been down for sometime.”

“Damn,” Spartan said under his breath. They needed intel and an operational computer suite could have provided them with everything they needed. He fired up the intercom.

“Sergeant Morato and Keller, are you in position?”

He was quickly acknowledged by two affirmatives.

“This area is a dead loss. We’re going to have to move inside the complex and search it the old fashioned way. Check the Landing Platform, I need to know if there are any other access points or tunnels that are clear for movement. We’re coming back,” he said, switching channels to his own squad.

“Listen up, this is a dead end, according to the maps the tunnel stops here. From what I can see, it’s right. We will join with the rest of the platoon and see if we can find an alternative way in.”

“What about the mining shafts for the tram system?” asked Private Jenkins.

“Yeah, on the map there was supposed to be a series of tracks that go down to the lower levels for ore extraction.” He thought for a moment.

“Interesting. It won’t take us near the computing or communication gear but it could get us near to where the enemy were hiding. I like it. Okay, squad, double-time it back to the Landing Platform.”

He’d pushed hard for his new unit to be given this mission and it wouldn’t look good if the Vanguards found nothing but bodies on their first operation. Plenty of good officers in the battalion were keen to see the Vanguard armour dispersed amongst the units to provide additional firepower and engineer capabilities to all platoons. Though Spartan could see some merit in this idea, his personal opinion was that a dedicated assault unit with maximum firepower and armour would be able to go places and conduct missions that no other units could do. The defence of New Carlos had already shown what they could do when dropped directly into a combat zone. That battle alone had secured him a chance to prove this unit was worth keeping permanently.

Spartan joined the rearguard and made his way back through the corridor. The jumping movement of the lights bouncing from the walls gave him the similar sick feeling he’d experienced in zero-g training. As he emerged from the entrance, the two other squads were stood waiting. They all stood to attention.

“The mine entrance is down there, Sir,” said Private Jenkins, pointing at a barely visible ramp that led down to the left.

Spartan checked his mapping information, specifically the length and depth of the tunnels. According to the last reports on the mining operation, the tunnels were up to three kilometres long. Several had been closed down with seismic charges and had probably buried a large number of insurgents alive.

“Okay, our plan is changing slightly. We will take two squads into the mineshafts and perform a full sweep of the immediate area. Sergeant Keller, it is imperative that your 3rd Squad stays here and maintains contact with headquarters. You are all that stands between us, and the surface. You have to ensure our rearguard is kept clear and ready for evacuation,” he said and then turned to Sergeants Morato and Lovett.

“You two will come with me, two squads will give us enough to cover the ground. We’ll redeploy our strength when we see what the situation in there is. Understood?”

Both sergeants nodded and turned to check on their men. Spartan was starting to feel the pressure of the mission and the need for results. A lot of resources had been expended getting his platoon here, and a body count of a couple of dozen Biomechs wouldn’t do it. The mining shafts were risky. They were long and contained a myriad of small rooms and passages cut into their walls. The upside was, that if there was anything to be learned about what had been going on here, he was likely to find it there.

“Ready?” he called.

With a nod from his two sergeants, he gave the signal to move. The twenty-four marines moved off two abreast in a snaking column. It was a mighty force. Spartan just hoped they would get to prove their worth as quickly as possible. He joined them, making careful progress past the metal and cables that lay strewn about. The Landing Platform soon disappeared to be replaced by a massively wide tunnel entrance with two sets of railways tracks leading off into the darkness.

“They used to drag the ore out through here then,” said one of Teresa’s squad.

Spartan said nothing, he just kept going forward and checking his scanner, sensors and thermal imaging for any signs of life. The displays in his suit showed the warm shape inside the Vanguard armour of the marines all around him, but everything else was cold and dark. The rest of the marines stayed quiet, it took several minutes before they reached a large open area that looked like a hollowed-out hall.

“What is this place? It isn’t on our plan.”

“Lieutenant, I think this is a rest and passing area. Look,” said Sergeant Lovett as he moved along the rail tracks to where a set of points diverted away to the side.

“Sir, over here!” called out one of the privates.

“What is it?”

The rest of the marines immediately fanned out to watch the front and rear of their position as they checked the area.

“Well, Sir, there are smaller tunnels breaking out from the sides. See, like this one.” He pointed to a dark opening about three metres wide and tall.

Spartan looked inside and moved his remote beams to light it. The tunnel went on as far as the beams could show. The thermal sensors on his suit picked up a number of blooms.

“Anybody else getting this signal? I’m showing seven sources around us, each of them inside the tunnels and about thirty metres in.”

“I’m getting the same, it’s taking the sensors a few minutes to work their way through the soil and moisture,” replied Sergeant Lovett.

“Are they moving?” asked Spartan.

“I don’t think so, but there’s something strange.”

“How so?”

“First of all, we normally get stronger readings from the Biomechs. These looks closer to human.”

“Zealots?” asked Spartan with clenched teeth.

“Maybe, or it could be prisoners. You did say there might be some down here.”

“True, either way we need to be sure,” he said, turning back around to face the rest of the two squads.

“We have potential friendlies in the area. I want one fire team from each squad to stay back and provide a defensive cordon in this open space. The rest will enter the tunnels and investigate. If you hit trouble put down fire and withdraw back here. Under no circumstances are you to push ahead if you encounter resistance! Understood?”

They nodded in agreement and started positioning themselves at the entrances to the tunnels.

“Remember, take it slow and avoid trouble. Good luck!”

Spartan wanted to be first in, but as he moved he felt something holding him back. It was Sergeant Morato with her armoured hand clamped to his shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going, Sir?” she asked.

Even in this darkness he could make out her smile through her thickened glass visor. Only a small part was visible as the glass section was just a ribbon across the front of the metal-domed headpiece.

“Where do you think?”

“I don’t think so, Spartan. You’ve already broken regs. We need you here to organise the team. We’ve all trained for this one, just sit back and wait for the medals,” she said as she blew him a kiss from inside the armour.

Spartan looked about, concerned the other marines would notice her actions. Either they hadn’t seen, or they had chosen to pretend not to. Either way Spartan was annoyed, he was a fighter, not a planner and standing about waiting was not the way he liked to fight.

“Let’s go, people! Remember the plan!” Teresa ordered.

Spartan watched as sixteen of the Vanguards stepped inside the narrow tunnel complex, in groups of four. He knew the fire teams were easily able to take care of themselves in the narrow confines underground, but it still left him uneasy being unable to help.

“Sir, anything you want us to do?”

Spartan looked back to the eight marines who were stood waiting.

“Form up in a circle and watch your scanners. In my experience, they always strike when our numbers are smallest.”

The marines, some who were already watching the allocated zones, formed up in a loose and widely space formation, with their weapons facing outwards. Spartan stood in the middle and monitored the movement of the four fire teams making their way into the tunnels. He had already requested the Vanguards be outfitted with cameras and displays in the suits, so the commanders could monitor the movement and actions of other team members. It wasn’t going to happen any time soon, but right now he would have really appreciated it.

“Spartan, we found prisoners!” came the Teresa’s excited voice over the intercom.

Spartan smiled to himself, if anybody was going to find them, he knew she would be the first.

“This area is massive, they must have carved it out with explosives. We are counting thirty people, mostly men and four, maybe five women. We’re leading them out to you now.”

“Excellent, what’s their condition?”

“Not good, their clothes are in rags and they look like they’ve been on rations for a long time…wait…there’s something else…”

Spartan’s heart dropped, in his experience the unknown was rarely good.

“There are bodies here at the end of the room, easily fifty of them. There’s a small amount of stores. They wouldn’t have lasted much longer.”

“Okay, get the survivors back here and bring your team.”

“Roger, we’re coming now.”

Spartan looked at his sensors, tracking the Teresa and her marines as they made their way back. That still left a dozen marines out in the tunnels.

“Sergeant Keller, are you getting this?”

“Yes, Sir. I’ve been relaying your information to the surface. Command is sending in two evac birds for the wounded. Do you need assistance?”

“Negative, we’re clear here.”

“Wait, Sir, there’s something not right. I’m picking up movement from the tunnel parallel to your position.”

“Which tunnel? I’m not showing anything in that area.”

“Underneath you, Sir. I’m picking up massive seismic readings two hundred metres below you, and rising!”

“Seismic? An earthquake?”

“No, it’s alive and moving up, I suggest in tunnels or shafts towards your position. They are moving fast!”

“Okay, Sergeant, stand your ground. Radio it in,” he said, before turning his intercom onto the open channel.

“All units fall back to the central shaft immediately. We are expecting trouble! Move it!”

On his scanner the IFF signals of his marines showed them moving slowly through the narrow shafts. From the side the civilians staggered out, covering their eyes with their hands. There was no light down there, the bright lamps of the Vanguards must have been blinding for them.

“Sir, they are one hundred metres away, you need to hurry!” came an urgent transmission from Lovett.

“Go! All units fall back to the Landing Platform! Take the civilians and move!”

Most of the marines were out and moving fast alongside the confused and obviously terrified people. Only two marines remained, Sergeant Morato and Private Alsop.

“Sergeant, where are you!” he roared across the intercom.

“We’re coming, part of the tunnel collapsed, we’re taking a diversion. ETA, two minutes. What’s the problem?”

Spartan felt the ground shake slightly and panned his searchlights throughout the tunnel. The last marines were now over two hundred metres away and moving fast. The ground was now shaking strongly. Then he saw them. Several mounds that looked like molehills appeared in the dusty ground, followed by heads and hands. As they lifted themselves out, he knew instantly that they were Biomechs, the artificial creatures used by the Zealots in their unholy crusade against the Confederacy.

“Oh…shit!” he shouted. He quickly lowered both of his arms, aiming his weapons at the horde.

“Teresa, get your ass here now!”

CHAPTER TWO

Unmanned Autonomous Vehicles have a long history of service with the military, dating back to their use on Old Earth. Of their many advantages, are their smaller size and removal of components required for human survival. They can accelerate faster and can carry more fuel and weapons than a comparative manned craft. The main disadvantages come from the reliance upon computers and technology, both of which can be impaired, damaged or destroyed with ship direct fire energy defences.

Robots in Space

Most of the major warships of the Confederate Fleet were circling the gas giant of Khimaira. Until recently the vessels had been split up into small task forces and divisions, so that they could conduct minor operations through the sector. The change of strategy, initiated by Admiral Jarvis, had concentrated the bulk of the surviving ships into one place. There were over thirty heavy warships that included cruisers, frigates and carriers, as well as more than twenty smaller destroyers and cutters. Each of the massive vessels coasted in orbit, with scores of fighters moving at a distance to guard the ships. A force of this size and power was capable of striking at any single target in the Proxima System with overwhelming force and firepower. The additional military transports carried soldiers, marines and heavy equipment suitable for ground attack.

The capital ships had a blunt, sinister look to them, their slab shaped fronts and rotating sections providing artificial gravity. Many companies had worked for years on complex engineering solutions to the problems of gravity on ships. In hundreds of years of spaceflight, nothing had evolved enough to be remotely useful in the ever-changing conditions, velocity and acceleration of military vessels. For now, the idea of being able to walk about any part of a ship was sheer fantasy. The ships lacked the sleek shapes used by some of the civilian vessels, but these were the workhorses of the Navy and their designs were purely functional.

The great hulk of the recently refitted and repaired battlecruiser, CCS Crusader, was at the heart of the task force. This warship had survived her first encounter with a battleship months before, it was still being repaired in orbit. Next to the Crusader was the similarly massive shape of the CCS Wasp, a light carrier and a mighty vessel in its own right. Since the arrival of the 7th Fleet, the force had been increased by the addition of six powerful ships. The first was the assault cruiser CCS Royal Oak. This was a specially modified conventional cruiser, with additional space put aside for troops transporters and torpedo launchers. There were also four armoured cruisers plus the jewel of the 7th fleet, the CCS Ark Royal. Named after many famous British warships, she was a type of assault carrier. Larger than the CCS Wasp, she combined a bigger flight group with heavier armour and more weapons. This gave her the survivability of an armoured cruiser with more fighters and gunboats than a light carrier. A myriad of heavy frigates moved around these mighty vessels. While smaller than cruisers, were easily capable of taking on a larger ship when used in groups of two or three. They carried much smaller crews, usually around two hundred per ship. Three massive Army transports and a single Marine transport, the CCS Santa Maria, huddled together protected by half a dozen frigates and several wings of fighters. It was a host any Admiral would be proud of.

Khimaira was served by a number of floating bases that straddled the gaseous atmosphere. There were many more stations positioned out in space. The planet was an important refuelling point for the Fleet. Of even more importance, it was far enough away from the enemy strongholds in Kerberos, Agora and Orthrus.

The Fleet, under the command of Admiral Jarvis, was almost ready for the enforcement of Confederate rule in the sector. It was the Admiral’s firm belief that the Fleet would be able to force each secessionist colony to return to the fold, providing the Fleet was able to flex enough muscle.

In the Combat Information Centre, CiC, stood Admiral Jarvis and her veteran command staff. By now they were all experienced veterans who had faced the enemy, both in space and on the ground. She stood completely still, gazing out through the virtual windows. They were projected onto the walls of the armoured compartment, deep inside the ship. The look on her face was of grim determination, that of a woman who had one simple goal. She was poised to begin her war of reconquest. The ship had taken back its duties as flagship of the Fleet and now operated as the Confederation’s control centre. From this vessel, the Admiral could control the Fleet as well as the smaller task forces based at Kerberos, Prime and Prometheus. The Marine command staff were also able to operate from the vessel, exercising full command and control of the combat troops and garrisons dotted throughout the colonies.

Two new officers entered the room and marched up the Admiral. The first was a captain, though not anyone she recognised. The second, however, was Rear Admiral William Churchill. The officers saluted smartly before speaking.

“Admiral, thank you for seeing us at such short notice. We have information that we thought pertinent to share,” explained the Rear Admiral.

She looked to her right where the Army and Marine officers were going over their own details, and considered calling them over. Though their input was desirable, she also liked to keep information compartmentalised until she was confident of its value. She looked directly at the Rear Admiral and smiled.

“Not a problem, Admiral, what it is?”

“As you know, our force has been on the run for a long time now. It is only with luck, and the loss of many lives, that our six ships made it out in one piece.”

“Yes, your escape from the ambush of the 7th Fleet is truly a blessing to our forces here. I take it your crew and vessels are being taken care of?”

“Of course, that isn’t the issue though. With the help of your intelligence teams, we may have found one of the reasons for the successful ambush on the Fleet.”

“Go on.”

“During the escape, we managed to track down a small ring of agents on several of the surviving ships. Although most killed themselves, we were able to track one who was trying to gain access to the CiC on one of our cruisers. He was killed in our raid, we assumed he was attempting sabotage.”

“I take it you have found something else?”

“Yes. Your computer security teams performed a system purge on the cruiser and identified several anomalies. Following further investigation, we have found some partially installed automation software tools in our system. We also found three hardware devices that were wired into our servers, but the installations were incomplete. In the last hour, we have managed to break their codes and decrypt the data streams. It seems they were designed to allow our vessels to be controlled via another ship, or certainly able to receive orders.”

“You think this is what was done to several of your vessels? How many ships were lost to friendly fire?”

“Half were lost in the first hour, most as a result of the firepower from a single traitorous battleship. The captain was completely reliable and we assumed he must have been murdered by the Zealots.”

“If you’re right, then this technology could have been what the Zealots used to gain control of several vessels in this sector,” Admiral Jarvis said, as she rested her chin on her hands and considered the possibilities.

“How effective is the control of a vessel, if an automated system is able to access and control the CiC?” she asked.

“Only in some measure. Engines, course, some atmosphere controls and the computer controlled weapons. Most of our vessels, especially those built since the War, have been heavily compartmentalised. It increases the number of crew, but definitely reduces computer problems if any individual parts of the ship are compromised in any way.”

“Are our systems vulnerable to software?”

“No, the software we found simply enabled a gateway to be created between the hardware and our systems. The software wasn’t able to establish any kind of memory hole to operate an intelligent system. It appears both the hardware and software are required for it to work. If I may?” he asked.

Admiral Jarvis nodded. With a quick movement, he flipped out his datapad and showed her a tactical display of a large fleet.

“This information makes sense to me. In the ambush a number of our cruisers turned on the Fleet against orders and opened fire. If you look here, you can see them moving in formation then all at once, to the millisecond, they slightly alter course and cross the T of the entire Fleet. We assumed they had turned traitor, but it seems the ships themselves may have been overridden by the enemy.”

“How is this possible? The hardware on our ships is heavily protected, and the computer systems have minimal control of our systems,” asked Admiral Jarvis. “All our ships can be operated manually, we do not have the capacity to allow remote control of any ships in the Fleet, for just that reason.”

“That is true. It seems the infiltrators were trying to install specific equipment, including advanced artificial intelligence hubs, directly into the combat centres of the warships. We have obtained one partially functional unit, and since our arrival here we have managed to break their codes. The device has been receiving prompts from a specific set of coordinates.”

“Where?” asked Admiral Jarvis.

“That is the problem, we have nothing on our charts, and it seems to be about 50AU from Prime. It must have been a ship or relay device of some kind. What you might find even more interesting though, is that the codes we extracted show command instructions were sent from this place directly to our ships. Even more worrying, the signals look like they have also been sent in the last twenty-four hours to ground installations, stations and capital ships in this sector.”

“Interesting, thank you, Admiral, I will send this to my intelligence staff immediately. These AI hubs, do you have the one you captured?” she asked with a curious look.

The Rear Admiral smiled, “Of course, that is why I came here, to deliver the device for further examination.” He turned to his Captain and spoke quietly. The man then left the room.

The two stood in silence for a moment before the Captain returned with two Marine guards who were carrying a heavy case. They moved closer and lowered it to the floor. As one the marines started to open it, Admiral Jarvis pushed her hand in the way.

“Is it safe?” she asked worriedly.

“Yes, it is damaged and not fully functional,” said the Rear Admiral. He gestured to the two marines who flipped open the lid. The first thing that caught her attention was the smell, like that of rotting fish.

“What?” she asked in surprise.

The marines bent forward and lifted a mechanical device about the size of a ball. They placed it down. It was obviously metallic, but dripped some kind of fluid at a point where cables and pipes had been connected.

“It is some kind of biomechanical device. If you look here, you can see the remains of a brain, as well as a mechanical pump and circulatory system.”

“This thing was connected to your ship?” she asked.

“No, but others like it were installed in cruisers and able to override the engines, guidance and any of the automated weapon systems.”

“Incredible, and you have no idea of its origins?”

He shook his head.

“Thank you, this is critical intelligence that I’m sure will prove significant. Would you mind discussing this with my intelligence team? We need to find out more on this technology. Are there likely to be more? Where are they made, and what are their full capabilities?”

Admiral Churchill nodded in acknowledgement and saluted, before marching smartly away. The two marines reloaded the objected into its crate. They followed one of the bridge officers who escorted them away to the bowels of the ship. Admiral Jarvis stood quietly, thinking about the implications of a biomechanical artificial intelligence that could operate machines and equipment. It couldn’t be a coincidence that in Proxima, they had been hit hard first by the religious insurgency and then by the manufactured Biomech creatures. Somewhere was the truth, and she was becoming less and less convinced it was a simple religious uprising. There was something much bigger going on here.

She looked about the spacious CiC and the number of officers moving about attending to their duties. Further back was a small group of Army and Marine officers. They were busy examining the unit rosters of the operational combat units. Off to their side, the large vertical strategic map showed the entire military situation in the sector. Examining the display was General Rivers, Commander of the Confed ground forces and Lieutenant Colonel Blake, the commanding officer of the elite 5th Reconnaissance Battalion. Admiral Jarvis moved towards them, glancing at the board before speaking.

“Gentlemen, I have just received bizarre information on devices placed aboard the 7th Fleet. It seems agents of the enemy were able to place them on board key ships, and then they were able to turn their guns on the rest of the Fleet.”

“How are they controlled?” asked the General.

“At the centre of the devices are, what appears to be biological components, possibly even parts of a brain.”

General Rivers raised an eyebrow, along with a whimsical look to his face.

“A brain controlling a ship?” he asked incredulously.

“Why not? It is hardly less convincing that the Biomechs we have already faced. This unit doesn’t need to provide advanced intelligence, just enough to manage a number of systems independently of the vessel’s computer software.”

“I suppose it is possible. Why have we not come across it ourselves, though?”

“This device was found after a thorough investigation by an experienced team. I suggest we order similar searches of all vessels in the Fleet.”

“I agree. What about other systems, like stations and military bases? Could they have done the same?” asked the General.

Before Admiral Jarvis could continue, a junior officer approached.

“Admiral, I have the latest reports from Kerberos.”

She nodded, and with a simple flick of the hand the officer moved the data from his datapad over to the Admiral’s. With a smart salute the man moved away, leaving her in the centre of the room. As the Admiral read the details she started to shake her head in disbelief.

“You will want to hear this,” she said ominously.

General Rivers turned to her.

“The message is damaged, but it would appear that Fort Hood on Kerberos was assaulted by militia forces, under the authority of the Kerberon Regime.”

“Casualties?”

“Total, from what we can tell, General. Reconnaissance from an automated cutter in high orbit detected an explosion above the base, followed by an hour-long firefight. We have some of the distress calls, but most were jammed or destroyed. The last message was from a Captain Erdeniz. He said something about Biomechs in the base, then he was cut off.”

“Erdeniz? He was based on this ship if I am not mistaken?”

Admiral Jarvis paused. She looked pale, perhaps even a little guilty.

“He was posted to the base, along with many of the other wounded personnel from the Crusader. He was due to return with the next intake of crew in two weeks time,” she said quietly.

“I don’t understand, I thought our bases were being blockaded, but not attacked?” asked the General. “What about the ships in orbit?”

She double-checked the display.

“We should still have four ships in orbit, as well as an Army transport,” she said while pressing several buttons. As she watched, a number of red flagged alerts popped up from Kerberos and one from the Rim.

“This isn’t good. The news from Kerberos is that a number of civilian ships have approached the taskforce, demanding they leave. Our ships have pulled back to a higher position but are refusing to move,” she explained as she examined the screen.

“They don’t have much in the way of naval vessels, other than half a dozen defected ships plus any civilian ships they have pressed into service. Can they force our vessels to leave?” asked General Rivers.

“At the moment, no. At least, not without suffering significant losses against our ships. But with substantial air cover over our bases, they can make it almost impossible for us to land forces safely without a major offensive being initiated. We would need missile strikes against their command centres and defence facilities, before a landing could be attempted. Even then, the potential losses could be significant.”

Lieutenant Colonel Blake looked to the General and back to Admiral Jarvis.

“What about the rest of our ground bases through the sector? Is it specifically this one base or can we expect the same through the entire Proxima System?” he asked.

Admiral Jarvis zoomed out on the strategic display so that all the planets in the System, as well as the Rim, were shown on the same screen. Green dots lit up to indicate the location of friendly bases. Most of them showed up on the major planets but over twenty lit up on the stations and platforms dotted about.

“A good question, we need an immediate reassessment of our bases and fortresses. If this is a prelude to an offensive, we will have to hit them hard and fast before they are organised,” said the Admiral, who then turned and walked to the communication desk where Lieutenant Nilsson sat.

“Lieutenant,” she barked.

Nilsson turned around quickly, her headset almost falling off.

“Admiral?”

“Send out a Priority One signal to all Confed bases in the Proxima Sector. They are to move to Code Alpha status, they can expect attacks at any moment. I want a full report on their status within the hour!”

Lieutenant Nilsson nodded and moved back to her console.

“If this is the prelude to an all out attack on our bases, we may have a problem,” Admiral Jarvis said to General Rivers.

“Don’t we already have an evacuation plan in operation for just this kind of situation?” asked Blake.

“Indeed we do. Every base, where possible, has been outfitted with enough aircraft to launch an immediate evacuation. Code Alpha is the signal to expect overwhelming force where an evacuation will prove likely. Kerberos has a small number of ships still in orbit and can send shuttles if needed. The problem is the air defences. If they want to deny us the ability to land on the surface, they can. Our only option to shoot our way in and that will kick this thing off again,” explained General Rivers.

“If you ask me, Sir, I’d say it’s started again, already.”

“True,” replied General Rivers, before turning his attention back to the Admiral.

“What about the Anomaly?”

“The Furious Battlegroup, based around Furious and her cruiser group, should arrive there in less than three days,” said the Admiral, checking the display. “According to the probe we sent, the route seems stable, though how we have not detected it before I will never know. It is surrounded by clouds which our sensors have a very difficult time penetrating. It is either natural, which I would be very surprised about, or it has been constructed somehow. Either way, it is the single most important piece of real estate in the sector. The Battlegroup hasn’t been detected yet, but when it does you can guarantee the enemy will not be happy!” she said in a sombre tone.

“Wait a minute, isn’t it true that their own vessels have been using the route for some time?” asked Blake.

General Rivers nodded in agreement. “It’s true, we detected several vessels making their way to the Anomaly after the liberation of the prison on Prometheus. What they have been doing though, is anybody’s guess.”

“Admiral, when they spot those ships, I would be surprised if they didn’t recommence combat operations. Is the Fleet ready?” he asked.

“We are equipped, trained and ready to conduct full scale operations in the sector, finally,” she said with a forced smile. “Our forces might appear thin throughout the sector, but this time we have a full Confed Fleet, with fighter and frigate cover waiting right here, Colonel!” She pointed to the metal floor beneath her feet.

“On top of this, we have three reconstituted reserve transports at Prometheus that can carry two battalions of infantry each. They are massive ships and will allow us to move large numbers of combat troops to wherever they are needed. Even better, the War Barge Vengeance has been repaired sufficiently for her to sail with the transports.”

She moved the map out to show the entire sector, then in to a closer view of the two most important planets in Proxima.

“We have two taskforces of four ships each at Kerberos and Prime, both are involved in resupply operations. They are well supported by frigates and are supplying us with a constant stream of intelligence. Prime has the Santa Cruz in orbit along with a good number of marines. Kerberos has an Army transport plus escorts doing the same, but with the problems on the ground, they are obviously pulling back.”

The three stood quietly, examining the map and the disposition of their space and ground forces through the sector. Most of the ground troops were either on board ships or waiting on the stations orbiting the planet Prometheus for their orders. It was clear that the Fleet was ready and that the great struggle for the System would be taking place very soon.

“Gentleman, whatever is happening on the ground, I think it is safe to say that the start of our reconquest will be taking place in a matter of days. Please check back with your units and ensure they are on standby and ready for full-scale combat operations.”

Both the General and Colonel Blake saluted and moved to attend their duties. Admiral Jarvis turned, looking out through the virtual windows at her Fleet.

“Enslavement of our worlds and biomechanical devices on our ships. This cannot continue, I will not allow a single further colony to fall, no matter the cost,” she said quietly, but firmly to herself.

*

Spartan stood patiently as the ground continued to shake, yet more of the creatures dragged themselves up, from what must have been scores of tiny tunnels buried deep underground.

“No wonder the sensors couldn’t find the bastards!” he snarled to himself. His arms were pushed forward with his L48 rifles armed and ready.

“Teresa, where the hell are you?” he shouted through the intercom.

There wasn’t time to wait for a reply. The first of the Biomechs had already spotted him and were surging forward.

“All units, we have hostiles in the main shaft and moving to your position. Prepare for an assault!” he called as he pulled the triggers.

The flashes from the guns created dark shadows on the walls as the enemy exploded and scattered at the gunfire. With four weapons firing in short bursts, he was able to lay down substantial fire. Yet even more Biomechs appeared from the ground. Something moved to the side and his instincts told him to move. It was in the nick of time, as two of the creatures erupted from the loose soil and jumped at him. Staggering to the side he swung his right arm out and poured a long burst into the two Biomechs. He swung the arms in front again and was stunned by the number of the enemy, they must now number over fifty, and still more were climbing from the ground.

“Teresa!” he shouted through the intercom while taking aim. He almost pulled the trigger when he saw a dull yellow glow. A number of the creatures turned to face the direction of the light as a great deluge of gunfire shredded them. From one of the side entrances burst two Vanguards. As they stepped into the open, they continued firing, both of them putting burst after burst in the horde.

Spartan moved forward, taking one careful step at a time and continuing to shoot with both arms. According to his ammunition display he was already halfway through his ammunition. From experience, he knew he could do with at least double the ammunition he was carrying. Teresa stomped towards him, two of the Biomechs hanging from her armour as Private Alsop tried to keep up. The weight of the two creatures managed to pull Teresa off to the side where she crashed into the soil along the wall. Spartan managed to reach her and helped straighten her up, but more creatures jumped onto their armour.

“You okay?” asked Spartan.

“Yeah, come on, let’s get out of this dump!” she said laughing.

They pushed back swinging their mechanical arms, quickly slicing or crushing the enemy before turning their guns on the closest. Alsop dropped down onto his face as several more creatures leapt onto him. They were ripping cables and fittings from his suit. He started to shout, panicking as his suit was being shredded.

Spartan and Teresa jumped down next to him and struck the creatures. One was cut cleanly in half, Teresa continued shooting at the rest. Spartan reached forward and tugged at his damaged armoured suit.

“Alsop, you okay?”

“No, Sir, most of my systems are down and I’m losing power.”

“Can you move?” Teresa shouted as she continued to fire.

“Just my arms, they must have cut the links to my legs,” he said, the tone of panic in his voice starting to become more serious.

“Teresa, cover us, I’ll get him back!”

Spartan leaned in and grabbed the armoured suit in both arms. With a tug he freed the metal from the dirt and started to drag him back through the tunnel. They made slow progress. Teresa stayed a short distance behind them, trying to hold back the tide.

“Spartan, I’m down to one fifty rounds,” she said, trying to keep calm.

“Shit!”

“Lieutenant, just go, if you stay we’ll all die!” cried Alsop.

“Shut your mouth, marine, and start shooting!”

He clearly had no interest in leaving any of his marines behind. With a quick twist, he was able to turn Alsop around so that he faced backwards. His legs were out of commission, but his arms and weapons were still functional. As Spartan dragged him back, the Private turned his guns on the horde who were trying desperately to overwhelm them. Spartan glanced back, noting they were now halfway to the bottom of the ramp leading to the Landing Platform.

“Sergeant Lovett, what is your status?” he asked, panting from the exertions of dragging the man and fighting.

“Lieutenant, we’ve repelled a significant assault on our position. We’re holding but our ammunition won’t last forever!”

“Understood. Send one fire team here to assist. I have a Vanguard damaged. Call HQ and get a resupply bird and sentry units down here. We aren’t leaving until we’ve completed our mission.”

“Already done, Sir, a rescue bird and evac team for the civvies is already en route. ETA sixteen minutes.”

“Good work, Sergeant. Out.”

Spartan continued pulling. Teresa managed to stagger back and placed one arm on the Private’s suit to help drag him.

“Your guns?” asked Spartan.

“They’re both dry.”

“Typical, you’re almost wearing yourself out too fast!” he laughed as he fired several more bursts.

“Funny, I was going to say the same!” He couldn’t quite see her face, but could feel the laughter in her tone.

As they moved, Spartan noted on his tactical display that one of the fire teams was closing. They could be no further than twenty metres away. He started to turn to check, just as a group of five Biomechs dropped from the ceiling directly in front of him. The first he shredded with his rifles, but the other four leapt directly onto his suit and started stabbing and hacking with crude metal weapons.

“Bloody hell!” shouted Spartan. He waved his arms and managed to hit one of them. It knocked the creature to the ground, where it was finished off by a savage kick from Teresa’s armoured metal foot.

The remaining three managed to hang on tightly and continued striking his visor, even managing to crack the side. More blows rained down and Spartan started to flail about. As he struggled, one of them lifted and up and was thrown several metres, followed by a cloud of flesh from the other two. Marcus and three of his marines fanned out around the group, proceeding to pour a devastating avalanche of shells into the remaining enemy. Either their numbers were dropping, or they’d decided to retreat. The end result was the same as and the shaft became quiet. It was as if nothing had ever actually happened down there.

“Spartan, I know we say we never leave a marine behind, but this is ridiculous. You could at least try and get out next time!” laughed Marcus, helping Spartan to stand up.

“Nice, give us a hand, we need to get Alsop back to the surface. Get your team to return him and escort the survivors to the LZ.”

“What about the rest of us?”

“We have a job to do. They are still down here and, apart from the civvies, we’ve obtained no useful intelligence on what was actually going on in this place. For starters, I want to know who the hell is in charge!”

They started to make their way back along the tunnel. In less than two minutes, they reached the bottom of the circular ramp leading back to the Platform. Two more Vanguards came down to assist, one of them carried a small trailer with several metal units on top.

“Sir, the first landing craft has arrived. They’ve brought a rescue party from Charlie Company. Their CO, Captain Miranda Hobbs, wants to see you.”

“Hobbs?” asked Spartan, looking at Marcus and Teresa.

“Yeah, I’ve seen her on the ship. She missed the fighting on Prime and seems pretty pissed about it,” said Teresa, who then clunked her metal fist against his armour.

“Marcus, there’s something down there I think we should take a look at. When we took our diversion to escape, Alsop found a fibre optic loom. It continued down the shaft and out to the side into a narrow tunnel.”

“How narrow?”

“Too narrow for a Vanguard suit, even a marine. One of the sentry drones could do it,” Teresa answered.

“What’s so special about this loom?”

“I don’t know. It is relatively new and that means it wasn’t part of the original mining station. It must be something to do with the Zealots.”

“Okay, I’m sold. Here’s the plan. Take one squad back into the shaft and set up more sentry units to scan for movement. Send a drone down the tunnel and see what you find. I’ll get back up from the battalion down here to assist. We aren’t leaving till will have something solid,” Spartan said firmly.

Teresa nodded and turned to the two marines stood waiting. With a simple hand gesture, she beckoned for them to follow. Spartan moved past and continued up the ramp until he reached the Landing Platform. The marines had done good work and based on the number of bodies, they had repelled quite an assault themselves. As he moved closer, Sergeant Lovett, leader of 2nd Squad, closed the distance.

“Sir, the area is secure. The civilians are already boarding the landing craft, you heard about Hobbs?”

“What about Hobbs?” came a voice to the side of them.

Spartan looked to his left and then down slightly. He spotted the form of Captain Hobbs in her standard issue Marine Corps Personal Defence Suit. Unlike the Vanguard armour being used by Spartan’s troops, hers was close fitting and more like an armoured wetsuit. It was much lighter and less resilient than the heavy exo-armour, but it was sealed for use in all environments and also proof against small arms fire. She wore a helmet, though the visor was slid open to reveal the glass beneath.

“Captain, the Sergeant was just letting me know of your arrival. Good to see you here, Sir.”

“Of course,” answered the Captain, her tone was anything but sincere.

“I see your unit has sustained casualties, I’m here to clear up the mess.”

“Mess? We’ve sustained no casualties, Sir, and our operation is ongoing. We have a lead on Zealot technology deep inside the site. Sergeant Morato is in the process of moving drones into the area to investigate.”

“Sergeant Morato? Weren’t you both privates less than a year ago?” she asked, with a barely hidden sneer of contempt. “I recall you were implicated in the murder of the President of Kerberos. Who gave you a combat unit? You should be in the brig!”

“I’m sure General Rivers would be interested in your thoughts regarding our mission to Kerberos,” said Spartan, ever happy to rise to the challenge.

The Captain looked at him carefully, trying to size up the man that had risen so quickly through the ranks. From a private, to sergeant and beyond.

“The civilians are being returned to a safe holding area in New Carlos for debriefing. I will assist in the remainder of the operation. What is your tactical situation?” she asked, doing her best to keep the previous conversation out of her mind.

Spartan shook his head inside his suit. It wasn’t that the officer was a woman, far from it. He’d already served under women, finding them no better or worse than the men. No, this one was the classic officer with something to prove. Spartan may not have been a marine for very long, but he’d seen more action than most and also his fair share of self-serving officers out to make a name for themselves.

“The Landing Platform, as you can see, is clear. The tunnels, up to two hundred metres out, are secure and we have sentry sensors placed at all the access points. Sergeant Morato and one fire team are working in the mine shaft to investigate a narrow shaft, where we think we may be able to isolate insurgent equipment or intelligence.”

“Intelligence? Good, that’s what we need. My company is well equipped to control the situation, I suggest we use your…heavies to continue their search. My 1st Squad is already on its way down. We will set up a command post on the Platform, along with a supply station. You will move back into the tunnel and continue your investigation. I will send an additional squad to liaise with you under my platoon sergeant.”

“Sir? We do not need additional manpower, our full platoon is more than enough.”

“Nonsense, your armour might make you feel invincible, Spartan, but it is just going to restrict your movement and slow you down,” she said in a tone that told Spartan the discussion was over.

No sooner had she finished speaking, when the first of the squad arrived. They were all equipped in the same PDS armoured suits as the Captain, though each was painted with a grey and tiger stripe pattern.

“Nice colours,” said Spartan, forgetting for a moment that his intercom was still on, so they could all hear.

“Lieutenant, I will send some mules to your position, it will allow you to stay down there for a little longer,” she said in a tone that suggested he shouldn’t return for some time.

“Affirmative,” he said and turned back to his own unit.

The Captain’s 1st squad spread out around the defensive cordon established by the Vanguards. Some were carrying cases with more sentry sensors and automated turrets.

“Vanguard Platoon, we’ve been relieved. All units regroup back in the tunnel, we will continue our operation,” he said into the unit’s private intercom channel.

The Vanguard units guarding the Platform stood up and moved away from their positions, making their way to the ramp. They were easily twice the size of the other marines with their large torsos, multitude of weapons and heavy industrial equipment welded directly to the frames. As the last three moved past, he looked back to the Captain who was busy marching about giving orders to her unit. Dozens of her marines, with a variety of equipment and sensors, were already getting ready. He wasn’t impressed with her attitude, but at least she appeared efficient. He turned to the ramp and followed the rest of the unit further underground.

“Lieutenant, we’ve got something down here,” Sergeant Morato said over the intercom.

“What is it?” asked Spartan.

“You’re not gonna believe this, you’ll need to see it for yourself.”

“Understood, I’m on my way. Can you get a repeater installed, so we can bounce the signal back to Captain Hobbs?”

“Yeah, I’ll see what I can do. Get here fast though, we need to do something about this!” she said sternly.

CHAPTER THREE

In the latter campaigns of the Emergency, the emergence of the heavily armoured and equipped Vanguard units completely changed ground combat. These hybrid machines and suits eventually allowed the individual marine to be able to take on full size Biomechs in close combat, with their excavator tools and blades. At the same time, the units could sustain damage from heavy weapons fire. As with all military advances though, the real question was, what would come next and how would the enemy evolve to fight these new weapons?

Edged weapons in the Emergency

“What am I looking at?” asked Spartan, as he examined the grainy picture carefully. The image was packed full of black and grey dots, with dark silhouetted shapes twisting and crackling on the screen. A number of the other Vanguard Marines stood around the display fitted onto the control unit. Each of them with their weapon arms in position as they checked for signs of danger. To the untrained eye, the entire panoply looked like a piece of industrial machinery with two displays fitted. In reality, the unit could operate up to a dozen drones and scout devices up to a kilometre away underground.

“Are you kidding?” asked Teresa, as she pointed at the dark image.

“Through this gap in the shaft wall, look. There’s a room full of equipment. See it?”

“Spartan pressed two buttons and transferred the feed directly to his own monitors. The image enlarged on his left display and with a couple of colour corrections the image cleared up slightly. It was still very noisy, due to the lack of light, but he could make out the shapes of machines, as well as cabling running to a central point.

“Okay, I see it, lots of tech. What is so important about it then? Please tell me you have something more than this!”

“Watch,” she said, nodding to the marine controlling the drone management package. The unit was equipped with a joystick and a touch-operated datapad for control. The marine had the front of his suit open, so he could reach out and control the hardware. Due to the nature of the armoured suits, and their quick entry into operation, there was no way for him to directly control the drone system from inside the Vanguard armour. In the future this would be resolved, but for now the exposed armour was a nuisance and a serious risk to the marine.

The video image shook for a moment before settling on what appeared to be a better-lit doorway. There were three shapes in the light area, almost certainly humanoid.

“Guards?” he asked.

“Not just guards, you can see their robes.”

“Zealots!” muttered Spartan under his breath.

“Exactly, it looks like there are six of them in the room.”

Spartan examined the feed even closer, trying to work out what it was that was confusing him. Then he saw it, the shape in the room.

“What is that?” he asked.

“I know, we can’t tell from here, but it looks like they are using it to communicate with something.”

“It could be their commander or another unit. Either way, if we can get some working Zealot technology, we might start to work out who is behind the insurgency. Maybe even work out a way to disrupt their plans and start turning this war in our favour.”

Spartan looked up, something had caught his eye. It could have been nothing, but with the stakes this high he didn’t have the luxury of ignoring it. With a quick tap on the control in the suit, he amplified the lights on his shoulders. As the brightness increased, the darkness in the tunnel receded. From his position, he could easily see more of the Vanguards were pushing out. They were checking the entrances to the small tunnels. He saw the movement again. It was coming from the direction of Hobbs and her team.

“What is that?”

“Uh, Sir, that’s one of the mules,” answered a private.

“You sure? It looks like it has legs?”

“Yeah, some of the platoons have started using the new cross-country mules.”

Spartan turned to Teresa. “One minute, keep an eye on the feed.”

He turned and marched back through the tunnel towards the approaching object. As he moved away, the built-in sensors identified the friendly IFF signal from the device. Two privates went with him until they were close enough to see it.

“Well, I’ll be damned! Have you guys ever seen anything like it?” Spartan asked.

Moving past them was a four-legged autonomous robotic mule. It was about three metres long and moved like an uncertain antelope with it long, slender looking legs. The bulk of it was made up of the cage-like structure that carried water, ammunition and power. It continued past them towards its rendezvous with the rest of the unit in the tunnel. Satisfied that the device was as it should be, he turned and walked back the short distance to where Teresa was busy watching the display.

“Are you happy now?” she asked.

Spartan said nothing. He just concentrated on the display.

“Most of the computers were still operational on Prometheus, right? Didn’t we get anything from there that can help?” asked Teresa.

Spartan shook his head.

“From what Commander Anderson told me, the enemy were able to wipe their communication logs and software before we were able to take control of the place. Still, we now know they are much more organised than we had realised. They have been working on constructing ships in at least one location for months. The Biomech factories are the other surprise. Anderson estimated they could construct over a thousand a month at full capacity, and that’s just one site.”

“You think there will be one down here?” asked Marcus.

“Definitely. If not, then how the hell did they manage to almost seize New Carlos? From the bodies recovered, they must have started their offensive with over five thousand Biomechs as well as thousands of Zealots and volunteers.”

“Have you heard what is happening with the Biomech farms on Prometheus?” Teresa asked.

“Last I heard back on the Cruz was at the debriefing. The intel guy said the farms were being closed down and the indoctrination program had already been terminated.”

“What about the ones still in the capsules? Surely they wouldn’t just switch them off?”

“No, Teresa, Commander Anderson was clear about that. Gun, the rebel Biomech, has been liaising with our teams to help them mature naturally. Well, as naturally as is possible for creatures born inside capsules. I promised Gun they would be taken care of and Anderson said he would ensure that is exactly what will happen. The first ones are already being woken, I think they are all due to be released in a matter of days.”

“Good. They helped us, it’s only fair we return the favour.”

“True, but do you think the civilians on the surface would feel the same?” he asked as he pointed his hand up to the ceiling.

