Fall of Terra Nova

By Michael G. Thomas

CHAPTER ONE

The great world of Terra Nova gained its importance and notoriety during the Great War. The fighting ended in 239CC and left the world as the single strongest colony in Alpha Centauri. The old planet and colony of Carthago was left a smouldering ruin. From its ashes arose the new Confederacy based around the shinning capital of Terra Nova and its surviving allies. Few realised then that the rise of the colony would also be instrumental in the downfall of the newly created Confederacy.

The Downfall of Terra Nova

Dr Hamis indicated for the press and colonial dignitaries to take their places. They complied with a short chorus of scraping chair and aching joints. The meeting was taking place in the restored Central Plaza, the scene of the most violent part of the battle to retake the station by the Confederate Marine Corps. The plaza on the Titan Naval Station was almost fully repaired, and to most onlookers it was as if the epic infantry battle had never taken place. For the more alert, there were still the signs though. Some of the more fragile buildings and structures had been pulled down, and multiple security points had sprung up throughout the base. Hundreds of military personnel worked away to provide the most thorough security presence in the Confederacy. This was no ordinary meeting as it was the first official public statement from the new regime based on Kronus. The moon, the largest that orbited the planet Prime, had been built upon over generations with shipyards, repair bays, barracks and warehouses, as well as housing and public buildings for hundreds of thousands of people. It was more than a base. It was an orbiting fortress and headquarters for Proxima Centauri. Dr Hamis smiled at his audience.

“My fellow citizens. It is with both joy and sadness that I come to you today on this first public address from my office. Our struggle has been a long and difficult one. It was sixteen months and eighteen days ago when we witnessed the start of the violent Proxima Uprising. Yes, there had been suicide attacks and assassinations before, but it was the seizing of the Bone Mill on the surface of Prime below us that was the flashpoint. From that day, we all watched as enemy factions emerged from the darkness preaching hatred and intolerance to those that would listen. Who led them? What was their goal? We still do not have the answers. I have a suspicion, perhaps wrongly, but I believe it was always the intention of a small group to utterly ruin the Confederacy. Why? Who knows? Maybe they wanted revenge for some unknown slight? More likely it was their plan to weaken us so badly that they could institute their own programme of dictatorship or ethnic cleansing.”

A few of the cameras in the background flashed as some of the attendees snapped their photographs, but most simply watched and waited. It had been months since any of the colonies had seen anything remotely resembling a government, yet alone one that seemed to have any kind of control over what was happening. Dr Hamis continued.

“Like the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand that started the First World War through to Pearl Harbor for the United States of America, the attacks on Prime has been the trigger for this bloody war. A war that none of us ever sought. Ground battles with thousands of warriors and space battle between capital ships have torn our fifty-year old Confederacy to pieces. We never gave it the chance it needed to enforce peace and stability following the Great War.”

He looked over to a number of Generals and senior commanders from the various parts of the Confederacy. Some of the commanders were from the recently liberated colonies of Euryale.

“I am proud to say that in the last three days a combined assault team of marines and army personnel, supported by a company of Jötnar infantry, have recaptured the Skylla Research Base. Casualties were light, though I understand thirty-one Jötnar were killed or wounded storming the main enemy compound. I think we should all take a moment to consider the effort and sacrifice they are making on our behalf. This was a secret operation spurned on by critical intelligence received prior to the defeat of the Echidna Union at Euryale. This is another victory along the road to peace.”

An image appeared of the research base on Skylla. The planet was a dead husk with no atmosphere or any ability to sustain life. The base was substantial and the home to almost ten thousand colonists. Two landing craft could be seen near the buildings where they must have crashed on the surface. The news that Biomechs in the service of the Confederacy had been instrumental was not lost on Dr Hamis. He was all too aware of the hostility and rapidity in making use of their numbers in the war. In an ideal world he would rather have seen them settled somewhere safe and away from the Confederacy, but this wasn’t an ideal world. They had boosted troop numbers sufficiently that an offensive campaign could be possible. No Biomechs would have meant a defensive campaign only, and that was a sure fire way to lose the war. Before the audience had too much time to consider the Jötnar, he moved the conversation quickly to another equally interesting area.

“Many have asked about Alpha Centauri. What has happened to Terra Nova, Carthago and Paradiso? Where are our fleets? Only a handful of ships managed to make it to us from these worlds, and since their arrival we have seen no more. Why have we been abandoned to our fate against the plague of brainwashed synthetic creatures that seem to want nothing other than our total destruction?”

He paused and the effect was electric. In the last six months very little information had been heard throughout the colonies. The audience waited in fateful anticipation, hoping for the juiciest piece of gossip or news they could take back to their departments or superiors. The small number of military personnel at the conference had already been well briefed, but even they were intrigued by the speech.