Teresa looked up at the dark soil and rock, before moving back to the video stream from the drone. Nothing had changed and the guards were still standing in the same position.

“Back to this place though, how can we get down there and in numbers sufficient to hold it?” asked Spartan.

“Glad you asked that,” replied Teresa with a grin. “If you check your tactical display, you will see there is a ventilation shaft ten metres below us that intersects with this access tunnel. If we can reach it, we will be able to cross directly into this area next to where the Zealots are.”

“Interesting, I take it you also have an idea on how we can get down ten metres?”

“Of course. This is the bit I’m sure you will like. We use the mining charges we carry for demolition work. The shaped charges can be used in sequence to tunnel our way down. If we time it right, all that we’ll need to do is use our excavators to cut through about two metres of soil wall into the tunnel.”

She lifted up one of her armoured arms, waving her cutting blade in front of the two men. “Kinda handy we have these fitted right?”

“Good work. Get on it, I want to be down there fast!” said Spartan

He clicked the button that gave him command clearance.

“Captain Hobbs. We are in position and proceeding to investigate a possible Zealot hideout. Will keep you appraised of the situation.”

“Good, I am sending more mules down to you with additional supplies, as well as two squads of marines. Keep in touch,” came the curt response.

“Marines? Do you get the impression she is worried we’re going to claim all the glory before she can get stuck in?” Teresa asked.

Spartan shook his head. “I don’t get it, there’s more than enough blood to go around. It’s not if you’ll see the enemy down here, it’s just a case of when.”

Marcus approached and stopped in front of them.

“Sir, we’ve positioned the explosives and the sequence is ready to go. It’s a six staged charge and should create a shaft deep and wide enough for two Vanguards to access at a time.”

“Good. Have you double-checked the thickness of the wall we’ll need to break through?”

“Yeah, from the samples it looks like about fifteen seconds of digging before we breach the shaft wall, then it’s a straight line right to the bad guys.”

“You ready?” Spartan asked as he looked at Teresa, she nodded back.

With a light tap, he connected to the Vanguard closed communication channel.

“Marines, you know the plan. We have hostiles in position and guarding a tech asset. It looks like they are small in number and lightly armed. Intel is the primary objective here, so I want no weapons fire, this is all knife work. Your armour is easily sufficient. I will lead 2nd Squad, 3rd Squad will follow directly behind. As soon as the room is secure, we will spread out and control as much of the complex as possible. The layout is unknown, so we will have to improvise and adapt.”

He turned to his right where Teresa stood patiently.

“Sergeant, you and 1st Squad will stay and guard this area and act as a mobile reserve. You will have marines as backup, so if you’re needed they can stay behind for protection. I need you to provide overwatch and to monitor the drone. Can you get any more eyes down there?”

Teresa was evidently unimpressed at being left behind. “I have two more, I’ll see what I can do.”

Spartan looked back at the assembled Vanguard Marines. They stood in silence, awaiting their orders.

“Remember, once we are inside you will keep your weapons on safe, unless we are attacked. Killing a few more Zealots might make you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside, but it won’t help the war. We need hard intel, and we need it fast! Got that?”

A chorus of acknowledgements reverberated across the audio channel.

“Good, get into position and do a final check on your gear.”

The first squad moved a short distance away from where the charges had been set. The next stayed further back. Spartan looked over to Teresa, she was making a few adjustments to the drone. She turned and waved.

“Go, go, go!” he cried.

Sergeant Lovett hit the trigger and a single flash filled the corridor with smoke. Spartan felt the ground shake beneath him, but before he could adjust his footing, the additional blasts continued as the mining charges burnt their way through the floor. In seconds the hole was cut and the shaft itself was packed full of thick dust.

“Switch to infrared and thermals and get cutting. Fire team One, go!” shouted Spartan.

The first two jumped the relatively long distance into the newly created pit. It was much too far for a normal man to make safely, but the shock absorption of the Vanguard armour easily cushioned the blow. No sooner had they hit the floor than they were already hacking into the dirt.

“Sergeant Morato, the guards?” asked Spartan.

“One of them has left, the others are waiting. I don’t think they suspect direct action against them.”

“Lieutenant, we’re nearly through!” called Sergeant Lovett.

In the pit he tore out great chunks of dirt and rock. Before they knew it, the first two Vanguards were through the wall and pushing into the gap. The hole was a metre short of the tunnel, so they needed to duck before they dropped down into the main shaft.

“We’re in!” said Lovett.

“Take up positions and wait, I want four more before we attack.”

Spartan jumped in along with another Vanguard. As he hit the soil, he struggled to establish his orientation in the lighting conditions.

“Keep your lights off, move forward,” he said, this time more quietly.

They moved into the access tunnel, Lovett and Spartan took the lead position. Immediately behind them followed four more Vanguards, each of them covered in the dark grime and dirt of the tunnel. Spartan looked through his visor, spotting the flagged marker that showed the position of the room where the Zealots were stationed. It looked like the access shaft alongside the room. He pointed to the three nearest Vanguards, who portioned themselves along the wall, each facing it as though the wall itself was the enemy.

“They are behind this wall. It isn’t thick, one or two strikes should clear it. The rest of you will move out and secure the flanks. Stay with your buddies and watch for Biomechs. Ready?”

The nearest Vanguard nodded in agreement. Spartan pushed his armoured fists up to the wall and turned to check on the rest, they were ready.

“Sergeant Morato, any change?”

“Sir, one is missing, the rest are looking about. I think they’ve heard you.”

Spartan knew he had to make a decision, either they attacked or they aborted the mission. A delay would leave them exposed with limited movement underground.

“Go!” he shouted.

Pushing his fist forwards, he easily penetrated the wall and tore open a hole, almost a metre wide. No sooner had he created the gap, his thermal sensors showed movement inside. Two more strikes and he had weakened the structure sufficiently to smash through. Lumbering inside, he caught his foot and stumbled, his left knee dropping to the ground. Tapping the lighting switch on his shoulder, the lights flicked on. The Zealots, though blinded and surprised, drew their firearms and started shooting. They were ineffective and with a quick swipe, he was able to cut through the chest of the nearest before he had even stood up.

To the left, two of the Vanguards broke inside and started cutting and smashing any Zealots they could reach. At the end of the room two men entered, both swinging razor sharp halberds and rushing towards the Vanguards. One was cut down as an excavator blade smashed into his chest, but the second actually reached one of the marines. Lifting the weapon he swung it hard, the blade smashing into the hardened metal armour. It was a futile gesture and simply shattered upon impact. The Vanguard responded by removing the man’s head clean from his body with a quick horizontal slashing movement. It was violent and bloody, but in less than ten seconds only the Vanguards were standing, each of the Zealots now a bloody mess on the floor or walls.

“Good work people! Clear the area and watch for enemy reinforcements!”

“Sergeant Morato, we’re in. Move the drone ahead and scout for activity. 3rd Squad, move up and link up with 2nd Squad. I want a cordon of two hundred metres established in all directions.”

“Sir, the next room has an active data link running!” said Sergeant Lovett across the open communication line.

“Excellent, put one fire team in the room, get the rest of your units out and clear the corridors. If there’s intel down here, I want it!” he said, before connecting to the units back in the corridor.

“Sergeant, let Hobbs know what we’ve found. We need a tech team with full gear in the next five minutes. If this connection is live, it could be the first one we have found since the start of the war.”

“Already passed it on, the Captain says she is coming down with a security team and tech squad. ETA ten minutes.”

Spartan turned to Marcus, who was busy pushing one of the Zealots off his serrated digging blade.

“Great, she’s coming in,” said Spartan with a sardonic grin.

*

Admiral Jarvis marched into the small briefing room, flanked by two guards. As she moved inside, a group of officers stood smartly to attention. Most were dressed in the long dark coats of the Naval Intelligence staff, only General Rivers stood out as being different. Once she was inside the room, the guards left and closed the door behind her.

“Gentlemen, I take it you have news?” she asked, barely able to hide her anticipation.

One of the men in the long coats drew her attention. He wore no insignia, as was standard for the department, Even the Admiral was wary when around them. The world of intelligence and espionage was one of intrigue, spying and betrayal, areas she preferred to leave to them.

“We believe we have enough evidence to suggest the Victorious wasn’t simply captured by the enemy. From the data we have managed to extract from the AI hub, recovered by Admiral Churchill’s team, we obtained several Ident codes.”

“Ident codes?” asked General Rivers.

“They are unique codes for the command and control systems on our warships. They’re used to uniquely identify systems and ships in the Fleet, for communications and data transfer,” explained the Admiral.

“Indeed,” added the Intelligence Officer. “What is most interesting, is that all the codes we have decrypted correlate directly with traitor vessels or installations that turned against our forces during the initial uprising.”

“You’re suggesting a central source for controlling them?” asked the Admiral.

The officer shook his head in disagreement.

“Not quite. The communication is encrypted, but appears to be a sequence of triggers. It appears likely this information was more a timer for the actions of various groups and equipment.”

“A computerised starting pistol then?” asked the General.

“Essentially, yes, that is right. A series of data packets were sent to a large number of destinations, with timed sequences of orders to be carried out.”

“Interesting, I’m not entirely sure how this helps us though. I assume there is more?” she added.

The officer turned to one of his comrades and nodded. As he moved back, a woman in almost identical clothing stepped forward to speak.

“Admiral, what we have found is based upon the information retrieved from the damaged systems by Commander Anderson and his team on Prometheus. We used the data retrieved from the computer systems to establish a temporary link with the master signal. It didn’t last long, less than ten seconds, before it was re-sequenced and then cut off.”

“What did you find?” she asked suspiciously.

“The factories and research laboratories are being sent control orders directly from a single source. If we are correct, it is also being used to send signals to a very interesting set of ground installations through this System.”

“Let me guess, Prometheus and Kerberos?” asked General Rivers.

“Yes, specifically the Ministry of Defence on Yama City, the post now controlled by the Church of Echidna.”

“I thought the Church was part of the command structure, possibly the political wing of the insurgents.”

“That may well be, but the technology, the financing and strategy are being controlled from a remote source. If our findings are accurate, the Church is just one of the groups working for, or in, collaboration with this source.”

“Your team on Prometheus discovered something similar, did it not, General?”

“Yes, Admiral, according to Sergeant Spartan, the technicians told him the Prometheus compound received its control orders and direction from a source known simply as the Core. We assumed it was a ship or base somewhere in the Proxima System.”

“Not here,” interrupted the Intelligence Officer. “Our data shows the signal streams are coming directly from the Anomaly,” she said seriously.

The room was silent for a moment, as General Rivers and Admiral Jarvis considered the gravity of this important piece of information.

“If you are right, this means the entire Proxima uprising is being monitored, funded and controlled by parties in Alpha Centauri. How can they respond quickly enough with the time difference?” asked the General.

“It isn’t like that. The probe we sent was able to send a signal back through the Anomaly, before it was destroyed. If a signal can be sent though that point, then the enemy would have a delay of only eight hours between the Anomaly and Prime. That is easily enough time to organise major operations or to start new manufacturing tasks.”

“This would explain why they need the AI hubs in the System. A delay of roughly eight hours would make it impossible to remotely manage complicated systems such as warships.”

“That is our interpretation also. From the intelligence obtained by Commander Anderson on Prometheus, Agent Johnson on Kerberos and the data recovered by the 7th Fleet, it seems clear that the enemy forces in this System are under the direct command of forces in Alpha Centauri. The actual running of the conflict requires a faster response and a more central form of leadership, that can rally citizens and organise violence on a city-based level.”

“Like the Church of Echidna and the Zealots?” asked General Rivers.

“Yes, it would appear so. If I am to understand that the Church and its resources are under the control of parties outside this System, then that will be both a problem and an opportunity. If we can cut off the forces from their high command, we may find these forces will become less well organised and vulnerable to being attacked piecemeal,” suggested Admiral Jarvis.

General Rivers shook his head in disagreement.

“No, I don’t think so, Admiral. It is understandable that the enemy would be receiving intelligence and strategy from Alpha Centauri. But I cannot believe for a moment that the forces in this sector are incapable of mounting an effective operation without their assistance.”

The female Intelligence Officer lifted her hand, indicating she had something to say.

“The communication from the Anomaly is not continuous, so we can conclude that their facilities, ships and forces in this System are to function independently of their command structure.”

Admiral Jarvis considered their comments, before moving to the computer system in the middle of the room. With a few hand gestures, she accessed the strategic map of the Proxima Centauri Star System and its eleven planets. She examined the dispositions of the colonies and the known enemy forces, before turning to her audience.

“Assuming this information is correct, then we have three simple choices if we want to end this war, and quickly. Believe me, a quick end is my top priority. My suggestions are as follows.”

She brought up the location of the Anomaly. A short distance away was a blue icon, indicating the small task force already on its way to the location. Admiral Jarvis pointed at the location.

“Option one, we move directly to the Anomaly and take the fight to whoever is responsible. We take the bulk of the Fleet and hope that once through, we can isolate the headquarters of the enemy and completely destroy it. This, of course, still leaves us with the enemy forces here to contend with. We could then bring reinforcements back with us for a general offensive. Option number two, we concentrate our efforts on the enemy forces here and cut them off from their base of support in Alpha Centauri, by blockading the Anomaly. The last option is to ignore the Anomaly, using every ship at our disposal to destroy them once and for all. What do you think, General?”

General Rivers shook his head and turned away from the display.

“Well?” asked the Admiral impatiently.

“I appreciate you want to get this offensive over, trust me, so do I. I’m concerned at the level of intelligence we currently have. We know a little about their command and control, but nothing about the leadership, their motives and strategy and most importantly of all, their disposition. How many ships do they actually have? What about factories, like the one we now control on Prometheus?”

“You surprise me, General, I thought you would have been the first to want to strike the enemy,” she said.

“Of course, but not without knowing what we face. With the planetary militias calling in their army units, our remaining forces are heavily depleted. My ground forces currently consist of just three Marine battalions and nine fully operational, equipped and mobile Army battalions. I’ve got another fifteen spread throughout garrisons, most on Prime, of course. That isn’t enough to occupy one minor planet or even a major colony, let alone to conduct a continuous war. We might have the ships, but do we have the manpower to actually take and hold ground?”

“I’m assuming you have a suggestion?”

General Rivers straightened up and gave a wry smile.

“You sensed that? Well, a slight modification to your last option might give you the fast offensive that you want, as well as providing the troops and intel that I think we need to continue the war effort.”

“Go on,” she said enthusiastically.

“We blockade the Anomaly and send in scouts to investigate the route. They can make contact with Terra Nova and establish the situation there. Ideally, we can open up a resupply route. If not, we can block or mine the area to stop ships using it. As you know, I can get most of the infantry off world and on ships in less than forty-eight hours. I recommend we adopt a planet hopping strategy. We hit a populated planet first, clear the enemy and set up forward bases and recruitment centres. We leave behind a small number of troops to train the locals and draft new battalions from the local population.”

“Then we load up and move the Fleet to the next location, land the troops and do the same?” she replied as she considered his ideas.

“It will be slower than I had hoped, but it does have benefits. By keeping the Fleet and the ground forces close together, we can maximise our effectiveness. The only real problem with this is, that it will allow the enemy free reign to move through the sector and attack at will.”

“That is true, Admiral. I therefore propose we select targets we can secure quickly at the beginning. We need maximum results in the shortest possible time. I would suggest either Agora or Orthrus. Both have seceded, and I can guarantee the population will already be reeling under the occupation.”

“Yes, this is more like it,” said the Admiral, with what looked like a happy expression. She turned to the intelligence staff that had been stood quietly.

“Do you have any intelligence that could be of assistance with this strategy?” she asked.

“Analysis of the limited data, from the probe sent into the Anomaly, confirms that the link to Alpha Centauri through the Anomaly appears stable. We were unable to ascertain the situation on the other side, other than two points. The first is that the final image, after substantial enhancements, shows the planet appears as it should. There are no major landmass changes or atmospheric alterations.”

“Why the landmass changes?” asked General Rivers.

“There is always the possibility that the rift may affect both time and distance. It may be that objects crossing could find themselves at a radically different time period. Our science teams stated it was unlikely, but we had to check.”

“Is that even possible?” he asked.

“Our theoretical physicists argue between themselves about it. Ultimately our evidence says no, so it isn’t an issue. The second point is that on the extreme periphery of the image, we found this.” She handed over her datapad.

General Rivers and Admiral Jarvis stared carefully at the blurred and heavily damaged image. It wasn’t immediately clear, until the Intelligence Officer pointed out the faint blue tint in the corner, showing the edge of the planet’s atmosphere.

“A ship? What is the problem with that?” asked the Admiral.

“We have analysed this image for more than three days and have produced this approximate design. We estimate our figures are about seventy percent accurate.”

She brought up a three-dimensional model of a vessel. It was about the size of a Confed frigate, but much rougher in shape and unlike anything the Admiral had seen before. The two most distinctive parts were the engines and the weapons arrays, both were more substantial than anything the Confederacy used.

“What the hell is that?” demanded the Admiral, her tone suggested both anger and surprise.

“We’ve checked out records and so far, the only matches that we have are for the drive system here,” she pointed towards the rear of the ships. “We found designs using the same parts in the factories on Prometheus, though they are much more powerful than would be required for a craft of that size. The data sent to us by Commander Anderson’s research team, suggests the site has been running for over a year and they have the means to produce a vessel roughly every six to eight weeks.”

“I saw the report, I assumed the craft were small transports for their infantry. Are you suggesting they have been building warships? Why haven’t we seen them?”

“That was our first assessment, Admiral. Following the reconstruction created, based on the images from the probe, our assessment has been revised.”

The Admiral looked over to the General before looking back to the Intelligence Officer.

“With these characteristics, it is highly probable that they have built different classes of ship, though none bigger than the projected design here. Records from Prometheus customs databases show two privately registered passenger liners that roughly match the engine configuration. It is therefore our assessment that an unknown number of these vessels may be throughout the sector. There is a very strong possibility that some of them may have been travelling through the Anomaly. If the enemy has other factories, it is possible more vessels could have been built.”

Admiral Jarvis sighed as she examined the data. She checked through the records and looked at the file on the two passenger liners. There were clear similarities between the grainy images and the projected design created by the Intelligence staff.

“In our last report, we highlighted the reconnaissance runs that confirmed no activity on the colonies. The only locations lacking in reliable reconnaissance are Agora or Orthrus,” said the officer.

“Agora? Unlikely, the planetary resources are minimal and the population smaller than Kerberos. They would have to shift substantial resources to the surface and that would have been noticed. The only reason Prometheus went hidden for so long was because it was well below the surface and on a planet, with an abundance of raw materials and a large supply of slave labour. Orthrus is a possibility, though only in the last few months. Prior to that our Marine garrison would have reported unknown activity,” explained General Rivers.

The last officer, who until now had been silent, stepped forward and pointed to the map.

“It has been my opinion for some time, that the most likely place to construct vessels would be in relative secrecy out on the Rim. Until the uprising this was the only place, other than Prometheus, where the ships could have been built. I have been examining data from the Tamarisk mission months ago and there appears to be something very interesting going on there,” he said almost excitedly. He pushed the sequence of images onto the main display. It showed a series of heavy transports, along with one of the unknown ships.

“You will notice that this vessel seems to have the same engine and weapon configuration as the vessel at the Anomaly.”

“You’re suggesting we have seen these ships over the last year, without even realising it?” asked the Admiral.

“We are not in agreement on this issue. Though my comrade is correct, with regards to the ship, there is no guarantee it was made out on the Rim. It is fair to add that the area contains limitless source of asteroids, stations and ships. Construction of civilian vessels, as well as maintenance and repair work, is conducted there all the time and would easily mask this kind of operation,” added the female Intelligence Officer.

The Intelligence staff waited while the two senior commanders examined the information carefully. On the display, the Rim and Prometheus were a large distance apart. The planetary colonies dotted throughout the large star System had all, until recently, been part of the Confederacy. It seemed ridiculous that until only a month ago, an entire factory and research site had been discovered buried inside one of the planets itself. Admiral Jarvis checked the details on the ships, specifically the projected specification and potential for combat.

“These warships. What can you tell from the power and weapon configuration? I don’t recognise these weapon ports.”

“That, Admiral, we do not know. We will need to see one in action before that can be ascertained,” she answered.

“I don’t like this, not at all. If this is correct, we may well have a problem. What if they have managed to get warships to Alpha Centauri? That image clearly shows a potential threat waiting on the other side. Maybe the reason we’ve heard nothing for months is because the entire System has been overrun?” said General Rivers.

Admiral Jarvis nodded in agreement.

“I will send out a signal to our commander in the field. I want full reconnaissance conducted on every colony, planet and station in Proxima. I don’t care what the consequences or the risks are, we need information and fast! I anticipate a start to our operation in a matter of days. If they have the ability to build ships, it means we could be fighting a losing war if we wait any longer. Each day they get stronger, while our forces become smaller and more tired. I want reports on my desk within twenty-four hours!” she said to the Intelligence team, before turning to General Rivers.

“General. I need forces at full readiness for combat. If there are attempts being made to establish factories on seceded worlds, we will need to stop them fast. Your three Marine battalions and twenty-four Army battalions need to be embarked on ships and ready for combat operation in one week! Is that possible?”

“It won’t be easy, I’ll need to requisition civilian vessels, but it can be done. If we are planning on assaulting ground forces, I could do with more heavy infantry,” he said, also turning to the Intelligence team.

“Thank you, that will be all.”

After a series of sharp salutes the team marched out, leaving the two commanders in the room on their own. Admiral Jarvis looked ay him curiously.

“Well?”

“Have you given more thought to Lieutenant Spartan and Commander Anderson’s suggestion, regarding the Biomechs?”

“Ah, I was wondering when that would come up. The last report from Anderson says the first of them had already been awoken. I have read your report about those that helped you. I’m concerned some of you may be going a little soft on them,” she said, almost playfully.

“Soft?” answered the General, not seeing the funny side. “Trust me, I have seen enough of them and watched too many men and women die at their hands. I honestly believe the creatures we have fought have been programmed more thoroughly than even religious indoctrination. They barely think, they simply follow out their orders with ruthless efficiency.”

“Perhaps, but how is that different to us using them to fight their own?” she asked.

“I wasn’t suggesting we did that. Before Spartan left, he gave me a few ideas to think about. I’m not certain it is an ideal solution, but it does have merit.”

“Let me guess, he wanted to give the them the chance to join Confed Marine units as privates?” she asked laughing.

“You might be closer than you think. Back in the nineteenth century on Earth, several countries made use of mercenaries to supplement their armed forces. The British, in particular, made use of an actual region called Nepal where they recruited for hundreds of years. The soldiers, known as Ghurkhas, provided thousands of men over the years. It was a simple agreement, whereby the locals received greater benefits than they would ever earn living in their homeland. In return, they would fight for the British. As a reward, after their service, they were ultimately granted permission to live in Britain.”

“I’ve not heard of them. Did it work?”

“Admiral, they were cheaper than British soldiers and the equal, sometimes the better, of the local troops. Until the great colonisation of the new worlds, the European Army still contained a Ghurkha unit as part of the British Corps.”

“Thank you for the history lesson, perhaps you could tell me what your plan is then?”

“We will have several thousand strong, aggressive and homeless Biomechs with no hatred for us or the Confederacy. If we were to offer them a simple deal, a trade if you like, they agree to join the Confed military. This would be under human officers, but as a Biomech battalion. They could be armed with spare heavy weapons and close quarters gear. We have plenty in stores.”

“A Biomech army? You’re serious?”

“I know it sounds a little off, but they have the potential to provide us with a powerful shock force. Combined with our new Vanguards and the Fleet, they could give us the edge in ground combat.”

“Assuming I agreed to this, how long would it take? Surely we would need months to prepare them?” she asked suspiciously.

“Commander Anderson tells me their basic programming includes speech, simple problem solving and the use of tools. They can learn to use edged weapons in hours. Firearms will take longer, but if we give them the heavier guns, they can make up in firepower what they lack in aim. Anderson suggests a week could be enough for a rough, but workable force. Over time, we could improve their training and tactical prowess.”

Admiral Jarvis stood silent, contemplating the opportunity. She was well informed of their lack of heavy infantry. The Army personnel were competent, but many were Territorial Soldiers and not used to being stationed away from home. They lacked much of the modern equipment used by the marines, also the ability to land directly into battle. Of the twenty-four Army Battalions, only the five that formed the 12th Airborne Division, were trained and sufficiently equipped for assault operations. They were already in position on Prime, where they were assisting in training the local militias in combat tactics. This was under the supervision of General Shears, the colony’s military commander.

“Why would they do this? What can we offer them?”

“That’s simple, just two things. Firstly, we can offer them a home. Secondly, and of more importance to them, revenge. They are fully aware of what has happened, due to talks between their representative and Commander Anderson. A number have already toured the facility on Prometheus, under the supervision of Gun.”

“The Biomech that assisted your little revolt?”

“Little?” replied the General with disdain.

“Okay. I understand what you are saying. You will liaise with Anderson and set up a safe protocol. We have to ensure this doesn’t come back and bite us in the ass. The Biomechs of Prometheus will be given the chance to form battalions under our command. They will receive benefits from the Confederacy, including a place to live following the conclusion of the war, and inclusion within the Confederate family.”

“What about after the war, Admiral? Where will they live?”

“We’ll deal with that when we get to it. For now all they need to know is that the Confederacy is their friend. If they fight with us, they will be rewarded with a place in our new society.”

“Understood, I will contact Anderson immediately.”

“Good luck, General. We will need a trustworthy set of officers to command them, make sure they can keep them under control,” she said seriously.

He saluted and left the Admiral alone in the room, as she considered the gravity of what she had just done.

“Biomechs on our side? What the hell is the Council going to think about this?” she muttered to herself. Though deep inside, she doubted whether the Council even still existed. For now, the conclusion of the war was all that mattered. The politics would be left for others to worry about.

CHAPTER FOUR

The mind of the Biomech is a wondrous thing. At the heart of every one is the brain of a human subject, some taken from the recently deceased where they are put into immediate cryogenic storage and others removed from live hosts. The bodies appear a curious mixture of freshly grown tissue and organs, with the use of donor parts from others bodies. This is undoubtedly why there has been so much variation in the types of Biomechs seen on Proxima. Some being no more than animals, others more like massively oversized men. The real fear for Confed scientists is that they will be able to procreate. This possibility could result in the rise of a new, potentially more successful species than Homo sapiens.

Evolution of the Biomechs

Blue sparks of electricity flashed across the bulkheads, sending a number of workers and marines scurrying for cover. Water still dripped from the many ruptured pipes and the risk to those on the ground was great. The combat damage from the uprising in the prison facility had taken its toll on the internal infrastructure. At least one tunnel had already collapsed.

Commander Anderson watched in dismay from the high observation point in the harvesting area. He was overseeing the removal and disconnection of the equipment as it was taken away for examination. Next to him stood Sergeant Kowalski, who sent mapping and route data to the men on the likely cause of the problem. He turned to the Commander and pointed at a point on his map of the site. Anderson looked at it briefly, establishing the critical component and its site in the base. He pulled the intercom from the mount on the wall.

“The second level relay. Level three, section two. Shut it down, shut it down now!”

“We’re on it!” came the reply, as a small team of engineers scurried about, jumping over cables and doing their best to avoid the sparks. One was on the ground and being taken care of by a number of workers. Sergeant Kowalski sent additional details, so they could work their way through the labyrinthine underground site. From their vantage point, Anderson could just make out one of the men tearing open a maintenance hatch and then diving in with a number of tools. There was a final blue flash, then it was over.

“We’re clear, there was a short on the main capacitor. I’ve taken it offline,” explained one of the men over the intercom unit.

Anderson breathed a sigh of relief as he watched them make a few more subtle fixes to the unit, before sealing the hatch back down. It was dangerous and time and, as ever, was against them. He’d already lost two men because of an overloaded capacitor storage unit blowing, and he expected more to follow.

The massive underground complex was buried deep inside the planet. Tunnels and corridors ran for kilometres underground. Great rooms had been built into the hollowed out rock. It had been used until recently as a secret factory run by the Zealots, powered by the sweat and blood of slave labour. The real shock had not been the shipyards that were churning out small frigate sizes ships, but rather the harvesting areas where humans were stripped of body parts and organs to be used in the production of the Biomechs. The officer looked at the reports in his datapad, the latest information only just arriving from the sensors connected directly into the computer system. On his own datapad, Kowalski checked the figures. His expertise in computer security and networking proving especially useful in keeping the system functioning, at the same time stopping any data loss.

His latest assignment was to work his way through the masses of accumulated data on the site, the facilities, technology and specimens to get a better understanding of the Biomechs. Until now, everything had been based upon analysing the bodies. The intelligence collected so far had not been useful. He looked once more at the numbers from the harvest room, before handing the datapad to Anderson.

“You were right, Commander. The latest generation of the Biomechs seems to be using less and less of the component parts. The last iteration just used the brain, organs and nervous system of the host humans. From the analysis on those still in the cylinders, it looks like the newest models are almost fully synthetic, right down to the nervous system. The machines in the factory behind the harvesting rooms were growing bone, tissue and flesh for the creatures over a period of months. We have similar technology in Confed labs for growing replacement organs, but nothing this advanced or extreme. These Biomechs are a radical advance over the first generation we met on Prime. They are not far from being able to produce an almost fully synthetic creature. All they have left to do, is to perfect the construction of synthetic brain cells.”

Commander Anderson examined the data, his expression changing slightly as he read his findings.

“Incredible, truly incredible! The Union have the technology to ultimately create an unlimited number of synthetic creatures to carry out all kinds of tasks. They must have been working on this technology for years.”

“Longer than that, Sir. From the reports I have sent back to Naval Intelligence, the most recent operations being carried out on official Confed Labs, was for replacement organs and bones. Fusing the nervous system with artificially grown material is something that so far hasn’t been perfected, at least not officially.”

“Apart from the Biomechs of course.”

“True. I still don’t understand the whole brain and programming part. That kind of technology could transform the entire medical profession. Not forgetting that, we could engineer workers or warriors when required,” suggested Kowalski.

Commander Anderson looked at the data on his screen for a moment, specifically the numerical data on the organs and fully completed Biomechs in the tubes. He looked back to Kowalski.

“You don’t think that is what they were trying to do all along? To construct facilities that will allow the building of a new caste of human, one that is programed and malleable to suggestion? They can already make soldiers that are stronger and easier to control than our own men. From the research I’ve seen, they come out of the tubes fully capable of movement, basic orders and physical combat. If you built that facility into a large vessel, you would have the ability to replenish your ground troops in a matter of months, without having to return home.”

Kowalski said nothing, as he tried to digest what the Commander was saying.

“You’re suggesting a slave factory ship that could travel from colony to colony, where it would harvest the conquered population. For every, let’s say six people, it could create new warriors to continue the process. You honestly think they would do something like that? I know the Zealots are, well, psychotic, but this would be too much even for them.”

“Perhaps, it does seem a little farfetched. Just remember though, if we can think of it, so can they. You say they are becoming less and less reliant upon host humans. What about the brain?”

“You’re correct, Sir. Even though they can create a fully functioning nervous system, they will still need an original donor brain to connect to the system. Wiping the cells and reconfiguring them to a default state, doesn’t appear to be an issue though. There is something else, Sir, something truly worrying to me.”

“Go on, Sergeant.”

“If they can wipe and reprogram the salvaged brains from slaves, what would stop them doing the same to a non-Biomech? They could take a normal, living man like you or me and wipe our minds. Potentially even reprograming us.”

“You’re serious? If that were possible, it would allow them to infiltrate all levels of military or political structures. Good work, Kowalski, I’ll get this information over to Naval Intelligence immediately. This is some pretty heavy analysis.”

Kowalski nodded in agreement and took his datapad back from the Commander. He accessed the data files he had been working on and started encoding them with high level ciphers ready for transmission. Anderson leaned over the railing to where a large Biomech stood, looking like some kind of troll. He was armoured and still carrying the large multi-barrelled Gatling gun fitted to its arm. Though he was a Biomech, he was larger than the first models they had encountered. He appeared to be either the latest incarnation, or possibly a variant optimised for heavy combat. Gun was his name, one that Spartan and the others had bestowed upon him after he had helped their uprising. He was amongst the first two free thinking Biomechs they had met. This was apparently because of the sabotage, conducted by the turncoat Tigris, rewiring their programming to turn them against the Zealots and their allies. The programming didn’t appear to have worked too well though. Gun wouldn’t take orders, unless they suited him and he was extremely protective of his own kind. It was this that had made him the unelected, and unofficial, spokesman for the newly hatched Biomechs.

“Gun!” he shouted down to him.

The Biomech looked up in the direction of the sound, quickly spotting the Commander. His face was always stern. But those that had spent time with him were quickly learning to note the subtle changes when he seemed less serious. He raised his gun arm and grunted.

“I need to talk to you about something important. Are you busy?” he asked, expecting a cryptic and simplistic response.

“Busy? More than you!” he said and then started to laugh with a throaty roar.

Kowalski looked to the Commander.

“Is it just me, or is he getting smarter and more sarcastic?”

Commander Anderson smiled. “Yeah, I get the impression he knows far more than he lets on.” He paused for a moment, the implication being that he had something serious to say. “You’ve seen the proposal from the Admiral for the Biomechs?”

“I have, it’s pretty serious. I really can’t believe for a moment the general population will go for it. Biomechs being given a place in the Confederacy! What about the Zealots?”

“It’s not going to be easy. We are going to have to try and explain that these Biomechs are as different to those we’ve been fighting, as they are to Zealots or suicide bombers.”

“Yeah, good luck with that!” laughed Kowalski uncomfortably.

“I’ve arranged for a small group of us to meet, so that we can discuss these options with Gun. I want you and Bishop to join me to get a feel for the talks. I need as many eyes on him as possible. We can’t afford any misinterpretation. Where is Bishop anyway? I thought he was helping Gun with clearing out one of the tech labs?”

“He’s supposed to be. I think he’s doing something with Misaki,” replied Kowalski, trying to hide a smirk.

“Misaki, the woman who was in the prison with the rest of you? I thought she had something going on with Spartan?”

“No, Sir. From what I saw the two of them seem pretty cool. Spartan wouldn’t talk about it though, since then she has been helping with the clear up. Her technical skills are quite advanced, it seems she studied higher level maths in the past.”

“Really, my reports suggested her skills were in other, less intellectual areas? Well, find where they are and tell them to both meet me in the ready room in fifteen minutes. Get Gun there as well, he’s needed the most.”

Kowalski saluted and moved off down the stairs, joining the dozens of people moving back and forth carrying crates and equipment. He stopped to speak with Gun, who appeared to say nothing. The great Biomech stood like a statue and if he hadn’t moved every few minutes, he could have been easily avoided or ignored as a lump of stone.

Anderson turned back to the datapad, the small electronic device carried by most Confed personnel for communication and data access. As the images flicked past, he could check the latest information on the compound. There was little left of the final harvesting hall and most of the equipment was being loaded carefully onto pallets. It was the last area of its kind in the facility, but Gun has insisted on its closure or destruction, and Commander Anderson had no intention of alienating their newest ally. According to the figures, there were now just over two hundred fully hatched Biomechs being cared for in the improvised medical bay.

The area had been re-appropriated from the largest but empty shipyard. It was spacious and armoured, making it easily sealed from the rest of the site. Inside were the many Biomechs, along with almost a full company of medical staff and technicians ensuring they were stable and cared for. Some were already talking. Gun had explained in his own way, that he was in charge and that they were safe in that area. It was okay for now, but it wouldn’t last, especially with so many more on the way.

From his position, he saw Kowalski move off into one of the corridors, presumably on the hunt for Bishop. Anderson double-checked the wording of the agreement put out between the military high command in this sector. Admiral Jarvis was technically the Supreme Commander in this region, until contact was re-established with the President and the Council on Terra Nova.

“They had better not renege on this or Gun and his mob will make us regret it,” he said to himself, as he proceeded down the stairs.

*

The room was secure and the small group of heavily armoured Vanguards were already pushing further away to increase the perimeter. One fire team, including Spartan and Marcus, stayed in the room to check on the captured equipment and computer hardware. With his visor and suit partially open, Spartan was able to reach out and operate the computer system that was still connected to the data link. On one screen a stream of data scrolled by continually, as well as a number of images and machine reports from industrial equipment, presumably buried deep inside the site. He looked over his shoulder to Marcus, who was staring intently at the displays.

“Have you seen this kind of system before?”

Marcus shook his head, “Nope, this isn’t like anything we’ve seen in our training. If you ask me, this looks like industrial equipment, look!”

Marcus leaned forward and tapped his armoured fist gently on the MRM company logo. Spartan looked at it, its significance not registering at first.

“Ah, MRM. They ran the mining operation, right?”

Marcus nodded in agreement and moved back to the computer. He continued talking. “When they sent in the marines the first time, a lot of the security system was shutdown so that we couldn’t gain access to their systems. I’m surprised there are any still connected to the outside world.”

The two looked back at the main display unit. It was almost a metre wide and contained several separate windows that were running security and maintenance processes.

“This one?” asked Marcus, as he pointed at a satellite dish icon.

Spartan shrugged. With a quick tap, the icon expanded into a full size window showing multiple data streams. Pages of code including locations, machine identity data and control codes, whizzed by. One window, showing over a dozen Biomechs stood waiting in a room, flashed up and then disappeared.

“What the hell?” cried Marcus. He tried to get the video back.

“Tell me you’re getting this?” asked Spartan excitedly.

“Bet your ass I am.”

Marcus placed his datapad on the desk and watched as the information mirrored itself onto his unit. Looking back at the screen, a number of words kept popping up.

“Did you see that?”

“The dates?”

“No, the bit about Operation Blindfire?” added Marcus.

Spartan shook his head.

“It’s mentioned here a few times. Something about Euryale and Operation Blindfire. Is that one of our codewords, or is it something to do with the Zealots?”

Spartan was about to reply, when Marcus moved back slightly in confusion.

“Hey, that’s weird.”

“What?”

“Well, this site looks like it’s receiving a lot of high level traffic for the enemy, and one name keeps popping up. I’ve seen at least ten secure data packets to Typhon. They’re encrypted with a polymorphic cipher that will be a bitch to crack. I can’t do it myself. We’ll need some decent gear and guys that know how to use it.”

“So, Marcus? We know Typhon is behind this. Is it much of a surprise to find coded data being sent to him? I don’t see what tactical advantage that will give us, other than its propaganda value.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t a message, this is a series of orders to a group of people, and Typhon is one of those receiving it. If you ask me, it looks like Typhon himself is being sent order just like the others. One is to Typhon, the others all go to seceded colonies, all apart from one,” Marcus said as he pointed at a single message on the right side of the screen.

“What does it say?”

Marcus tried to open the file, but was stopped by a number of security warnings.

“No way, the tech teams will have to work on this. Do you recognise the Ident code?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it before, it’s the ship code for CCS Wasp. They must have somebody on the inside.”

The door to the room opened, as a matter of training and reactions, both men raised their armoured arms towards it. The group of mask-wearing technicians lifted their hands in horror. Spartan smiled to himself, before lowering his guns.

“My apologies. Knock next time!”

The most confident of the group stepped forward.

“Security Chief O’Connor, I’m here to start data capture,” he said, looking past Spartan and to the computers.

“Shit, you’ve got a live stream!” he said excitedly, pushing past the armoured torso of the two Vanguards to connect up his own computer equipment.

“Come on, let’s check the rest of this place,” said Spartan.

He left from the door at the far end of the room that led into the rest of the underground facility. Spartan went along the narrow corridor until he reached an opening that was guarded by three Vanguard Marines. The space opened up into a thick, strong archway that pushed on into a great hall. Taking a few steps forward, the twin beams from his armour could barely penetrate the dusty environment. A dozen flares burned along the sides, each provided a smouldering glow that lit only the lower parts of the corridor.

“Any idea where the signals were coming from? I mean the ones with orders and machine codes? Was there more than one source?”

“I didn’t have time to check, but I do have the coordinates on my datapad.”

“Good,” said Spartan with a smile, “can you pass the data over to my display?”

They kept moving as Marcus moved the data remotely to the other Vanguard suit, directly onto its computer system.

Inside the suit, Spartan added the data to his navigation unit, so that it could calculate positions for the data source. It took just a few seconds before a three dimensional map of the sector showed the source.

“That’s weird, according to the computer, the signal came from nowhere.”

“Nowhere?” Marcus asked.

“Just an empty piece of space about forty to fifty AU away. Nothing charted and it’s way too far to be a planet or moon.”

“Maybe it’s a ship. They could have planted a command vessel a long way out of the System, to keep it out of sight of Confed forces.”

“It’s possible, they are certainly days, probably weeks away from the reach of most ships. I’ll pass this on to Command when we get back.”

“What about Hobbs? She won’t like it if you go over her head.”

“Hobbs, who cares about her? She can play hero all she likes, this is important.”

They reached the end of the corridor and stopped, looking out into the newly secured location. It was dark, like most of the base, and just a single flare could be seen burning up ahead.

He tapped his intercom. “Sergeant Morato, any news on the power?”

“Almost ready, Sir, we’re connecting the power system through our own extension coils back to the surface. Any moment…now!”

Spartan looked left then right, from his vantage point he couldn’t see anything of note. His lamps simply faded in the vastness of the open space. On his internal monitors he could follow the rest of the marines moving about. Then a yellow flicker came from the corner and one by one a series of strip lights flickered, then turned to continuous amplification. Not all the lights worked, but enough powered up to show the shape of the area, as well as the myriad of tunnels leading from it. Sergeant Lovett stepped next to him, examining the open space in awe.

“Wow, this must have taken some work to carve out!”

“You’d be surprised what a few thousand slaves and hand tools can do, when properly motivated,” replied Spartan grimly.

The Sergeant turned back as he spotted movement in the shadows. A group of PDS armoured marines emerged from the darkness. The four-man team inched ahead nervously, closely followed by the upright and stern shape of Captain Hobbs.

“Uh, LT, behind you!” said the Sergeant, as discreetly as he could manage.

Spartan rotated his upper body slightly, keeping his feet planted. The Captain approached and stood before him, the four marines spread out to form a loose screen around them.

“Lieutenant, I see you’ve secured the area. Have you located useful intel yet?”

Spartan looked back into the cavernous open space behind her, the dust was already starting to settle. A dozen Vanguard Marines were moving about as they checked objects, abandoned machines and cabling.

“Not yet, well, not in this part of the base. The techs are busy getting all they can from the captured data stream. Have you heard anything about Operation Blindfire?”

“Blindfire? No, why?” she asked.

“It was one of the pieces of data I saw on the system before the techs arrived.”

Captain Hobbs thrust her hand forward accusingly. “You messed with the system?”

“No, I viewed some of the information being streamed. Contrary to your reports, I do have a basic background in computer systems and data handling,” said an irritable Spartan.

“Computer systems? Are you kidding me? This is highly important classified intel that could change the course of the war. I suggest you, and your team of roughriders, leave this place to my people. You can continue your sweep of the base, report back your findings in a timely manner!”

“Yes, Sir,” Spartan said with a half-hearted salute. It didn’t matter. The officer had already moved away to join her tech team and marines back in the control room.

Spartan moved away, a small group of his Vanguards joined him. They walked slowly, each of them checking the area for any signs that could be of use. He could see the disposition of his platoon on his tactical display and everyone was accounted for.

“Sergeant Morato, any news from the drones?” he asked.

“No. I lost one in the small shaft eighty metres to the west. There’s a breach in the wall and running water, the soil must have worn away and trapped the unit. I have another following one of the most recent tunnels to the north. Sergeant Lovett and his squad are already down there investigating.”

“Good work, Sergeant, how is it looking up there?”

“All good, Sir. My unit has double-checked the tunnels and set up a perimeter with mines and sentry monitors. Nothing is getting near us, without us hearing or seeing it first.”

“Watch yourselves, you know what the Biomechs are like. I don’t want to come back to find you buried under a dozen of them!”

“Understood, Sir,” she replied, trying to hide her laughter.

Spartan continued moving ahead, but altered his direction slightly to follow Sergeant Lovett and 2nd Squad. He could just make out the lights on their armour as he moved closer to them. From behind, the marines looked almost like machines. The armour was less refined on the back and parts of the power plant and ammunition stores were visible. The most vulnerable part of the armour was the external power plant unit and its exposed pipes and coolant unit. Spartan had pointed this out as a potential risk, during the latest round of armour modifications, but there wasn’t time to produce the perfect equipment. It was simply a case, of making the armour as good as it could be, with the time and resources they had available. Spartan has submitted his suggestions for a custom built model, buts it development and construction would have to wait until after the crisis was over.

He moved closer until to the rear of the group. As he reached within ten metres, two of them turned. For a brief moment, the bright light from their lamps partially blinded him. The internal warnings fired up as the built-in defence package detected armed weapons in his vicinity. For a second, he nearly grabbed for his own weapon controls but he knew what was happening, even if the others didn’t.

“Lower your weapons, it’s me!” he snarled.

The lamps dropped down on their motorised pintle mounts and his eyesight quickly started to adjust.

“Sorry, Sir, didn’t expect to see you,” said an apologetic Private Jones.

Spartan shook his head as he regained his bearings. Working underground certainly had its problems. Luckily the suits built-in blackout visor had eliminated the worst of the effect, his eyesight was already returning to normal.

“Spartan, I can’t reach Sergeant Lovett, they need to stop, now!” said a crackling message from Teresa.

Spartan didn’t even hesitate, he pushed forward to where he could see Sergeant Lovett and grabbed him.

“Stop,” he whispered.

“Sergeant Morato? Sergeant…respond?”

The intercom unit crackled and hissed, but in this position the audio was indecipherable. He tried again but to no avail. Giving a simple hand gesture, the squad and Spartan, plus the small group that had followed him, exited the tunnel and moved back to the periphery of the open hall. No sooner had they exited the tunnel, the audio returned.

“What the hell?” said Sergeant Lovett, his voice loud and overbearing inside the suits.

“Quiet. This is Lieutenant Spartan, can anybody hear me?”

“Spartan…is that you? I thought we’d lost you down there.”

“Yeah, I’ve got you, Morato. We lost contact in the tunnel, what’s going on with the comms?”

“There’s something down there, near the shaft. The drone got close, but all I managed to get was a sealed door and then lots of noises. The drone lost contact before I could withdraw it safely. Now I’m not even receiving the status signal.”

Spartan looked over to Marcus, expecting a suggestion. He nodded before speaking.

“I’ve heard about this kind of gear before. They use them to secure conference rooms and facilities. It must be a high power form of damping generator or unit. They must be protecting something in there.”

Spartan looked at his men, then back into the tunnel.

“Lovett, Keller, get your men ready. We will have to rely on hand signals and good old-fashioned violence. We’ll take both squads in. Something tells me we are going to need the numbers. You all ready?”

The Vanguards Marines nodded, each waiting for the order to commence the operation.

“Sergeant Morato, we are going in. I will leave two marines here for you to stay in contact with. Let Hobbs know what’s happening. If we don’t return in ten minutes you know what to do.”

“Evacuate the site?” she said with a subtle hint of sarcasm.

“No, you mount up and get the rest of the marines down here to save our asses!” he replied seriously.

“Understood, Sir! Good hunting!”

Spartan looked to the rest of the Vanguards, each was covered in the grime, oil and filth from working underground. It was hard to tell exactly who was who. He could normally reply upon the tactical network fitted to each suit, but with the dampening field out there, they would just be a group of men in armour. Even so, they were all fully operational, well armed and raring to go. With his single hand gesture they split up into two files, Spartan and Marcus at the front, the rest following. One more signal and they moved off. Each was carefully checking for signs of danger.

The two full squads gave Spartan ample numbers for almost any scenario, but the lack of working communication gear or data networking, meant he had to reply on his own eyes and sensors as he moved forward. After fifty metres, the tunnel became wider until they were walking on recently placed concrete.

“Strange,” he muttered quietly and stepped further ahead. The walls were reinforced and ribbed, where metal reinforcement beams must have been crossed to secure the tunnel. On the thermal imaging unit, a number of slightly different colours showed about twenty metres further on. They were much too small to be people. Spartan lifted his hand for them to stop, lowering his weapon arms while he double-checked.

The thermal imager showed almost no discernable details and the dust in the area making the lamps almost useless. The more power he redirected, the brighter the cloud of dirt. He changed the settings until one, the electronic warfare sensor, flagged something ahead as a possible power source.

“Must be the dampening field,” he whispered quietly and then stepped forward. Right behind him the rest of the Vanguard Marines followed, each scanning left to right. The two at the rear moved backwards, checking for potential enemies.

Inside the confines of the armoured suit, Spartan was starting to feel a little stiff. Stretching his left arm, he twisted his neck slightly. As he moved, he spotted something, a flick of light. Then his right arm knocked back as if he had punched a metal barrier.

“Shit!”

More metal projectiles hurled through the tunnel, each one tearing chunks from the walls or clanging against the thick, hardened armour of the Vanguards. More rounds smashed into Spartan’s chest, one even cracked the glass visor. He protected his face with his left arm and looked about at his men. One Vanguard was down on his knee, sparks and flames running down the torso. Spartan turned back, spotting the thermal signature of heavy weapons fire. It looked like a single target with multiple barrels, probably a sentry turret. Three more struck his shoulder, one tearing off a piece of armour plating and sending the internal alarms off into a panic.

“Screw this!” he muttered and pointed both arms forward. He pushed his torso forward, anticipating the recoil and then opened fire. The noise, shock and recoil from the weapons were immense. The flash obscured his vision completely, but his sensors still showed the heat and electronic signature. Three more Vanguards joined in, each of them sending hundreds of large calibre explosive rounds into the enemy.

The return fire stopped and Spartan immediately lurched forward, covering the short distance to the device. As he approached, it was clear the unit was a remotely operated weapon. A number of thick cables ran along the floor and through a metal grating on the floor. The tunnel continued on for just a few more metres, before it reached a dead end. Spartan looked back, the lights from the other marines showed they were approaching.

“Is the field down now? Can you hear me?” he asked.

Nothing but crackling and static returned.

He leaned down and examined the grate. It was thick iron and it looked like there was a drop of about five metres into a lightly lit room or space below. Spartan considered his options. He could withdraw and call for an engineering and tech team to investigate, or he could bulldoze his way in. He briefly favoured the safe, sensible option but then recalled his mission objectives. To obtain intel and technology on the enemy, and to attempt to ascertain their command structure and strategies. He could wait, but what if there were insurgents below and they were destroying evidence?

“Screw this, I want answers!” he growled then slammed his excavator arm into the ground, near the grating. The hardened metal easily smashed through the floor. In one quick movement he ripped out the large grating, exposing a hole twice his size. He looked to Marcus, who was standing next to him, and then pointed down. It looked liked he was sighing inside his suit, he could equally have been laughing. Impatient to see what was happening, Spartan jumped into the darkness and fell for what seemed an age. The impact on the ground smashed up into his legs. Though the suit absorbed the bulk of the impact, it still felt like he had jumped from several metres up onto a concrete sheet. As he straightened his back, he hit the power on his floodlights to expose the room. It was easily a hundred metres wide and packed with machines and equipment. A number of artificial divisions split the area up into what looked like work areas. A noise from above reminded him the other marines were going to join him. He jumped to the side just in time to avoid being landed on by Marcus.

Something caught his eye and he quickly turned to his right to see what looked like three enclosures. Each one was the size of a training hall, and full of life and movement. His eyes almost failed to recognise what he was seeing, until the movement erupted into what must have been at least eighty, maybe ninety, Biomechs of all shapes and sizes. Spartan lifted his gun and to his left, Marcus did the same. More marines dropped in behind them but it didn’t matter, they had to fight or be overrun in this dark hole in the ground.

Spartan pulled the trigger and gritted his teeth, the guns blazing away and cutting a swathe through the approaching horde. As they moved even closer, he recognised the creatures he had first seen during his boarding action, as well as a number of the larger creatures on Kerberos.

“Die!” he screamed, the rooms flashed yellow with gunfire from the Vanguards.

It was a massacre, the fight was over in less than twenty seconds and the area was littered with body parts and blood. Spartan’s visor was splattered with blood that gave the area a weird red glow.

Marcus stepped forward, followed by three Vanguards. He must have spotted something, as he rushed to a large metal device on the wall. Without hesitating, he fired five rounds into the unit. A bang echoed through the room and was immediately followed by some kind of shockwave that hummed through Spartan’s head.

“Spartan, are you receiving me?” came Teresa’s voice.

“Holy shit, you cleared the jamming device!” said Spartan as he waved over to Marcus.

“That’s affirmative, Sergeant Morato. We have cleared the area and the transmitter.”

He looked about the room, it was packed full of computers and electronic systems, most of which seemed to be fully operational.

“Spartan, have you seen this?”

Spartan followed his arm to where a large number of pipes and cables ran into a spherical device. As he moved closer, it was clear the object was biological. He stopped in front of the unit and looked at the pipes.

“I don’t understand. It looks alive. What is it?”

“From the shape, Sir, I’d say that we have some kind of brain connected up to this system.”

“Brain? Why connect a brain into a computer system?” he asked.

“No idea, but it would be safe from software virus issues and able to run systems without human intervention. Other than that I haven’t got a clue.”

“Captain Hobbs, Spartan here, I have something down here you will to want to see.”

The radio was quiet for a moment.

“So far, Lieutenant, all I’ve seen off your handiwork is broken hardware and bodies. What do you have?”

“Some kind of AI system, a hybrid of living brain and machine. You need to get the techs down here, fast!”

“Hybrid AI system? Maybe that’s what is running this place. Secure the area, my team will be with you shortly.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Spartan looked back at the device. The tubes running to the brain were carrying a fluid, presumably a type of artificial blood. Perhaps even real human blood. Marcus moved closer, looking at the brain in bewilderment.

“This is some weird shit, Spartan.”

Spartan turned his attention from the machine to the Sergeant.

“You’ve got that right!”

CHAPTER FIVE

The Centauri Confederacy should have been a shining beacon in the history of humanity. The first mutually beneficial empire created peacefully on new worlds. History tells us a different story, one of weakness, destruction and betrayal. A story, where the self-importance of the colonies allowed them to be subverted from within. Prime was the first of the planets to suffer unrest and the last to finally succumb to the offerings and temptations of the enemy.

Proxima Prime

The bright sun of Proxima Centauri was already flickering along the horizon and casting a dull glow across the surface of the planet. As it slowly faded, the light from the twin stars of Alpha Centauri replaced it, each casting their own hue of light across the ground. The sky was unlike anything seen on the old worlds of Mars and Earth, with their single life-giving sun. Kerberos may not be the centre of its own solar system, but it was the heart of finance and industry in Proxima Centauri. The end result of this was that the single inhabited continent on the planet was massively urbanised with factories, shipyards and commercial structures occupying vast swathes of territory. Between the corporate structures lay five major wasteland areas, each ripe for exploitation once the companies found the time and money to do so.

This industrious planet was also now the heart of the enemy camp, the base of operations for the Echidna Union and their ambitions. Officially, the government was still in control but following the coup, Typhon, the leader of the Church had become the figurehead of the drive for peace and harmony. At least, that is what all the advertising said. In reality, the smouldering remains of Fort Hood, the Confed outpost burning in the distance, told the true story. The government departments had been absorbed one by one, until they existed in name only. Rumours said that the civilians had been quickly cowed down by colonial militia, Zealot political officers and the Biomechs.

A number of fires burned as fuel and ammunition stores continued to expend themselves in a fiery mess. Corporal Jenkins surveyed the lost position through his binoculars, before sliding back down the dusty slope to the well-worn riverbed.

“Captain, I’ve got two patrols moving towards us, ten-plus infantry and a pair of Biomechs. They look serious, I mean really serious. They are following a standard search pattern.” The Corporal had lost his helmet at some point in the fighting, his armour was scorched and marked.

“What about equipment? Are they armoured? Heavy weapons?”

“Uh, Captain. The Biomechs are the big ones, you know, the ones that were on the news on Prime. One of them has a big gun on his arm, I couldn’t tell about the other one.”

“What about the infantry?”

“They’re regulars, Sir. Army uniforms and armour from what I could tell.”

“Army? You sure they aren’t looking for us?”

A rattle of small arms fire erupted from the distance, along with a series of explosions and shouting.

“I think they’re looking for us alright, Sir. The local Army units must be working for the Union now.”

As the Captain stood with a bewildered expression on his face, the other marines and soldiers started talking, at least one of them turning to head back. There was a series of heavy weapons fire, from no further than a kilometre away, it was quickly followed by a chorus of shouting.

“The bastards, I said we couldn’t trust them. This whole thing is just a coup by the socialist unions to do less work!” snapped one of the soldiers.

A marine, still wearing his scorched PDS suit, moved up to him, a look of cold anger in his face.

“Unions? Are you kidding me? Didn’t you see the news? The public wanted to split from us. Less work, no military service with housing and welfare for all. Why wouldn’t they want it?”

He turned away, firing off one final salve as he walked off. “You reap what you sow and right now, I don’t think they are partying in the streets in Yama City.”

The group continue to make slow progress, each of them weighed down by the equipment they’d managed to salvage prior to their escape. They all carried side arms and rifles, but were woefully lacking in heavier ordnance or explosives.

“What’s that?” shouted one of the men. A vicious barrage that crashed all around them immediately answered him. The shockwave threw them to the ground, covering them in dirt and dust. Captain Erdeniz stood up, shaking his head as he tried to clear the ringing in his head. Special Agent Johnson moved closer, but before he reached the officer another artillery barrage forced them down to cover. Sporadic gunfire indicated somebody was still alive to shoot back. One of the marines started to get up to try and climb up the embankment so he could shoot, before being dragged back down by the Captain. He pulled him down so hard the man rolled to the bottom, landing on his back in the dust.

“Keep your head down, you idiot! If they spot us we’ll be dead in less than a minute! It isn’t just you, we have the last survivors of the Fort here. The time for being a hero is over, now it’s time to survive!” he said angrily.

More shells and rockets continued to land in the distance. At least one other group was trying to do the same as them. With a quick hand gesture, the Captain ordered the group of marines and soldiers to move along the riverbed, away from the scene of the devastated base. Towards the front was Special Agent Johnson, but now he wore a rough camouflaged jacket and a borrowed army helmet.

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

“Well, you managed to get your intel off planet. Hopefully, it is on its way to Naval Intelligence and they can do something with it. As far as we are all concerned, we have a simple job. Number one, it is our duty to avoid capture and to survive.”

“After that?”

“Assuming we survive, we will work out how we can fight back and get these bastards off the planet. Trust me, Confed will eventually regain control of these colonies. For now, we have to keep our heads down and find a way to get in touch with the Fleet. When they arrive they will need all the information we can get. Who knows, if we’re smart, we might even be able to cause a bit of trouble down here and make their arrival a little easier.”

The Special Agent nodded in agreement, looking behind to check on the rest of the men.

“Captain, you’ve not led ground troops before, right?”

“No, why?”

“It’s strange. I’ve not met a Naval officer before that grunts would listen to in a situation like this. Have you seen combat?”

“You’re kidding? I was on the Crusader over Prime. We saw combat alright, a good portion of the crew was killed. Why do you think I’ve been promoted so fast?”

“Right, I heard about the battle. The video feeds were shown extensively after the victory. The reports said Confed Marines boarded the ship and gutted her from the inside. Is that true?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Zero-G combat on board a warship isn’t fun, though.”

“Get down!” cried one of the marines. The call was just in time as three Army Lightning MK I Fighters appeared. They were the older two-man craft, equipped with automatic cannons and air to ground missiles and rockets. Although much the same design as the more modern space-based fighters, these craft were unable to leave the atmosphere. This inability to leave the planet was down to the avionics, jet engines and fuel the fighters carried. To offset this weakness, they carried greater numbers of ground attack weapons and ammunition than the more advanced space superiority fighters. They were the perfect multi-role fighter-bombers and deadly to exposed infantry. They rushed past, leaving a screaming howl behind them as they moved off into the distance. A smoke trail from one arced downwards, striking a hidden target. Several seconds later, the dull crump of the blast rolled across the countryside.

“Poor bastards, the Union must be picking off survivors, small groups like us,” said a despondent Jenkins.

“Listen, there are fifteen of us. We have the equipment, skills and knowledge to survive out here. If we stay in the open, we’re screwed. I suggest we get to the outskirts of Yama City and make shelter in one of the construction sites. There are less people there and plenty of cover,” suggested Captain Erdeniz.

Special Agent Johnson nodded in agreement.

“Makes sense, Captain. When I left the city, the Union were organising groups of militia under Zealot commanders to patrol the streets. If they spot Confed personnel, I reckon they’ll be shot on sight. This isn’t a revolution. It’s extermination of any that oppose them. I wouldn’t be surprised to find them establishing camps throughout the colony.”

Captain Erdeniz looked at him whimsically, surprised at his suggestion.

“What? You think it won’t happen? Trust me, it has happened before and it will happen plenty of times again. The tradition of locking up the opposition goes back millennia. Don’t forget though, after incarceration you often find extermination!”

Captain Erdeniz nodded slowly in agreement.

“You’re right, it is a strong possibility and something we need to get evidence of. Do you have any contacts we can make use of in the city?”

The Special Agent pulled a small paper notebook from his pocket and waved it at him.

“This is all I was able to smuggle out. It’s low tech, but I do have coded entries for several contacts and suppliers. I don’t know if they are still active but they’re our first option.”

“Good,” said the Captain, turning to the rest of the group. “Keep your heads down and keep moving. We have a journey of twenty klicks to the outskirts and we need to get there in one piece. Let’s go!”

The small group, barely more than a normal marine squad, continued to move ahead. Their progress was slow, but each step took them one further from the burning ruin of Fort Hood.

*

The Crusader, the only battlecruiser in the Fleet, fired its engines and started the slow change of course that would push it out of the powerful gravitational pull of the gas giant Khimaira. As the mighty warship moved away, it was joined by a number of smaller vessels, each one taking up position to provide escort or supplies for the ship.

“Admiral, we are receiving a message from an approaching ship, the recognition codes are from the CCS Aurora, one of the Leander class frigates that defected at the start of the uprising.”

“What is their course?” she asked.

“They are in high orbit around Khimaira and en route to reach our position in less than thirty minutes,” replied the tactical officer.

“How did they get so close?” asked a confused sounding Captain Tobler. He’d only just transferred from the 7th Fleet. He was possibly the most experienced warship commander in that Fleet, but he was still getting used to the ship and its crew. The Admiral had seen the reports on the epic escape of the survivors of the Fleet. She had tried her best to keep the crews together but she’d desperately needed an exceptional officer to replace the losses on the Crusader.

“Unknown, Sir, they just appeared on the scanner.”

Captain Tobler looked concerned and moved quickly to the right of the CiC, where Lieutenant Nilsson was at her communication console.

“Lieutenant, respond with audio only. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Aye, Sir.”

She turned to the display and tapped her earpiece.

“This is the Battlecruiser CCS Crusader to unidentified vessel. Please respond.”

Commander Andrews, now promoted to the position of Executive Officer, stood a short distance away, observing the situation from his own tactical console. Unlike the Captain, he was at home in the CiC, having spent the last two tours as the ship’s senior tactical officer. There wasn’t another person on the ship with his skill and knowledge of the flagship of the Fleet. Lieutenant Nilsson continued to broadcast, but after four more attempts turned back to the Captain.

“Nothing, Sir. They are receiving us but not replying. It’s as if there isn’t anyone on board the ship.”

“Keep trying, Lieutenant. If they are not replying, it must be either because they are unable or unwilling to.”

That was enough for Commander Andrews, who pulled the intercom from the computer terminal in front of him and hit a button on the control board. The lights in the CiC dimmed and were quickly replaced by red emergency lighting.

“This is the XO, we are under possible attack. Battlestations! All crew to their stations! This is not a drill! All gun positions ready in sixty seconds! Secure outer sections and open the gun ports. Prepare for battle!”

Admiral Jarvis, from her position in the middle of the room, examined the vertical tactical display. This was the strongest Fleet she had yet been able to assemble and it seemed odd to send a single ship this close to them. Captain Tobler approached and checked the disposition of the Fleet with her.

“Thoughts?” she asked.

“I’ve seen this before. Sometimes they send a single ship packed with weapons, possibly nukes for our vessels. We split up and the blast causes confusion. That’s usually when the raiders move in for the kill.”

“I agree, Captain. Get Wasp to send her CAP to intercept. If the ship has friendly intentions it can stay at a safe distance, otherwise she can burn. If what you say is true, this ship could have the equipment on board to cripple half my Fleet!”

“Burn? Are you sure, Admiral? We can always try and force them to a safe location.”

“No, we don’t have time for this. Either they stop, or they burn. There are no other options. I do not have a single ship I can spare. The loss of one capital ship could be the end of our counter offensive. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Admiral,” he replied curtly. He wasn’t completely happy about the attitude of the Admiral. He had seen just as much combat against the Zealots and their allies, perhaps more, yet the Admiral seemed to be taking the war personally. He could understand her argument, but he was just as concerned at the possible loss of the frigate to overzealous gunners. A frigate was hardly a major ship, but it had its uses and could be carrying hundreds of valuable military or civilian personnel.

He looked carefully at the tactical display and checked the disposition of the Fleet. A quick scan and he found the correct ships and also noted the icons showing the three groups of fighters circling the Fleet. He tapped the visual representation of CCS Wasp, the Fleet’s main carrier, and requested a video link with the captain. It took just seconds before the image of Captain Hardy appeared.

“Captain, the Admiral wants birds in the air to intercept the hostile. How close is your CAP?”

There was a brief pause before the Captain replied.

“Already on the way. I have four Lightning fighters roughly three minutes out. They have orders to perform a full scale reconnaissance.”

“Understood. The Admiral’s orders are to move the ship to the outer marker or to fire on her. She is not to be allowed inside the defence perimeter. If she does do so, then our guns will be turned on her.”

“Sounds sensible, we can’t take the chance. Let the Admiral know two of the fighters are equipped with Skua anti-ship missiles. They have the firepower to do the job. They are already patched into your tactical systems. The Admiral can monitor the operation from your CiC. Wasp out.”

Captain Tobler lowered the intercom, still slightly surprised at the brisk, almost indifferent response he had received from the senior officer of the Fleet’s carrier. He watched the officers move about the CiC, each of them helping organise the escorts and fighters to screen the battlecruiser from the potential threat. He looked back at the screen, double-checking the dispositions and noted that the Fleet was properly spaced. He must be missing something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Surely the enemy wouldn’t waste one of their ships in a futile rush towards the large number of warships, unless they had a trick up their sleeve?

*

Commander Anderson stood in the roughly repaired command centre. The bloodstains from the fighting had gone, but it still looked nothing like a Confed installation. Bishop, Kowalski and Gun were standing near him as they watched the large video screen. In the middle, was the oversized and slightly distorted image of General Rivers.

“Commander, good to see you again. I have read your report and understand you have confirmed our agreement with Representative Gun?”

“Yes, General. As per your instructions, all combat units are being loaded onto the ships and prepared for battle. So far, we have nineteen hundred Biomechs woken and the same number still in their capsules. The first group have agreed to the proposals and Gun here has an understanding with them.”

“I see, go on?”

Gun looked to the Commander and then at the screen. He appeared a little confused at the image, perhaps wondering how the General was able to speak without being there. Either that, or he was just thinking about something else.

“General. My people fight for two reasons. We fight to be free, we fight for revenge!” he snarled.

“I understand. I will do my best to ensure you get both. Commander Anderson, what is the status of the nineteen hundred? Are they ready for combat?”

“Not quite, Sir. Their discipline is, well, a little unorthodox and they have only the basics of firearm control. They will follow orders though and can fight.”

“How about officers?”

“I have selected a team of officers and NCOs from the people I have here to provide a full complement of twenty companies. You have your two battalions, Sir.”

“Excellent. You have been allocated the civilian heavy transport, the Yorkdale. She has been drafted into service and is the largest and toughest civilian ship in that sector. Ensure the Biomechs are loaded and ready to leave in twenty-four hours.”

“What about the rest, Sir?”

“They can stay on the site until they are ready. I assume that is acceptable?” he asked, looking specifically at Gun.

“Yes, they are the last. We are not Biomech!” he stated firmly.

“I’m sorry? What?”

“General, I forgot to add. During our discussion, the term Biomech was raised. It is offensive to Gun and his comrades. They are not happy with the same name used for the enemy.”

“I assume they have something in mind?”

“Yes, Sir. One of the techs here made a joke and referred to Gun as a Jötnar. Apparently it is the name of some kind of mythical giant. The Biomechs have already started calling themselves Jötnar. Most of the personnel here have started doing the same.”

“I see. Well, you presented me with a fait accompli. Jötnar it is. It was the intention to name the units as the 1st and 2nd Biomech Battalions. I assume the 1st and 2nd Jötnar Battalion will be the correct nomenclature?”

Gun nodded and then turned and grinned towards Bishop, who did his best to try and avoid looking directly at him.

“There is one final thing I wish you to all consider, especially you Gun. As the leader of your people, and the most experienced warrior amongst them, it would be useful to give you a position in the Confederate Military. Command structure is important and this will integrate you into our military system.”

“What position?” asked Gun.

“Leaders of allied or mercenary units have been called many things in the past. We have not done this before in the Army or Marine Corps, though. My suggestion is we make you their Commander. You are both a leader and a warrior. This will ensure your people, and ours, understand your status.”

Gun looked at him with a confused expression.

“Ko’mandor?” he asked with difficulty in pronouncing the word.

“No. It is Commander,” repeated Commander Anderson.

General Rivers interrupted them both, seemingly irritated by the time being taken on semantics.

“Ko’mandor is just fine.”

Commander Anderson looked less than convinced at the news.

“Is he being given an honorific title, Sir, or is this an actual military position?”

“This isn’t a joke, Anderson. The Admiral and I are concerned that if the Biomechs, no, I mean Jötnar, are to integrate into our forces they will have to join us formally. Commander Gun and his Jötnar will be an important and valued part of the Confederacy.”

Gun looked to Anderson and the others, smiling in his own crooked and slightly sinister way.

“Ko’mandor Gun. Yes, that is it.”

General Rivers moved to the side of the screen, presumably to access an onboard computer on his ship. One of the displays in the room flashed and a map displaying ship dispositions appeared. He continued speaking.

“The Promethean Fleet and all ground forces will leave the colony in twenty-four hours. You are to leave a token defence force, we need everybody you can muster for the counter offensive.”

“May I ask the destination, General?”

“You’ll know shortly, Commander, in the meantime get your people ready. One day and you move out.”

“Understood, General. Is there any news from the Fleet, Sir?”

The General paused for a moment before leaning in closer to the camera, the consequence being his head appeared to grow even larger. Gun stepped back, uncomfortable at what looked like a giant General Rivers.

“The Fleet is assembling and in good shape. We have enough ships and ground forces to start the fight back. Admiral Jarvis has established a plan that once put into practice, will start the slow and steady reversal of our fortunes. I don’t know how long it will take, son, we will return every colony to the Confederate fold though, I promise you that.”

“Excellent, that’s what we wanted to hear.”

The officers saluted and the screen faded out to black. Gun started to laugh, the low rumble from his throat filling the room.

“What’s so funny, Gun?” asked Bishop.

“Ko’mandor!” he said with a pause in the middle of the word. He then turned to leave the room. It was just a subtle alteration of a common word, but in Gun’s voice it sounded like something new and alien, a perfect companion to the even stranger sounding Jötnar.

Bishop and Kowalski looked in confusion at Anderson. The officer shrugged and smiled back at them.

“Don’t ask me, you’ve spent more time with him than I have!” he laughed. “Just make sure the ships, weapons and troops are ready. You heard the General. There’s a big operation coming and we need every fighter on the front line. Kowalski, I want tech teams to double their efforts on the defensive systems. How far away are you from integrating the compound’s defences to our own tactical network?”

“Well, the estimate was another three days. I’ll see what we can cut out and get as much online as possible.”

“Good. If we’re taking most of our forces away from here, we’ll need as much of the automated defence system operational to keep this place secure.”

“Yes, Sir,” replied the two men who saluted and then marched off, leaving just the Commander in the room.

“Jötnar Battalions? They won’t know what hit them!” he said to himself.

*

The journey from the surface had been uneventful. The shuttles were already making their way out of the atmosphere and into high orbit around the planet. As the glow from the planet faded, it was possible to make out the flicker of stars in the blackness of space.

“There she is!” said Teresa happily.

Spartan tried to lean towards the window, but the combination of the harness and the acceleration forced him down into his seat. He turned his head and strained to see in the direction she was pointing.

Marcus, who was sitting behind them, tapped Spartan on his shoulder.

“Watch yourself, Lieutenant, you might strain something!”

Spartan twisted behind. “Funny!”

He looked out through the small viewport on the vessel, where he could just about get a glimpse of the ship. The CCS Santa Cruz was massive, easily the size of the major capital warships and bristling with antennas and dishes. She had been a civilian vessel earlier in her life, but her conversion to a Marine transport had transformed her hull. The retrofitted armour, weapons and point defence systems had been installed to protect the crew and passengers from attack. To improve the vessel’s operational capability, the cargo space had been converted to a fully automated hangar and loading bay, allowing the use of landing craft and shuttles. It wasn’t the prettiest conversion job, but the end result was a vessel perfectly suited to carrying large number of marines throughout the Confederacy. There was even space on board for training and combat practice.

“She looks different to the Santa Maria,” said Teresa, as she carefully examined the lines of the ship.

“How can you tell?” asked Spartan, himself unable to spot any noticeable changes.

“Their hull sections are different lengths. The Cruz is longer and thinner, especially right there, to the rear,” she pointed.

“What else?”

“The loading bays on the Cruz are larger, she can move more marines and faster. The Santa Maria has more space and dedicated training facilities. Cruz, she is a true ship of war now.”

“You reckon we’ll get some R&R when we get back? We’ve been in action more than we’ve been on the ship!” asked Marcus.

“We’re at war, Marcus, what do you expect? At least we’re going back to the ship. I would think the platoon will get re-equipped, a few days off and then back to wherever the General decides we should be going.”

“Have you heard from the General since we all got back?”

Spartan looked out of the window, thinking of the bloody fighting back on Prometheus, when they attempted an insurrection to escape the prison. The General had been there, right in the thick of things and had come back even angrier and more scarred than before.

“Not since we left the Cruz. He has a lot of work to do getting ready for the counter-offensive.”

Teresa twisted around to look at him. “You think there’ll be one?”

“Of course. We can’t just sit about waiting while the enemy gets stronger. The longer we wait, the harder our job will be. If I know the General, he is already getting resources together to start a major operation, and when he does you know who he’ll be calling!”

“Yeah, great, thanks, Spartan. So we have our new shiny unit that every commander is going to want to use.”

“Well, that’s what the unit is for. With the armour and firepower our Vanguards have, we can turn a battle around in minutes and with minimal casualties. It’s the right thing to do.”

A clunk reverberated through the vessel as the hydraulic grapples extended from the craft. From the window, the hull of the Santa Cruz crept ever closer, the thick metal ribs now evident as they drifted. Massive rotating sections along the length of the ship showed off the state of the art artificial gravity of the transport.

*

Spartan pulled himself out of the shuttle, making his way along the ladder and through the collapsible tube. It was fully transparent but sealed and safe from the cruel, airless section of the ship used by machines, robotics and shuttlecraft. He moved a little further, until reaching the multi-layered airlock seal. As he reached the first level, a blast of warm air rushed down towards the shuttle. He turned back to see Teresa close behind.

“What’s up LT?” she asked, now ever careful to avoid his name in public.

“Nothing, just checking you’re all awake.”

He turned back, continuing along the ladder and through the final airlock segment into the sealed section of the landing bay. As he emerged, he reached a spider-shaped section with poles and ladders extending out to the hull. It was odd, the structure moved slowly in the centre, but if he looked off to the sides of the ship he could see the outside moving move quickly. Grabbing the first pole, he pulled himself along with the speed and timing of a man that had done it many times before. It didn’t take long before he reached the end and dropped to the floor. As his feet hit the solid surface, he felt a little shaken, the movement of the metal sending a shiver through his body.

“You okay, Lieutenant?” asked a familiar voice. Spartan straightened himself up and looked towards the voice.

“Captain…Captain Daniels, good to see you, Sir,” he said, automatically saluting.

“No need for that, I see time is working for you. Give it a few more months and you’ll be replacing General Rivers.”

“I don’t think so, I’m just…”

“It’s okay, I jest, of course. I’ve been reading the reports, your platoon has performed exceptionally well, you must be pleased?”

“I am, they have done good work and our mission should yield results.”

The officer leaned in closely to Spartan.

“From what I’ve heard, your mission has really got people moving around here. I don’t know what’s going on, but something big is brewing and you can be sure we’ll all be in the middle of it.”

Marcus and Teresa dropped down beside Spartan. The rest of the marines made their way down and headed for the debriefing room.

“Sir,” said Teresa.

Spartan turned and looked at her and then to Marcus.

“Good, you’re both here. You’ve met Captain Daniels before,” he said, introducing them both to the Captain, before continuing. “I thought you were still with the engineering company, under the command of Captain Mathews. Is he okay?”

“Oh, he’s fine. Actually, I’m glad your sergeants are here. Isn’t there another one, Lovett, I think?”

“Where is he?” asked Spartan.

“He went straight to the engineers, something about not being happy with the gyro mounts and the weapon system. Officially, he is going there to help the engineers, unofficially I think he plans on a bit of shouting,” said Marcus with a chortle.

“These suits of yours, they’ve been kicking up quite a storm. Some in the Marine Corps are talking about producing a heavily modified version that can be made small and issued to all front line infantry. What do you think?”

“It is interesting. The main advantages of the armour are its strength and defensive capability. If you make it smaller, will it still be able to take a heavy impact from a rocket, explosive or firearm?”

Marcus nodded in agreement and stepped forward, feigning a series of jabs.

“More importantly, when you’re underground and in the dirt can you still take on a Biomech in hand to hand combat and come out on top? I know I feel a lot safer encased in some pretty meaty chunks of metal.”

Spartan lifted his hand, palm forward and indicated for him to move back. He turned to the Captain and continued.

“You were saying about your promotion and the engineers?”

“I was, until I heard about your little operation at the Bone Mill. You have to understand the hostility the reports from Kerberos were about, when we were using some of the CES suits. There are those that don’t like change and you’ve been advocating some interesting options. Your results in the last few days though have turned a lot of people around. The time and money looks like it has paid off and the Vanguards, in time, have the potential to become maybe even a new wing to the military.”

“Something tells me that is going to piss off a few people,” said Teresa, before realising she was speaking before an officer. She quickly added a sir.

“You are probably right, that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done though. I pulled some strings with the battalion and helped by the news of your success, I have been assigned to the Vanguards.”

Spartan nodded, stepping aside as a group of a dozen recruits marched past, escorted by a drill sergeant. He watched then for a moment, thinking back to the time not so long ago when he had been doing just the same. They passed a doorway from which emerged two officers, one of whom started to bark orders at the group. Spartan shook his head and looked back to his own group.

“That’s great news, Sir, we could certainly do with a few friendlies on our team. Being attached to Hobbs didn’t exactly go smoothly for us.”

Marcus looked a little angry and sighed as he spoke.

“That’s a bit of an understatement. If you ask me, she wanted us to fail. She pushed us out without checking the ground, doing a thorough recon or providing us with adequate support.”

Captain Daniels smiled at them and beckoned for the group of marines to lower their tone a little.

“I think you’ll find my news to your liking then. At the last meeting of the battalion commanders, based upon your reports, the decision has been made to expand the Vanguards. It will take time, but as you know there is already a second platoon under construction. I’ve been put in overall command of the company and the transition to a full company. The intention is to form a complete three platoon company with the option to double the number, if and when resources and personnel allow.”

Spartan smiled at him, genuinely pleased to see somebody known and competent would be further up the chain of command.

“A double company, so it could potentially hit over two hundred Vanguards? Do we have the equipment to even consider that?”

“The fabrication stations on the transports have been working flat out to break down the surplus and damaged PDS suits. The materials have produced over thirty Vanguard units since you’ve been on Prime.”

Marcus looked surprised at the news.

“Thirty, fully working suits in a few days? Man,…all we need now is bodies to fill them.”

“Quite. Something tells me we will be on the hunt for manpower very soon. In the meantime, I have enough personnel to start training up 2nd Platoon and I’m going to need a few of your seasoned fighters to share their experience.”

Spartan nodded in agreement.

“Not a problem, sharing the knowledge is a good idea. I’ve got some good fighters. They are skilled and careful. With limited numbers, and in the most dangerous places, you don’t want hotheads.”

“Hotheads? Really?” said the Captain, grinning at Spartan and his two sergeants.

“Anyway, this all sounds good. As an independent platoon, we were likely to get wasted doing other people’s dirty work like a unit of attached armed sappers. An actual combat company will give us the men and resources we need to make this an effective force. A double-sized company could probably do the same work as a full battalion.”

“Of course. With manpower down, why else do you think they are really going for it? I bet the plan is to reduce the number of marine companies and convert the best to Vanguards.”

Before Spartan or his sergeants could respond, the internal loudhailers started a ship wide broadcast.

“A Code Alpha announcement will follow in three minutes from Admiral Jarvis and the command staff of the Confederacy.”

Spartan looked back from the speakers to the Captain.

“Any ideas on what that is all about?”

“No, I’m going to head to the briefing room. You coming?”

“Yeah, you head on, I’ll join you.”

The officers saluted, Captain Daniels moved away quickly. Spartan turned to his two sergeants.

“I need to see what this is about.”

Marcus nodded and after a quick salute marched off along the corridor. Spartan moved to Teresa who looked inpatient. He reached out and she grabbed his arm.

“I’m going to your quarters, don’t be too long, I’ll be waiting for you,” she said with a mischievous smile. Without saluting, she turned and walked away slowly. Spartan watched her go before the internal loudhailer reminded him of the impending message from the Admiral.

CHAPTER SIX

Before the Great War, the colonies of humanity lived in a relatively peaceful and independent status. Each colony replicated many of the dialects, cultures and attributes of their original colonists. The agrarian and heavily religious Carthago and the modern, industrious Terra Nova were inevitably going to clash. Their difference of ideals moved first to political disputes and then to an ideological struggle fought by proxy through their allies. The fires of war spread through the colonies in a matter of months. It took the deaths of over a quarter of a million soldiers in the sieges of Carthago before a ceasefire was finally called and the Carthago leadership and the Centauri League was dissolved. The consequence of the war was the formation of the Confederacy and also the start of the great Exodus.

The Unforeseen Consequences

The briefing room on board the CCS Santa Cruz was packed. Though most of the naval officers weren’t present, the bulk of the command staff for the 5th Reconnaissance Battalion was there in force as well as the XO, Commander Malone. Stood in the middle of the room was Lieutenant Colonel Blake, flanked by several other command officers. Spartan recognised the other company commanders, including Captain Mathews, Captain Daniels and his least favourite officer, Captain Hobbs. She was stood off to one side with two of her NCOs. He watched for a moment as she spoke sternly to two of them, one was sent off and he quickly marched away.

“You really are one miserable cow,” he muttered to himself.

Towards the back wall was a series of large vertical displays, each one showing pertinent data for the current disposition of forces in the Proxima System. The display to the left showed the Fleet layout, including the circling frigates and fighter wings. The Fleet had already left the safety of the gas giant Khimaira fourteen hours ago. The navigation data was missing, so where their destination was could be anybody’s guess. On the middle display was the logo of the Confederacy, with the Naval Emblem motif directly in front of the purple banner. From the data being displayed, it was clear that the Fleet was it its greatest state of readiness since the siege of the Titan Naval Station. There were more ships in one place than at any time for years and they were poised, waiting for their orders. Marcus tapped Spartan on the shoulder. He was the only sergeant from the Vanguards present, not that it was critical as the message was going out to every ship in the Fleet.

“What do you think the news is?” he asked.

Spartan didn’t have time to respond as the large display unit faded out to show a lectern. Around it stood Admiral Jarvis, General Rivers and two civilians in suits to their side. It was unusual for civilians to be present at such a military announcement. Even more unusual, the man was wearing his badge of office from the Confederacy. He wasn’t familiar but was obviously important.

“Who the hell are they?” said an unknown officer at the back, before being hushed by the rest of the assembled men as the Admiral spoke.

“Men and women of the Confederate Military. I have several important announcements to make on behalf of the High Command. Before I get into the details, I would like to introduce the Leader of the House from Yama City on Kerberos, Dr Hamis and his assistant, Ms Baines. As some of you may already know, in the last three days a number of officials from the fallen colonies have been making their way to Confed military vessels and installations in safe areas throughout Proxima. So far, we have representatives at various levels from the colonies on Prime, Kerberos and Agora. The news they bring is truly shocking. Their home worlds haven’t simply changed one leader for another, they are suffering one of the worst forced relocations and genocides in the history of mankind!”

A stunned silence met her comments as they absorbed the words. They were all familiar with some of the worse attributes of the enemy regime, but the fact that there was genocide ongoing was still unknown to most of them. Many of them had family spread throughout the colonies and the thought of them being left behind in this struggle made their job that much more difficult. While they waited in space, their relatives could already be in damp prison camps or being ground to paste to create more Biomech creatures.

“I will pass you over to Dr Hamis, who can tell us more about his firsthand experience under the occupation of the Echidna Union and their armed forces.”

Dr Hamis nodded and stepped to the microphone. He was shorter than the Admiral and wore a grey, slightly crumpled suit. He coughed as he tried to clear his throat.

“Thank you, Admiral.” He turned to the camera and continued. “The situation on Kerberos is nothing like the public image. Since the revolution, the new regime has suspended all political parties, taking over all political and civil offices with members of the new Union bureaucracy. This organisation has been filled by the ranks of the Church, the Zealots and other groups that have been working against the Confederacy. This, however, isn’t the worst of it. In the last few weeks, the new state militia and police have been taking citizens away to forced labour camps, some to re-education centres and others have vanished after arriving at underground facilities. The Biomechs are providing the muscle and the members of the Church the organisation and support.”

He paused for a moment and looked down at some notes.

“A large group in the government attempted a revolt three weeks ago against the Echidna personnel. At first we tried unarmed protest, but anyone who spoke out vanished in a matter of days. The revolt turned violent and in the end a number of us tried to remove them by force. It was a disaster. Almost all state officials were rounded up by militia forces, a small group managed to escape into parts of the city, where they are still trying to fight back.”

He stopped again and took another drink of water. His hands were shaking and it was incredible he managed to drink without dropping the glass or the fluid. He recomposed himself and continued.