“Alpha Centauri has been a sleeping giant, dormant and cut off for the entirety of this crisis. The binary star system that is the heart and soul of the Confederacy is almost a year away for even the fastest ships, yet it contains the most populous and well-developed worlds in the Confederacy. The last information received was that all transportation routes and communications were being cut. Any ships already due to arrive were impounded and their communications shut down. We have sent scout vessels on the journey but all have vanished without a trace. We understand from the final words received by our relay stations that we were being placed under quarantine until the emergency had been dealt with. The 13th Fleet is the only major group of ships to have returned in this time, and Union forces ambushed it en route. It is therefore with great trepidation that we make slow steps towards Terra Nova.”

He turned to an assistant who pressed a button and brought up an image of a large cloud-like anomaly in space. At first it looked like an electrical storm until it was clear that several ships were stationed away from it. It had the look of a slowly spinning tunnel full of debris and clouds.

“This is the Anomaly. It was recently discovered by our military forces, and it would appear to be an instantaneous transit point from there to a point six hours from Terra Nova. A trip can be made in three to four weeks to the site. Signals are being blocked through the area, so we are in process of establishing a relay point on both sides to allow more constant communication. This point in space was not spotted for two reasons. One, it is in an area of space previously scouted and two, because it wasn’t there two years ago.”

Hands flew up from the scores of guests. Dr Hamis was drowned out by the noise of so many people trying to speak or ask questions at once. Though the Anomaly was now known to be the worst kept secret in the sector, the fact it had been made public opened up all kinds of questions and issues. He shook his head in annoyance at the interruption and signalled towards the security staff with his hand. One of the officers stepped out from the side and shouted out for quiet.

“Thank you,” said Dr Hamis and the noise level abated slightly.

“I have not yet finished with my briefing on the Anomaly or the state of the sector. I would appreciate it if you would wait until I have finished before I take questions.”

The audience, now pacified by the offer of questions and more information, waited like panting dogs anticipating for their food.

“The Anomaly is the single most important point of space in this sector and must be protected, no matter the price. Admiral Jarvis has already dispatched forces to ensure it is kept safe. Trade, travel, migration and communication between the two halves of our great Confederacy will be eased. But there is a price, and it is a heavy one. The more we rely upon the Anomaly, the more we will become dependent upon it. I have therefore authorised a team of our best scientists and engineers to study it to attempt to understand how it came into being. Is it natural or artificial? If the latter, then who built it and why? Our first diplomatic mission is due to travel through to Terra Nova in the next twenty-four hours. I hope to receive information shortly after with news on what has happened there. I am sure we all pray that Alpha Centauri has been spared the scourge of the Echidna Union, the Zealots and their unholy creations.”

Dr Hamis looked around the room, satisfied that his comments had been understood and well received. In a matter of hours, his speech would be made available to every citizen of the Confederacy. Even more would see illegal copies distributed by resistance movements and the underground on those colonies that had fallen or seceded. More importantly, was that is showed that the Confederacy was permanent, powerful and based around the most well defended point in the entire sector, the Titan Naval Station and now the Presidential Capital.

“I will now pass you on to my Minister for Defence who will give you a short briefing on the political and military situation in Proxima Centauri.”

A slightly balding, slender man approached. He had been a candidate many years ago for President on Terra Nova, and the years of political manoeuvring had taken its toll. His face was lined and his receding hairline suggested stress and difficulties in his career. Nonetheless, he was one of the most highly educated and experienced politicians alive.

“Thank you, Mr President, and thank you to all that have turned out to listen to these important messages. It is clear that with our recent success, we are seeing the beginning of the end for the pseudo religious insurgency that began below on Prime. As we obtain more information, we are learning that the Union is in fact controlled by a handful of powerful individuals, such as the man we know as Typhon. These war criminals have abused their positions in peaceful organisations to incite hatred and violence against our institutions and bring about their collapse. Our best estimates suggest there are between three to six leaders who have been driving this unholy crusade against our citizens. Typhon is one, and we will find him, and the others soon enough.”

He motioned to one of the technicians who switched on the three-dimensional projector just in front of him. With three flickers, it displayed a model of the entire Centauri Confederacy including the distant colonies of Sol, Epsilon Eridani, Gliese 876 and Procyon.

“The Confederacy is the largest and most populous civilisation in the history of humanity. Our colonies are spread throughout Sol, Alpha Centauri and Proxima Centauri, as well as the new colonies being established out on the frontiers. Just centuries ago we struggled, fought and survived on a single world. Now we travel the stars.”

The shape of the map changed so that the distant colonies vanished, and only the triple stars remained.