“Before I was able to escape from the planet, with the survivors from the last uprising, I witnessed the arrival of several ships from the Rim containing Biomech reinforcements. The very same ships took prisoners from the camps and returned back on the same course. I tried to investigate further but the authorities discovered my people. We were lucky any of us made it out alive. Typhon and his associates have created a reign of terror on Kerberos. Forget what you have heard about Zealots, insurgents and the like. It is a very simple system. The colony is now being run by one man, beneath him are his political and military advisors, all taken from the groups we have been fighting. The Union now exists as a strong, autocratic regime where conformity to the state is required. The ultimate objective doesn’t seem to be a political takeover, they are preparing the colony for something big and taking away people to their camps is a big part of it. From the scattered transmissions we’ve detected throughout the sector, the other seceded colonies are experiencing the same.”

Ms Baines put her hand on the visibly shaken man’s arm. He looked at her and said something that only she could hear. He then moved away and she took his place at the lectern.

“My name is Ms Baines, I am the Doctor’s assistant and also a data specialist with the Department of Defence. It was my team who discovered the disappearance of citizens that started a month ago. We were working alongside Confed Special Agents to monitor substantial data streams being sent to Kerberos. Our investigation was halted and the agents have all disappeared. We know just one thing though. A person or faction, known as the Core, is coordinating the actions of the Union forces. Typhon may be the figurehead of Prime and Kerberos but we suspect he is just one commander, one of possibly three or maybe four, in the entire System that is under the direct command of the Core.”

She paused for a moment to let the information sink in.

“What?” Marcus said surprised. Several of the officers turned to glare at him but Ms Baines continued before anyone could complain.

“Our intelligence suggests the Union is laying the groundwork for the real threat, one that even Typhon doesn’t control. If you think things are bad on the colonies right now, just try to remember that it is almost certainly going to get a lot worse. There is a strong link between The Core, the factory colonies and the ships we have seen.”

Admiral Jarvis thanked the two, before taking her place in the centre.

“You have all seen the reports from the secessionists and their new masters. In the past, the rule of law and order was paramount. The hand of the Confederacy was light, more a big brother to help in times of trouble, than an overlord. This has changed. The new terrorist regime has turned on our people and enslaved them. This leadership structure, centred on what is being called the Core, matches our intelligence recovered from Kerberos and Prometheus. The options are limited, but I believe the enemy command has been sheltering in Alpha Centauri the entire time. By hiding in our secure backyard, they are able to monitor our movements and control their forces in safety. The discovery of the Anomaly gives us the chance to turn this around. It also explains how they seem able to slip men and materials out of the Proxima sector right under our noses. I will not share the intricacies of the plan yet. It is strictly on a need to know basic for command staff. All you need to know is that of right now, the Confederacy is going on the offensive. No more will we fight rearguard actions or engage the enemy piecemeal. Starting today, Operation Perdition has begun. The systematic and thorough cleansing of the Proxima of any taint of the enemy.”

The Admiral paused and looked directly into the camera, ensuring she gained the attention of everybody watching.

“The surviving civilian officials have been rallying to our outposts and ships for the last two weeks. A decision has been made to form a government in exile for all fallen colonies. The senior executives from each colony have been put forward to form a new Council for Proxima. Between them, Dr Hamis has been chosen as the civilian leader of the Confederacy in this star system. We do not accept the secession of any colony and representatives have been selected for those that are still under the yoke of the enemy.”

She turned to the man and nodded for him to continue. He still looked a little shaken at his position and possibly the shock of the terrible events he had witnessed on Kerberos and through the sector.

“In my capacity as Acting President, I have given Admiral Jarvis and the newly formed High Command of Proxima orders to start the reconquest of our homeworlds. Operation Perdition has been designed around the requirements of the members of the civilian council and the capabilities of our current military forces. The Council will operate under the same rules and laws as used in the Confederate Council, but with its scope limited to Proxima Centauri. When the System is brought back into the fold, it is our plan to make the Proxima System an independent member of the Confederacy, with each of the former colonies becoming a self-regulating state. Citizens will have greater responsibilities to the state, but they will also be able to expect much more from it.”

He waited a few seconds before continuing.

“From today, the Church of Echidna, the Zealots and any of their offshoots are banned and illegal anywhere in the Confederacy. Laws, orders and commands given by them are illegal and are to be ignored. Any decisions they have made since the commencement of hostilities are considered null and void. The role of the Church in state affairs has been a problem going back to the start of the war between alliances of Carthago and Terra Nova, generations ago in the Great War. Religion will be officially split from the state. It has no place in the role of government. We are a secular society and though any citizen may practice any form of religion, from today it will not be allowed to interfere with state or public life.”

This particular point seemed to grab the attention of some of the officers, a few of which were known to come from the ultraconservative planet of Carthago. On this old and battered world, religion was still an integral part of everyday life, even though several churches and practices had been banned for decades. There was still resentment on the planet to their treatment following the surrender.

“There is one other point, and this is likely to be contentious. As you will no doubt be aware, the enemy has been taking away our citizens, some of whom have been thrown into appalling conditions in the deep mines and factories of the enemy. The worst fate of all is the harvesting our citizens for years to obtain organs and biological material. The information obtained from the horrific camps and facilities on Prometheus is shocking. It confirms that the enemy have been creating their biomechanical slaves using our own citizens as the raw material. It would appear that they have multiple sites at different stages of production. Those on Prime have been modifying and adjusting complete bodies into violent creatures. The site on Prometheus was creating life forms with completely artificial bones and flesh, just using the brain and nervous system as a control unit. All are horrendous, but they leave us with a conundrum. Those Biomechs fighting against us are simply the enemy. They have been programmed and built to hate us. They will never stop, never surrender and show us no mercy. We will show them the same. There is another group, however. I would like to show you this footage from Prometheus.”

One of the secondary monitors changed to show a video feed from Prometheus, where a large hangar-type space filled the screen. In the open area were thousands of capsules lined up in columns. A dozen people walked around them, checking on their status. Every few seconds a series of blue sparks rattled along the ceiling and occasionally touching the sides of the tubes. General Rivers, in full dress uniform, took his place and pointed a stick at the display.

“These are the tanks, the place where the new breeds of Biomechs were being created on Prometheus. These models have only recently been discovered and they represent a marked change in design. Unlike the previous models, these are fully artificial Biomechs. Synthetic creatures if you will, the latest version that doesn’t require donor body parts. The brains are laboratory grown, along with the nervous system. These parts are created separately and then placed into the fabrication tube where over a period of weeks the rest of the creature is constructed. It is my understanding that this development only occurs on Prometheus, where there has been massive amounts of research and experimentation. From our assessments, over four thousands civilians have died in these experiments to streamline the process in manufacturing artificial life. The mind is programmed to the level of a human teenager and when they are hatched, for want of a better word, they are fully formed and ready to fight. I have seen and faced these creatures and can attest to their design and abilities. They are tough and one hundred percent loyal to their cause.”

He waited, knowing full well that his next comments would have to be very carefully worded.

“It is possible to remove the indoctrination part of their programing, so that when they are hatched they are essentially neutral, no different to you or I. They are no different, regarding problem solving or morality, than any man or woman. The first wave of the Biomechs has already been born and they have no programing other than their basic motor skills. There are another few thousand waiting to be hatched on Prometheus, and we have to decide what to do with them.”

Admiral Jarvis took over. She sensed the mood in the room was already changing.

“While the General was fighting for his life on Prometheus, a small group of these neutral Biomechs helped his team. Only one survived and it has proved completely loyal and dependable. After speaking with the command staff, and the civilian government in exile, it is our decision to allow these Biomechs the opportunity to redeem their name. Remember, these creatures are newly born and have committed no crime. The creature that helped our people has chosen his own name. This will make it clearer.”

She finished by pressing a button, altering the video feed of the tanks to a group of Biomechs stood waiting patiently. Each of them wore minimal armour, more clothing than metal, but it made them look more like warriors than bestial monsters. The group of five were similar in height, each roughly three metres tall and big in every direction. The one at the front looked to its side and then towards the camera pointed at him.

“I Ko’mandor Gun,” he said with a growl, lifting his right arm on which he still carried his multi-barrelled Gatling gun. He then turned to those stood next to him.

“These are my Jötnar brothers. We pledge service to Confederacy,” he said sternly.

The room erupted as the military personnel started chatting and shouting at the news. It was the first time many of them had heard a Biomech make a sound and the first time any had heard one speak. The ramifications of these abilities were only just starting to dawn on them.

“I know this will be hard for some of you to understand. We have Biomechs in our midst who speak to us and offer friendship. The Confederacy has been weakened, almost crippled, and the war has cost us dearly. Ko’mandor Gun has already proved his worth. We owe the capture of Prometheus to him and the sacrifices of his people. We have agreed to a deal with the Jötnar, their preferred name. In exchange for fighting alongside us, we will grant them a colony and citizenship in the new Confederacy.”

The room once again exploded into shouting and it became impossible to hear the sound from the monitors. Marcus pulled himself close to Spartan.

“I told you they would never go for it. Biomechs fighting alongside us! Most people will see this as a betrayal.”

“Then it is our job to show them they are wrong,” replied Spartan.

Lieutenant Colonel Blake lifted his hand for quiet.

“Please control yourselves!” he snapped, the room quickly fell silent. On the screen, the General was talking but they had already missed the first part of whatever he had been saying.

“…will be a hard campaign to clear every single colony of the taint of the Union. We will not just be fighting to defeat military forces in our homes, we will force them out forever. From the moment we start combat operations, this offensive will not stop until victory is ours. The Jötnar have been formed into two new combat battalions and have been placed under the command of Marine Corps officers. They will assist in heavy assault operations, as and when they are required. Return to your units and ensure they are fully combat effective. I want all platoons ready for immediate operations with six hours notice. Weapons, armour and vehicles need to be in first class condition. Your ship and unit commanders already have their orders and this will be passed down as required. This campaign will be long and it will be hard, but we will not stop until we are victorious!”

The General lifted up his arm as he finished his speech. The microphone easily picked up the applause he was receiving, presumably from on board the flagship where the footage was being recorded. The camera footage pulled back to show at least thirty people in the foreground clapping. The display faded back to the Confederate Military motif and lights in the room slowly increased in brightness. Lieutenant Colonel Blake turned to the assembled group and the hum of chatter quickly softened until he was greeted with silence.

“Thank you. As you have probably gathered, this message is one of the most important you will have ever seen. The strategic situation has changed and so must we, if we are to turn back this genocidal assault on our way of life. The message is being relayed to every Confed ship and military base in the Proxima System. It reminds us that the civilian government structure is in place and has the potential to be stronger than ever before. We are not just a fleet. We are a moving Confederacy. Where we go, the Confederacy goes and with us we spread out values and ideas of the rights and responsibilities of our citizens. The battle plan laid out by General Rivers is complex and will not be easy. I have no doubts that this battalion will be responsible for some of the toughest missions. After all, that is what we are for. We are always first into trouble and the last back out. Prepare your units for assault operations. We can expect to be hitting ships, stations or planets in days, perhaps even hours. Make sure your people are fully competent and ready. We are massively outnumbered, but our single advantage is experience. We have better trained and more experienced marines and soldiers, than any unit in the Union. Dismissed!”

Some of the officers started to file out of the room. Spartan and a few others stayed, each looking carefully at the data and reports coming in on the large screens. Marcus looked over to Spartan, nodding his head in agreement, presumably with the announced plan.

“Looks like we’re going to war then. Operation Perdition has a nasty ring to it. I assume that was Rivers’ idea to scare the crap out of the enemy. I just hope he wasn’t planning on doing the same for our people.”

“Maybe, or perhaps Rivers knows exactly the kind of bloody campaign this is really going to be. You remember what it was like on Prime. They don’t give up and they have numbers and industrial capacity on their side,” replied Spartan grimly.

*

Spartan and Teresa sat relaxing in the soft couches in the ship’s recreation room. It was a spacious area and over a dozen marines were sat relaxing or playing games on the various computer systems. There was a pool table in the middle of the room. It was much like a traditional table, but the balls were sealed inside and struck with shortened cues that moved the balls when they reached a few millimetres from their targets. It was beautifully constructed and balanced so that the game could be played with or without gravity, even when the engines were on full burn. On the outside it appeared impossible, but in reality the balls were held in place by magnets and the system was managed by a detailed and responsive computer system.

Sergeant Lovett and Keller were busy playing on it. The sound of the wooden cues almost striking the balls sent the occasional tapping sound throughout the room.

“You’re going down, old man!” whispered Marcus to his opponent, whilst tapping one of the balls gently.

Spartan turned from watching them and back to Teresa.

“Have you heard from your friends on Prometheus? Bishop, Kowalski or Anderson?”

“Not for a while now. I guess they are all busy working on the tech in the base. Last time I spoke with Anderson, he was still working on the Biomechs. Apparently Gun had been causing a bit of trouble.”

“A problem?”

“No, not that kind of trouble. It was about a weapon or something. Anderson wanted to examine it, Gun wanted it for himself to use. You know what he’s like, he does like his guns and knives!”

Spartan laughed though not as loudly as she was used to. It was as if his mind was elsewhere, not really on this conversation.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

She reached out and touched his arm. “Come on, I’m not stupid, tell me.”

“Something isn’t right. I don’t know what it is, but the enemy, their plans and their people. It just doesn’t seem to fit together. On one hand you have the religious insurgents, like those we fought on the Naval Station. Then we found ourselves up against the Biomechs and some of the religious organisations on Kerberos.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Well, what is the point? What are these groups after and why are they working together? Then, there is this group known as the Core. What kind of name is that? They must be the people who have been sending the control data to the AI hubs in the factories and some of the ships. It’s a clever way of running things, without ever having to be in the same system. I still don’t see why though, what do they get?”

“You’ve seen the news reports from the colonies. Those that have seceded seem to be quite happy to be members of the Echidna Union. You have to admit, their offerings are attractive.”

Spartan looked less than impressed.

“You saw the transmission from the Admiral. The civilians aren’t happy, how could they be? Working, eating and then death! What about ambition, politics, even competition? That broadcast confirmed the entire political system has been removed. Now they have Colony officials, all appointed by Typhon and his cronies. I just don’t get the point of it all. Is it simply a play for the Church to take over everything?”

“Don’t forget the signals and the AI units. Typhon wasn’t just giving orders, he was receiving them from the Core, whatever it is.”

Captain Daniels entered the room, accompanied by a small group of his marines. They wandered over and started chatting to Marcus who was still playing pool. He looked about until he could see Spartan sat in the corner.

“He looks serious,” said Teresa, as she watched the officer approach, they both made to stand up.

“Yeah, he does.”

Captain Daniels beckoned them to sit. Spartan nodded and indicated to his side.

“You look more worried than I am, what’s up?”

Captain Daniels sat down, handing Spartan a datapad with a series of maps and charts for the Fleet disposition.

“The announcement from the Admiral about the new campaign and this new strategy. If you look at the numbers, you can see we are up against it. They have more men, more weapons and more resources. There is even a chance they have enough ships already built to match us, I guess we’ll find out about that soon enough.”

“You’re right, but that isn’t what’s got you bothered, is it?”

“True. It’s the strategy that is getting me. I’ve been double-checking the intelligence you brought back from the Bone Mill. I’ve been looking over your report, as well as the information you recovered on Prometheus. What gets me isn’t the Biomechs, or even the Zealots, it is the one thing that keeps popping up time and time again.”

“The Core?” asked Teresa.

“Exactly!” replied Captain Daniels with a grin.

“This Core faction seems to be the real enemy, the one pulling the strings and the one that seems to always be one step ahead.”

Spartan nodded in agreement. “Yes, I’ve been thinking the same.”

Captain Daniels scratched his chin and gave the impression he was trying to find a way to raise a particular point. Spartan took in a deep breath, expecting the worst.

“I’m considering asking the Colonel permission to assemble a small team, perhaps a single company and a frigate, to head through the Anomaly to investigate. My guess is this faction is hiding under our noses, maybe just a single ship on the other side. If we could take out the Core, we would be left with a mess of an enemy with no clear leadership.”

“Surely they will have just general orders though, otherwise they would never be able to function, except with commands from elsewhere?” asked Teresa.

“Yes, that is true. But if we remove their top-level command structure, they will lose much of their ability to network and coordinate. It could give us the edge we need in this campaign and might even allow us the opportunity to take on their forces piecemeal. My question is, are you in? If I can get the go-ahead from the Colonel, I will need an ad-hoc company and I’d like your platoon to be part of the mission.”

Spartan looked to Teresa who was already nodding before looking back at the Captain.

“Of course. I trust your judgement. If you want my platoon, you have it. Don’t we already have ships on the way to the Anomaly? Can’t they send scouts to investigate?”

“They could, but that is not what I’m talking about. My plan is for a flexible strike team that can raid deep into the System, track the signal and disable it somehow.”

Teresa didn’t look particularly impressed with the idea.

“I don’t understand. We have the name and some pretty wild intel that suggests something on the other side of the Anomaly is sending signals. What if it is a battleship…or a moon? We could waste weeks getting our people through and for nothing. I get the impression this campaign will start in days. The mission wouldn’t even make it halfway to the Anomaly by then.”

“Nice to see you speaking your mind, Sergeant,” replied the Captain sarcastically and for a moment Spartan wasn’t quite sure he was serious.

“On our present course, we have already shaved almost a week off the route to the Anomaly. With hard acceleration, one ship could do the trip in a few weeks. Yes, the campaign will probably be well underway, but even if we hit it halfway in it could make a big difference.”

“Okay, I can see what you’re getting at. By all means start working on the mission, but in my opinion we should use the forces due to arrive in the next day or so and get them to scout ahead. If it is a small target, they can send fighters or frigates in to do the work. If it is bigger, then we’ll need more than a company anyway.”

“Fair enough. I’ll put the information on the Boss’ table and see what he thinks.”

“I’ll ensure they’re ready, whatever operation you have in mind. Good luck selling the idea to the Lieutenant Colonel. I’ve heard he is a real hard case and he isn’t the Vanguards’ biggest fan.”

Captain Daniels stood up and indicated to his NCOs that it was time for them to leave.

“Don’t worry about it, Spartan. I know you are the king of pissing people off. I’ll persuade him one way or the other!”

*

Admiral Jarvis left the briefing room first. A small group quickly followed her, including the new President and General Rivers. They walked briskly, moving fast to avoid the cadre of press and lower ranks waiting to ask a question. General Rivers pushed ahead until he was walking alongside her.

“General, the CiC, we have things to discuss,” she said curtly. It was in such a tone that he immediately knew that there was to be no further discussion until their arrival.

The corridors on the warship were quite narrow and big enough only for three people to move along at a time. The briefing room was only a hundred metres away from the CiC that was buried in the heart of the ship and behind the thickest armour. Contrary to what most people expected, it couldn’t be placed directly in the centre of the ship, as this would put them in an artificial gravity part of the vessel. Instead, the command sections of the ship were enclosed in a large rotating cylinder inside the triple-layered skin. The only visible difference on the exterior of the ship was that this part was slighter wider to accommodate the extra layers of armour.

The group approached an airlock seal that was being kept open by a marine guard. The Admiral stepped though first and turned immediately into the CiC. The command staff were already busy, as always. She marched in, walking directly to her strategic map in the middle of the open space. General Rivers and the rest of the group followed and stood around the map.

“Before I go over the details for the operation, there is one critical area we have to discuss.”

“The synthetic life technology?” asked Dr Hamis.

“Quite. The ability to create life, even that as crude as the Biomechs, could be the greatest gift and weapons ever bestowed on humanity.”

“I agree. With it, we have the ability to grow adults at an accelerated pace. To create warriors when needed, or even a completely functional labouring class for the Confederacy. The moral and ethical dilemmas created by this technology are unparalleled.”

“I take it you would rather I didn’t give the order to destroy all research or equipment then?” asked General Rivers.

They turned and looked at him, astounded by his comments, before realising his was being sarcastic.

“I suggest you secure the equipment and data and we will revisit this topic at the conclusion of Operation Perdition. Acceptable?” asked Dr Hamis.

General Rivers looked over to Admiral Jarvis who gave him the nod.

“Just remember, Mr President, if the war turns against us we might have to revisit this topic earlier than you intended.”

Dr Hamis nodded slowly in agreement.

“I understand. Let us hope for all our sakes that it will not be necessary.”

The Admiral turned back to the computer displays and brought up the latest, most detailed strategic map of the Proxima Sector. The planets, colonies, stations and fleets were all marked, as well as flashing yellow boxes on unknown data, such as the reports from the Rim.

“Mr President, are you one hundred percent sure on your intelligence? Your reports from Kerberos said Euryale was definitely the target and an attack is expected within the week?”

“Yes, Admiral. The planet is at the top of a list of targets and my intelligence team and agents were able to establish the names of three vessels out on the Rim that are already making their way to it. It isn’t a matter of if an attack is going to happen, it is simply when will it happen.”

“I understand.”

She turned to General Rivers.

“We can be at the planet in just under five days at present speed. Will that be sufficient time to assemble your forces for ground assault?”

“No problem. The Marines and most of the Army units are already prepared for combat. The only issue is the reinforcements on Prometheus. They can be on their way in less than twenty-four hours, but that means they will still arrive several days after the rest of our forces.”

“How about the defences there? Can Prometheus hold?”

“Commander Anderson has really achieved a lot in a matter of weeks. The new route through the storms is now fully charted and can be navigated in three days. I have coordinated the construction teams from here to get the route mined and protected, should Union forces attempt an assault on the planet.”

“Good, we also have half a dozen frigates now on standby, plus the locals have put twice that number of private security vessels around the stations.”

“Yes, Anderson was telling me about them. They really don’t like to have military vessels poking about,” he said with a grin.

“I suppose the final point is what we do with the Jötnar Battalions?”

General Rivers looked a little uncomfortable before he answered.

“They are already aboard the heavy transport ship Yorkdale, as are the six Army battalions on their three transports. They have a small escort, as well as the Vengeance for heavy fire support. Anderson is still on Prometheus and working on the technology there as well as the Jötnar still in the tanks.”

“I understand he has been looking at converting part of the site into a medical centre?”

“Not just that, he has brought in civilian contractors from the stations to help repair and modify the shipyards. He is of the opinion that in six to eight weeks he will be able to restart equipment fabrication. He thinks it might be possible to even start small ship production.”

“Excellent. Prometheus is proving to be a surprisingly useful resource. I want all available forces sent to meet us at Euryale. Once the operation is completed, it is my intention to keep moving. We will follow your strategy of planet hopping until each planet is retaken. Please contact Commander Anderson and remind him that he will need to form agreements with the local contractors for additional security. I suggest the next batch of Jötnar might prove handy as base security.”

General Rivers nodded in agreement. The Admiral turned to the group, pushing her hands out in front as though she was about to make an impassioned plea.

“We start Operation Perdition today. Our first objective is Euryale, we will then move through Proxima until each and every colony is recovered. Please let your civilian vessels know they should either follow the Fleet or head to the outer marker at Prometheus so they can be directed through to the planet. We cannot guarantee their safety anywhere else.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

The golden age of exploration is often thought of as the colonisation of Earth’s Solar System. The first small base on the moon was quickly followed by substantial colonies on Titan and Mars. These were humanity’s first fragile steps into the unknown. Even when the mining of the asteroid belt began in earnest there was still peace. Minor private squabbles were extended when the harvesting of helium from Jupiter reached its peak. Even with commercial rivalries of many companies, Earth was able to maintain strict control of the System. That was until the day the new bases found they could manage without help. The decline of Earth started in parallel with the successes of the Mars and Titan bases and their transformation into the first colonies.

The Decline of Earth

Spartan was awake, he had been for the last hour. As he lay there he watched the gentle movement of Teresa as her body lifted ever so slightly with each gentle breath. It was the first real rest he’d had in months and he was still not used to it. Being an officer certainly had it perks, but he was finding the meetings, briefings and talking to be a chore and a real hindrance. The more he thought about it, the more he realised he needed to expend some energy and the more violent the better! He crawled out of bed and headed to the shower, moving as quietly as he could in the small space that was classed as his new home.

As he moved away, he looked back at Teresa who was still fast asleep, undisturbed by his movement. For a moment he considered waking her, she was needed in the training hall for a class, but he relented. She could use a few extra minutes. He went back to the doorway leading to the shared shower block for the officers. It was far nicer than the communal showers for the enlisted men and women, but still poor by any other standard. As the water started to flow, the internal speaker system whistled to indicate an impending announcement.

“This is the XO. We are now approximately twenty hours from Euryale. Scout drones indicate possible enemy presence in the area. All units are to conduct readiness drills under their commanders. Infantry units are now placed on a sixty-minute readiness roster. Get the birds ready and make sure combat units are fully effective prior to our arrival!”

Spartan continued washing, yet all the time thinking about the message. He’d been concerned about the campaign for days now. He might not have the details, but it was pretty obvious that wherever they were heading would require a blunt, full on assault. He’d already experienced that kind of fighting in multiple theatres and the results were always bloody. Not that he minded the fight, in fact he much preferred a full on fight than some of the more clandestine work he’d been involved with on Kerberos. There had been a total media and communication blackout in the Fleet as they made their way to what could be the largest operation of the war. He sprayed water onto his face, only to feel cold air. Turning quickly, he spotted the almost totally naked form of Teresa stood in front of him.

“Room in there for me?” she asked coyly.

Spartan shook the water out of his eyes and smiled at her.

“Of course, there’s always room in here for you. Come on, get over here!”

She stepped in, the water running down her. She stumbled slightly on the wet floor and almost crashed to the ground. Luckily, Spartan reached out and grabbed her around the waist just time to avert disaster. As she regained her balance, she leaned and kissed him firmly on the lips.

“You heard the broadcast?” he asked.

“How could I not? Is that really what’s on your mind?” she asked, feigning insult.

Spartan turned her around and helped run the water along her neck and back. She relaxed and said nothing for a moment. She turned to him. The water seeped into her hair then down over her face and body. Spartan appeared transfixed.

“Hey!” she cried, running her finger along his face. Her clothes were now completely wet, making it skin-tight across her athletic form.

“What is your plan today? Doesn’t Daniels want to talk to you about something?”

Spartan continued looking at her, unable to take his eyes of her.

“Uh, yeah. I’m going to meet with the commanders of the platoon shortly. I just need to keep that bitch Hobbs out of my way.”

Teresa turned around and pulled off her now dripping clothing, leaving herself completely naked. She stood about a metre away from him, the water running along her skin.

“You want me to go and have words with the mean lady?” she said, and then threw herself at him, forcing him to the side of the shower.

“I have a few ideas to take your mind of it!” she said with a laugh.

*

Spartan marched smartly along the corridor and past the scores of marines who were busy getting their weapons and gear ready. To the untrained eye, the ship appeared to be busier than usual. To Spartan, it looked like a ship preparing itself for war. He’d already seen two sets of engineers welding additional internal mounts for automated weapons systems. The Admiral was taking no chances with being boarded. It reminded him a little of the weapons system in the prison compound on Prometheus. Back then, all it took was one well-informed man who was able to neutralise the entire system through the computers. An officer, dressed in his parade uniform, approached. Spartan glanced over at him, realising it was Major Howard. He saluted as he reached him. The Major was the ship’s executive officer and the second most important on the ship, after the Captain.

“Lieutenant Spartan isn’t it?”

“Sir.”

“I’ve just come back from a meeting with the Colonel. Looks like your ideas for the Vanguards have just been given the thumbs up.”

Spartan looked a little confused. He didn’t recall speaking to the Colonel about any particular plan.

“Ideas, Sir?”

“Well, Spartan, you only have yourself to blame. You’ve been out on too many adventures, more than most marines would expect to see in an entire career in the Corps,” he said with a wry smile.

Four marines in full PDS armour marched past, each of them carrying an L48 carbine. It was rare to see this level of security on the Santa Cruz. Things were definitely changing, hopefully for the better.

“The Colonel has been given one of the toughest nuts to crack. You’ll get the details shortly though your CO. Rumours are spreading that you are heavily involved in the General’s pet project.”

“The Jötnar?”

“Of course,” he said, as leaning in closely.

“The Colonel is not a fan of using the enemy’s tech in our own units, he is suspicious of their equipment and the possibility of it being used against us.”

He then straightened up before continuing.

“This operation is going to be a proving ground for a number of critical decisions. In a few days we will know the true value of both the Vanguard and the Jötnar Battalions. I hope that they are all worth it.”

Spartan sighed inwardly. He always seemed to be facing two fronts, one against the enemy and the other against those on his own side.

“I’m sure all Confed forces will perform their tasks admirably, Sir.”

The Major smiled widely at him.

“Lieutenant. You may not have been an officer for long but, holy crap, you’re starting to sound like one already!”

He moved off down the corridor leaving a slightly confused Spartan.

“Why do they want to keep testing us? Will we have to win this war on our own, just to prove we’re worth having?” he said quietly and turned around, resuming his walk to the training hall.

A clanking sound rattled along the bulkhead up ahead. Spartan automatically moved off to the side and took cover behind part of the bulkhead’s thickly ribbed sections. The sound reminded him of the Biomechs on Prometheus, where their heavy footsteps was usually accompanied by violence and battle. Dark shadows expanded along the floor until four marines appeared. Each carried electronic gears and were moving slowly in front of a mechanical device. Spartan moved out from the cover of the bulkhead, to the bemusement of one of the marines. The device was a heavily modified mule, one of the four legged robotic load carriers he’d seen during his recent action at the Bone Mill. It moved in an ungainly fashion, with both pairs of legs facing inwards, so that what were effectively knees pointed to the middle of the unit.

“What are you doing?”

“Sir,” replied the first man, saluting crisply as he tried to hold onto two boxes under his left arm.

“We’re running tests on the new mules. This is one of the combat mules that is ready for assessment.”

“Combat mule?”

“Sir. We have three units that are modified with armour and weapons for potential frontline support.”

He called over to the rest of the group, who stopped for a moment and moved back to Spartan. The mule waited next to them, its body moving slightly as it constantly adjusted its position to stay upright and stable.

“Tell the Lieutenant about the specs on the combat mule, Corporal.”

“Sir! The Mule M13 is designed to provide close fire support for marine units. As well as carrying additional supplies and ammunition, it can operate as a mobile pillbox or to use for suppressing fire in difficult situations.”

“How tough is it?”

“Very. The legs have been improved with reinforced actuators and the software is fast enough to be able to operate with one leg damaged or out of action. The unit can sustain repeated fire from medium calibre firearms and still function.”

Spartan walked around the mule, noting the extra plating fitted over the important components and electronics. It was a bizarre shape, very similar to the walking stretcher arrangement he had seen previously.

“Weapons and capability?”

“We’re not at liberty to say just yet, Sir. The unit has been in development for years, but these three combat models have been rushed into trials prior to the operation. You will have to check with the Colonel if you want to know more, Sir.”

Spartan nodded and indicated for them to carry on. They didn’t wait, evidently the leader of the group was impatient to get going. The combat mule was an interesting idea, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with an autonomous machine carrying weapons. If the enemy were able to obtain control, how would we stop them turning them onto us? Still pondering the new piece of equipment, he returned to the last leg of his trip. One more bulkhead and he was outside the entrance. Ducking down, he stepped inside the training hall and was instantly hit by the smell of oil and grease. Along one side of the hall were a dozen Vanguard suits, surrounded by a full platoon’s worth of marines. Some were checking weapon magazines. Others were reading the hastily cobbled together manuals for the suits.

“Officer on deck!” shouted the Platoon Sergeant, a tall, tough looking man in his forties. Like most marine sergeants, he was lean, incredibly fit and hard as nails.

Spartan stopped, looking at the marines.

“As you were.”

The Platoon Sergeant approached and saluted smartly.

“Lieutenant Spartan, 2nd Platoon, as requested. They are acquainting themselves with the revised suits.”

Spartan nodded and walked over to the suits, examining the first two.

“I have been asked by Captain Daniels to brief you on my experiences so far in 1st Platoon. Up till now, this was the only full-time Vanguard unit that is fully trained and equipped with these suits. Some of you fought alongside me on Prime with the CES suits. That was an ad-hoc unit that was formed for one mission. The Vanguards are the next step. These new suits are tailor-made with our requirements in mind. They are equally suited for ranged or close quarter combat work and can be adapted with different weapon loadouts, depending on the mission. Even more important, is that this unit has been created exclusively to use this armour as a matter of course.”

He looked out at the group, recognising at least two of the marines from that terrible episode on the perimeter of New Carlos. He moved his gaze to the rest of the marines, trying to spot any that he may have fought alongside in previous actions.

“How many of you have used the suits so far?”

Every person in the hall lifted their hands.

“Excellent. Captain Daniels has already shown me your dossiers and I must say, there is something you have that I like. Maybe because your profiles remind me of myself?” he said with a chortle to himself. He was met by nothing but silence.

“You have been chosen because you are the most independent marines in this battalion. You jump first and you fight first. That is exactly what we need in these units. What we do not want, is a one-man army. The Vanguard is special, but it isn’t invulnerable. You can guarantee that wherever we are sent we will always, and I mean always, be outnumbered. We will never be outgunned though!”

He walked along and stopped next to a very rough, worn looking suit. He could see a number of marks that indicted bullet impacts. There were even substantial scratch marks, either from falling debris or possibly close action against Biomechs. He reach out and touched the dented but unbroken metal armour.

“The Vanguard suit incorporates the improvements and ideas from seven separate operations against insurgents, Zealots and Biomechs. These operations have taken place on the ground, in tunnels and in zero-g combat. Every time we used the CES suits in battle we assessed their strengths and weaknesses. This is the culmination of hundreds of marines’ input and it is, in my opinion, the most important piece of equipment on this ship after the marine’s rifle.”

He pulled open the front and with a series of hisses and clunks it opened up to reveal its cramped interior. The armour was designed to fit around the marine, rather than being driven by one.

“Give me a hand, Corporal,” he asked as he stepped up into the suit. The marine pulled a series of straps around Spartan and then pulled on three levers that clamped the internal cushioned webbing into place around him.

“Okay, Sir?”

“Do it. Close her up.”

With the tap of three buttons the suit sealed up, and in less than ten seconds, it was powered up and fully operational. Inside the suit, Spartan felt massive. He was easily taller than every person in the room and now had the capability to rip through walls or even jump out into the vacuum of space. Tapping a switch in the right arm, he activated a series of relays that finished with the reinforced visor sliding up to reveal his face to the assembled marines. Due to the shape, his shoulder appeared slightly lifted and the same height as his head. It was a menacing and powerful look.

“The suit isn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it will allow you to do things no normal marine ever could. I have personally used these suits to fight Biomechs up close with edged weapons and firearms. As you can see, I have full mobility and speed, much more than in the CES suits.”

To demonstrate, he moved to the middle of the training hall and dropped into a low fighting stance. The suit was much quieter than the earlier models, the creaks and groans now far less noticeable. He punched and jabbed with a series of quick moves, the suit moving as fast as he could move his own body.

“It is reasonable to expect us to be able to punch, kick and grapple, if necessary. Just remember that you have mass and weight on your side. If you’re on a ship and you slam against a bulkhead you could cause substantial, potentially catastrophic damage. I want you to use the training units to work on your close combat skills.”

“Sir!” called out one of the shorter marines.

“Yes?”

“Shouldn’t we be spending out time working on our shooting, Sir?”

“If you should, then don’t you think I would have said that?” said a slightly irate Spartan. “Those of you that fought on Prime, raise your hands.”

The two marines he had spotted previously lifted their hands.

“Explain to the rest of this unit what we faced and how we responded on the surface.”

“Sir!” barked the first man.

“On Prime we fought a rearguard action against superior enemy forces. We were dropped directly into combat and engaged Zealots and Biomechs in close quarter combat and firefights.”

“The result?” demanded Spartan.

“Total victory, Sir!”

“Exactly. We get the toughest jobs and we need to be ready to fight any foe at any distance. You are marines and that means you can already shoot. The odds of us being used for fire support are slim. If and when we are used, I promise you it will be right in the middle of the action. In this situation, we need to be able to fight and cut our way through the enemy to our objectives. It is critical that you can wrestle, knife fight and fence from inside the suit. You don’t have long left, I suggest you get practicing, and fast!”

The door opened and in walked Captain Daniels and a group of officers from the other platoons and companies. Spartan quickly saluted as they entered.

“Lieutenant. Glad you are here. They are interested to see what the Vanguards can do first hand in close quarter work. I told them you would be happy to demonstrate some of their fighting prowess. Apparently, not all of them are convinced the Vanguards won’t be overrun, due to lack of numbers and ability to use cover as effectively as marines.”

“Marines? We still are marines, Sir. I recall we fought in close quarters, without issue, underground at the Bone Mill and in the ruins of New Carlos. On every occasion we were heavily outnumbered.”

“I know,” he replied with a forced smile. “Perhaps you could indulge them?”

“Sir,” replied Spartan.

Captain Hobbs stepped forward with a cold expression on her face.

“How many marines will it take to bring you down, Lieutenant?”

Spartan took two steps forward, the heavy metal of the suit clunk on the metal flooring.

“How many have you got?”

Hobbs, apparently unfazed by his approach, signalled to a team towards the rear of the room. The group had been quiet until now, from the look on their faces they were all too familiar with her.

“This is one of my most experienced and decorated squads. You might recognise some of them from the Battle of the Bone Mill.”

“Battle?” laughed Spartan, instantly regretting his obvious enjoyment.

“You supported us during the operation to recover the tech? That was a successful mission, one I think you’ll find aptly demonstrated the Vanguards.”

“It did. You were insubordinate, undisciplined and too eager to rush ahead without obeying the strict chain of command. As you are aware…”

Captain Daniels stepped in to intervene.

“I have to meet with another platoon shortly, perhaps we could get on with the demonstration?”

Captain Hobbs nodded, obviously not impressed at the interruption of her rant. Spartan looked at her carefully as she waved over the squad of four marines. Each was already wearing armoured PDS suits and none were carrying weapons. They moved to the series of lockers on the inner wall and proceeded to remove sparring weapons. Three took out what looked like padded metal clubs, the fourth took a padded metal sword. Hobbs walked up to them and in one quick action removed the padding on the sword to reveal a thin, blunted piece of curved metal. She did the same with the other three until the entire squad was stood before Spartan, each carrying metal weapons and eager for a fight.

“Four, is that it?”

Hobbs said nothing. Her expression was unsettling though. Spartan had seen that look before, usually from somebody who had something up their sleeves. He shrugged inwardly. All he could do was his best and just hope she hadn’t done anything stupid. He looked at the four marines, who in almost perfect synchronisation lowered their own visors and lifted their weapons ready to fight.

“Everybody else get back, we need the hall!” he barked and then lifted his arms into what looked like a fighting stance.

“Ready?”

The marines all nodded.

“Come on then!”

The four ran at him, each spaced apart by two or three metres. Spartan lowered himself slightly, his legs bent and relaxed. The first man reached him and started stabbing with the metal spear. The left arm of the Vanguard armour was reinforced and equipped with a modified excavator blade. A quick parry from Spartan easily brushed the blow aside. He swung in his right arm but had to redirect to deflect attack from the other two.

“Where is the fourth?” he growled to himself, still beating off the attacks from the marines.

Under normal circumstances he may not have noticed the movement, but something caught his eye. Glancing upwards, he saw the shadow of the last marine moving along the ceiling. The marine was above him!

“Shit!” he snarled and without thinking he dropped to one knee and rolled to the side. No sooner had he moved than the fourth man crash down next to him, missing Spartan by just a metre and slamming his heavy metal rod down to the ground.

The other three positioned themselves in a loose line. Spartan simply stood there, not moving, glaring at each of them. To one side, he noticed Hobbs, it looked like she’d signalled to someone. But he may have misread it. All four of them rushed him, each waving their weapons.

“No more messing about!” he growled.

Dropping both arms, he struck upwards and hit the first two in the chest with the tip of the arms. Both flew backwards and onto their backs, neither moved. The remaining marines kept at arm’s reach and swung for him, trying to attack the more delicate parts of the armour or possibly the face. It didn’t matter, neither was able to cause any substantial hits. Spartan pushed forward and immediately felt as though several hundred kilos of weight had just been added to his left arm. A series of alarms started flashing inside the suit. A computerised voice spoke from deep in the bowels of the armour.

“Armour malfunction, firmware overwrite. Safety protocol activated.”

One by one the computerised components shut down, until he was left with just basic motor functions and almost no power. The visor darkened as the photosensor shut down, now unable to detect light levels. Knowing that in just a few seconds he would be immobile, Spartan struck the override switch that transferred full manual control of the armour. The visor was still darkened, so he struck out with several meaty punches with his arms. They felt slow and cumbersome, his muscles strained as he moved the deadweight. Something clanged, he must have struck one of the marines.

“Where the hell is it?”

He rummaged around in the right arm, trying to find the switch that was connected to the cable override to the visor. He thought he had it, but a heavy impact on his left leg caused him to drop down and lose his position. As he hit the floor, he finally found the lever and pulled on it hard. The visor popped open, exposing his head at least allowing him to see. One of the marines was looking down at him, holding the blunt sword above his head. With a mighty effort Spartan dropped to his side and kicked out, striking the man and knocking him down.

“One left.”

Panting as though he had just run a double marathon he stood up, the malfunctioning suit still in one piece and partially operational. The final marine stood in front, the metal rod in one hand and shaking his head.

“What’s the matter? Too much work for you, Corporal?” shouted Spartan.

Not waiting for an answer, he stomped slowly forward and towards the man. Sensing danger, the final marine stepped back, looking for cover.

“Stop!” shouted Captain Daniels, who was stood off to the side with the rest of the officers and marines who were watching the bizarre matchup with interest. Spartan stopped and flicked the escape switch. The suit clunked and part of the front popped open. He pulled the release cords and dropped out of the suit and onto the floor. It wasn’t enough, Spartan straightened himself and marched towards the panicking marine. Free of the confines of the dead weight, Lieutenant Spartan felt fast and free as he moved up to within one metre of the man.

“Next time, don’t hesitate. Strike hard and strike fast. We don’t have the luxury of second chances in the Vanguards. Understood?”

“Sir, yes, Sir!”

Daniels and the others moved closer as several of the marines helped their comrades out of their dented and buckled armour.

“What the hell happened to you?” asked Captain Daniels.

“That’s what I would like to know. The suit powered down and started installing some kind of subroutine.”

“How is that even possible?” asked a sceptical Captain Hobbs.

“Sir, look!” called one of the marines who was busy looking about inside the suit.

Daniels was first there, pushing his head inside the armour and examining the mass of electronics.

“What is it?”

The marine pulled his head back out from the suit, in his hand he held a mass of thick cables, each one neatly burnt and clipped.

“Part of the loom and the backup to the main power unit has been burnt right through. It couldn’t have happened in the fight. If you look here, the cut ands burn marks are too precise.”

Captain Daniels looked confused.

“What are you implying, Corporal?”

“I’m not, Sir. I’m suggesting that there are only two things that could have happened here. Either somebody must have had a blowtorch accident during maintenance or else it was left like this on purpose.”

“Blowtorch? Inside the suit!” repeated Spartan. His tone suggested he was far from convinced by the explanation.

“I agree. It does seem unlikely. Are you sure there is no external damage? A tool or weapon could have worked its way inside during the training or even regular maintenance?” asked Daniels.

“No way, Sir. I’ve just checked the area around the damage. The armour is intact, not even a scratch on the metalwork. I reckon you could take a 20mm cannon round in that plating and still walk away.”

Captain Hobbs moved closer to the suit and examined it with a cursory glance, then went back to Captain Daniels and Lieutenant Spartan.

“If you ask me, this simply shows the suit is accident or error prone. A simple malfunction or problem with maintenance, and the suit is rendered useless to all. All, but the most bestial of men,” she said looking directly at Spartan.

Captain Daniels could see and sense their hostility but appeared unwilling to try and place himself between them. He did speak up, though.

“If a fighter jet or weapon malfunctions, what does a marine do? He improvises, he overcomes. That is our mantra and one that Spartan himself aptly demonstrated. If I am not mistaken, he was able to eliminate three of the four attackers and then chase down the fourth. This was even with a barely functioning suit. I would call that a damned successful test, Lieutenant.”

Spartan stared intently at Captain Hobbs as he replied.

“Thank you, Sir. The engineers have done some excellent work on the suits.”

He then turned back to Captain Daniels.

“I don’t understand how this kind of damage could occur. I’ve been in action against heavy weapons and sustained substantial battle damage, and still not seen this kind of internal damage. I’ll get the crews to double-check the other suits for similar issues.”

Captain Hobbs started to look uncomfortable as the other two officers discussed the damage. In an attempt to steer the conversation away into another direction, she cleared her throat. Captain Daniels paused and looked towards her.

“I concede Spartan is quite capable in a physical confrontation of brawn and strength. The question is, can he do the same for his entire unit? You see, being an officer is more than just a uniform. Some of us are meant to be officers, others are better suited to other roles.”

Spartan took a half step forward, his brow tightening with tension.

“Really? Is that what you say to yourself every morning?”

Captain Daniels grabbed Spartan and dragged him away from the group.

“Lieutenant! That is enough.”

Once they were out of earshot he spoke quietly. “You have to watch your mouth, Spartan. People like Hobbs will have your ass. She is a career officer and I promise you, she will have friends in high places. Understood?”

Spartan looked around him towards Hobbs, and then moved back.

“Yeah, I understand alright.”

Captain Daniels shook his head in frustration and moved back to the rest of the group.

“I suggest we keep the testosterone for the battlefield. There are more than enough enemies to go round for all of us.”

“I agree,” answered a jubilant looking Captain Hobbs.

She indicated to several of her junior marines to follow her. Moving towards the door, she stopped in front of the now dripping and filthy Spartan. Compared to the rest of the marines in the room, he was by far the roughest looking but also the most physically intimidating. Even the Platoon Sergeant paled in comparison to the strength and bulk of the man.

“Look at you, Spartan. Really, are you what we need? You have only just moved up through the ranks and lack some of the more, well, civilised behaviours we would expect in the Marine Corps. If you want to lead marines, you need to be more than just a man that bleeds and sweats!”

She turned smartly and headed through the door, her small group of marines following closely behind. Spartan’s face turned from calm and passive to taut anger. It was only quick intervention by Captain Daniels that stopped him stepping forward.

“Stop, you have work to do here, don’t you?”

Spartan said nothing, his face giving the Captain all the answer he needed.

“Get back to work, Lieutenant, I’ll check on you and your unit later. Understood?”

Spartan looked back at him, his face relaxing just a bit before he nodded in agreement. Captain Daniels shook his head once more, realising that it was starting to become a habit when he was around Spartan. He almost said something unkind, before the images of the fighting on Avagana came back to him. Spartan had fought hard and well and his actions had not only helped win the day, he’d also saved a good number of marines. He gave him a grim smile, not much but it was something and then made for the door. With the officers now gone, it was just Spartan and the rest of the marines who were waiting for their introduction to the armour and the unit.

“Right, now that the niceties are out of the way, I think it might be an idea to introduce myself.”

A few of the marines started to laugh and the tense atmosphere in the training hall instantly evaporated. Spartan could sense it as well. He could feel his muscles started to ease and his heart rate slowing. He took a slow, deep breath before starting.

“My name is Spartan, Lieutenant Spartan. As you may have already worked out, I have only recently been promoted to Lieutenant. I’m not the best shot, not by a long margin. What I do have, is the hard won experience of pit fighting in the arenas on Prometheus. That place has taught me many things, not least how to fight and how to defend myself in battle. This ability to fight the enemy, up close and with any weapon, is an ability I feel has been lacking on the Corps. We have the kit and the weapons, but we stand off and fight at range. Since I’ve been a marine, I’ve been in action almost continually since the overrunning of the Titan Naval Station. I have seen action in space and on Kronus, Kerberos, Prime and of course, Prometheus. The kind of fighting I’ve seen has been an equal share of firefights and close quarter combat. I’ve fought the Zealots, Biomechs, insurgents and also assholes like Captain Hobbs.”

More laughter reverberated around the hall.

“None of this really matters to you, other than for you to know one thing. I have seen these suits in action and have detailed combat experience of them. I suggest you listen carefully to what I have to say and then take it to the rest of the platoon for your first deployment.”

“Any questions before I begin?”

Three marines raised their hands.

“You!”

“Sir!” replied the nearest. “How reliable is the armour? If it breaks down in action what do we do?”

“Good question, son. The suits, especially these new improved models, are now extremely reliable. The power plants are strong and, unless you sustain damage from substantial weaponry, you should be able to stay in the field for several months before a recharge is required. As for what happens if the suit fails, well, as you saw just now the joints are counterweighted to take as much of a strain from the motors, actuators and your own muscles. Even with a failed power plant, you will still be able to move and walk. Just don’t fall over!”

Another marine lifted her hand.

“Our unit, Sir? Is it true that the unit is being officially named as the Vanguards?”

“It already is. The rest of the marines on this ship form the commandos, the best of the marines in the entire Corps. We, however, are something else. Within the battalion, the Vanguards are to be the new elite assault unit. Our name tells you exactly what we are designed for. Expect to drop into combat and then to fight back out. A day will come where I suspect we will conduct operations completed unsupported; that day will come when our numbers are sufficient.”

The third and final marine raised his hand.

“Why are you called, Spartan, Sir?”

Spartan smiled at him. “Because that’s my name!”

He turned around and looked back to the suit he had been wearing for the demonstration. Waving his hand, the rest of the marines approached and formed a loose circle around the armour.

“I’ll go over the basics of the suit with regards to combat. The first thing to know is how to get in and out of the damned thing as quickly as possible. In an emergency you will need to be able to get in, strapped down and powered up fast. On the flipside, if there is trouble and you need to abandon the suit, you need to get out even faster. Don’t forget, there is a built-in explosive self-destruct unit on every suit. Don’t trigger it by mistake. Now, who is going to volunteer to get in the Vanguard armour first? I want the fastest possible time.”

None of the marines pushed themselves forward. Each of them was watching the rest suspiciously.

“Fair enough, you then!” he pointed to one of the women who was busy doing her best to avoid his gaze.

“Platoon Sergeant!”

The Sergeant was already in position, moving with speed and almost no sound.

“Sir!”

“Time this marine.”

He nodded in agreement.

“3…2…1…Go!” shouted Spartan.

The marine pulled open the front of the suit and threw herself into the armour to the cheers of the other marines.

“Keep going, the timer stops when you are buckled down and the suit is ready to power up!”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Titan was chosen as the first major colony to be built, following experiences learnt on the moon station. The cold, distant moon of Saturn was chosen due to its unusual and unique atmosphere. Of all the places in the Solar System, it was the one that offered the greatest possibilities for finding life or for setting up a habitable colony. It was the Huygens probe in the early twenty-first century that discovered dark rivers of water ice. It was a humble start to the era of colonisation and expansion. Titan was the first colony, but not the last.

The Lost World

No matter how many weeks Commander Anderson worked on the arid rock of Prometheus, he still found the heat uncomfortable. Local engineers, recruited by the Confed military, had installed additional cooling equipment but it just wasn’t enough. Perhaps for some of those with experience in hard labour it was acceptable, but for the Commander it was like nowhere he had ever been. Others knew the place colloquially as Hell, some were a little more imaginative with the name Inferno. The surface ran with lakes and rivers of molten ore. The heat was ever present in the hollowed-out tunnels and chambers deep in inside the surface layer. Yes, Hell was probably a good description, he thought to himself.

He wiped his brow with a cloth and then looked up to the three transports, each were waiting on the platform. They were not the heavy transports used by the Army and Marines, these were civilian vessels than could ferry people and supplies up to the major vessels waiting in orbit. He was only familiar with the Tamarisk though, the Q Ship he had used to get to Prometheus in the first place.

From his viewpoint behind the thickened glass, he watched the latest group of Jötnar moving up the platform and onto the vessels. Commander Gun, an odd character by any standards, had already established a basic command structure with the Biomechs being divided up into fifty-man units led by a Captain. It was a strange system. He had tried to instil the basic of command structure but the self-righteous Gun had got his own way. Fifty Captains had been selected personally by Gun, after a series of tests that had could only describe as barbaric. Thirty-eight had left with Gun and the combat battalions, the other twelve had stayed behind to help train more Jötnar and help with the next generation waiting in the cylinders.

The first wave of Jötnar, full two battalions, had left days ago on the massive transport the Navy had commandeered, along with a number of recently recaptured cruisers and frigates. The CCS Yorkdale, as it was now known, was hardly a ship of the line but it was well built and contained ample space for their mammoth proportions. It had been modified in less than a week with point defence weapons. It was loaded with landing craft and spare parts.

A small group of marines were waiting on the platform near the ramp leading up to the Tamarisk. Each wore the usual PDS suit to protect them against the heat and hostile atmosphere. One tapped his head, indicating to Anderson he was about to speak. Anderson, however, was busy looking at the vessel. She had served him well in his recent adventures. The engineers had done fine work patching her up and refitting her armour and weapon systems.

“Bishop here, Commander, we’re nearly loaded. I’ve just received contact from the orbiting transports. They say they are due to leave within the hour. Are we still planning on sending the Jötnar reinforcements to join them?”

Anderson lifted up the military intercom unit from his belt to his mouth.

“That’s affirmative. General Rivers wants every combat unit we can spare sent to the front. From what I’ve heard, he is expecting heavy combat and these Jötnar are going to cause some real mischief when they get involved. The first two battalions are already earmarked for the follow-up wave. You will have four captains and their squads, so another two hundred Jötnar in your own transports.”

“Understood, Sir.”

“You have my coded data to pass to the General upon your arrival. Ensure only General Rivers or the Admiral get to see it. The data is of a highly sensitive nature, as you know. Not even the Jötnar can have access to it.”

“Affirmative. We’ll be in touch once we reach the Fleet.”

“Good luck, Sergeant, give my regards to Captain Haris. Have a safe trip.”

The man and his team followed the Jötnar into the vessel and the loading door started to lift up, quickly sealing the ship. From the side it looked like the most unlikely of warships. The vessel was squat and fitted with three large spheres nears the engines with a long beam surrounded by the cargo hold. As the engines powered up, the other two vessels did likewise. Unlike the Tamarisk, they were smaller craft designed to dock with the larger transports sat in orbit. They would be the last of the ships to be sent to join the Fleet. The latest orders from General Rivers had instructed him to use all local forces to create a strong defensive position on and around Prometheus. It was a difficult job, made more difficult by the request for most of his experienced marines and engineers.

He turned away from the windows and headed back along the main corridor that led into the compound. The tunnel had been cut with the blood and sweat of thousands of slaves. The tens of thousands of Biomechs that had fought on the battlefield were a testament to the crimes committed in this very place. The only reason Commander Anderson had not pushed for the plug to be pulled on the newest of the Biomechs, was purely down to the fact that the current generation appeared to be wholly synthetic. They were the result of years, possibly decades, of gruesome research and experimentation by the Zealots and their allies. They were the latest, and possibly the final iteration of the Biomech production line. He continued along the tunnel, considering the terrible events that had occurred there.

Making his way back, he passed multiple work gangs as they carried pieces of machinery or laid down new cables. Some of the work looked rushed but other parts, especially those related to the cooling or power systems, were buried deep inside the rock. He rounded a corner to find three marines chatting to a woman. He was about to walk past when he spotted Misaki. She had been a prisoner on the site, along with General Rivers, Spartan and the others. As he understood it, there had been some kind of trouble between her and Spartan, but he still wasn’t completely sure what had happened. Ultimately he didn’t really care, providing the complex on Prometheus was made fully operational as quickly as possible.

“Sir, Sir!” came the unmistakable voice of a woman calling out. He stopped and looked towards the group. Misaki had turned and stood at the front facing him.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Bishop said he was going on a mission. He wouldn’t tell me where. Do you know when he’ll be coming back?”

“Then he has done what any marine should do. He should not and cannot talk to people about missions and deployment. You should know about that?”

“Of course, but…”

“No, Misaki, there are no buts. You will see the Sergeant when he is next here and not a moment before.”

She looked disappointed, there was something else about her. Something he couldn’t quite get his head around, but it was there. It was if she was asking, but not really as interested as the words suggested. Next to her, the other three marines stood and said nothing, waiting for him to leave.

“Marines. Don’t you have work to do?”

“Sir!” came the smart reply and in seconds they were moving out along the corridor and away from Anderson and Misaki.

Anderson started to walk in the direction he had previously been travelling along. Misaki recognised his body language and walked alongside him.

“Your work here, on the programming system. How is it going?”

“Okay. The factory systems are very simple, most of the higher functions were being handled off-planet. This place was more like the assembly plant for a computerised ordering system. With the order part gone or blocked, we are left with the final stages but no data or management software to control it.”

“Yes, I read the report from the tech team three days ago. You think you have found something else?”

“Well, they won’t let me into the main system, but from what I have seen it would be pretty easy to upload part of our civilian production command software to work on the support shipyards. We can’t replicate what they were building, but we will be able to fabricate machines, armour and ship parts quite quickly.”

“Have you been security cleared?”

“Yes, we all had to go through the procedures. I’ve been helping Bishop and he put me through the Level Two security system so I could assist with the atmosphere and air conditioning system.”

“Interesting. With a large number of the military personnel gone, I am having to rely upon greater numbers of civilians to work on the industrial parts of this site. Bring me your proposals in an hour, along with a full presentation. I’ll bring my Sergeant Kowalski along to take a look. If he likes what you say, I think you might find we’ll get you drafted.”

“Thank you, Sir, I’ll get right on it,” she replied and then jogged away into the heart of the compound.

He watched her go, thinking quietly to himself that she seemed to be both an asset and a potential problem. Since his arrival, he’d heard rumours of her and Spartan, and now this with Bishop. He wasn’t trying to be judgemental, but he was being careful. Weaknesses could lead to all kinds of potential problems and he had enough of those to resolve already.

Commander Anderson continued at his same pace, until he reached the observation platform that gave a sweeping panoramic view of the circular heart of the base. Many tunnels, corridors and structures led from the centre. It was right here that some of the heaviest fighting had taken place during Spartan and General Rivers’ uprising. Prometheus was far from the richest colony in the Confederacy, but what it lacked in civilisation it made up for with raw materials, industrial capacity and more importantly, the storms. The great plasma and electrical storms that raged for hundreds of thousand of kilometres around the planet made it deadly to approach. Only those with the secret route, established by him and his crew, could make the trip in days. For everybody else, it would take months unless they ran the gauntlet and risked their ships.

“Sir, we’re loaded and ready to go. I’ll be in touch when we rendezvous with the Fleet,” came the familiar voice of the recently promoted Sergeant Bishop.

“Good work. Have a safe trip and guard that data!”

“Understood, Sir, we won’t let you down.”

*

“Okay, marines, this is it,” announced Lieutenant Colonel Blake from the front of the now familiar briefing room on board the CCS Santa Cruz. Every officer from the battalion was crammed inside and two of the doors had to be left open so more could hear what the commanding officer had to say.

“Thirty minutes ago, advance elements of the Fleet, led by the Crusader, arrived outside Euryale. They have run directly into the path of a full scale Union invasion of the planet.”

A murmur of shock and excitement spread like wildfire. Blake lifted his hand for silence.

“This is not entirely unexpected. We had intelligence that the enemy had plans for Euryale, though not quite of this magnitude. The enemy forces are substantial, much more so than our previous assessments had led us to believe. There are at least five captured, or possibly mutinied, Confed warships and over two-dozen vessels of an unknown origin. These include some configured as the size of cruisers. We suspect these latter ships have been constructed in secret, such as at the yards on Prometheus, though it is unclear how they have amassed so many without us knowing. We have General Rivers and his team to thank for shutting that place down or else it might be even more. It is a powerful fleet, but one Admiral Jarvis is convinced we can defeat.”

A few of the officers turned to look in the direction of Spartan. It was well known that he and the others marines had been captured and forced to work on the planet for many weeks, before starting a violent and successful uprising. Spartan was a little uncomfortable at the attention and glad when the officer continued his briefing.

“There is something else. We have received word that Typhon himself may be present. Rumours have come our way, from agents on fallen colonies, that he has been moving between the colonies on a heavily modified warship. Until now, we thought this more mere speculation. If you look here, you will see this ship is like nothing we have seen before.”

The image on the display showed what looked like a bloated version of a Confed heavy cruiser. It was bristling with small bumps and antennas.

“The size and design tell us nothing of its capabilities, but it does match two reports of Typhon’s ship, the Leviathan. As you are by now aware, Typhon is the head of the Echidna Union. The enemy are completely loyal to him and his troops. If this is his ship, then it cannot be allowed to leave.”

Spartan looked at the enemy ship closely. He was by no means a naval expert, but it was clear this ship was larger and substantially different to their own ships. He was intrigued by the many bumps on the vessels. He turned and spoke quietly to Marcus.

“What are they?”

“The bumps? A communication array or maybe a weapon. I don’t know,” he said with a bemused look. One of the officers nearby gave them a stern glance and for a second Spartan felt like a scolded schoolboy. He opened his mouth to speak, but Marcus quickly struck him with his elbow.

“Remember where you are, Spartan,” he whispered. Spartan gave the fellow officer the best and most polite nod he could manage. At the front, the officer was still speaking.

“The entire planet has been blocked by scramblers for over two weeks now and only a ship in close proximity can make use of its sensors. Upon arrival, the vanguard of the Fleet came across the enemy in the middle of their ground attack. Reports from Admiral Jarvis indicate most of the fleet is away from the planet and operating a blockade, whilst the transports and cargo ships are landing forces onto the surface. They are expecting an attack and are trying to keep our ships away from Euryale.”

On the screen, the display showed the enemy fleet in a large formation and guarding the main routes into the System. A smaller number of ships orbited the planet nearby, as well as another dozen smaller vessels that were presumably scouting the area for Confed forces.

“It gets worse, the planet is already under bombardment by warships and it is making defence of the surface almost impossible. Whether they obtained intelligence we were on the way, we do not know. All we can tell is that they beat us by twelve hours and have already landed ground forces and our civilians have been forced to retreat underground.”

He pressed a button to show the three-dimensional tactical map of Euryale. It showed the planet and the ships in close proximity to the planet. There were two substantial manmade structures on the surface. The first was a major city and the second the planet’s spaceport. The port was a massive structure capable of handling civilian cargo vessels as well as military ships.

“As you already know, Euryale was a dead world. The surface was sterile and its atmosphere weak. Atmosphere generators have been working there for over a decade, but it will be half a century before it will be workable as a viable colony above ground. Nonetheless, there is almost full gravity, a fully working magnetosphere and enough of an atmosphere to allow civilians in basic suits to go about their business. There are over thirty outposts on the surface, most research or mining operations. The largest structure is the city of Oenopion. On the surface it looks like a relatively modest city but only fifteen percent of its total mass can be seen from orbit. Most of the site is underground and accessed via elevators and tunnels. There are a series of rail and road systems throughout the city. Euryale is a rich source of iron and most of the major corporations have operations on the planet. Estimates for the population are over seven hundred thousand, almost all civilian workers and engineers.”

Spartan listened carefully. The numbers seemed almost meaningless. A colony with a hundred, or a million, was still a lot of people needing help. Seven hundred thousand, most of whom were trapped underground, sounded like a tough assignment to him. Lieutenant Colonel Blake pointed to the map and an extended image of the surface of the dead planet.

“This is just the background for the operation. Admiral Jarvis and the Fleet will be taking care of the action in space. What is of more importance to you, is what you will be doing. We are due to arrive at the planet in

” he looked at his watch, ” fifty-four minutes and you will have your work cut out for you.”

He paused, for what seemed like effect, until a group of three marines walked in and brought him a datapad. The entire room waited as he read the data before handing it back. They saluted and quickly left the hall.

“Admiral Jarvis has sent us an update. The Fleet is already heavily engaged and keeping enemy forces occupied. The vanguard has smashed through the scouts and is heading towards the enemy fleet as we speak. The Crusader is doing what she does best, getting into the middle of the enemy and tearing the guts out of them. The Admiral says they have already broken though a light rearguard and destroyed a captured War Barge.”

A cheer ran out through the hall, the echo bouncing sharply from the walls. War Barges were an old class of ship dating back to the Great War and were now just used as a defence platform. They were slow and crude by modern standards, but very well armoured and equipped with massed arrays of conventional artillery and missiles.

The room quietened as Blake continued.

“General Rivers has assessed the situation from his close vantage point with the vanguard. He has organised a complex and aggressive operation to quickly take control of Euryale. We have substantial forces available for this task. As well as the 5th we have two battalions of marines on board the Santa Maria and the Bunker Hill. Army support includes nine full infantry battalions, along with their strike planes and heavy armour. This gives us a combined force of over twelve thousand marines and soldiers. More are on the way form Prometheus that will add another eight battalions, as well as our new bio-engineered friends.”

He indicated towards Major Howard who was stood, waiting patiently for the Colonel to finish his introduction.

“Sir.”

The Major then turned to the assembled officers. He wore his dress uniform, resplendent with medals and carrying his service sword on his belt. The weapon was an anachronism from centuries earlier, but it was a tradition held in high regard in the Navy and Marine Corps.

“As you might expect, as the best in the Fleet, we will be taking on the hardest mission. The 5th will lead and the rest will follow. I expect every man and woman to do the Battalion and the Confederacy proud in the next hours.”

He turned to the map that was still showing the layout and disposition of enemy forces around the city and spaceport.

“The basic plan is simple. The main force, consisting of most of our marines, will land and engage enemy forces at the spaceport on the surface. This will immediately halt the arrival of further reinforcements for the enemy. Once fully engaged, a secondary assault will be attempted to force entry into the city that is located over fifty kilometres from the spaceport. The 5th will be spearheading the assault onto the surface and will be closely followed by supporting units. Alpha, Bravo and Charlie companies will be landing at the primary spaceport on the surface. It has already sustained damage and there is fighting ongoing. Marine detachments from the Santa Cruz and Santa Maria will provide support for this part of the operation. Bunker Hill will stay in reserve as will most of the regular Army units.”

He paused deliberately, knowing that the rivalry between the Army and Marines would simply force them both to try and outperform each other.

“I will be leading this part of the assault and we can expect heavy and bloody resistance. The Army will follow us in, as and when we need them and their heavy equipment.”

The maps moved in even closer to show parts of the city, ruined roads and several destroyed railway lines. The planet was clearly inhabited and had a well-established road and mass transmit system.

“It is no accident the Union selected Euryale as the first step in their final conquest of Proxima. It is lightly protected and of more use to us than them. Remember, it is their intention to enslave every man, woman and child in the Confederacy. They already occupy the most populous colonies in Proxima Centauri. We need Euryale. We need the colony, its people and most of all, we need to prove that the Confederacy has the right to lead in this Sector. Euryale must not fall!”

He tapped a key and the map adjusted to show the spaceport and the city of Oenopion. A series of rail tracks and highways linked the two together. A large number of black marks and smoke trails showed that significant fighting must have already taken place in the last few hours.

“Fifty kilometres from the spaceport, the city of Oenopion has already been penetrated by lead elements of the enemy. Scans show a number of armoured vehicles destroyed or burning on the surface. Troops are being landed in their hundreds and then travelling to the city where they are forcing their way inside. The surface of Euryale is unfriendly at best and downright dangerous when it gets bad. Visibility is poor and there are frequent storms and strong winds. This is one of the main reasons for so much of the city being below the surface. We can assume the underground entrances, through the elevators and tunnels, will already be blocked and defended by Union troops. Especially, as they know we are here. They will not want us breaking through their lines. A frontal assault by marines or army units would be suicidal under the circumstances. The operation to take the city will be led by none other than Captain Daniels and the newly founded Vanguard Company. There is limited space to land and very heavy resistance is expected. It will be a tough first assignment for the company.”

He turned to Captain Daniels who waited patiently to the side. Spartan watched carefully as he moved to the middle. Captain Daniels was the youngest and most junior officer present at the front of the hall. First, he turned to the commanding officers.

“Thank you for giving my company the honour of leading this attack. I know there are some who doubt the wisdom of spending such time and resources on the unit, but this is the situation for which they were created. With the thickest armour and the best close quarter combat marines in the battalion, I firmly believe there isn’t a wall we cannot penetrate.”

He then looked out to the marines in the hall.

“The Vanguard Company will land fifteen minutes after the primary assault on the spaceport. That attack should draw away sufficient firepower to get the heavy armour onto the ground. Once the Vanguards have obtained access to the city, additional forces from Force Recon and the Combat Engineers with the CES armour will follow to clear their way inside. The chosen landing zone is a partially ruined retail area on the northern side of the city. It has the widest tunnel leading below the surface and is the weakest defensive structure within the city limits.”

The Colonel nodded in agreement and then indicated he wanted to speak further.

“Strike aircraft from the Wasp and Ark Royal will lead the Vanguards in and perform two sweeps of the area. The landing will take place within sixty seconds of the strafing runs to give you the element of surprise. We are talking about the ultimate expression of shock and awe here. For this part of the operation, as with the spaceport, the Bunker Hill and the Army regulars will wait in reserve. They will not be landed until we have the spaceport secure, so we can land the big birds. Oenopion is accessible by landing craft and shuttles only. Marine and Army transports need the spaceport.”

He zoomed out on the map again to show the planet and the ongoing space battle.

“We don’t have long. Euryale is just hours from disaster. Remember, we hit the ground running, just like always. Marines hit the spaceport and cut off the enemy supply line. The Vanguards smash into Oenopion and destroy any potential air defences. Then they break into the city and link up with the defenders. Assuming we are successful, follow-up waves of marines will flood the colony with Army support if needed. Any questions?”

A flurry of hands went up, some from the senior officers but a few from the lower ranks. Spartan also raised his hand.

“Yes?” said the Colonel, pointing to Spartan.

“Sir. The amount of ground to cover is substantial. Should the Army, with its greater manpower, be used against the spaceport and our entire battalion used together against the city?”

“Lieutenant, isn’t it?”

Spartan nodded.

“The plan is already in motion. The spaceport is the main landing zone for armour, heavy equipment and the internal transportation system for the surface of the planet. In approximately ninety minutes, the enemy will be able to push out and secure the city, cutting us off completely from the people underground. If we do not hit the spaceport quickly, we will never get to them. Ideally you are correct, we would hit one or the other first. Time isn’t on our side, we need our best forces in two places at once. As of now, there is no way inside without fighting our way in. That’s where your company comes in, Captain,” he answered and looked over to Captain Daniels at the same time.

“You will hit the city with a small, but powerful force. They are no more access points to the city that we can use, other than by directly landing in the urban sections. Once you are underground, you can expect to find your space is limited. There will be little room for manoeuvre. It will be a killing ground for regular infantry but your armour should give us a chance to break in.”

Captain Hobbs, who until now had been silent, lifted her hand.

“Sir. Is there no access from the spaceport? Can’t we just land everything there and then fight our way underground? There must be tunnels or underground subways from the transportation hub connected to the spaceport?”

Major Howard took the question.

“No, there is nothing usable. We have checked our tactical data and also orbital imagery, there are no underground routes to the city. There are plans and some construction work underway on a rail system, but it extends only one-fifth the way to the city do far. There is simply nothing under the spaceport but rock and ore. It is designed this way to keep spacecraft, supplies and dangerous materials away from the access points of the city. In this case, it is the only reason the enemy hasn’t already secured the planet. We have to neutralise it though, as they are landing heavy weapons and equipment at this point, as well as scores of transports with ground troops.”

Spartan lifted his hand once more and he instantly spotted the look of frustration on Major Howard’s face.

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

“Any intelligence on numbers?”

“Your company commanders have already received data on the specifics. Overall, we estimate over ten thousand troops on the surface, including an unknown number of Biomechs of different models. We have also detected armour from colonial armouries, including tracked vehicles. Check your datapads with your commanders for specifics.”

No more hands went up and the mood in the room was electric. The operation wasn’t just an infantry landing, it was a massive combined arms operation and for many of them, bigger than anything they had ever seen. The Lieutenant Colonel nodded to Major Howard to end the briefing.

“Good. I’m sure your units will all perform admirably and in the way I would expect any marine to conduct himself. Remember, every combat operation conducted is fluid. Force disposition and resources change, but always remember the goal. Maintenance of the aim is critical. Spaceport and city are the twin objectives. Both are to be secured quickly and efficiently. Improvise and overcome, so we achieve our objectives with the minimum losses to our forces and the civilians. We expect reinforcements with the Vengeance battlegroup to be with us in less than thirty hours. If all goes well, they will just be needed to help mop up. Good hunting, people!”

*

“Damage report!” shouted Commander Andrews from his position deep inside the CiC. The ship shuddered from another massed barrage of cannon shells that slammed hard into her armoured flank. Though the vessel was of considerable bulk, it was possible to feel the impacts this far inside the ship. The tactical officer called over from his seated position.

“Sir. We’ve sustained light damage to the starboard flank. One weapons battery out of action. The ablative layers have sustained minor damage. No hull breaches reported, Sir.”

Commander Andrews pulled down his intercom from the mount on the wall.

“This is the XO of Crusader. I need frigates to screen our flanks, fast!”

A flurry of confirmations came back from the myriad of smaller vessels that swarmed the capital ships like flies.

“Admiral. We’re within range of the main guns of the enemy. Shall we return fire?”

At the back of the CiC, looking like a skulking cat, Admiral Jarvis stood, flanked by two marine guards.

“Negative, hold your fire and proceed to the target.”

“Aye, Sir.”

Admiral Jarvis looked back to the tactical map of Euryale and the many ships circling the planet. Around it, and also in a large group a distance from the planet, were a series of icons representing the enemy forces. On one of the screens was a direct video feed from the Bunker Hill, the largest of the three marine transports.

“Are you sure about this?” asked the General.

“Which part of the plan?”

General Rivers selected a section of the map and highlighted it on her screen. It showed the largest group of ships representing the bulk of the enemy capital ships and a large number of troops transports.

“Here. From what I can see, you are sending the first wave of our forces, eight capital ships and nearly thirty escorts, up against two-dozen warships and transports plus an unknown number of escorts. Wouldn’t it be better to move to the planet and hold them off while my ground forces land.”

“No. We need to keep the big guns off your Assault Division as long as possible. You only have seven military transports with their twelve battalions of troops, in place. It is barely enough for the job they have. I cannot afford to risk your men, General. One false move on my part and we will lose the best trained and equipped ground forces in the whole of Proxima. Twelve thousand men doesn’t sound a lot, until you no longer have them.”

She zoomed back out on the map to the front of the Confed Fleet, specifically two green columns of warships containing most of the capital ships.

“As planned, my primary force is advancing in two groups, Crusader leading the first column and Rear Admiral Churchill with the Royal Oak, leading the second. That gives us a total of five armoured cruisers, one assault cruiser and the Crusader. We also have three squadrons of heavy frigates and a dozen destroyers in the attack. The gunboats and fighters of the Wasp and Royal Oak will help as a missile screen and provide torpedo fire support. Our force is sufficiently powerful that they will have to face us or risk annihilation by splitting up.”

“I agree. It is a formidable force, but what of the enemy? I am not sure I have seen these vessels before. If you hit trouble, my troops will have no defence against a counter-attack.”

“General, if my ships can’t hold them off, then we are well and truly finished anyway. This is all we have!”

She brought up several screens showing the schematics and disposition of the enemy vessels ahead. The ships contained some similarities to the vessels in the Confederation Fleet but there were some marked differences, the first being their colour scheme. They were more numerous that the capital ships, but contained vessels not much larger than heavy frigates and light cruisers. Before either could speak, another series of blasts rattled down the hull of the ship.

“Admiral, the enemy fleet is forming up into a line of battle. Their larger vessels are presenting a solid wall with their primary weapons ranked along our bow. There’s at least one, possibly two, air defence cruisers in the centre. They are trying to jam us, but it looks like the Leviathan may be the larger cruiser in the centre of the second formation. Shall we refuse the line and

“

“No, Captain, my orders are clear. Both columns will continue forward towards the centre of the enemy forces. Put us on a direct course with the Leviathan,” she paused and looked at the view screen with the General, “one moment.”

General Rivers nodded and the Admiral wasted no time in grabbing her intercom.

“This is the Admiral. All vessels are to commence full burn. Execute tactical formation Trafalgar. Fighters and strike aircraft are to form up with the lead vessels. Proceed with defensive fire. Keep our bows clear.”

She replaced the intercom and lowered herself into one of the many chairs built into the CiC. Around her the other crew did the same, as they prepared for harsh acceleration of the warships. Until now they had been coasting towards the enemy, the ships thrusters used just to alter course and to maintain formation. With the after engine pushing the craft forward, the gravitational force would push the crew to the rear of the compartments. The rotating sections slowed and then stopped, their benefits now being halted by the opposing gravitational forces. She turned back to the General on the view screen, who she could see was busy issuing orders to his own force. Another series of shells struck the warship, the vibrations moving through the heavy bulkheads. Admiral Jarvis looked over to the XO who nodded, letting her know the ship was withstanding the attack.

“In that case, Admiral, I will take your leave and conduct the first phase of the ground assault.”

“Understood, General. Good luck!”

His image flickered and vanished on the displays.

Admiral Jarvis examined her tactical maps and virtual cameras so she could place herself directly into the centre of the battlefield. The enemy ships definitely matched the data she had seen from Prometheus and the Anomaly. She tapped a button bringing up the blurred image they’d recently examined and called over to the tactical officer.

“Have we been able to ascertain their capabilities yet?”

“No, Sir. They appear to be slightly smaller than our cruisers and have heavy power plants and engines. There appear to be eleven larger ships, each of a similar configuration to the smaller vessels, but with no obvious weapon mounts or gunports. The two larger ships show over thirty turret mounts. We assume they must be air defence vessels, possibly support ships. The larger cruiser is the one we think is the Leviathan, Typhon’s flagship. The smaller ships, I would guess, are based primarily around their weapons systems. They have no rotating sections of obvious crew space, so it is fair to assume they are short range with minimal crew on board. The larger ships are perhaps more transports? That is all.”

“Interesting,” she said quietly.

On the tactical map, the two columns of ships were now a matter of three hundred kilometres apart. They were easily within range of projectile weapons, and well in range of missile or drone systems. From her screen, she could see the line of enemy ships, bright lights flashing on their hulls as they fired their primitive but powerful artillery towards her ships. These weapons were not much different to those used hundreds of years earlier and were substantially less effective than the railguns on her vessels.

“Admiral, I’m getting reports from Rear Admiral Churchill, he says three of the frigates providing a skirmishing screen have just exploded.”

She tied to stand but the straps on her chair held her down.

“What! How?”

“Unknown, he says Wasp picked up a massive energy spike from three of the larger ships before thermal sensors on the frigates went off the charts. It took three seconds, and then they just exploded. No lifeboats, no survivors!”

“Dear, God! Is it a weapon system or are the ships sabotaged?”

“Unknown, Sir.”

She sat for a few seconds, stunned by the news. On the display her Fleet was now well in range. The amount of defensive fire from the enemy was creating a cloud of ammunition hurtling towards the two lead ships. Both vessels were well equipped with point defence turrets and all were fully engaged trying to explode shells before they reached them.

“Two hundred kilometres, Admiral, we have fired reverse thrusters. We will be inside their line in three minutes.”

“Excellent work, Captain. Get your crew ready, this battle is about to start.”

A continuous rattling sound hammered along the superstructure, as dozens of rounds and chunks of shrapnel smashed into the hull of the Crusader. A third of the enemy fleet had their guns trained on the massive warship and their fire was starting to wear down the think frontal armour on the ship.

“Breaches on Levels Three and Seven. Two batteries out, forty-one casualties.”

“Deal with it!” barked the XO.

More shots smashed against the ship.

“Heat surge detected!” shouted the tactical officer.

“Get some frigates in front of us, protect our bow!” responded the XO, in an even louder voice.

The CiC lit up with the chatter of pilots and their commanding officers of the warships. It took just seconds for a number of the frigates to alter their positions in front of the columns. Each of the ships carried between fifty and two hundred crew and their loss would be keenly felt. It was their job though to screen the Fleet and they did their job well.

“Here it comes!” yelled the tactical officer.

A series of red lights flashed up around the CiC, followed by sparks and a number of fires. Some of the displays went blank as power or circuits were damaged.

“Report?” shouted the Captain.

“We’ve taken heavy bow damage. Our frigate screen is gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Just gone, Sir. They must have taken most of the impact for us. I have severe breaches in the bow, engineers report eighty-one casualties. We can’t take more damage there, Sir.”

Admiral Jarvis sensed the deciding part of the battle was nearing. She pressed several buttons to contact Rear Admiral Churchill. His face appeared and, to her dismay, she spotted fires burning in his CiC and a number of bodies on the floor.

“Sir. We have suffered catastrophic damage, we must withdraw.”

“Negative, Admiral. Stay the course. Move up frigates and cruisers to protect your bow and ready your gunners, it is time.”

There was a short pause, interrupted by the internal speakers inside the Crusader blasting out orders from the XO. In just seconds, the two columns would meet the enemy fleet head on. It was a risky strategy, but with both columns meeting the enemy’s flank they would hopefully smash through in two points. Each ship would crash through the line and be able to fire broadsides in the bow and stern of the enemy vessels as they travelled past.

“Understood, Admiral Jarvis. We will see you on the other side.”

She looked back to the Captain, who was watching the navigation display as they moved into position. It was just seconds away now.

“5

4

3

2

1

” called out the tactical officer. Then an odd calmness travelled through the ship as the reverse thrusters stopped their burn. The ship coasted though the enemy formation at a crawl. The XO grabbed his intercom and roared through its microphone.

“All gunners, open fire! Let them burn!”

CHAPTER NINE

Particle beam weapons research was outlawed following the destruction of the Carthago shipyards. The disaster occurred during a routine test thirteen years before the Great War. A tragedy that killed over twenty thousand people.

The weapon used an ultra-high-energy beam of atoms or electrons, to damage a material target by hitting it and disrupting its atomic structure. The speed of a beam would approach that of light in combination with the energy created by the weapon would negate any realistic means of defending a target against it.

Direct Energy Weapons  An Introduction

The battle to retake the Proxima System had begun. It would prove to be the most significant battle since the Siege of Titan, similar in scale to even the largest battles of the Great War some fifty years earlier. In the opening minutes of the battle and before the two main forces of ships were fully engaged, more than a hundred crew had died from long-range fire. It was a savage start that would number the casualties in the thousands.

The primary stage of the operation began with the two Confed Navy columns smashing into the Union line. It was truly a sight to behold, as thousands of shells, projectiles and bullets tore through open space. Shreds of metal and bodies drifted in the void, yet the ships continued onwards. The climax of the battle was yet to come. The Union forces maintained their position, each vessel presenting its flank to the Confed Fleet so that they could maximise their firepower while protecting their vulnerable bow and stern.

At the front of the Confederate columns, the lead ships were heavily damaged. The immense amount of raking fire they had attracted during their high-speed rush into action was taking its toll. As they pushed between the closely spaced Union ships, the terrible truth must have occurred to the enemy. Rather than destroying the Confed columns by crossing their T, they had in fact exposed their own bows and sterns to full broadsides from the massive warships.

CCS Crusader, the heavy battlecruiser and the most powerful ship in Proxima Centauri, was the first to fire. Unlike the lighter ships, the bulk of her railguns were built into the rotating bands and sections of the vessel. This gave her a full 360° firing arc above and to the sides. Every weapon was loaded and charged. As she passed slowly between two Union warships, great streams of ionised plasma hurled from her gunports. It wasn’t the plasma that was the weapon. This was simply a consequence of weapon system blasting projectiles at a velocity and with such power. These unusual weapons were common on the larger Confed vessels and were entirely electrical. The system accelerated a conductive heavy projectile along a pair of metal rails. The core of the weapon used two rolling contacts that passed a massive electrical current through the warhead. This in turn, interacted with the magnetic fields generated by the rails and accelerated the projectile. The technology dated back to the middle of the twentieth century, but it took the powerful power plants of capital ships to allow the weapons system to flourish. There was no armour in the Confederacy that could withstand a railgun projectile, it simply obliterated anything it smashed into.

The mighty battlecruiser vanished for almost thirty seconds, as the clouds shrouded her in the dust and debris of the close quarter action. Right behind her, followed two armoured cruisers, each of these ships with its side gunports wide open and their weapons ready for close ranged battle. These ships were part of the escaped 7th Fleet from Alpha Centauri and were a powerful addition to the Fleet. Though nothing as powerful as the Crusader, they fitted somewhere between the capabilities of a conventional cruiser and a ship like the Crusader. They lacked the rotating sections of the more recent ship designs, but made up for it with additional weapons mounts and armour. As well as side-mounted railguns, they carried the massive 400mm automatic cannons. In years gone by, these ships were so powerful, even their presence was known to be enough to quell dissent on some of the more troublesome stations or bases in the Confederacy. Today, they were the second rate capital ships in a mighty fleet.

CCS Crusader moved past the enemy line and turned sharply so that she could run down the flank of the force, her guns still blazing. Following her course, the first armoured cruiser added its own fire to the already badly damaged enemy ships. Doing much the same job as the Crusader, the armoured cruiser quickly dispatched one of the larger enemy vessels in an impressive display of coordinated firepower. Each railgun round smashed through large sections of the ship, some of them even going so far as to pass completely through the vessel. It was a massacre.

At the same time as the first column smashing the line, Rear Admiral Churchill’s force of ships did the same towards the rear of the enemy formation. It was a textbook assault in the fashion of the naval battles of old. The Confederation warships were tougher and better armed for the close range duelling. Behind the two columns the carrier Wasp waited, protected by a swarm of frigates and gunboats. As she stood off at a safe distance, her squadrons of fighters rushed out to assist. A much smaller number of the assault gunboats moved ahead. These powerful vessels were usually used to escort transports and were armed to the point of excess. The small fighters darted around the craft in small formations. From a distance, it looked like a mighty two-pronged dart being stabbed into the heart of the enemy line. In the centre of the enemy fleet, protected by the two large cruisers, was the Leviathan. Her dark red hull looking almost black, unless lit by weapons fire or the direct illumination of the star.

As the battle started its first bloody stage, the second part of the Fleet started firing their reverse engines. At that moment they were out of scanning range, but it wouldn’t be long before the planetary assault force reached its destination. This formidable force included the assault carrier CCS Ark Royal and her compliment of fighters. The mighty formation of ships approached the planet almost half an hour behind the primary attack force.

*

Flashes burst around the group of fighters, as they braved their way into the heart of the space conflict. From inside his Lightning Mk II fighter, Wing Commander Anders did his best to avoid the incoming flak guns and debris. The action was well underway as the fighters rushed past the battle lines looking for targets of opportunity. The small twin-engine craft was fast and agile and usually used as a high-speed interceptor. Their speed and agility was their only realistic defence in a place where they could be crippled by a single cannon round. Though not as powerful as the heavier Thunderbolt strike bomber they were escorting, they still carried a powerful payload of Skua anti-ship missiles and powerful automatic cannons. The enemy forces were taking heavy damage and his fighter wing was looking for stragglers to pick off. A series of messages from CCS Royal Oak and CCS Crusader popped onto his helmet display.

“Angel One to Angel Squadron, vector seven. We have two vessels breaking off. Escort the heavies into range, watch for turret fire!”

The squadron of eight fighters split up into two groups of four, each one altering course to bring them in front and to the flank of the four Thunderbolt fighter bombers from Delta Squadron. These heavier fighters were easily double the size of the Lightnings and powered by four substantial engines. They carried two crew, but the size and number of defensive turrets showed a marked difference in design and capability. Above and below the wings, fitted onto the pylons, sat a dozen Skua anti-ship missiles. They were the same light missiles used by all Confed fighters but these craft carried far more. Under the hull, was a single tungsten tipped anti-ship torpedo. In the nose of the weapon was a state of the art micro-fission charge. These tiny nuclear warheads were the most powerful weapons carried by fighters and capable of destroying a cutter, or even a destroyer, with one well aimed shot. The hardened tip would allow it to penetrate deep inside the hull of the target before the warhead ignited. All of this was irrelevant, if they couldn’t get close enough to target the enemy ships.

The Wing Commander checked his tactical displays, noting the massive amount of electronic jamming taking place. It wasn’t strong enough to interrupt his communication systems, but it would stop the targeting computer. There was no chance he, or the rest of the fighters, could get a decent weapon lock under these circumstances. They would have to launch their weapons on a direct line of sight. This made it much more difficult to get into position and also a lot easier for the enemy to shoot down the approaching ordnance.

“Wilks, put the Skua missiles on manual, we’re gonna have to do this the old fashioned way.”

His gunner nodded and flicked a number of switches to deactivate the main tracking system for the missiles. A series of flak bursts shook the craft as they passed two duelling warships and moved in on a direct course to the stern of a retreating Union frigate. They were less than ten kilometres away and though the frigate was leaving a trail of debris and lifeboats, its guns were still firing.

“Delta Squadron, I’m getting tactical data from the Wasp. The line has been split and part of their fleet is trying to escape. Gunboats are heading for the heavy cruiser. We have the two trying to sneak away. Right here.”

He tapped the button that would send a marker to each fighter. Their mapping displays would show the designated target, as well as highlighting it on the head up displays built into their helmets.

“We’ll take the frigate first, then we’ll deal with the light cruiser.”

“Hold on!” he forced the nose of his jet downwards and hit the thrust button. Unlike movement in the atmosphere, in space the fighters kept travelling in the same direction unless they used their thrusts to alter the course. They moved lower until they approached from underneath the rear of the ship. Four point defence turrets blazed away, each one released a series of small calibre cannon rounds.

Wing Commander Anders spotted the incoming fire at the last moment and hit the vector thrusters button. It was for emergency course changes and sent a massive burst of power from an additional engine outlet mounted on the top and bottom of the fighter. The burst hit the two men like a sledgehammer, pushing the fighter down thirty metres before he corrected their course. The stream of shells tore past, missing the fighter by just a few metres. Their wingman wasn’t fast enough and a number of the rounds ripped through the nose and port wing, shredding the vessel and blasting it off course.

The two groups of fighters kept on their course, continuing to drift up and down to throw off some of the incoming weapons fire. They were past the centre of the battle and approaching three heavy frigate type vessels, all of which appeared to be breaking away from the heavy fire of the Confed cruisers. One of the ships had scores of domes along its flanks and top of the hull.

“Angel Squadron, watch out, the main target looks like a fleet defence ship. Take her out fast!” he barked.

“Sir, we’re in range!” shouted his gunner.

“Do it! Do it!” he cried and did his best to keep the fighter on a straight course. It wasn’t easy as streams of gunfire ripped past him, threatening to destroy the fighter in a single burst. As he tapped the joystick, he spotted the flashes from the other fighters and then felt the clunk from his own wing pylons. Four missiles released from their mounts and with a burst of fire pushed away from the fighter. At first their speed appeared slow, but they increased in velocity quickly, each missile hurtling towards the rear of the larger enemy ship. No sooner had they released their missiles, he gave the evasion signal.

He hit the vector button again and lifted the fighter up high and away from possible defensive fire. The burst of power from below the fighter pushed the crew downwards and Wing Commander Anders’ vision started to fade before the computer took over and reversed the thrust to put them back on course.

“Everybody here?”

He had his answer before anybody could speak. On the main tactical display, it flashed the status of the squadrons and showed him they were still down just one fighter. So far, so good. They moved over the warship and accelerated towards their next target. Below them the weapons turrets blazed away, but this time the enemy were more interested in fighting off the dozens of Skua missiles streaking towards their ship.

Once the first missile reached two hundred metres from the weapons detection, alarms flashed on the fighters. The point defence mounts must have triggered their close quarter mode, as the area of space around the ship filled with thousands of metal shards from the small Gatling gun mounts. The rapid fire weapons made short work of the first eight missiles, each of the guns tracking quickly to explode them as they reached the defensive perimeter. Only so many could be stopped, one struck near the port engine, quickly followed by another five. The first explosion was small, the blast contained by the medium armour. As the follow-up missiles arrived the damage expanded until a series of explosions tore out a large section from her hull.

All of this was insignificant next to the two torpedoes that followed right behind the missiles. The smaller Skua weapons were merely a decoy to keep the turrets occupied. A hail of small calibre defensive fire from three rotating turrets managed to clip one torpedo. The onboard computer sensed the distance to the target and also the damage it had sustained, determining it had to detonate. Though it was fifty metres away from the ship’s hull, the heat from the explosion managed to create significant damage. Even better, the explosion blinded the defensive system from the second torpedo. It slammed inside the damaged ship and exploded with a blinding flash deep inside its hull. A bright blue flash indicated the main power system had been breached and streaks of energy and debris tore from the inside.

“Beautiful!” Anders rolled over to watch the stern tear completely away from the ship, both sections now blazing from internal fires. Additional explosions continued along her entire length.

“Angel and Delta Squadrons, reform on me.”

In didn’t take long for the remaining fighters to regroup and move to a safer distance from the ongoing battle.

“Are you seeing this?” called Angel Three.

“All I can see is a whole lot of lead being flung down there!” exclaimed one of the other pilots.

Wing Commander Anders glanced at the tactical map. The space battle was becoming messy. Dozens of ships were now broken from formation and small skirmishes between two or three ships at a time made it look more like a ground battle. He could see their target, the break in the line, where a light cruiser was trying to escape. During their attack, the cruiser must have been joined by another frigate and they were circling a Confed armoured cruiser. The enemy vessels included a small number of captured Confederate ships, at least two cruisers and three Achilles class frigates. It made visual scanning difficult with so many similar ships fighting.

“Sir, I think the larger ship is on a collision course with the cruiser!” called one of his wingmen.

He looked at the unfolding battle and hit the analysis engine built into his computer system. It quickly calculated the likelihood of collision, his wingman was correct.

“Affirmative. They will strike the Valiant in seventy seconds.”

“Can they evade?”

“Negative, they are already trying. The enemy cruiser is faster and more manoeuvrable.”

He checked to his left and his right, ensuring the rest of the fighters were with him.

“We have two more torpedoes left. Break and attack, we have to keep her away from the Valiant.”

“What about the frigate?”

Wing Commander Anders thought for a moment. He had just seven fighters and four bombers. It was maybe enough to damage the frigate, or the cruiser, but not both. He couldn’t decide and was about to say something when one of the bombers spotted movement from the centre of the battle line.

“Sir! The Crusader!” he shouted.

Anders looked down to his right, unable to see what was happening. Then he saw her. The Crusader smashed through the wreckage of the crippled cruiser and towards the approaching enemy light cruiser. As she emerged from the dust and sparks, her damaged, but still intact armoured prow, was forcing through like a battering ram. Though most of her weapons were along the hull in the rotating rings, there were still four guns mounted in the bow and they fired continually. The volleys of projectiles surged ahead and tore chunks out of the two enemy ships.

“Sweet! Look at her go!” cried one of the bomber pilots.

As the hulk of the ship cleared the debris, her broadside batteries were clear and even more railguns opened fire. Several looked like scatter guns as they blasted the approaching enemy ships. The front of the enemy light cruiser vanished, as metre-long sections were ripped apart. A ripple of blue explosions ran along the dorsal section of the ship, as it ripped apart into three almost equal sections. The remaining frigate turned to flee, but was already taking dozens of railgun rounds in her flank. Lifeboats appeared to be launching.

A light on the comms system indicated a coded message from the warship. He tapped the receive key.

“This is Captain Tobler, commander of the CCS Crusader. We have this under control. Proceed to the Assault Division and join the rest of the air support. They need your assistance. Good work, Wing Commander.”

Anders sighed to himself before turning from his attack. His first thought was disappointment that they were not needed and that their possible sacrifice had been so easily brushed aside. This thought was quickly tempered by his realisation that his group of fighters would have taken heavy casualties up against a well-armed light cruiser, and possibly faced complete annihilation. In reality, their craft were not designed for use in the middle of what was turning out to be slugfest.

“Abort attack run! Follow me, we have new orders!”

The fighters changed course and dropped down below the line of battling capital ships. Their thrusters allowed them to move quickly from danger. Weapons fire still rushed past them, but with their engines on full burn they were soon away from the larger ships and back in the vast open space between the planet and the battle. As Wing Commander Anders surveyed the scene, he was surprised by the calmness of space. It was hard to believe he had just been at the heart of an inferno where hundreds of men were dying from missiles, rockets and projectiles. He checked his computer and spotted the assembling vessels off near the planet.

“Listen up. The Assault Division is making its run on the planet. Reports indicate the enemy has stopped sending transports to the surface, but they have large numbers on the ground. If our guys are going to stand a chance they’ll need close air support, and fast!”

With a slight course change, the fighters hit their primary thrusters and hurtled towards the planet and the great hulks of the military transports. Their combat operation in the main battle might be over but from what he could see on his scanner, the assault on the planet might make the space battle seem easy.

“Gods. Have you see this?” asked his navigator in awe.

Anders looked up, tapping the magnification button to expand his main viewing window. The shapes of the assault ships filled his screen around the planet. Large numbers of transports lurked in orbit and scores of shuttles and landing craft were getting into position for their attack run.

“What?” asked Anders.

“Look at the tactical map of the spaceport.”

He pressed three buttons and examined the landing zones. The orbiting ships had already sent updated video feed data to the command ships and this had filtered down to the fighters.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah, recon estimates over a hundred anti-air defences are already in position around the landing zones. Do you think they know something we don’t?”

“Bastards. That, or somebody told them we were coming!”

*

Spartan waited patiently inside the landing craft. It was cramped, packed full of the Vanguard Marines, each of them strapped or clamped to the newly welded bulkhead mounts. The last thing any of them wanted was to be thrown about during the combat landing. From inside the safety of his armoured suit, he watched the unfolding battle on the internal monitors. The platoon had been split onto two landing craft. Marcus and Lovett were in the second craft along with 2nd and 3rd Squads. Teresa, his most trusted sergeant, was now alongside him, acting as Platoon Sergeant for the entire unit. A few marines from the Engineer Company accompanied them, each wearing the older and much more primitive CES armour.

Teresa turned towards him.

“Any news on the spaceport landing?”

“Good point, the figures coming in are showing heavy defences around the spaceport.”

Spartan checked his secure tactical display and hit a button. It sent the latest feed to the main video unit on the wall in the passenger section of the craft. All the assembled marines could see the unfolding battle in great detail. The main feed came from the camera units fitted to the Assault Carrier Ark Royal.

“Look at it!” Teresa said in awe.

The Ark Royal had dropped as low as it could manage, before the heat from skimming the atmosphere proved too much. From its position, the cameras could just about make out the details of the descending fighters and landing ships of different types. Wave after wave of Lightning bombers pounded air defences and other craft dashed at high speeds dropping guided bombs.

Streams of tracer fire arced upwards, some occasionally scraping one of the bombers or hitting a fighter. In the middle of the maelstrom, the first of the heavy landers and shuttles swept in to disgorge their infantry. One shuttle took multiple hits and spiralled down to the surface streaming smoke. Teresa groaned as she watched the vessel plummet to its death.

“This is going to be a massacre. If we don’t get to the city fast, they’ll turn their guns on us.”

Spartan hit the communication button in his suit to connect to Captain Daniels, who was observing the operation from the Marine Transport CCS Santa Cruz.

“Spartan. Everything okay?” he asked with dread in his voice.

“No problem here. We’re watching the spaceport landing. Have you seen what’s happening?”

“I know. The reports are coming in. Looks like they arrived earlier than expected. Multiple guns and missile platforms are on the hills and on the highways. They’ve left the centre of the spaceport clear, probably to tempt us to land.”

“Can’t we redirect to the city? What are the defences like there?”

“No chance. The city is in the valley surrounded by mountains. There are only a few open spaces, enough for small units like ours, but useless for landing anything more. Unless we take the spaceport, you’ll be on your own. Major Howard has contacted me to say his first battalions have landed and they are establishing a beachhead.”

“What is the point, if they can’t get to us? Can’t they bring some landers down into the open countryside instead?”

“It’s too late, Spartan. The battalions are already committed and by all account they’re making progress. My bird is still stuck here. You’re going to have to go without me. You’re the most experience Lieutenant in the Vanguards, you have my authority to take the lead over 2nd Platoon in my absence.”

There was a crackle of static before another voice joined in.

“Captain, Lieutenant Weathers here.”

“Ah, good. I was just explaining to Lieutenant Spartan. My shuttle is delayed and you’re going to need to get going without me. Until I join you, Spartan will be taking the lead. He has more experience of the Vanguards. Understood?”

“No problem, Sir, Spartan’s reputation is well earned,” replied Lieutenant Weathers, with surprisingly little resentment.

“Thank you, I won’t let either of you down.”

Captain Daniels continued.

“I suggest you get the Vanguards into action immediately. I’ve requested the Ark Royal redirects three squadrons of fighters for your support. They will follow you in and then remain on standby. Two Lightning bomber squadrons are blocking the highways and routes to the city. Any forces trying to move back to the city will have to face running their gauntlet.”

Spartan turned to Teresa, who was listening in on the conversation. She shook her head is despair, evidently not impressed with the operation.

“I know this isn’t what we planned.”

“When is it ever?” replied Spartan.

“Too true,” he paused for a few seconds, “Just get your people on the ground. The quicker you get to the surface, the less danger you’ll be in. I’ll get on to Major Howard and see about forcing a breakthrough to link up with your forces.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Good luck, Lieutenant, I’m sure the Vanguards will do their job.”

“We always do. Spartan out.”

He looked back to Teresa. “We’re going in hot. You ready?”

“Would it matter if I wasn’t?”

“Check in with the squad commanders, I want them ready. We go now.”

She nodded and pressed a few buttons in her suit to connect to the rest of the company. Spartan meanwhile transferred his communication gear to the open unit channel.

“This is Lieutenant Spartan. The mission is a go. I repeat. The mission is a go. Get my people into the LZ as fast as you can.”

The pilots of the force responded quickly. In less than twenty seconds a rumble started to build up inside the landing craft as the engines powered up. Spartan could feel the changing g-forces and gravitation pull as they dropped in through the atmosphere. It wouldn’t take long for them to reach the surface. Once through, the craft could glide to the surface or use additional power from their engines to speed up the process.

“Sergeant Lovett, 2nd Squad. I have reports of armour breaking through the city limits.”

Spartan tapped the intercom. “Yes, a small group are trying to break the bomber blockade. They must know we plan on hitting the city. Stick to the plan. We hit the plaza and then move as a unit to the shopping precinct and mall. There is underground storage and two primary tunnels at the same site. Is your squad ready?”

“No problem, LT, they are locked and loaded.”

“Good work, we hit the ground in twelve minutes. Do the final checks.”

*

Captain Daniels watched the groups of landing craft and their escorts heading to the surface, from his position in the landing bay of the Santa Cruz. His own armoured assault shuttle was still being prepped and wouldn’t be ready for another ten minutes. He paced about angrily, his Vanguard suit clanking on the metal flooring. One of the many upgrades to the Vanguard armour had been magnetic seals on the feet, so that they could walk in the zero-g areas that were equipped with compatible walkways.

“What’s the hold up?”

The pressure regulator has failed. We are bringing in another shuttle, she’ll be here shortly, Sir,” answered a frustrated deck chief, who moved away to the safety of the control booth as a new shuttle was moved into position.

All the crew and marines in this part of the ship were wearing sealed suits, as the section was open and fully exposed to the vacuum of space. From where Captain Daniels stood, he had a view to down to the planet. Visibility was poor, with thick clouds obliterating much of the detail. Only the advanced optics of the ships would allow him to see what was happening on the surface.

“Does it always look like this, Sir?” asked one of his marine bodyguards, also wearing Vanguard armour.

He looked out to the pane below, watching a pattern of clouds. He was about to speak, when two Lightning Bombers rushed past, making no sound. They must have been on their way to join the landing party. The large four-engine fighter-bombers looked massive at this close distance, but they were some of the smallest craft being used in this operation.

“It’s mainly down to the atmosphere generators on the surface. They throw up all kinds of crap. It’ll be decades before it clears up to anything like a normal sky.”

The shuttle moved over to the side and the replacement pulled along the gantry until it reached the party of waiting marines. From inside, a man in a sealed pilot suit waved for them to climb inside. Captain Daniels didn’t wait. He tapped the release button and pulled himself along, towards the door. The other three Vanguards followed him.

“Sir, we’re ready to go. Spartan and his team are twelve minutes from the surface.”

“Good. Come on people, let’s get moving!”

He was first inside and moved to the right of the craft where the magnetic clamps and seals were located. As soon as he stepped into the pre-allocated position, a light started to flash. He tapped the seal button and with a thud his boots and arms locked into place. He turned to his left to see the other marines inside and doing the same.

“Okay, Lieutenant, we’re in. Get us down to Spartan and his team as quickly as you can.”

“Aye, Sir, we’re good to go.”

The door slid shut and the shuttle moved slowly to the open hangar doors. It would take about a minute, for them to reach the release position to break and push away from the Santa Cruz. Halfway to the open door, he noticed a series of dull flashes down on the surface. Most appeared to be taking place, around the designated landing zones, on and around the spaceport.

“Check your weapons one last time, marines. If I know Spartan, he has a habit of attracting a lot of attention. You can guarantee we’ll land in a shitstorm!”

The men started laughing, but Captain Daniels looked down to the planet with an impassive stare. His men might find the idea amusing, he felt otherwise. He had absolutely no intention of being killed on some barely habitable rock during the first stages of the Confederate fight back.

“No, this is just the beginning,” he said to himself.

*

The landing craft shook hard as a series of flak bursts exploded nearby. For the last minute, the craft had been dropping at high speed, and the shaking and vibration was becoming alarming. More explosions blasted off to the side, followed by the whine of cannon shells streaking past. A large amount of thumping and shaking appeared to come from the front of the craft as it absorbed a number of heavy bullets. Teresa looked to Spartan.

“You think she can take much more of this?”

Spartan tried to shrug, but his arms were locked in the transport mounts to stop him falling about in the passenger area.

“You’ve seen what these birds can do. She has over a metre of metal on the bow, as well as ablative and reactive armour. Either she makes it or we burn, kind of out of our hands now.”

“You’re such a joy, Spartan.”

Three small holes appeared in the metal skin, followed by a much larger one as a piece of shrapnel lodged itself in the side of the craft. Luckily nothing managed to strike the marines or anything vital in the vessel.

“Bloody hell, that was close!” shouted Teresa.

Spartan nodded. “Yeah, too close.”

“What were you saying about the thickened armour on this thing?”

“I said on the bow. In case you hadn’t noticed that fire came from the side.”

“That’s just great!”

They waited as the shaking started to abate. They were much lower now and their speed had dropped. According to the displays on the inside of the ship, the city was just over the next series of mountains, deep inside a valley.

“How much longer?” Teresa asked him.

Spartan tapped his intercom to connect to the crew section of the vessel.

“Lieutenant Spartan here. What’s our status?”

“We’re three minutes from the LZ, Sir. Keep your people strapped in. We’re going to do a high power drop down the mountain and then straight to the city. We’ve got a problem though.”

“Oh? Go on.”

“Well, Sir, my scanners are picking up electronic signatures from a dozen weapon systems around the shopping precinct and the north side of the city. I’m going to have to drop you half a klick further to the south or I’ll get shot down before we land.”

Spartan looked at his map.

“The south? Isn’t that right on top of the transit station?”

“Afraid so, Sir. If we land at the precinct, we’ll be blown out of the sky. I can bring you in low over the rail lines and then drop you, but you’ll have to cover the open ground on your own.”

“Great!”

Spartan double-checked his map of Oenopion on the built-in tactical navigation unit. The surface section of the city was small due to its hostile and unfriendly nature. It was possible to travel on foot above ground but masks would have to be worn at all times. The city was shaped like a large cross on the ground, with the centre section being an open plaza surrounded by small buildings and the shopping precinct entrance to the north. Apparently, the only reason the precinct existed on the surface was because it gave the best viewing area from two restaurants. Spartan seriously doubted they existed anymore.

“Okay, we’ll make it work.”

“Understood, Sir. We can stay on the surface for twenty seconds maximum, after that we’ll have to stay on the ground. Make sure your people are ready for a hot insertion, I mean a red hot one, Sir!”

Spartan tapped the key that altered his comms unit to the two platoons of Vanguards. The plan had changed just slightly, but it did mean they would need to move even faster.

“Lieutenant Spartan here. There’s been a change of plan. We are redirecting to the central plaza, due to hostile movement and defensive systems installed around our intended LZ. Our objective is still the exposed surface level of the shopping precinct. We land hard and we land fast. Once you hit the ground, spread and head north. We’ll be exposed for most of the five hundred metres, so don’t dawdle!”

“Five hundred metres? Can we make it that far under fire?” asked Lieutenant Weathers from the second Landing craft.

“I don’t like it either. We’ll find out soon enough. If we don’t stop their assault into the underground sections of the city, it could take us weeks to clear the place. Not forgetting that, the price in civilian deaths will be astronomical. According to the intel from the fighters, the Union troops only managed to break through the airlocks into the city less than an hour ago. If they are anything like the ones I’ve met, they will be fighting for every inch of ground.”

He paused for a second and glanced towards Teresa who was smiling at his reference.

“Our Vanguards are the only ground unit that could do this job. A Marine or Army battalion would be shot to ribbons and with the size of the LZ only a company of infantry could land at once. Our armour will give us a fighting chance and we’ll have to take it. Once we have secured the site, we’ll force open access to the city and break the first part of the siege. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Sir!” came back a chorus of voices.

“Get ready then, we hit the ground in…” he checked his clock in the armour, “seventy seconds.”

CHAPTER TEN

The raising of the first Jötnar battalions was always going to raise difficult questions in the Confederacy. Tens of thousands of lives had already been lost, many of them to the Frankenstein monsters of the Echidna Union. The single saving grace of the Jötnar was that they were fully synthetic. Many would still argue that their very existence was a reminder of the cruelty and genocide committed in the name of science. Without the organs and tissue of those sacrificed, there could never have been a single Jötnar.

The 1st Jötnar Battalion

“Twenty seconds, here we go!” Spartan called over the company communication channel.

The last minute had been horrendous with the jinking of the landing craft, as well as heavy fire from the ground. It reminded him very much of his first mission months before. The big difference then was that they were attacking a moon from space, so it was smooth and lacking in gravity. Even so, the constant course changes and weapons fire had thrown him about. This time it was far worse. They were in a thick atmosphere in an area well known for variable pressure levels and poor weather. The turbulence shook the craft as they moved downwards at high speed. As if this wasn’t bad enough, the continuous ground to air fire was having a marked effect on the trip. Cannon rounds, flak batteries and missiles were being sent up from the vast air defences already positioned by the enemy.

“Fifteen seconds!” added the pilot, his voice reverberating inside the hull of the vessel. The external microphone feeds repeated the signal, but at an acceptable volume. It was just as well, the noise of the engines and the weapons fire was too loud to allow normal conversation. Spartan looked to the clamps holding him in place. He was truly thankful for their installation. A normal combat drop like this would have resulted in most of the Vanguards lying in a heap on the floor by now.

“Ten seconds! We’re taking..” he shouted before being interrupted.

A row of holes ran down the length of the left side of the hull and a Vanguard marine took a dozen hits to his armour. Spartan looked over at the damage, trying to speak, but craft lurched to the left. He felt the movement in his stomach and then the sickening groan of tearing metal that indicated they were in serious trouble. One of the clamps broke free on Spartan’s right arm. He was forced to punch into one of the bulkheads and grab the damage pieces of metal to save himself from falling. They couldn’t be far from landing now.

“Brace!” It was all he had time for as the craft struck a hard surface. The initial strike seemed an anti-climax but it was nothing more than a bump. When they finally struck the ground, the impact was massive. Spartan had been in crashes before and he’d seen firsthand the damage and entailed risks. The worst had been a crash on Kerberos when his vessel was hit during a landing in the city. At least this time he was wearing heavy armour.

The alarms inside his suit, as well as in the landing craft, all triggered at once. The area inside flashed red from the emergency lights. The actual crash seemed to take forever and for just a brief moment Spartan thought the pilots had averted disaster. It was all wishful thinking.

The crash began with the remaining clamps around Spartan’s suit disconnecting. They didn’t just unclick, they were literally ripped from the suit, taking small chunks of metal and paint with them. Spartan tumbled backwards. The tremendous force sent him hurtling towards two other Vanguards. The impact almost knocked him out, only the thick armour and internal cushioning protected him from the jarring impact. Luckily, their advanced armour spared any of them from major injury. At least that was his first assessment as the craft continued to bump and slide, before coming to a halt.

Spartan shook his head and checked his sensors. There appeared to be no internal damage and his suit was still operating as normal. More holes appeared throughout the structure. He guessed they were using incendiary rounds or had hit a fuel cell, as two fires quickly spread around the rear of the passenger section of the vessel.

“Everybody out, now!” he barked.

The Vanguards pushed their way from their broken harnesses and towards him and the door. An alarm started beeping and he quickly checked his suit diagnostics. He found no signs of damage or failure on the suit. Then he saw the thermal warning light. It must be hotter in the landing craft than he thought.

“Come on, move it!” he shouted, the seriousness of their predicament now clearer to him. He noticed more of them moving and was relieved to see the other Vanguards were starting to lift themselves up. He pushed down with his right arm, staggering to the door that was still closed. Unsurprisingly, the crash had either broken the mechanism or the crew were dead and unable to operate it. To the side was a triple lock and button system to prevent accidental access during flight. He reached out with his armoured hand and twisted, then tapped the unit. A loud hiss erupted from the frame, followed by a grinding sound as the motors and gears tried to engage. The door slid open but very slowly. He looked behind to the rest of the marines, most were making their way over to him. He spotted Teresa.

“Sergeant, status?”

“I’m good, LT. Where are we?”

He turned and reached out to the door with his metal arms, forcing it open so he could see out. The scene that greeted him looked nothing like he was expecting. Their new LZ was in the open plaza in the middle of the city. This place was rocky and the city appeared to be several hundred metres away. Two more craft landed gently beside them and a number of Vanguards were already climbing out. He looked back to Teresa.

“Not good, looks like we are just outside the city.”

“What about the other birds?”

“They seem okay. They’ve landed around us, at least we’re not split up.”

“One bit of good news, then.”

They turned and looked back at the crashed landing craft. It was far more damaged than they’d realised. The nose section had sustained heavy and repeated fire, with chunks as large as a fist ripped from the metalwork. Along the side of the craft were streaks, where rounds had struck her on the descent.

“There!” said Teresa with her arm extended out towards the crew section.

Spartan looked at the damage there and doubted anyone could have survived such a terrible ordeal. Though there were no windows along the front, the crew section did feature armour plated window sections on the sides of the craft. Near them were two small, automated weapon turrets. These were recent additions, designed to replace the usual door gunners the older craft had used. Spartan moved forward and reached up to the door and windows, noticing the many cannon holes. He pointed to a large two-metre gash near the door.

“I know, we need to check though,” said a saddened Teresa.

From their left, the last of the Vanguards staggered out of the crashed vessel, moving away to a safe distance. One of the engineers, in a CES suit, came up to Spartan to lend assistance.

“Step back,” he said as he reached the door. The engineer was equipped with heavy cutting blades on his arms, as well as plasma cutters and welding gear. It took only a few seconds to cut through the mangled metal and then with a tug he ripped off the smashed door. As the metal fell down, a part of the ruptured bulkhead did the same. Spartan lifted himself up, pushing his metal fist into the wreckage to gain purchase. He looked inside and then dropped back down.

“Dead?” Teresa asked.

“They aren’t in there.”

Teresa looked confused. “What do you mean, not in there? Where did they go?”

The intercom unit crackled.

“Sir, Lieutenant Weathers here. Were unloading marines around your position. What is your status?”

“Good to hear your voice. The landing craft is out of action, no casualties in my squads. Possible fatalities with the crew though.”

“Uh, Spartan!” called Teresa. He could just about see a grin on her face.

Spartan followed the direction of her arm. She was signalling towards several large holes with burn marks on the top of the landing craft.

“What?” he asked.

Teresa lifted her armoured fist higher and pointed up to the sky. Spartan’s vision adjusted and he gazed at the clouds until spotting several dark shapes. At first he couldn’t work out what they were, until the wind caught one of them, making it change shape slightly.

“Parachutes,” he muttered in amazement.

“Good call,” said the engineer. “If they’d stayed, the crash would have killed them.”

Spartan stepped out onto the rock ahead of the landing craft to observe the objective. More Vanguards unloaded and he made out the different paint scheme of Marcus’ Vanguard armour. Since becoming Sergeant, and leader of his squad, he had really taken things seriously. He was proving to be a good choice. The first of the crew were down and two of the Vanguards moved over to check on him. A few seconds later, the second pilot dropped down to the ground. He hit the ground hard and didn’t seem to be moving. Sergeant Harris checked them both and after speaking with the other marines, he turned and went over to Spartan.

“The co-pilot is okay, just a bit shell shocked, Sir. The pilot’s alive but he can’t move. I think he might have a shattered leg. From what the medic thinks, he might also have a broken pelvis.”

“Great, that’s just what we need. Well, we have to get moving. Leave a detail of two marines to watch over them. The wounded can go back with Daniels’ shuttle when he finally gets here.”

Harris nodded in agreement and then looked upwards, half expecting to see their commanding officer arrive.

“He won’t be here for a while, some kind of screw-up back on the Cruz. In the meantime, we need to get moving. Assemble your squad and do a final check, we move out in less than a minute.”

Spartan looked back to the city as the Sergeant moved to his marines. It was hardly one of the great cities of the Confederacy. It didn’t even match some of the smaller bases he’d seen on the stations around Prometheus, during his time in the pit fighting matches. He couldn’t see much from this distance, just the tops of the low buildings. The wind and clouds did their job in ensuring his visibility was reduced to just a few hundred metres. He moved through multiple vision modes, checking for radar, electronic signatures and heat patterns. Teresa and several other Vanguards walked around him, each checking the ground for danger.

“What have we got?” she asked.

“If you look ahead, that is the storm wall. The brief said it was built to keep most of the dust storms away from the main buildings. That means we are on the southern perimeter, about three hundred metres from the plaza and even further from our target.”

“Want to send the landing craft ahead with a few squads to scout?”

“No, definitely not. The enemy are dug in with greater numbers than expected. In my opinion, they must have arrived earlier that we thought and captured the surface level of the city hours ago. We need to get underground, where most of the structure exists, and help the civvies, fast!”

The leaders of the other squads approached along with Lieutenant Weathers.

“I assume we have a new plan?” asked Weathers.

“Revised plan,” corrected Spartan. He indicated to the rest of the marines.

“We have two platoons, a full six squads of Vanguards, plus an additional engineer squad.”

As if to emphasise the point, the team of engineers stomped past and towards two crates of tooling for their suits. Three more climbed out from the final landing craft. Their CES suits looked primitive and basic compared to their new, improved Vanguard armour but their worth was now well known, especially by the Vanguards.

“We will penetrate the wall and move through the southern levels of the city. We will work through the built-up areas and along the perimeter instead of the middle. We’ll make use of the cover and get to the precinct quadrant as fast as possible.”

“Are you sure there aren’t other ways inside the city?”

“There are some small access points but most of this surface layer simply exists on one level. It is like a large flat structure with only a few parts actually continuing underground. The shopping precinct and the transportation hub are both supposed to continue underground.”

“Why don’t we hit the hub instead? With us landing in the wrong place, it’s now much closer to where we are now. Surely if it is a transportation hub, there should be wider corridors and tunnels for vehicles and loaders?”

“Good point. Thoughts, Sergeant?” asked Spartan as he looked over to Teresa.

Teresa thought for a moment before replying.

“I agree with Lieutenant Weathers. The hub is to the south west and much closer. If it is accessible we take it, if not we continue around the perimeter till we reach the precinct. We need to only slightly alter our route to check it on the way.”

“We’re agreed then. Good. Lieutenant, take the right flank and keep your heads down. Look for any possible enemy reinforcements in the direction of the spaceport. 1st Platoon will take the left flank and circle around the plaza till we meet at the hub. We’ll move through the wall one squad at a time and then split apart until which reach the objective. Each squad will ensure it is in sight of the next at all times. I don’t want any gaps the enemy could exploit.”

The small group nodded in agreement.

“Good, let’s go!”

Lieutenant Weathers turned back to his platoon and jogged over to them, the heavy metal of his armoured suit making clanking sounds as he moved. He called out orders on the internal platoon network. Some of the marines started to move into position before he even reached them.

Spartan looked back to the marines of 1st Platoon. They were the men and women he had spent considerable time with in multiple operations. Marcus and Teresa, now both Sergeants, were the people he had known the longest now. All three of them working together since they started training back on CCS Santa Maria.

“1st Squad take point, the rest follow on the flanks. Move out!”

Sergeant Harris, the new NCO and leader of 1st Squad, waved to his group of marines. They moved forward in a loose skirmish screen, leaving a space of four or five metres between them. Advancing behind were 2nd and 3rd Squads, under Sergeant Lovett and Sergeant Keller. Spartan followed the 1st Squad so that he and Teresa, who was now his Platoon Sergeant, were in the heart of the combat force. They all moved at a fast walk, each marine turning their upper bodies as they marched, checking for trouble. The low whirring of cogs and gears were the only sign that the suits were mechanical, rather than just armour plates fitted around their bodies.

The surface of Euryale looked dark blue with its rain-swept hills and thick cloud cover. Visibility was poor, and for those with exposed ears the sound from the constant whistle of the wind could drive a man to insanity. It was a miserable location and unsurprisingly one of the least desired colonies in the Confederacy. If it weren’t for the constantly expanding population through the Confederacy, and the demands on raw materials, it would never have been colonised. With so many of the civilians working underground, the colony had become a hub for computer based research and services.

The Vanguards continued forwards, their dark, drab armour moving like large metal bugs across the dreary landscape. From inside Spartan’s armour, the rain ran down the visor and slightly obscured parts of the ground. He watched for movement but so far, the only object of note was a flight of three Navy Lightning fighters screaming across the sky being pursued by two missiles. Spartan watched them for a moment, nodding to himself with pleasure as the automatic flare launchers distracted the missiles long enough for the fighters to escape.

“Sir, we’re approaching the perimeter wall. No signs of movement.”

Spartan inhaled slowly, this was where he expected trouble.

“Stay frost people, watched your sensors and check cover. We don’t want to run into an ambush out here.”

The outer storm wall of the city was somewhat of a misnomer. It wasn’t completely manmade. A large part of it was natural rock, reinforced with metal girders and plating to create a boundary of eight metres in some places. Where the natural rock was highest, it had been left completely untouched.

“Sir, I’m detecting damage along this sector. It looks like a part of the wall, roughly forty metres wide, has been smashed by artillery,” said one of the Vanguards at the front.

“Signs of the enemy?”

“Negative, Sir.”

“Good, keep moving. It’s probably damage from the fighting. Intel says they will have taken the spaceport first and then used the roads into the city to move men and materials.”

Teresa turned her head towards Spartan and contacted him via a private channel.

“Spartan, I don’t like it. What if this is the way they came in?”

Spartan checked his scanners. There was no sign of enemy moment or even military hardware. He tapped the button to activate the thermal imaging and instantly spotted a heat bloom.

“I’ve got something, thermal readings twenty metres behind the breach. Tread carefully!” he called out on the company channel.

The group kept moving forward though now they had slowed to a walk, each of them twisting their torsos and checking every rock or piece of cover for a potential target. From Spartan’s position, behind the 1st Squad, he could see their skirmish line of a dozen marines moving up the dirt embankment and towards the ruins of the wall.

“This place is giving me the creeps,” said Teresa quietly, “Don’t we have any surveillance?”

Spartan almost kicked himself, completely forgetting about the extra equipment installed on the landing craft. There was a reason he had done so well as a private and then as a sergeant. He wasn’t used to being in charge of operations of this size.

“All units stand your ground,” he called, tapping a button in his suit. It took just a few seconds to establish a direct link to the craft. He checked the vessel’s status and received an immediate response that five automated drones were loaded and ready for use.

“Wait for tactical reconnaissance,” he ordered and then hit the launch button. Behind him, two puffs of smoke were the only indication of the two jet powered drones that blasted off into the sky. They were both fully automated. All he had to do was tap a point on his tactical map. Then they would move into the area and circle at a safe distance. No sooner had the first one moved over the wall, than he could see the problem. He pressed the company toggle.

“Lieutenant Spartan here. We have a problem. The drone is showing a large number of enemy forces preparing defensive positions further inside the city. It looks to me like they are expecting an attack from the west. That is exactly where our reinforcements from the spaceport will be coming from.”

“I see it,” replied Lieutenant Weathers.

The drone continued along its path, sending more footage to the Vanguards.

“Sir, look at the transportation hub. What are those around the entrance to the tunnels?” asked Teresa.

Spartan couldn’t quite see on the screen, so tapped several more buttons to zoom in. The video shook for a moment as the optical stabiliser of the drone tried to correct for the wind. It locked onto one of the objects and focused in. Spartan concentrated hard.

“No way. The animals!”

The video feed showed a multi-barrelled gun mount that had been set up to face inside the tunnel. Around the area moved a small number of foot soldiers. Most were wearing army issue carapace armour. It was more primitive than the marines’ PDS suits but was very tough and hard to damage.

“They’re setting up turrets to face the defenders. If they try to break out they will be cut down.”

“They must be expecting the civilians to try and fight their way out,” suggested Lieutenant Weathers.

“No, that isn’t it. I know how these people think,” said a bitter sounding Spartan.

“They are planning on herding the civilians to the guns. The Union aren’t interested in taking the colony or prisoners. They just want to bleed us, stop us from reclaiming Euryale and getting people and resources for our war effort.”

“Bastards!” muttered Marcus.

“Sergeant!” reprimanded Spartan.

“Sorry, Sir.”

“Listen up, Vanguards. Wait here and secure the immediate area. We need to get this data to the Fleet,” he said, lifting his arm to point upwards.

“Make sure you’re ready, the mission is still on. The objective hasn’t changed. We are still going to rescue the civilians! We’re also going to make sure our friends in the rest of the ground force don’t get creamed when they arrive!”

Lieutenant Weathers signalled for his marines to find cover. The sergeants did their jobs and in just a few seconds the two platoons were well concealed amongst the dirt and rocks, around the broken perimeter wall. Spartan ducked down behind a series of large boulders and connected to the CiC on the Santa Cruz.

“Major Howard here, what is the problem?”

“Sir. My team has hit trouble around the city limits. I’m sending footage from our drones. Looks like the enemy have dug in and are preparing defences along the main highways.”

There was a short pause, partially down to the distance for the signal to travel, and also probably because the Major was busy examining the video feeds.

“I see, what about the city itself?”

“Heavily defended, Sir. We are about to move though the southern wall.”

“Good work. I’ll pass the data to the ground forces at the spaceport. They are making progress and should be able to assist in your operation within the hour. I suggest you get inside and break through to the civilians as soon as possible.”

“Understood, Sir.”

“One more thing, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“The last bomber run indicated approximately three battalions of ground troops, including Biomechs, have fallen back from the highway and are moving to the city. I’ll hit them with what I can, but in twenty minutes their survivors are going to be on you. When they get there, make sure your people are dug in and ready.”

“Yes, Sir, we’ll be ready.”

“Captain Daniels has started his drop, I’ll transmit your plans and data directly to his vessel. I understand his craft has two of the experimental mules on board. If you survive, I’d be intrigued to know how they perform.”

Spartan shook his head in surprise. No matter how many conversations he had with the second in command of the marines on board CCS Santa Cruz, he could never understand the Major.

“Yes, Sir, I’ll do that.”

He looked to Teresa who was waiting patiently for his orders.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Always.”

Spartan flicked back onto the open company network.

“Vanguards, we will move quickly to the hub. Hit them hard and hit them fast! The clock is ticking and we have enemy troops inbound!”

He gave a final glance at the position they were in and the aerial drone which showed him the same scenario as before. The enemy were busy and it didn’t look like they had much in the way of defences along the southern part of the city. With a final breath he lifted up to his full height.

“Vanguards! Let’s go!”

The skirmishers rushed the embankment in just a few seconds and for a brief moment Spartan winced. A feeling in his gut told him something terrible was going to happen as they crossed the high ground. Nothing happened though and they disappeared from view. His heart still pounding, he pushed forward and the rest of the Vanguards did the same. It looked like a scene from an old war movie as he watched those in front rush the embankment, much like infantry storming a breach in a fortress.

He reached the top but didn’t stop, aware of how exposed he was, and dropped down the embankment. As he hit the bottom, he jogged to the first piece of cover he could see and surveyed the ground around him. It was part of a damaged loading bay. Several wrecked trucks and forklifts were strewn about. As he took cover, he noticed half a dozen bodies, all civilians and all unarmed. Teresa dropped down next to him and scanned the area. Up ahead, the skirmish screen pushed forward. To their right Lieutenant Weathers and his platoon moved away and followed the perimeter wall. In this way, the two platoons would be able to ensure they couldn’t be outflanked, yet were close enough to provide mutual fire support. Here, there were no buildings taller than five metres anywhere in sight and a large part of the city seemed to be heavily damaged. It looked far worse on the ground than it appeared from the drones.

“Sergeant, I’m picking up movement!” shouted Sergeant Harris at the front, with the skirmishers.

Before Spartan could reply a great volley of small arms fire blasted from the north of their position. The bullets clattered against some of the Vanguards but were incapable of causing damage. One rocket whistled past and exploded impotently against the already damaged perimeter wall. It looked like they had run into the right flank of the enemy line. From the confusion showing ahead of them, it was the Vanguards who had the element of surprise.

“They know we’re here. Push forward! Check your scanners, weapons free!” called Spartan.

A great storm of fire erupted from the Vanguards as each of the metal machines clambered forward and targeted the enemy. It was the first open battle the new unit had experienced. In less than a minute every one of them had expended substantial ammunition.

“Those mules would be pretty handy about now!” said Spartan through gritted teeth.

A fire team of five enemy soldiers, each wearing carapace armour, appeared around a corner. Two of them were carrying a heavy machinegun on its stand. Spartan was facing away from them, but had spotted movement. Lifting his left arm, he targeted the middle of the group and squeezed his trigger. Two were torn apart, the other three dropped the gun and ran.

“Drive them back!” he roared.

*

Wing Commander Anders waited patiently near the extended booms of CCS Ark Royal. The massive carrier was still launching fighters to assist in the ground attack and, by all account they were hitting the enemy hard. Angel Squadron were low on fuel and ammunition. They sat patiently as the automated boom and munitions gear reloaded their fighters. There were over a dozen similar booms extended from a series of extended jetties around the craft. By reloading them externally, the carrier was able to continue launching and landing aircraft, thereby increasing the number of fighters it could handle. He tapped the intercom trigger on the fighter’s joystick.

“Angel Squadron, I’m reading ninety-seven percent full. Check in with your stats.”

A series of numbers dropped in on his display as each fighter reported fuel capacity and weapons load. He read through the list, satisfied the squadron was almost ready.

“Good stuff. Delta Squadron is already loaded and waiting for us. Twenty seconds then hit the auto release. We have work to do.”

He looked back at the tactical map of the battlefield down on the planet. It seemed the marines and army forces at the spaceport had managed to establish a beachhead. With a secure landing zone, it was now possible to land heavy armour and set up a forward base.

“Wing Commander Anders. I have new orders for you. The Vanguards are pushing into Oenopion and hitting heavy resistance. Drones are picking up infantry and Biomechs falling back from the spaceport and into the city. We need you to hold them off long enough for the Vanguards to secure their objective.”

“Understood, Sir. I have your targeting data, we’re on the way.”

“Good hunting.”

“Angel Squadron, we are moving to Oenopion to provide close air support. Do a final safety check. I don’t want to lose any birds on the way down. It’s gonna get damned hot!”

The squadron started their checks, each pouring over data to ensure there were no problems or breaches in their fighters. In the airless vacuum of space, the thermal protection wasn’t much of an issue, but on re-entry it was another matter. There were occasions where craft making their way through planetary atmospheres, let in superhot gasses through ruptures in thermal tiling or protection, with catastrophic results. This was a problem going back to the early days of twentieth century space flight. Each of the fighters checked in to acknowledge they were clear.

“Angel Squadron, detach and form up.”

Anders was the first to disconnect from the resupply part of the ship and added a small amount of thrust to push away from the great vessel. He hadn’t yet been aboard the ship as his squadron was based on CCS Wasp. The Ark Royal was known as one of the most battle experienced ships in the Fleet. The scorch marks on her hull showed she had seen heavy fighting over the last months. As he moved slowly away from the warship, he spotted the outlines of Delta Squadron and their fighter-bombers.

“Delta Squadron, good to see you again. We have new orders for tactical ground support over Oenopion. Are your birds ready?”

“Roger. I’ve been assessing the situation while the birds have been refuelled. I have some suggestions,” answered Captain Smith, the leader of the squadron and something of a legend within the 7th Fleet. This particular squadron had the highest kill record of the 7th Fleet and that included the Thunderbolt squadrons. It was quite a feat.

“Of course, what are you thinking?”

“It looks like the Union forces have installed substantial air defences to cover the western approach and the expected push from our ground forces. Normally, we would dive bomb the target, but my suggestion is a low-level strafing run from the east with your fighters. We’ll loiter to the south and hit them sixty seconds after your attack.”

“Give them a chance to try and recover their wounded and equipment then hit them?”

“Exactly. They won’t know which direction to defend against.”

“Follow us in, we’ll assemble fifty klicks to the north east of Oenopion.”

“Roger, we’ll follow your lead.”

Anders altered his course and started his descent into the atmosphere. Around his fighter the rest of the squadron followed, as well as the four bombers from Delta Squadron. As the flames started to lick around the underside of his Thunderbolt, he glanced back to double-check on the rest of the fighters. A short distance behind was the dark shape of the closest bomber. They were shaped like a large wing and easily double the size of his craft. A warning sensor drew his attention.

“What the hell?” he muttered, checking the computer system for more details. The warning was a temperate alert for his port engine. There must be a slight leak. He would have to be careful once they were low enough to restart the engines. It could be a problem getting back into orbit though.

“Sir, I’m picking up radar signatures to the west of Oenopion.”

“Got it, they are scanning for our air support.”

He looked down at the display. The computer had already attached icons for each detected transmitter and they forced a solid wall around the expected enemy positions.

“Angel and Delta Squadrons. Meet at the rendezvous and watch your scanners. They have substantial surface to air assets in place. I don’t want to lose any birds. We’re going in!“e

*

The skirmish screen moved forward as a single loose line across the open ground. From reinforced positions ahead, a group of thirty or forty infantry fired indiscriminately. Most were armed with small arms, but at least three made use of unguided rockets that blew chunks of rock and masonry from the buildings. Spartan stepped out from the cover he’d been using and aimed carefully at a four-man group dragging a heavy weapon between them. The twin L48 rifles blazed away, each barrel sending 12.7mm intelligent rounds towards the enemy. The rounds were specially developed for the marines’ standard issue rifle. Unlike bullets and shells of the past, each one was fitted with advanced electronics that could alter the characteristics of the bullet. The most common use was a range mode, used by selecting a distance with the weapon and then setting the round to explode at the preset range.

“Keller here, we’re pinned down by heavy machine gun fire.”

Spartan looked over to his right where he could see two Vanguards from Marcus’ 3rd Squad.

“Casualties?” asked Spartan over the radio.

“None, so far. Every time we tried to push ahead we take fire from the weapons.”

“Stand your ground, I’m sending the engineers ahead for you.”

Spartan tapped a key to access the additional voice channels. “Engineers here, what do you need?”

“3rd Squad is pinned by machine gun fire on the right flank.”

“Understood, we’re on the way,” said the sergeant in charge, with a matter of fact tone.

Spartan hadn’t fought alongside this particular group of engineers before, but experience had shown him they were all a tough bunch. Out behind their battle line, he saw the first moving forward. Each of the marines wore the modified CES suits with the large excavator blades and additional heavy armour on the front. Several rounds of small arms fire hit them but did nothing of note.

“Let’s go!” he cried to Teresa and moved out, following behind the path left by the skirmishers. 1st and 2nd Squad were making good progress and Spartan had already passed over twenty enemy dead. One of Lovett’s squad moved out to his left, when he spotted a man with a rocket launcher.

“Look out!” he shouted and jumped ahead. The strength and power of the suit pushed him two metres forward, far further than he could ever have managed before. As he moved through the air, half the Vanguards in the squad targeted the unfortunate rocket shooter. Over fifty rounds struck him and he quickly disintegrated. It wasn’t just that the man’s body was shattered, he simply disappeared by the horrendous overkill. Spartan landed on the ground just as the rocket slammed down next to Teresa. Their armour was more than sufficient, but its primitive charge sent rocks and dust all around them. Spartan was knocked forward by the blast and stumbled before crashing to the ground. His left knee hit a series of rocks and several lights flashed to indicate a temporary drop and change in pressure in the armour.

“Here they come!” shouted Sergeant Lovett.

Spartan looked up to see the shadows of Biomechs moving out of the dust towards their loose skirmish line. He recognised their height, as well as their peculiar gait. These were the more modern Biomechs, the generation before Gun and his Jötnar, and probably the most advanced models still using human parts. He pushed the ground hard and forced himself upright, instantly noting the impact of light ammunition pattering against his armour.

“Hold the line!” he shouted, lifting both arms to take aim with all four barrels. Off to his side he noticed something attached to one of the Biomechs, it looked like a standard. Pressing a key, the display magnified the area and the creature in particular.

“What the hell!” shouted one of the Vanguards, as he spotted the same peculiar item.

Spartan looked again, it was certainly a standard. It looked like the shape of a beautiful woman with the body of a serpent and two coiled, serpent’s tails.

“Echidna?” he muttered.

“I’ve seen that before,” shouted Teresa between firing bursts from her L48 rifles. “It’s the symbol of the Union!”

“Not for long!” he replied under his breath and calmly squeezed his triggers. He fired in shorts bursts, each in the direction of the approaching enemy warriors. Around the feet of the Biomechs were scores of the smaller creatures, some running and others moving using all four limbs. It looked like something from hell.

“Lieutenant Weathers here. We’re picking up several columns of vehicles approaching the perimeter wall from the west. Approximately thirty vehicles, most are carrying troops. From here, it looks like they have Biomechs on foot following behind.”

In the broken, windswept streets of the city, Spartan stepped out into the open. Around him moved a dozen Vanguards, each slotting into a loose line. It was a drill they had often practiced, giving them maximum firepower and mutual protection. Three Biomechs staggered from behind a small building and a dozen of the smaller creatures rushed forward from around them. The Vanguards stayed cool, half shooting at the larger Biomechs, the rest taking very careful aim at the smaller ones. It was over fast and not one creature reached closer than ten metres.

“Keep moving forward!” called Spartan. As one, the line opened up slightly and they moved at a walking pace, still firing as they moved. Inside his suit, Spartan checked the position and progress of the other Vanguards. They were split up into six small groups now and working their way around the western side of the city.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Frigates and destroyers have a long history in the Confederate Navy. The frigates are the mainstay of all fleets. They are small and fast enough to operate as the eyes of the fleet and powerful enough to escort larger ships. A destroyer, on the other hand, is smaller and designed to hunt down frigate class ships in small groups. Both have a critical part to play in small anti-piracy operations and full-scale fleet encounters.

Naval Cadet’s Handbook

Commander Anderson read the last report from Sergeant Kowalski. He sat in the office formally used by the compound’s governor, although Confed agents had removed most of the equipment. From this location, he had video feeds and data from all the operational parts of the base. He looked back down at the report, intrigued by the comments highlighted by the Sergeant. The scouting mission was supposed to have been nothing more than routine, but it seemed they had bitten off more than they could chew. He lifted his head up to the sound of his deck intercom.

“Yes?”

“Captain Leander, Sir.”

“Good, send him in.”

The door opened to reveal the Captain of the scout frigate and the outlines of two marine guards who watched the door. The officer moved inside, saluting in front of him.

“At ease, Captain. I’ve been reading your report, as well as the report from the marine detachment on board led by Sergeant Kowalski. I’m sure you’re aware that most of our forces are away with the Fleet.”

“Yes, Sir, hence our need to maintain a constant vigil, in and around the storms, to keep Prometheus secure.”

“Quite. So the report you have sent me concerns me greatly. You say you found a debris field roughly twenty thousand kilometres from the final beacon. Do you have any idea what the debris was from?”

“Sergeant Kowalski’s knowledge of tech and metallurgy is impressive to say the least, Sir. He has performed a series of tests and is almost certain it matches the materials from the shipyards, Sir. We retained several plating sections for study by the intel teams stationed here.”

“Good work, Captain. Is the Sergeant with you?”

“He is, Sir.”

“Excellent, please send him in on your way out. Give me an update on your ship’s status as soon as possible.”

The young Captain saluted and left the room. A few moments later, Sergeant Kowalski walked in and waited for the door to shut firmly behind him. His salute was a little less firm that the Captain’s and the look on his face suggested he had important news.

“Out with it, man!” said the Commander, trying and failing to disguise his intrigue.

“The Captain, there is something odd about him, Sir.”

“He was one of the many Confed officers imprisoned here, we were lucky to find so many Navy crew to help with the construction of the basic defence force here.”

“That is just it, Sir. He has an attitude, as though he has a chip on his shoulder about something. I don’t know what exactly, but he has a real problem whenever I mention General Rivers or anybody involved in the revolt.”

“Odd, if it wasn’t for the General and yourself, the escape would never have happened.”

“I know, there is something definitely wrong. I didn’t really think much of it, until he refused to bring back debris and the material from the wreckage we found. I had to almost cause a riot to get just a few samples on board. Of course, those being taken to the labs are not actually what we found.”

“I don’t understand?”

“I used one of the maintenance drones to grab three chunks of metal and stowed them inside the hangar.”

“What? Without the knowledge of Captain Leander?”

“I think the Captain is working for the Union or maybe he just has something to hide. Either way, he is a problem, Sir. We need to find out what is going on. I’m pretty sure he was trying to hide the evidence.”

Commander Anderson leaned forward. “Hiding what?”

The Sergeant lifted his datapad from his side and slid it across the table. The Commander examined the details for almost a minute before looking up to Kowalski.

“You’re sure? If you are correct then we have a big problem. Your analysis shows this to be battle-damaged sections of a heavy transport, likely to be the Yorkdale. Couldn’t this just be debris from the ship passing through the area?”

“No, Sir. Look at the carbon analysis, the fragments have been hit by a powerful weapon. I would put strong odds on the fact that something happened after the Yorkdale, and the rest of the reinforcement fleet, left the storms.”

Commander Anderson examined a detailed map of the space around Prometheus and then tracked the route to Euryale. It was a difficult journey, but if the Sergeant was correct, they may have been ambushed en route.

“The reserve fleet is critical to the operation in this sector. We are talking eighteen ships and eight escorts. How could they have been attacked?”

Before Kowalski could answer, the video communication unit on his desk started to flash. Commander Anderson looked down to see it was coming from the monitoring post on the Prometheus Seven Trading Post. It was flagged as urgent and of command level importance. For a second he considered sending the Sergeant out of the room, but quickly changed his mind, the man already knew more than probably his own intelligence services. He tapped the connection button, the face of a man in a dark suit appeared.

“Commander. We have just picked up capital ship signatures coming through the storm, they are due to arrive within the hour.”

“Capital ships? Ours?”

“Unknown, Sir. The storms are playing havoc with our sensors. We do know that there are at least six, possibly seven ships and they are moving fast.”

“Understood. Initiate a Code Alpha shutdown on the station. We need to prepare.”

The man nodded and the signal cut instantly.

“Code Alpha?” asked Sergeant Kowalski.

“It is the defensive code I established before the troops left. It is the code for a full military lockdown on Prometheus. All military and private security vessels will assemble around the station and the entrance to the storms. All external entry points to our facility here will be sealed and troops stationed at all points.”

“You’re expecting trouble?”

“Aren’t you?” replied Commander Anderson.

“I’d better go and help the security details then. If it is trouble, we don’t want them inside.”

Sergeant Kowalski stood to move but Anderson reached out and stopped him.

“Good work, Sergeant. Don’t go too far. If what you say is true, we could have more potential problems here than we thought.”

He nodded in agreement and left the room. Anderson returned to his desk and thought for a moment. The possibility of enemy ships moving to this area was of grave concern, if nothing else because all major combat forces were away from the compound. He had minimal numbers with which to defend the area. He would just have to rely upon the preparations he had already made and hope he could hold out long enough. As he sat there, curiosity finally got the better of him. He tapped a few buttons and brought up the military records of Captain Leander. By all accounts, the young man was a credit to the Navy. His record was clean, no problems in the last three years and his service as an escort commander at the Siege of Titan had won him a commendation.

“What is your secret?” he asked quietly.

The first page on his dossier described him physically, as well as outlining his closest family. He noticed nothing out of the ordinary, until he spotted an image of a man.

“It can’t be,” he muttered.

The face of the man looked almost identical to the man that had betrayed General Rivers and the rest of the rioters at the last minute. He picked up the intercom.

“Get Captain Leander back here immediately!” he said sternly.

“Sir!” came the reply.

He looked back at the screen and brought up the details of the man that had caught his eye. All it said was that Captain Leander’s brother, a Tigran Leander, had gone missing seven months earlier. It was an unusual name and strangely similar to the Tigris on this very colony. Could it be that the Captain had a brother who had also been a prisoner? Was there a link? A knock came at the door.

“Come!” he answered.

The door opened and in walked a suspicious looking Captain.

Commander Anderson stood up and walked towards him. “Tell me, Captain, what of your brother?”

“My brother? I don’t understand,” he said, though the look on his face told Anderson exactly what he needed to know.

“Damn it, man, answer the question or I’ll have it torn from you!” he said furiously.

Before the Captain could answer Anderson held up his datapad showing the images of Tigris taken from the video feeds during the revolt. It showed him approaching the now dead governor of the compound, killed during the battle.

“This is your brother isn’t it?”

The Captain said nothing.

“Your silence condemns you. Are you a man or a Zealot-loving traitor? At least your brother had the guts to make a decision.”

The Captain was still silent.

*

CCS Crusader broke away from the main battle to chase the single remaining Union cruiser and her five frigate escorts. She was the largest and most powerful vessel still fighting and three full broadsides from the Crusader hadn’t been able to stop her. The frigates hung around her stern as a mobile, living shield against fire from the pursuing battlecruiser. Several large holes had been torn through her hull, yet she refused to give up. For every shot that struck her reinforced hull, she returned double. Dozens of small turrets blasted hundreds of cannon rounds, making it deadly for fighters to approach. From the CiC, Admiral Jarvis watched in anticipation as they gave chase.

“There must be some way of stopping her. How long until she is in range of the rest of the armada around Euryale?”

“Our orbiting assault force will be in direct line of fire in seven minutes, Admiral.”

“We have to stop them, keep the forward guns firing!”

“Yes, Sir,” replied the weapons officer who continued firing the small bow battery. It was pathetic compared to the firepower from the flanks of the ship, but it did at least let them feel they were doing something useful. Admiral Jarvis stood for a second, feeling the vibration through the floor. Each time the main guns fired, a low hum would reverberate through some of the floor plates. It was an odd feeling, but also somehow reassuring. As long as the hum continued, it meant the heart of the ship was beating.

“Why don’t we just turn and hit her with another broadside?” asked the XO.

Captain Tobler looked at the tactical screen and checked the disposition of the ships. By moving forward, but at a slight angle, it would give them just enough space to bring their guns to bear. The downside would be, that if the ship continued accelerating it would take even longer to reach the enemy.

“Why not maintain course and coast? We’ll continue at the same velocity and can turn and fire without altering our course.”

The XO checked the charts again and shook his head.

“We take a big risk cutting the engines. The cruiser is still accelerating and she’ll be amongst our transports in a matter of minutes.”

Captain Tobler could see the risks and Admiral Jarvis had already made it clear to him that he needed to stop the ship, by ramming if necessary.

“Navigation, alter our course by fifteen degrees. Put us between the transports and the cruiser. Fire when ready on the starboard batteries!”

The XO nodded in agreement and moved over to the tactical officer. In seconds, the steady hum from the weapon systems could be felt through the mighty warship. On the main screen, one of the frigates shook from multiple impacts before half of the port superstructure tore off. The ship appeared crippled but continued moving in the same direction.

“We’re just creating more debris around her stern, we need to get closer, and quickly, so we can deliver a killing blow!”

“Sir, the frigates are breaking off and moving to intercept us!” shouted the tactical officer.

Captain Tobler banged his fist on his terminal.

“They’re trying to buy time for the cruiser. Ignore the frigates, full power to engines and get us alongside the cruiser. Keep the guns running, we won’t stop her, standing back like this!”

A rumble shook the ship as the engines powered up to the maximum combat speed. Alarms triggered for the rotating sections to slow down and stop, and for the crew to strap themselves in. The officers in the CiC moved to their seating areas and pulled on the straps fitted to each of them. Towards the front, the Captain and the XO continued discussing the tactical situation, the gun decks kept up their heavy fire. Admiral Jarvis leaned towards the science officer who was still busy checking the details of the enemy technology.

“Do we have any intelligence on their weapons? Our ships have taken more damage than they should have. We’ve had entire ships lit up from a single hit.”

The science officer skimmed through several screens of data. He turned with a look of confusion on his face and then shook his head.

“It is strange, Sir. I’m not comfortable making an assessment with so little data.”

“Comfortable?” she replied with a raised eyebrow.

He noticed her look, it wasn’t one that was happy to simply wait for what he found convenient. He was about to speak but a barrage of shells must have struck the bow of the battlecruiser. Alarms stared to flash throughout the CiC and one of the computer systems near the Admiral sparked and flashed before failing spectacularly.

“Damage to forward guns, casualties reported!” called the chief engineer.

The rest of the officers in the CiC continued to manage the battle with the rogue cruiser, under the stern eye of their XO. In the centre, directly in front of the artificially projected screen that replicated the view expected from the bridge, sat Captain Tobler. He carefully examined the report screens to check on the status of his ship, it wasn’t looking good.

“Armour?” he asked.

“The starboard belt has been ruptured, Sir. Evacuation teams and engineers are already in position. They used the new weapons and it exploded three layers of armour.”

“Exploded? Not burned?”

“No, Sir, the weapon is agitating the target and then exploding it. We’re luck they are using their stern weapons, they are far less powerful.”

He pressed the tactical database option on his display, bringing up the ship’s scans and imagery from the initial combat. The cruiser they were facing had been in the centre of the battle line when they assaulted the enemy. From the port side view, it was clear the ship was equipped with a heavy weapon mounting of some kind.

“Isn’t this one of the ships with the new weapons?”

“It must be, Sir. The damage it is inflicting is out of all balance with its size and configuration. I have cross-checked the data coming in and yes, it would appear they are using a very, very high power weapons system. At first it looks like the firing pattern for our capital ship railguns, but there is a major difference.”

Admiral Jarvis didn’t look impressed, she wasn’t the kind of officer who liked to listen to excessively long explanations.

“Lieutenant, the short version, if you please.”

The science officer looked a little confused, on one side sat the Captain of the ship, but further back in the CiC was the ever-watching eye of the Admiral.

“Sorry, Sir. The figures suggest to me they must be using particle beams. There is no visible light from them as expected in space.”

“Why?” asked Captain Tobler.

“Surely you covered light effects in space, Captain?” retorted the Admiral, though for those that knew her it was clear she was being a little light hearted with him.

“Uh, no, Sir. Perhaps you could elaborate?”

Admiral Jarvis nodded to her science officer, who by now was sweating profusely.

“Yes, Sir. A laser, or any other form of normally visibly direct energy weapon, is a highly focused beam of light. In the case of a laser it consists of the stream of photons travelling in one direction. None will escape to hit your eye and therefore make the beam visible.”

Captain Tobler looked less than impressed and turned, assuming the lesson was over, only to spot the Admiral indicating for him to wait so the officer could finish his explanation. He sighed quietly to himself and beckoned for him to continue.

“In a vacuum, you would only see the beam light up where it hit the target. There is nothing in the path to make the beam visible.”

On the main screen in the CiC, a series of lightning fast flashes burst around the escaping cruiser. Though the blasts looked relatively small, they disguised the immense energy being expended in space against the thick armour of the ship.

“When will she die!” growled Captain Tobler.

“Sir, message from the Wasp and Ark Royal. They are moving in three fighter wings to provide a screen for the transports.”

“Good, we need to get closer. Get onto engineering, we need more speed!”

On the screen, a large section of the cruiser ripped apart and drifted off behind the ship. A group of three Thunderbolt fighter-bombers rushed through the damage. No sooner were they past than they were hit by fore turret. The streams of cannon shells were simply too fast and too accurate. Two were destroyed immediately. The third lost a wing and its main engines. It drifted out of control and away from the cruiser. The commanders on the Crusader watched in anger as the fighter pilots sacrificed themselves in a desperate attempt to halt the cruiser.

Admiral Jarvis checked her tactical display and traced the movement of the ships with her hands. From what she could see, the cruiser would reach the Army transports first and then within another minute would be right in the middle of the Fleet. She lifted the intercom unit but was quickly interrupted.

“Sir!” shouted Lieutenant Nilsson, the ships communication officer.

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

The excited officer turned around in her chair to face the Admiral. Captain Tobler stopped what he was doing for a few seconds as he waited on her words. Whatever it was, she seemed electrified by the news.

“Transmission from the Vengeance. They will be here in less than five minutes.”

“The War Barge? Five minutes? How?” she demanded.

Captain Tobler checked his logs and shook his head.

“You must be wrong, Lieutenant. There is no way she can be here so fast. We’re not expecting the reinforcement fleet to be here for at least a day.”

Commander Andrews, the ship’s XO, examined the navigation screen before looking over to the Admiral.

“No, the Lieutenant is correct. The crazy sons of bitches have their engines on full reverse burn. They must have covered the distance with terrible g-forces, probably double normal gravity. They’re gonna feel that when their teeth stop aching!”

Admiral Jarvis looked confused, her forehead wrinkled as the skin tightened.

“Double normal gravity? Is that even possible?”

“When we were ambushed on our way here, a number of our ships were forced to accelerate past normal tolerances. There were consequences, including casualties in the crew, but it did keep the rest of us alive. They have taken a major risk to make the trip this fast, Sir.”

Lieutenant Nilsson lifted her hand, trying to get the attention of the officers.

“Sir, incoming message from Vengeance.”

“Put it on loudspeaker, Lieutenant.”

She lowered the intercom and placed it in a cradle. Flicking a toggle switch was all that was needed to move the audio feed to the main speaker system in the CiC.

“Captain Severus of CCS Vengeance. What is your status?”

“Sir, Im detecting decelerating ships, they are moving fast, really fast. Whoever they are they will slow down right in the middle of this battle, Sir,” said Lieutenant Nilsson.

“Is it the Vengeance?”

“I think so. Yes, I have three ships. The Vengeance, a heavy transport and a light cruiser.”

“What are you doing here early?” she asked.

The speakers crackled for a few seconds, the distortion making the first few words impossible to hear. The only other sound was the odd hit coming from the light weapons of the frigates now moving closer to the Crusader.

“

critical information on Euryale. Had to get here fast…intruders…risk”

The entire CiC went silent as they all listened intently, each trying to work out what the message meant. Admiral Jarvis picked up the intercom that immediately reverted their communication back to a private channel.

“This is the Admiral. We appreciate your assistance but the battle is almost over. Deploy your forces at a safe distance from the planet.”

There was a violent series of whistles and spikes before audio was restored.

“No, Admiral, it is about to start

we have lost

computer failure

need..” the audio cut to a high pitch whine before fading back for one last burst, “…stay away!”

The signal cut out and the Admiral stood in shock, unsure as to what was happening. Several alerts icons indicated a series of cannon shells striking the outer armour of the ship. The frigates must have been returning fire, a last desperate gesture as they moved around the Crusader in an attempt to overwhelm her.

“Here she comes!” called out the tactical officer.

On the main screen a dot quickly magnified into what appeared to be a burning hot object. As it came closer it slowed, the heat blooms now clearly showing as the stern of the ship, its engines on full burn.

“What is her distance?” she demanded.

“Seventeen thousand kilometres, Sir,” replied the tactical officer.

Admiral Jarvis examined the burning hot vessel as it altered course and adjusted its position. The hull was pockmarked with dents and holes from battles past. She was an old warhorse, a vessel way out of her depth. Though her armour was thick, her engines were underpowered and her weapons simple, antiquated automatic canons. She was a relic from humanity’s past.

“Wait,” called out the XO, “are you seeing this?”

Captain Tobler looked at the screen and tactical display, the XO pointed out the position of the ship.

“I don’t understand, the Vengeance is moving towards us?”

On the main screen, the scorched and damaged hulk of the mighty ship was clearly turning and moving at speed towards the Crusader. Admiral Jarvis wasted no time and grabbed the intercom, clicking it onto a general broadcast.

“This is the Admiral. All ships, this is not a drill. The War Barge Vengeance has just arrived. She is to be considered hostile. All vessels are to maintain a safe distance, leave her to the capital ships. I repeat the Vengeance is a possible hostile vessel, keep away!”

She replaced the intercom and looked at the officers in the CiC.

“You heard Captain Severus. He told us to keep away and there were intruders. If I had to guess, I would say the Vengeance is under the enemy’s control.”

The XO shook his head and turned to the Captain, to find him nodding in agreement with the Admiral.

“It matches the facts. If she is hostile, we have a big problem.”

“Weapons, she’s powering up her weapons grid.”

“No, it can’t be. The Vengeance is an old ship, I know Captain Severus. He’s a good man.”

“Irrelevant, Commander. If the ship has been compromised there could be a Union crew on board. We’re lucky they didn’t arrive without warning, be thankful to Captain Severus.”

Lieutenant Nilsson tapped her ear as she listened carefully to transmissions from other vessels. Something must have grabbed her attention as she turned quickly to the Captain.

“Sir, two more ships moving into range, it’s the Yorkdale and an unidentified frigate.”

“As expected,” he replied, “their course?”

“Uh, Sir, this isn’t right. They are moving on the Vengeance. Both ships show signs of damage. The Yorkdale is missing a part of her starboard engine and the frigate has sustained heavy damage.”

“What the hell is going on out there?” demanded Admiral Jarvis.

“Getting a transmission from the Yorkdale,” continued the Lieutenant.

“Put it through!”

The main display flicked from the bridge camera display to the video transmission from the massive transport. At first, the video was nothing but blackness but the display suddenly adjusted to the brightness and contrast. In the middle of the screen was a view of a badly damaged bridge. It was not unlike the CiC of the Crusader, but lacking in many of the crew positions and computer equipment. A shape moved past the camera and then blocked it completely. Then the shape moved back to show a dark silhouette of a large man. As the image adjusted again, it was the face of a Jötnar. A murmur of surprise fell from Captain Tobler’s lips.

“Commander Gun?” asked Admiral Jarvis.

The Biomech stood and gazed into the screen for a moment before grinning. He had a bandage over his head and covering one eye.

“Admiral. We deal with Vengeance!” he said and then turned from the camera. His voice appeared angry, but it wasn’t obviously different to the way the Jötnar spoke to most of the Confed officers.

“What the hell is going on?” demanded Captain Tobler.

A human officer, his uniform ragged and bloody appeared on the screen. He wore the insignia of a Major.

“Major, what is going on?”

“Admiral, we were attacked by a force of renegade vessels as we left the storms at Prometheus. Vengeance was boarded and they turned the guns on us before getting away. We have been in pursuit ever since. They jammed our transmissions, they mean to attack the troops ships!”

“You know this?”

“Gun and some of his wounded Jötnar managed to get information from some of their captured soldiers.”

Admiral Jarvis turned to Captain Tobler. “Captain, status of the Leviathan?”

“She’s closing on the transports. Santa Maria and Santa Cruz are moving to block her. The other transports are dropping as low as they can into high orbit. We’re gaining on her.”

“What about the Vengeance?”

“Good God!” he muttered as he watched his screen.

“What?” she demanded.

One of the crew tapped a key that sent the main forward camera feed straight to the primary display. It showed the vast hulk of the War Barge surging forward with all its engines on full burn. The ship was of a similar length to the Crusader but much wider and contained far more bulk. From the left of the display, the even larger shape of the Yorkdale, the recently requisitioned transport, pushed ahead. It appeared to happen in slow motion to those watching as the two ships collided. The bow of the Yorkdale splintered and shattered as it ripped through the flank of the War Barge.

“What are they doing?” demanded the Admiral.

To the side of the main display was the direct feed to the marine Major on the Yorkdale. All around him were sparks and flames. Several Jötnar rushed past in the background.

“They are out of control, Sir. Commander Gun and his forces are boarding the Vengeance.

The Admiral turned to Captain Tobler, who shook his head in exasperation.

“They can’t be trusted,” he said sternly.

“Maybe, maybe not. Either way it gives us a chance. Put us on a pursuit course with the Leviathan, get the Cruz and Santa Maria to do the same. We’ll surround her and pound her hull to dust.”

“What about the Vengeance? She is still drifting towards the Fleet. We can’t deal with both of them.”

“You deal with the Leviathan, I’ll bring the rest of the Fleet in to help deal with her.”

“Aye, Sir.”

*

Spartan and his platoon were just one hundred metres from the transportation hub. The ground rose slightly where two roads and a rail system moved into a series of wide tunnels and structures. Most of the low buildings were heavily damaged from the fighting.

“Sitrep!” he called out.

“All squads accounted for. Two Vanguards damaged but still operational,” answered Teresa who was standing three metres to his left. As she spoke, she continued to engage the enemy who were firmly entrenched.

“Lieutenant Weathers, how is the right flank doing?”

A dozen cannon rounds blasted around Spartan and one managed to shatter an ammunition link to one of his guns. A series of warning alarms triggered inside the suit.

“We’ve cleared the enemy right up to the wall but we can’t cross the highway, it’s blocking out route and it runs all the way to the hub.”

“Damn!” Spartan growled to himself. He lifted himself up and examined the highway that ran to the front of the tunnel entrance. The entire system reminded him of the underground highways and tunnels on Prime.

“Spartan!” Teresa called, indicating behind her with her left hand.

Spartan turned to see a small group of Vanguards led by Captain Daniels. Behind them moved two of the armoured mules he’d seen on the Santa Cruz.

“Getting into trouble again, I see!” he said as he approached.

“Good to see you, Sir. We’ve hit heavy resistance and large numbers of enemy reinforcements are approaching from the west.”

Captain Daniels and his escort moved into position and immediately started adding their fire to the battle. At least a dozen rockets blasted from the entrenched enemy around the smashed buildings of the transport hub. Scores of rifles and machineguns added their own fire. The Vanguards were in position to the south and west of the hub but the blistering fire kept them all securely behind cover.

“Spartan. I’ve received the latest reconnaissance from our fighters and there is a big problem.”

More bullets hit near them, but the violent response from the Vanguards quickly forced the enemy back out of sight. One of the men in 2nd Squad tried to push forward but was struck within five seconds by three separate rockets. Two slammed into the torso knocking him back and the third tore off his right arm up to the elbow.

“Get him to safety!” barked Spartan. He waved for two other marines to move him. More bullets rattled around them.

“Where the hell is our air cover?” shouted Teresa rhetorically.

“It’s there, trust me. The problem is the enemy aren’t just moving men and machines down the highway to the city. They’re bringing prisoners from the spaceport with them. Two bombing runs have already been called off to avoid civilian casualties,” shouted Daniels.

Spartan leaned around the corner of the rubble that used to be some kind of vehicle shop. He fired a quick burst that killed an enemy soldier and wounded another, then moved back behind the masonry. He looked over to Captain Daniels.

“You’re kidding? How many?”

Daniels looked at a screen inside his suit before looking up to Spartan.

“Look, our estimates put the enemy infantry at over six battalions of militia with a similar number of Biomechs. We calculate another two to three thousand troops in the northern suburbs and on their way to clear the city.”

“Is that who the Air Force have been bombing the crap out of?” asked Teresa.

Captain Daniels turned and signalled for the mules to move towards them. More gunfire continued, the intensity now far greater than before. He looked back at Teresa.

“Yes. They’ve already hit the lead units approaching the city and have moved to the north. With more of these units taking prisoners it’s making air support difficult.”

Spartan looked down at his map of the city and the approximate disposition of the enemy. The Vanguards had created what amounted to just a small enclave in the middle of the city and the perimeter was shrinking as more enemy forces approached. He looked at the Captain.

“If they are going to hit us soon, we’re going to need to dig in. We have to take the hub and clear a path to the civilians. We’ll need their help.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Full frontal assault, we take this hub once and for all!”

Teresa nodded, the Captain looked less than convinced.

“You realise there are over three hundred troops dug in just over that escarpment?” he said, pointing ahead to where the repeated gunfire came from. A flag was being raised bearing the symbol and iconography of the Union, but accurate fire from the Vanguards cut the pole in half and it dropped from sight.

“Give it another five minutes and we’ll be surrounded. The only way is forward. Are the mules fully operational?”

The Captain nodded. “Okay, Spartan, you’re sure your Vanguards can handle this?”

Spartan looked at him with a look that told him he really shouldn’t be asking the question. Captain Daniels tapped a key inside his suit and sent out communications to the other units. As he organised the attack, Teresa turned to Spartan.

“You’re not just trying to impress him now, are you?”

“Why does everybody keep questioning me? What else would you suggest?”

Teresa shrugged.

“Yeah, thought so,” replied Spartan with a grin. “We rush the bastards, smash though the barrier to the civvies and link up. We need to secure this place and fortify it in the next thirty minutes. If we don’t succeed, we’ll be overrun and it won’t matter anymore.”

Daniels signalled to Spartan and Teresa.

“Lieutenant Weathers and his Vanguards are going to launch a diversionary attack in sixty seconds. We wait thirty seconds after they start before moving in. Look at this.”

Inside Spartan’s suit a map slid onto his tactical screen showing an aerial view of the hub. It looked like a cross between a highway flyover and railroad station. Large parts were damaged, but what really mattered were the trenches and weapon emplacements.

“If we take out the two positions on the right, we can link up with Weathers as his forces penetrate their line.”

Spartan nodded in agreement and glanced down at the readouts in his suit. He gave them a cursory look, ensuring the guns and ammunition were ready for the battle. A new set of icons had appeared that gave him authorisation to control the mules. It wasn’t direct control, simply a mechanism that allowed him to select them and move them to particular areas. He tapped the two green shapes and moved them out into the open so they could start suppressing fire.

“What are you doing?” asked Teresa.

The two four-legged machines moved out from cover and into the open, directly in front of escarpment. Rifle fire started to hit their thick metal armour and a rocket exploded ineffectually nearby.

“When Weathers attacks, they will assume the mules were a diversion. They can advance with us.”

Teresa didn’t look totally convinced. She called over to the squad sergeants and quickly ordered the Vanguards into position to commence their attack. With precision and skill, the operational Vanguards moved as forward as they dared. The two mules remained stationary, absorbing masses of fire. Their motorised gun turrets joined the battle and very soon the enemy were keeping their heads down. Spartan looked down at the timer on his suit and then hit the intercom button.

“We start our attack in forty seconds, make your checks.”

Almost to emphasise the starting attack, a low level group of three Lightning fighters screamed overhead. Two of them fired long bursts into the enemy positions ahead. Spartan watched his drone feed with pleasure as the machine gun nest to the right was saturated in gunfire. Nothing could survive that inferno.

“We’re going in!” called Lieutenant Weathers over the intercom. Though his voice vanished, the sound of the assault could be heard from their position two hundred metres away. Spartan shuddered as he wondered how they would fair against such devastating firepower. He looked back down at his timer, it read just twenty seconds to go.

“1st Platoon, squad leaders report in.”

The Vanguards were obviously ready and waiting for his command. Off to his left, he spotted the raised arm of Marcus.

“3rd Squad ready, Sir!” he replied with a bark. Sergeants Lovett and Harris quickly followed him.

Spartan checked once more, just ten seconds to go.

“Vanguards. We do not stop, no matter what! We take this place, understood?”

A chorus of agreement echoed through his suit. He looked over to Teresa who waited, both her weapon arms ready for the fight. She nodded to him. The timer flashed, it was time.

“Now!” he shouted, and then pushed himself from out of cover and into the open. Lights flashed through the suit as sensors detected incoming bullets and rockets. It didn’t matter to Spartan, he pushed down with his feet and drove himself forward. The patter of small arms struck around the suit but nothing was able to stop him making progress. No sooner had he pushed ahead ten metres, when a group of six soldiers in carapace armour stood up to fire their heavy weapons. Spartan kept going and held down the trigger of his L48 rifles. Bright muzzle flashes rippled along the line of Vanguards as they stormed up the broken embankment and towards the escarpment. To his left a rocket smashed into a comrade, knocking the still burning Vanguard suit to the ground.

“Lieutenant Spartan, we’ve broken through!” came a rough crackle on the radio system. It was Lieutenant Weathers. Spartan kept going, digging in his right arm to help lift him up to the lip along the embankment. As he stood there looking down, he could see several dozen Biomechs picking up weapons and rushing towards him. To his left, three Vanguards appeared and to his right, another two. He didn’t even hesitate.

“Follow me!” he cried and jumped down to the charging Biomechs. He held down the triggers but it wasn’t enough. They were on him in seconds. He was forced to rely upon his speed and skill with the excavator claws built into the fists. Behind him, dropped more Vanguards as they filled the transport hub and overran the defensive positions. The closest Biomech swung for him but he evaded the strike with a quick twist of his torso. He followed it with a savage uppercut that embedded the metal blade deep into the creature’s throat. Another approached from the left and he smartly dealt with it, firing a long burst from his left arm. Teresa jumped next to him, fending off three carapace-armoured soldiers with her L48 rifles.

“Spartan. You ok?” she shouted over the din of the battle.

Throwing off the bodies of the dead, he lifted his arms and stepped forward, blazing away with the built-in gun.

“All fine here, you?”

“No problem, where is Weathers?”

Another group of Vanguards dropped in, Spartan instantly recognised them by their suits, it was Marcus and the rest of 3rd Squad. He was quickly assailed by a small group of Biomechs, but the massed firepower from the squad stopped all but one reaching them. As the final bullet-ridden Biomech stumbled forward, one of the mules appeared behind them. Its computer controlled turret weapons system locked onto the Biomech and opened fire with linked automatic cannons. It instantly turned the creature to pulp.

“Holy shit!” shouted Marcus over the radio.

A dozen rounds hammered into the thick frontal armour of Teresa’s armoured suit, throwing her to the ground. As she fell back, Spartan grabbed her arm and lifted her up.

“What you doing? We’re not finished!” he said, moving back into the fight. From the right flank of his platoon, the battle damaged and heavily scarred Vanguards of 2nd Platoon staggered over the western ridge and moved into the transport hub. The weapons fire was already starting to fade and the last few dozen soldiers lifted their hands to surrender. Three Biomechs remained, each stood around the last soldiers, waiting to protect to them from the Vanguards. Captain Daniels pushed past Spartan and towards the group.

“Cease fire!” he called and walked slowly towards them. In the middle stood a man in a dark uniform, similar in style and cut to those of the Confed Naval Intelligence. In his hand he held a small metal box.

“Captain, get back!” Spartan shouted.

The soldiers, still with their hands raised, dropped to their knees. It was then that he saw the thick metal collars around their necks. He jumped forwards and reached out towards the Captain. Fast though he was, it wasn’t fast enough. The man gave a sinister grin and pressed a lever. A series of blasts echoed as the collars of the dead and living exploded, each one sending shards of bone and lumps of flesh all around them. Captain Daniels staggered back from the blast and then fell down in a loud and violent crash.

As the final act in the battle for the transport hub played out, the Biomechs stood silently. Each watched their comrades vanish in a mist of blood and gore. They had a confused and slightly bemused expression on their faces. The leader was still standing and with the large number of Vanguards around him, he dropped the metal box and lifted his hands. Spartan stepped forward, easily double his size and stared at the man. He carried a scar on the side of his face and a look of sheer hate in his eyes.

“Lieutenant Spartan of the Vanguards. You will surrender yourself and these creatures to my safe keeping,” he said firmly.

“Hah!” laughed the man and he spat on the floor. “Your platitudes mean nothing to me, Spartan. The Union is just the beginning. My people have worked long and hard for our revenge, and it will come! The forgotten sons shall return soon enough!”

Spartan sensed what was happening. As the man reached for his pistol, he swung his right arm and smashed the man in the face with the back of his armoured hand.

“Lieutenant, over here!” shouted Sergeant Lovett. Spartan turned to see a number of ragged civilians appear from underground. They must have opened the hatches after seeing the last stages of the Vanguards’ assault. One man in particular moved towards Spartan and saluted.

“Sir! Sergeant Jim Patterson, 1st Platoon, City Militia. Damned glad to see you. We thought they were going to break through.”

Spartan flicked a switch to open up the visor so the man could see his face properly.

“Lieutenant Spartan, Vanguard Marines. What is your status?”

“We have control of most of the city. They’ve been using the small bastards to infiltrate the place but so far we’ve held them off.”

Lieutenant Weathers arrived and moved up to Spartan to listen to the man’s report.

“The shopping precinct?” asked Spartan.

“Lost that almost twelve hours ago. They hit it first, why?”

“That is where we were supposed to break through.”

“Glad you didn’t use that route, Sir. It was captured quickly, but we used seismic charges to collapse the tunnels. It’s completely blocked now.”

Spartan turned to look at Weathers, his armour was smashed and damaged but still working. “Your platoon?” he asked.

“Three dead, two wounded. They did their jobs,” he answered calmly.

“Good call on the hub. If we’d kept on, we would have been trapped and surrounded at the precinct.” Lieutenant Weathers nodded, acknowledging the thanks from Spartan.

“We’re expecting a major assault on this position in the next few minutes. Can your militia help with the fight?”

“No problem, they’re itching for some payback.” He turned and whistled to those waiting underground. Without saying more, the first of them appeared. Each was wearing light armour and carrying out of date rifles and carbines.

Teresa helped Captain Daniels to his feet, the officer staggered for a second as he regained his footing. Spartan stomped over to check on him.

“You okay, Sir?”

“Yeah, goddamned rookie mistake. I should have stayed back.”

“Yes, you should have, Sir. At least the suit did its job.”

The Captain did his best to smile.

A flight of Lightning fighters whistled past and proceeded to strafe and bomb positions half a kilometre to the north. The flashes and explosions continued for several seconds as they flattened the section of the city. From over the ridge, the first of the mules started to climb down into the transport hub but lost its footing. The odd-looking mechanical contraption slipped and fell, but incredibly straightened itself before crashing. With a few slips, it managed to stand up and move towards Captain Daniels. He looked at it in surprise and then back at Spartan.

“I’m getting information from General Rivers. He’s diverting two battalions of Army ground forces to the city. They are due to land east of the hub in the next twenty minutes. They will secure the city and relieve us.”

“What the hell?” said Spartan angrily.

“Spartan. Our job is done. We are the spearhead. We shatter the enemy and then move to the next target. The Army have armour and artillery on the way. An advance company of pathfinders is already on the ground and making its way here. They need space to bring in the heavy landers.”

“What about us?”

“For now, we stay here and defend the transport hub and the centre of the city. Don’t forget we are expecting enemy forces to arrive at any moment. I want you to take a handpicked unit and escort the engineers to the east and help clear an LZ for the big birds.”

“Don’t we need everybody here?”

“Spartan, a dozen Vanguards will not tip the scale that much. Get the engineers to the designated zone and help the pathfinders clear a space. Hold the landing zone so the big birds can land the heavy armour and infantry. If you’re quick you can have ground troops and tanks in position in less than thirty minutes. They are already on the way, so move it!”

Spartan saluted, his body language made it quite clear he was less than impressed by the order. He moved to the middle of the hub where Teresa and the other Vanguards were helping the city militia prepare foxholes and emplacements for the captured enemy weapons. The three Biomech prisoners stood patiently, they each looked unsure what to do, as did the three Vanguards guarding them.

“The Captain needs us to get the engineers to this area to establish an LZ. We don’t have long, the Army heavies are already on the way.”

“Maybe we should have established an LZ first?” said Marcus.

“Yeah, maybe you should have done it yourself. It doesn’t matter, right now I need both of you and three more marines.”

Marcus moved away to recruit those he felt best suited for the job. Teresa stayed slightly closer to Spartan. She was about to speak when he noticed several news feeds coming in from their commanders, the one that caught his attention was about newly arrived ship.

“What is it?” asked Teresa, noticing something was wrong.

“The Yorkdale, she’s here. They rammed a rebel War Barge.”

“They? You mean Gun?”

Spartan shook his head in annoyance.

“Yeah, news is spreading through the Fleet. Apparently, the War Barge is renegade and the Jötnar have started a major boarding action.”

“I told you Gun was crazy,” she laughed.

“Was?” muttered Spartan, as Marcus returned with three dusty and slightly battered looking Vanguards. The CES equipped engineers were already there waiting. Spartan looked out to the east and the distant smoke plumes. He glanced upwards but so far there was no sign of the impending Army forces.

“Right, let’s go!”

Spartan moved ahead first with the engineers directly behind and the other five Vanguards spread out around the group. As they moved away from the hub, the remaining Vanguards helped lift great chunks of masonry, quickly turning the site into an improvised fortress.

“How long until they attack?” asked Teresa.

Spartan looked at his tactical display and noted the large number of red icons converging from the west. A much smaller group seemed stuck in the north of the city, probably held up by the constant air attacks from the Navy fighters.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Why use the Jötnar? They were after all the only synthetic life form based military unit to ever serve in the Confederate military. Though lacking in the discipline and experience of the regular Marine and Army units, they did have very important advantages. Almost impervious to harm, they were tough and ruthless. They made excellent soldiers, perhaps the best natural warriors in the Confederacy. Coupled with unswerving loyalty to their masters, they almost matched the capability of the elite Vanguard Marines but without the requirement for expensive equipment and training. It was never a matter of could they do the job? It was simply a case of whether they would be allowed to do it.

The 1st Jötnar Battalion

“Admiral, video signal from Prometheus. It’s Commander Anderson,” said Lieutenant Nilsson.

Admiral Jarvis looked down to the smaller view screen. It was positioned so that only she could see the content. She was surprised to hear that her old friend wanted to speak with her. She had left him in charge of the defences of the colony and its secretive underground factories and research labs. The image changed to a one-way video transmission from Commander Anderson. She was immediately transported back to the time, just months before, when he had been her XO on the Crusader.

“Admiral. Half of the reserve fleet, including the Army transport and most of the escorts, have just returned to orbit around Prometheus. They were ambushed after leaving the storms and several of the ships were destroyed. Most of them are showing damage from high power weapons. Our scientists here believe they are using a direct energy weapons, possibly a particle beam. If so, the weapon will agitate and explode the target in line of sight. There is a chance the Vengeance has been captured. The Yorkdale is in pursuit.”

He paused for a moment and then leaned in closer to the camera.

“I had information on one of the ships to be delivered to you by hand. Sergeant Bishop was due to give it to you, as well as a handpicked unit of Jötnar. The ship is one of those missing following the ambush. I have no idea of its whereabouts,” he said shaking his head.

“Reports from the ships that escaped the attack, say there is a fleet of approximately thirty ships out there and they include a number of heavy cruisers. This fleet might be heading our way or on the way to hit your forces, there is no way of knowing. I will send more data as it arrives. We already have a dozens escorts out scouting the storms and around the colony to keep an eye out for them.”

An image popped up to the side of the video feed with three rough schematics and several shots from the gun cameras. It showed a cruiser, much like the Leviathan though perhaps a little smaller. Commander Anderson continued.

“If these forces do enter your location, we could really do with capturing one of their ships. I appreciate that probably won’t be easy, but Kowalski informs me this level of technology is easily thirty years ahead of where we are. It could be critical to the war effort,” he said with a wry smile.

Admiral Jarvis smiled inwardly at the comment. The Commander knew full well how hard it was to get close enough to even consider a boarding action, let alone carrying one out to its successful conclusion. It was normal for a ship that was about to be boarded to accelerate away or even to self-destruct. Anderson turned to look at something and then back at the camera.

“I have to help prepare the defences. If they do arrive, we have enough ships, defences and minefields to drag it out for weeks, maybe months. Good luck, Admiral, I’ll be in touch. Anderson out.”

The image turned black and Admiral Jarvis sat, stunned for a moment. She wasn’t sure which part had hit her hardest. The fact her reinforcements were not coming or that there was a force of thirty or more ships lurking somewhere. A fleet of that size could cause her serious problems on her new campaign. She considered responding but knew in her heart that a few minutes either way would make little difference to what was about to happen. Right now she had Euryale, the Leviathan and a rogue War Barge to deal with.

She looked around at the CiC, like her the rest of the crew were still strapped into their seats. The vessel had been accelerating since the pursuit of the Leviathan had begun. It was slow, but they were finally starting to gain on the enemy ship. Lieutenant Nilsson calling over to the Captain caught her attention.

“Video signal from the Leviathan,” she said.

“Put it on the main screen,” replied Captain Tobler.

The face of an old looking man in a dark gown appeared on the display. A small number of men in the robes of the Zealots moved around him. Something the crew of the Crusader hadn’t seen for some months.

“Typhon!” hissed Admiral Jarvis from the back of the CiC.

“Euryale is sovereign territory, as is all of Proxima Centauri. You tried to sabotage our efforts on Prime and failed, then Kerberos. Your regime is a catalogue of brutality and failure. The remnants of your dictatorship have no influence here. The days of the Confederacy are over. Your pitiful forces will be ground to dust if you stay here. Order your forces to leave the colony or we will be forced to unleash fire upon the surface to cleanse it of your unholy taint.”

“He’s bluffing, jam him!” snarled the Admiral, her disdain for the leader of the enemy forces being obvious.

“Sir, he’s not heading for the transports. He’s moving directly above the city.”

A hush spread through the CiC as the gravity of what was about to happen became evident. The loss of ships was insignificant to the destruction of a colony and its civilian population.

“What? Can his weapons penetrate the atmosphere?” Captain Tobler asked desperately.

“I don’t know. We have to stop her and fast! I will not lose another colony!”

Admiral Jarvis brought up her tactical display and selected an open channel to all Confed vessels in the Fleet. Though the Captain was in command of the battlecruiser, the Admiral commanded the entire Fleet and the operation in Euryale.

“All ships within range of the Leviathan. She is about to release a weapon on the colony. Use any and all means to stop her. There are hundreds of thousands of lives depending on us!”

“Sir, the Vengeance, her engines have cut. It looks like she is losing power. She is still moving towards the planet.”

“Looks like the Jötnar have a use after all,” she said quietly, smiling to herself.

“Fifty kilometres from the Leviathan, firing reverse thrusters. We are in range, Captain,” said the XO.

“You don’t need my orders, you know what to do,” he replied.

The XO picked up the intercom microphone, before he could speak the tactical officer interrupted him.

“Sir, the Cruz and Santa Maria are putting up heavy defensive fire, their railguns are hitting the Leviathan hard.”

The XO looked at him and shook his head.

“It’s not enough. We’ve raked her twice at close range. She’s got thick skin, this bastard!”

He grabbed the intercom. “This is the XO. Commence firing, don’t stop till she burns!”

The continuous rumble and reverberation of the gun batteries firing resumed. It could be felt through all major bulkheads in the ship. They were at optimum firing distance, but he knew a few good hits wouldn’t finish the fight. Based on how long the battle against the Battleship CCS Victorious had taken, it could be an hour before they were able to cripple the vessel completely.

“Direct hit!” called out the tactical officer. “Port engine damaged, continuing fire.”

Captain Tobler nodded in satisfaction and watched as parts of the Leviathan tore off from the massive vessel. More flashes indicated impacts from the railguns as they smashed the stern, causing substantial damage. Two squadrons of Lightning fighters turned away after releasing their Skua missiles, but each one was easily shot down buy the myriad of turrets along the ship’s hull.

“She’s firing up her starboard thrusters…wait, she’s coming around.”

The XO grabbed the intercom. “All stations, brace for impact!” he shouted.

“She’s charging up her primary weapons. Wait, I’m picking up more ships.”

“What?” demanded Admiral Jarvis.

On the main screen the image of the turning heavy cruiser slid to the side to make space for a mass of dots that quickly grew in size.

“They’ll be here in three minutes, their transmissions and IFF systems are blocked.”

“Blocked by their own ships or being jammed by these bastards?” said the XO bitterly.

“Use everything we have, crash the fighters into her weapons if we have to, she must be stopped!” cried out the Admiral.

*

Spartan, Teresa and Marcus fanned out as they moved between two low buildings. Unlike the rest of the city, this section seemed to have avoided the explosions and gunfire that had gutted most of the rest of the surface. Behind them moved the engineers, themselves being carefully watched by three more Vanguards. In the distance behind them, the arc of tracers from the ground gave away the closing enemy troops as they moved in on the city. It wouldn’t be long before they were at the walls.

“How much further?” asked Marcus.

“Not long, past the next building, through the yard and over the wall. The pathfinders are already in position,” replied Spartan.

They kept on, the heavy thud of the armoured legs mixing in with the pneumatic whine of pistons. They covered the ground fast and quickly moved into the yard. One six-wheeled truck lay partially assembled to one side. Spartan glanced to his right when he spotted to bipedal machines. For a second he was about to fire, when he realised they were just forklifts, nothing he needed to concern himself with.

“Spartan, look!” called Teresa.

Spartan looked over, further to his right. About a hundred metres out to the side a dozen men in carapace armour were jogging past the buildings. The path the men were taking ran exactly parallel with the Vanguards.

“That can’t be a coincidence, they must be trying to stop us reaching the landing zone. Teresa, you escort them. Marcus come with me!” he growled.

The two Vanguards slightly altered their course and crossed the space between the two groups and moved on the enemy. On his rear video feed, Spartan watched Teresa and the other marines stomp away and towards the objective. He kept moving as fast as the massive armoured legs would let him.

“Spartan, watch…” shouted Marcus, before a rocket slammed into his chest and knocked him to the ground. Spartan threw himself to the side and into the wall of a small structure. The mass and weight of his suit smashed through the outer wall, leaving broken stone and masonry all around him. Cannon rounds clattered about him and he was forced to roll to the side to avoid being hit.

“Marcus, are you alright?” he shouted, there was no response.

The enemy soldiers stopped their chase and turned to put down fire on the sheltering Spartan. He grabbed Marcus by the arm and shook him, noticing slight movement inside the man’s visor. He must be unconscious, Spartan thought. The armour penetration sensor flashed as two rounds splinted a servo mount on his left leg. He pulled himself up and pushed out from around the cover. The men were stood just a dozen metres away, most with their weapons pointed directly at him. Without thinking, he drove himself forward and dropped his hands down low. The ammunition counters on the guns were low and in less than a second’s worth of shooting he was left with just one gun with a quarter-full ammo box. The large calibre shells shredded the closest three and then he was amongst them.

“Bastards!” he roared, swinging his metal arms as hard as he could to strike them. The impact barely registered as he slammed his blade hard into the first. The hardened metal edge buried itself deeply into his thigh and then slammed into the next man. Two turned to run, the other five stood their ground and fired their automatic weapons at point blank range. Lights flashed throughout the suit as the weapons penetrated some of the weaker parts of the armour, damaging the delicate pipes and wiring running through the thinner section to the rear of the suit.

“Lieutenant, get down!” shouted somebody on his intercom. He didn’t recognise the voice for a moment, so caught up as he was in the bloodlust of close quarter combat. Nonetheless he dropped to the ground, just in time to see streaks of tracer fire from a team of Army soldiers. One armed with a shoulder-mounted thermal cannon sent a blast of superheated energy that vaporised two of the enemy. The rest were cut down in carefully aimed rapid fire.

He turned in the direction of his rescuers to see men in thick carapace armour. Though usually painted battleship grey, these soldiers were a type of mottled camouflage that fitted in beautifully with the urban structures around them. One of them moved closer and saluted.

“Sergeant Tony Jackson, Pathfinder Company.”

Spartan dragged himself up, immediately noticing the reduced power and movement in his arm. A quick glance showed him the suit had sustained substantial damage, yet after all of this it was still functioning.

“Lieutenant Spartan, Vanguard Company. Good to see you, Sergeant. Your timing is perfect.”

“Glad to see you, too, Sir. Your engineers are already being put to work. I can’t believe you took this place with just one company, Sir.”

“One company? No, two platoons is all we have right now.”

“We need some of that armour!” he said with a sly grin.

“Give me a hand,” asked Spartan. They helped lift the unconscious Marcus between them.

“The birds are on their way. Apparently, the first to land is a company of marines under the command of a Captain Hobbs. She says she wants to see you when she gets here.”

“Hobbs?” asked Spartan, with an obvious hint of bitterness in his voice. “You could say that, she’s itching for some combat and is pissed off by anybody that gets there first!”

“Yeah, we know the type. Watch your back, Sir.”

“Don’t worry, I’m getting used to it.”

*

Three ships were circling the Leviathan but after a full twenty minutes of battle it was still undecided. The Santa Cruz had sustained heavy damage to her bow and was turning to move from battle. The Santa Maria hadn’t fared much better, with one of her rotating sections out of action and a series of fires burning on her starboard hull. The Crusader showed no obvious signs of damage but inside was another story. Hundreds of dead and wounded had already been evacuated from the now totally crippled bow section. A quarter of the gun decks were offline due to damage in the primary power plant. In the CiC, gravity had resumed as the rotating sections reverted to their normal state of three rotations per minute.

“Her weapons are powering up again!” called the tactical officer.

“Captain, we can’t take another hit from those guns, we have to withdraw!” replied the desperate XO.

Captain Tobler staggered to the tactical display and stood next to Admiral Jarvis. She held a bandage to her forehead, trying to stem the flow of blood dripping from a light gash. He turned back to the XO.

“No, the only reason Typhon hasn’t flattened the colony is because we’re keeping her busy. Get us closer!”

Admiral Jarvis agreed, watching in satisfaction on the main screen, as scores of hits riddled the vessel. The Leviathan was certainly a ship worthy of its name. Captain Tobler traced the movement of the new ships on the display with his right hand.

“Here they come,” he said with a tone of dread and anger. The Crusader had fought hard and long but in the end they needed more time. The Leviathan was just too tough a ship to destroy in a hurry.

“Put them on the main screen,” he ordered.

The external cameras took several seconds to adjust, not helped by the barrage of cannon fire that raked Crusader’s hull. All the crew in the CiC watched anxiously as the blurred shapes slowed and then came into view. The first was an Army transport, closely followed by a group of two damaged light cruisers.

“Can it be?” said Admiral Jarvis, with a tinge of doubt in her voice.

Four destroyers moved in, quickly followed by another Army transport and a frigate. The smaller vessels rushed directly towards the Leviathan and unleashed a great mass of torpedoes. A great surge peaked on the scanners and almost as quickly as she had arrived, the mighty enemy flagship accelerated away from the battle. A final vessel, much smaller than the rest, appeared.

“Signal coming through, it’s the Tamarisk, Sir.”

The video feed popped up to reveal the cramped bridge of the small ship with Captain Haris and Sergeant Bishop in centre view.

“Captain Haris here. Apologies for the delay, we had a slight altercation with enemy forces attacking the Yorkdale. I assume she was able to escape?”

“Affirmative, Captain, good to see you here. We understand a rogue fleet hit the reinforcements as they left the storms.”

“Makes sense. When we arrived, there were already a number of damaged ships in the area. I assumed the majority had returned to Prometheus. Glad to see some of them got through to you,” he turned to Bishop, who was trying to get his attention.

“Oh, yes. Is Admiral Jarvis there?”

“I’m here, Captain, what is it?”

“The Sergeant here has an important message for you. Permission to send a party over?”

Captain Tobler looked to the Admiral. “Send him over.”

“Understood, he will be with you shortly.”

The image slid to the side to return to the hulk of the War Barge and the increasing number of Confed ships moving into position around her. At first glance, the ship appeared lifeless, but the Crusader’s sensors were picking up hull vibrations. Every minute or so a short burst of gunfire would erupt from the hull towards the circling ships. It was light and sporadic but it did confirm the enemy still had control of some or all of the ships weapon systems. The main engines appeared heavily damaged but the manoeuvring thrusters were still functional and maintaining the vessel’s course towards the planet.

“What’s going on in there?” asked the Admiral.

“I’ve done a detailed scan of her hull. The best I can tell is most of the vibrations are coming from explosions and weapons fire on board.”

“There are only two people I know who can cause so much trouble, one of them is on the surface with the Vanguards.”

“Gun?” he asked.

“Of course. Who else would go against direct orders and cause so much noise and violence?”

She moved over to tactical display and gave a cursory look at the ship dispositions. There were now three main groups of ships. The largest group was in orbit around Euryale, this included some of the newly arrived reinforcements. Most of the warships were boarding the crippled enemy vessels following the main battle and the remaining ships were splitting off to deal with stragglers.

“How many ships have left the System?” she asked.

“The Leviathan, one damaged cruiser and four frigates. Everything else is either destroyed, boarded or crippled,” replied the tactical officer. “The Leviathan is still on the same course. If they don’t start their engines soon, they will be caught in the gravity well of Euryale.”

“Other than those on board, what is the downside?” asked the XO.

“At that distance, they will have a clear run on any transports and vessels still in orbit. They could also use their bombardment weapons against the colony. War Barges are the perfect platforms for that kind of work.”

“I want every capital ship able to move to take up positions around the Vengeance. One way or the other, they will not be entering the orbit of Euryale,” ordered the Admiral.

She turned to Lieutenant Nilsson. “Can you reach any of the crew of the Yorkdale? We need to know what is happening down there.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Admiral,” she replied, but at the same time kept pressing a series of button and keys. She was the most competent and experienced communications officer on the ship, possibly the Fleet. She turned quickly.

“I’m getting something faint, it looks like internal suit communications from personal armour. I’ll try and amplify it, give me a moment, I’ll put it on the main speakers.”

The crackle of suit communications was initially nothing but noise and spikes of volume. The expert hands of Lieutenant Nilsson quickly removed most of the distortion until a number of voices became clearer.

“Turn it up, Lieutenant.”

A random selection of words, most sounding like orders and shouting in the middle of a battle, poured from the speakers. Each of the officers listened intently, trying to understand what exactly was happening.

“Wait, I’ve locked onto one suit,” she said with triumphalism in her voice. Most of the static vanished to be replaced by the voice of man, his breathing heavy.

“Report in. Four dead, CiC still barricaded…Gun!…Gun!…What the hell!” there was more crackling followed by a series of screams and heavy gunfire.

Admiral Jarvis looked to Captain Tobler and started to speak but was cut off by more audio on the speakers.

“Gun is down, I repeat, Gun is down. We need to fall back, we can’t get inside the CiC!”

“Lieutenant, keep the channel open and record the stream, cut the speaker feed. Get me General Rivers.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Admiral Jarvis picked up the intercom and waited for the nod from Lieutenant Nilsson. It took a few seconds for the linked to be connected.

“Admiral,” came the familiar sound from the General.

“We are cleaning up the fleet in orbit. What is your status?”

“The spaceport is secure and my forces are pushing their way to the city. I have the landing platforms organised and the heavies are landing armour ready for a full frontal assault.”

“Excellent. How are your casualties?”

“The lead elements suffered badly. Anti-aircraft defences were more substantial than intel suggested. Since securing the landing zones we’ve had the upper hand. We have taken substantial prisoners, the rest are falling back to the city.”

“Any news on the city? Is it secured?”

“Yes. Captain Daniels reported in a few minutes ago. The Vanguards plus militia elements from the city have been digging in. I’ve sent reinforcements, as well as armour, to help but it’s down to whether they can clear a landing zone in time.”

“Who is doing that?”

“Spartan, he’s taken a unit of engineers to clear the site. They should be there by now.”

“Is there anything you need?”

“No, Admiral, just keep their forces off our backs and I think we’ll have this operation wrapped up in less than ten hours.”

“Excellent, keep in touch.”

“Admiral.”

She replaced the intercom handset and looked at the crew in the CiC. With the enemy ships destroyed or retreating, the urgency of the battle had vanished. With the War Barge still drifting, there was a palatable sense of fear. It was well justified. The War Barge would require the full weight of the Fleet to destroy her. Even then, the wreckage would continue to drift into orbit. The odds of the capital ship hitting the populated areas were slim, but it was a risk she wasn’t prepared to take.

“Send a signal to the Yorkdale and anybody you can reach on the Vengeance. They have twenty minutes. If they can’t move the ship then we’ll be forced to open fire.”

“Admiral. Captain Severus and the troops from the Yorkdale are still fighting on board her. If we turn our guns on the Vengeance, we could lose hundreds of warriors.”

“You think I don’t know that?” she replied with an irritable tone.

*

The first wave of assault shuttles swept down and disgorged their squads of marines. These were the kind of fighters Spartan had started with months before. Fast, agile and equipped with tough PDS armour and carry L48 rifles. They were the best the Confederacy had to offer and Spartan watched with pride as they fanned out around the landing zone in less than thirty seconds. The shuttles lifted off to make room for the first of the heavy Army Landers. Just one remained, probably the command shuttle that was positioned off to the right and out of the path of the following vessels. These much larger craft carried whole companies of Army units into battle, as well as armour and artillery. Less mobile and far less well trained, they were the hammer. The marines were the scalpel.

As the first of the massive vessels lowered itself onto the cleared landing zone, a great cloud of dust and debris was kicked up from the engines. It served to mask the arrival of Captain Hobbs, who appeared from the dust like an evil apparition.

“Spartan,” she said, ignoring his rank and position in the Vanguards.

He straightened himself, expecting to hear a tirade from her mouth. Before she could speak, the young Sergeant from the pathfinders stepped in front and saluted.

“Sir. The Vanguards have secured the site and we’ve mounted beacons along the perimeter, it is safe for the follow-up waves.”

“Excellent work, Sergeant,” she said but kept her gaze on Spartan.

Once the Sergeant had left, she took a step closer to him. Spartan looked carefully, trying to assess what was going to happen.

“I take it you have heard the news about your Jötnar friends? As expected, they have gone against orders and got themselves stuck on board a derelict spacecraft that is heading for our transports in orbit.”

“I’m sure they are doing their best, as we all are.”

She looked angrily at him, her gaze still locked on his eyes.

“We have a chain of command for a reason. Allowing the Jötnar to serve alongside us was a mistake, and one we will soon see rectified!”

Spartan nearly choked, realising that Hobbs was referring to something he knew he didn’t want to hear.

“What do you mean?” he asked, bracing himself for her news.

The War Barge will be in amongst our ships soon. If she doesn’t change course in the next five minutes, the Fleet has orders to destroy it.”

“What?” demanded Spartan.

“What did you expect? The ship is risking the entire Fleet. As far as we know, the enemy is still under control of the ships weapon systems. If they get close enough, they can hit the transports mid drop. There could be thousands of casualties.”

“Rubbish. The Jötnar will secure the ship and get it away from the Fleet.”

“Can we even trust them? They will probably take control and use the guns anyway.”

Spartan was starting to shake, his temper just barely controllable. He was about to reply when Teresa and one of the Vanguards appeared to his right. Her armour was almost as smashed as his. Dents and burn marks ran along the limbs and he spotted over a dozen dents from small arms and cannon fire. She saluted to the Captain.

“Sir.”

She then turned to Spartan.

“Sir, I’ve just received a communication from Captain Daniels that he wants us to bring reinforcements back to the transport hub to help with the defence.”

Captain Hobbs cleared her voice loudly.

“Sergeant, I am the commanding officer here. Round up your Vanguards and help unload supplies. I will take the reinforcements to the frontline, you look like you could do with a break.”

“Captain!” barked Spartan.

She turned back to him and glared. “That isn’t a request, Lieutenant. You are in no shape to fight. Use the power loading equipment you are wearing and help with unloading the heavy gear. That is an order!”

She waited for a few seconds, expecting further argument from Spartan. Though he wanted to put his fist through her visor, he was well aware of her intentions. One obvious act of sedition and he’d be locked up and sent to the brig. He saluted lazily.

“Yes

Sir.”

Captain Hobbs turned away and moved to the assembled troops. She started giving them their orders. Teresa indicated for the rest of the Vanguards to join her and Spartan.

“How is Marcus?”

“Concussion and lacerations to the legs. He’s being loaded onto the shuttle to return to the Cruz,” answered Randle, one of the new recruits in the platoon.

“Teresa, I need to speak with Admiral Jarvis,” said Spartan as he looked around, trying to find a way of speaking with her.

“No chance. Hobbs can route a signal up through the Cruz and then on to the Crusader. No way, will she, though. Why do you need the Admiral, what’s the problem?”

“We have to stop the destruction of the War Barge. Gun and the rest of the Jötnar will be massacred.”

He continued speaking but the assault shuttle that Hobbs had arrived on was powering up its engines. The powerful turbines were fitted up high on rotating wing mounts and as the power plants revved the dust cloud increased in size. Spartan started walking towards it. Teresa chased alongside.

“Hey, what are you doing?” she shouted.

Spartan said nothing and simply marched up to the side-loading ramp where several stretchers were being taken inside. Spartan pushed past two of the crew and into the loading bay of the shuttle. Teresa stood outside and looked at him, confused.

“What?” she said, shaking her head.

“I’m going to get Gun,” he replied dispassionately.

“Gun? Are you joking? They’ll court martial you for this. Leaving your post in times of war and all that!”

“I don’t care. I’m talking hundreds, maybe thousands of lives here.”

Teresa stood silently, unsure what to say or do. The rest of the Vanguards had arrived and stood next to her, even less sure about what was happening than she was. She turned to them.

“Spartan and I are taking Sergeant Keller back to the Santa Cruz. Tell Captain Daniels we are going to get Gun.”

“Gun? The Jötnar?” asked Randle.

“Yes, Gun. Just pass it on. Good luck!” she said and then threw herself inside the section, alongside Spartan. The door slammed shut behind them and in less than thirty seconds the heavily armed assault shuttle was blasting off, leaving a ring of dust and three confused looking Vanguards in their wake. Spartan looked down at the bruised and battered shape of Marcus who was lying on the stretcher. He lifted himself up slightly, his vision and hearing obviously returning fast. He spotted the shape of Spartan, still inside his battered Vanguard armour. To the side of him was the equally rough looking Teresa.

“What in God’s balls are you two doing here?”

The two sat there looking at each other. Marcus shook his head and closed his eyes. The shuttle started to vibrate as the main engines fired. The boost of power was the first stage in its trip up into orbit and the waiting ships.

*

“Any sign of their engines powering up?” asked Admiral Jarvis.

Captain Tobler finished speaking with his immediate officers before looking back to her.

“No, Admiral, they are dead and drifting in the water. They will be close enough to start hitting the transports in less than fifteen minutes. How many are left in orbit?”

She looked at her tactical display and did a quick tally.

“Three Army transports. They are taking on wounded from the shuttles. The rest have pulled back, but most of the infantry transports and landing craft can’t break out of orbit. Only some of the marine shuttles have the power to break away. Those that can’t make the trip have already returned to the surface. The Santa Cruz has dropped back to provide cover for the rest of them.”

“We’ll have to start now if we are going to stop her. Even then it might not be enough, Admiral.”

She stood silently, hoping and praying news would arrive of a change but she knew deep down it wouldn’t. The badly damaged Yorkdale had broken away from the War Barge and was moving slowly out of the area. As they moved apart, a number of cannon shells blasted back and forth between the two ships. From the Crusader, it looked as though they were locked in some kind of private argument.

“Admiral, what are your orders?” asked Captain Tobler once more.

She waited just a few more seconds before making a final decision.

“Give them one last warning. They have sixty seconds to evacuate the ship or we reduced her to ashes. We can’t wait any longer!”

“Aye, Sir,” replied the Captain, pleased to finally have orders to act on but also feeling angry that he would have to fire on a potentially friendly ship.

Admiral Jarvis lifted the intercom unit.

“This is the Admiral. The Vengeance is showing no signs of movement and is still shooting back. You are hereby given fifty seconds notice of a fire order. Upon my command, all ships in range will target the Vengeance. Total destruction is paramount to avoid damage to the colony below. Standby for my signal.”

She lowered the intercom and checked her tactical screen, again looking for something she could use.

“Captain, I’m picking up a reading from near the Vengeance. A shuttle, one of the assault shuttles from CCS Santa Cruz is changing course and moving towards the War Barge.”

“What! Who is it?” he demanded.

“I have a signal from Lieutenant Spartan,” said Lieutenant Nilsson excitedly.

“Put him on the main screen!”

The image once more slid to the right to make space for a new video feed from the shuttle. It showed the crew section of the craft with a pilot at the controls and two Vanguard marines pointing their weapons at the man.

“Explain yourself, Lieutenant!” said the Captain.

“The Jötnar deserve better. I’m going to board the ship and do what I can to help.”

“Where is your unit?”

“On the surface, they are assisting in the city defence, Sir.”

“This is dereliction of duty, Lieutenant.”

“Call it what you like, Sir. I won’t leave them behind!”

The video feed cut off, leaving the image of the assault shuttle rushing towards the War Barge. As it moved closer, multiple streams of tracer fire blasted around it from the ship’s automated defence turrets. Several rounds struck the thick armour of the craft but nothing substantial enough to stop its progress. As quickly as it had arrived, it disappeared underneath the great ship’s hull.

“Where are they going?” demanded the Admiral.

“The shuttle bay on the underside, Sir. I’m receiving messages from the Fleet, they are awaiting your orders.”

Admiral Jarvis considered her options. Should she wait and give Spartan a chance or should she start shooting now? It was an unenviable decision to make.

“Admiral, two of their forward guns are tracking towards the transports, they are almost in position to fire.”

Lieutenant Nilsson called out. “Admiral! Status report from General Rivers. His forces have reached the city and have surrounded the last enemy forces. Most are surrendering, the last few are being hunted down by Vanguard units under Captain Daniels.”

“Excellent, pass on the message to the transports and see if he needs any aerial assets to assist him.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Admiral Jarvis looked down at her deck and the intercom. She couldn’t believe after all that had happened, with the ground battle almost over, that she would have to do this. She took a deep breath.

“Very well,” she grabbed the intercom, putting herself in direct command of the circling warships.

“This is the Admiral. We have a rescue team aboard the ship. Target her weapon systems. Avoid structural damage where possible. Open fire!”

She lowered the intercom and stared at the view screen. The ships were more efficient that she ever could have hoped. Flashes of plasma rippled along a dozen capital ships as cruisers, frigates and transports released their pent up rage. Railguns hurled solid shot that ripped metres into the armour of the War Barge. The heavy cannon shells of the older cruiser did their job but the penetration was substantially less. On the screen, it reminded her of a prisoner in the stocks and having rotten fruit hurled at him. She turned from the violence and lifted her hands to her face.

“God save them,” she whispered.

*

From inside the shuttle, Spartan could barely seen out of the tiny windows. It wasn’t helped by the grime and scratches covering the armoured visor on his suit. According to the sensors, the armour was having trouble maintaining pressure. It wasn’t an issue for moving about in the ship, but if he were caught in a pressure-less section he would have just a few minutes before the inbuilt generators failed and he lost pressure. With a clunk, the vessel rested against one of the landing bulkheads.

“Teresa, you ready?”

She nodded and released the metal bars she’d been holding on to since they left the surface of Euryale. Unlike the suits used by the infantry, the Vanguard armour had been modified with experimental magnetic boots. It was a simple modification allowing the wearer to attach and detach their armoured feet on compatible surfaces. How well it would work on the interior of an old warhorse, like the Vengeance, was another thing.

“Let’s do this!” Without checking, he hit the release button. The side door slid open to reveal an empty hangar area lacking in both people and lighting. Spartan switched off the boots and pushed away. He moved slowly forwards, the drifting of zero-g travel feeling strange inside the suit. He covered the distance quickly and started to flounder as he approached the wall. With no inbuilt thrusters, he had to lift his arms to protect his face as he crashed into the metal. As he made contact, a quick flick of the switch activated the boots. Thankfully, the suit clunked into place on the wall. He waited a moment as he adjusted his bearings before realising he was stood on one of the walls.

“Spartan!” Teresa called out on the intercom. He looked to his right and saw her drifting just as he had done. Reaching out he grabbed her, pushing her towards the actual floor of the room. She struck the ground and started to tumble.

“Hit your boots!”

As she struggled to right herself, he walked down the wall and to the floor next to her. She stood up and shook her head.

“I goddamn hate zero-g combat.”

“Don’t remind me!” grinned Spartan.

He looked at his tactical screen and the plans of the War Barge. The ship was massive but he had no intentions of hanging around. It shook violently and he had to grab one of the walls to stop being thrown about.

“Looks like they started shooting.”

“It’s expected, if the ship gets much closer they’ll be able to hit our transports. We need to get a shift on.”

He slammed his metal fists into the sealed door and forced it to the side. As it pushed across, it revealed a devastated corridor marked with bullets holes and thermal damage. Spartan stepped inside, his boots thudding down hard as he moved slowly along. Teresa followed, her weapon arms lowered and moving from left to right as she checked for hostiles.

“What’s the plan?” asked Teresa.

“You remember the Bone Mill?”

“I’m still trying to forget it.”

“Anyway, you find the links to the AI hub. According to the briefings, the enemy have been installing them to control hardware and even ships. This ship has been captured and used against the Fleet. I’m betting the reason the Jötnar can’t regain control is that is isn’t men in charge.”

“You think they’ve already got a hub installed? That’s a bit of a leap!”

“Maybe, it’s the best I have though. If you were going to install one, where would you put it? The CiC?”

“No chance, it’s the best guarded part of the ship. Anywhere where the ship’s data connections meet would be fine. As far from weapons lockers, or widely used parts of the ship, would be best.”

Spartan scrolled though the plans and came to two likely locations.

“Okay, either the secondary or the communications deck.”

“Deck? The ship has a separate comms deck? That would be perfect. Large numbers of computers, plus access to the communications array. Where is it?”

Spartan checked, taking a few seconds to trace the route.

“Here, about fifty metres behind the CiC and inside this armoured node.”

“Yeah, look. It’s heavily protected from external weapons fire. No wonder we can’t stop the ship. Only a series of charges around the node could destroy it. That has to be done from inside.”

Another heavy blast shook the ship and Spartan slammed up against the wall before regaining his footing.

“Come on, we don’t have long!”

They went along the long corridor and turned off to follow the primary corridor around the port side of the hull. In two minutes of slow progress, they had still not found a single soul. Turning once more, Spartan spotted a number of yellow flashes, like strobes in the distance. He stopped, lifting his arm for Teresa to stop.

“Looks like we’ve found trouble. Watch your fire, there could be friendlies in this area.”

He pushed on much slower, until they reached the end and came to a T-junction. More gunfire blasted from the right and two wounded Jötnar moved past and towards the sound of the gunfire. They were dragging themselves along the walls. Spartan went around the corner and ran behind them. In his armour, he was almost the same size and bulk as the creatures. Teresa was closely behind him. They carried on for about twenty metres until reaching an open space littered with debris and broken bodies. Masses of gunfire ripped through the space, smashing into the thick metal interior.

“Who’s in charge here?” demanded Spartan.

From the front, the bloodiest and obviously wounded leader turned to face him.

“Gun!” he said, with obvious pleasure.

“Spartan?” he replied and hit him with his fist. It was a friendly gesture but the impact knocked Spartan back a full metre before being stopped by another two Jötnar.

“What you here?” asked the creature, his language skills still not fully refined.

“I’m here to save your ass!” said Spartan.

“No, here for Severus. He is a prisoner

there!” he replied, waving his arm down the corridor and towards the entrance of the CiC.

“Forget that. If we get to the comms deck, we can stop their control of the guns and try and get the engines back under control.”

“Where?” asked Gun.

“Follow me!” Spartan clambered off to the corridor leading to the right. Gun followed, pulling himself along the walls with speed and skill that suggested he’d spent years training to do it. They left the area of the main fighting to find themselves in a narrow corridor, barely wide enough for them to fit inside. Spartan reached the end and a sealed doorway. He tried to open it but it refused to move, either locked from the other side or jammed from damage.

“You sure?” asked Gun with a cocked head.

“Yes, through the door, left twenty metres, then through the hatch to the communications deck.”

“Okay, my way!” he growled.

Spartan look confused, then he spotted the creature lifting his arm with his fitted Gatling gun. He pulled himself out of the way just in time for the massive volley of shells to hammer against the door. At first they simply ripped chunks from the metal, but then quickly tore larger holes until the entire metal section ruptured and fell backwards. Gun pushed his body through the wrecked doorway and looked to the left. He turned to Spartan and grinned.

“Come on, my turn!” he growled.

Spartan followed to find him waiting in the corridor and looking ahead. Along the floor and walls ran a series of thick tubes, cables and pipes. They were a different colour to the rest of the vessel. Gun looked back at Spartan and cocked his head.

“Yeah, this looks like the place.” Teresa appeared through the hole and looked down at the pipes. “Yeah, same as on Prime,” she looked up, seeing movement ahead.

“Get down!” she cried but it was too late. A massive burst of gunfire ripped into Spartan. The first bullets hit his head and then drew a line down his body to his leg. The impact sent him spinning out of control down the corridor.

“No!” screamed Teresa and lifted her right arm. Round after round blasted towards the enemy position and she lifted one foot after the other, moving towards the lights. Gun held onto the bulkhead, blood drifting from wounds to his chest in balls of dark red. He appeared unperturbed by the injury and lowered his arm, adding his own fire to that of Teresa’s.

She pushed forward, ignoring the odd bullet striking her, until she reached the doorway leading inside the communications deck. Three men, all in traditional Zealots clothing and armour, blocked her way. She looked past them to see a series of cases and computer gear. Behind it all, was what appeared to be a cylinder with pipes and cables running from it. She didn’t have time for examination but in her heart she was certain it was an AI hub.

The first man fired his weapon but she pushed her left arm towards him and opened fire. His head vanished in a blast of blood against wall. She turned to the second but her ammunition alert beeped. She was out. Just two men armed with rifles were all that stood between the Confederacy and control of the ship. The nearest lifted his rifle and the second rushed towards her with a wicked curved blade.

Spartan shook his head, still partially stunned and in great pain. The alerts had stopped in the suit, its internal power unit now ruptured and bleeding just like him. He turned his head as far as it would go, to see Teresa at the end of the corridor. She lifted her armoured metal fist and jumped forward through the doorway, stabbing with her articulated arms and screaming through the suit’s built-in external speakers. As she disappeared inside the communications deck, Spartan finally passed out.

*

In the CiC of the Crusader, the crew watched as the old War Barge sustained scores of hits, nothing would stop her course. The forward guns had been quickly silenced by heavy cruiser fire, yet the plucky ship kept moving onwards. The tactical officer turned in surprise.

“Admiral, her thrusters are moving her on a trajectory away from the Fleet. Something has changed.”

“Are you sure?” she demanded.

“Yes, Sir. Her guns are silent.”

“Message from the Vengeance, Sir. It is Sergeant Morato of the Vanguards.”

Captain Tobler breathed a sigh of relief and indicated to put the feed on the main screen. The image changed as she lifted the intercom to speak with the Fleet.

“This is Admiral Jarvis. All ships, cease fire! I repeat. All ships, cease fire!”

As quickly as it had started, the violent assault of weaponry stopped to leave the debris strewn heavy warship limping away from the waiting guns.

“We’ve secured the communications deck. It was infiltrated by a Zealot raiding party. We destroyed the AI Hub and cleared the deck. The remaining enemy forces are being guarded by the Jötnar. I repeat, CCS Vengeance in under our control and no longer a threat to the Fleet!”

Admiral Jarvis stepped closer to the video feed so she could speak directly to the Sergeant.

“Excellent work, Sergeant. What is the status of Lieutenant Spartan and Commander Gun?”

Sergeant Morato looked to her side for a few seconds before looking back.

“Both are injured, they should be okay once we get them some proper medical attention. Spartan has sustained burns and bullet wounds to his arm and legs. Commander Gun, well, he is acting as though nothing is wrong. I think he has sustained chest wounds.”

“I will send over a marine escort to assist in your efforts. You and your comrades have done us a great service.”

Sergeant Morato saluted smartly.

“Sir. I need to get back to our forces, we still have some mopping up to do.”

“Understood. Expect a marine force in less than ten minutes. Watch yourself out there. Good hunting!”

The feed went blank. Admiral Jarvis stood alone in the centre of the room. It was deathly silent as they waited for her to say or do something. She lifted her hand to her face for a moment, almost dizzy with the news that they had overcome terrible odds. She reached out to the table to steady herself, pulling at the intercom.

“This is the Admiral. The Battle for Euryale is over. This is our first victory and it will not be the last!”

The officers in the CiC erupted into cheers and clapping and for a moment, however brief, Admiral Jarvis allowed herself a moment of relief.

It looked like the war was starting to turn in their favour.

THE END