“Proxima and Alpha Centauri are the new cores of our worlds, three stars and twenty-four planets. Our population is now in the tens of billions, and yet half of these worlds have been torn apart by war. Each of the eleven planets in the Proxima Centauri Star System has witnessed their share of bloodletting. The four habitable worlds of Kerberos, Prime, Agora and Orthrus have almost entirely seceded and formed their own faction, under the guise of the Echidna religion and its various militant bodies. Intelligence studies suggest Typhon is in nominal control of these worlds. The remaining seven gas giants and dead planets stayed loyal to us although their much smaller population, spaceports and stations are nothing compared to the might of the populated worlds.”

The display zoomed in tightly around the main planets in the System.

“Of the four primary planets, only Prime still maintains any kind of link with the Confederacy. Six of the seven colonies on its surface have seceded, leaving just Avagana loyal to the Confederacy. Although there are rumours of growing bands of freedom fighters waiting for the signal in the six that have fallen.”

The Minister of Defence extended his arms and looked about the open plaza. His gaze followed the contours of the buildings and the many columns and weapon platforms array across the moon.

“The jewel of our Confederacy is this massive orbital defence station and fortified facility. Our best engineers built directly into Kronus, the largest moon. This is a testament of our skills and perseverance. The Titan Naval Station is the most important and most powerful orbital platform in the entire Confederacy.”

He pointed his hand at the four primary worlds and each was instantly surrounded by a blue glow to help identify them.

“Of the four main worlds taken by the Echidna Union, none has been so fully indoctrinated as Kerberos. As you know, the planet is well named after the fabled multi-headed dog of myth. If you know any Kerberons, you will already understand that they are a strong, resilient people with a fearsome bite! The planet was a shining beacon of civilisation and industry, until now. Due to its unusual continental layout, there is just a single colony on the surface, and this is the megacity called Yama. Kerberos has been under the control of the Echidna Union for many months now, and little information is reaching us about the welfare of our citizens trapped inside. It was the first major colony to have seceded from the Confederacy, and the most populous after Prime. Most of the government facilities have now been shut down, and a permanent curfew seems to be in place in all urban areas. It had been relatively well defended by garrisons and forts, but even those garrisons remaining were quickly overrun. The Union has built up substantial numbers of militia, turncoat army soldiers and legions of synthetic Biomechs. This is an important planet, but it will take people, resources and a considerable amount of planning before our forces can even consider an operation to retake it.”

The highlighted planet shifted to Prime, the planet around which the Naval Station orbited.

“Now, we will move onto Prime. Originally the capital of this sector, but now a planet locked into a dangerous cold war.”

*

Kerberos was cold today. It wasn’t just the temperature. It was the fact that very little seemed to be working, so the cold and rain simply added to the misery on the surface. The streets and buildings showed a colony that should have been packed with people and vehicles, but instead it was an abandoned wasteland. Images of nuclear accidents in cities on Earth hundreds of years ago looked very similar. In those cases, whole towns were evacuated and never returned to.

Confederate military personnel had stayed on the planet even after the government had fallen following the presidential assassination. With the breaking of the armistice, the defences had lasted just days, and in some cases they could hold only for hours. Only a handful of the surviving personnel remained at large.

The colony’s only major city wasn’t completely hostile to the survivors though. As the population came to understand the real motivations of the Union, many had changed sides or looked the other way. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, and it had allowed a small but growing band of citizens and soldiers to survive against all odds. Within this dark and secretive world moved two men, both in urban camouflage pattern clothing and travelling on foot through the streets. From the way they moved, they were certainly not civilians, and the backpacks strapped carefully to their bodies gave them the look of travelling hermits or raiders searching for supplies.

Captain Sanlav Erdeniz and Special Agent Johnson kept low to the ground, and they slipped past the four guards. This part of the city was under a nighttime curfew. In the last hour, they had counted over a dozen patrols in this area. There was little damage here, but with the number of lights no longer working, it wasn’t always easy to tell. Yama City wasn’t the safe, thriving metropolis it had once been. Like many cities in human history, it had turned to a much darker path. Government troops and militias were now in charge, and everyday truckloads of prisoners were sent away from the urban areas. Johnson lifted his hand, and the two men instantly stopped, moving back into the shadows.

“Over there,” whispered Johnson.

Captain Erdeniz followed his glance to spot another group of people moving in parallel with them. He watched carefully, noting they appeared armed, yet they were also avoiding the armed Union forces. In the darkness he couldn’t make out their faces, but their body language suggested caution rather than violence.

“Who are they?” he replied as quietly as he could.

“No idea. Maybe another underground group like ours.”

They waited, watching the street for any further surprises. There were a number of vehicles parked up or possibly abandoned. On the street corner, not far from the other group, was a military transport. It was the type of wheeled vehicle used by local firearms teams like the ATU special units. Its logos and detailing had been recently painted over with nothing but the Echidna motif showing. One of the people in the other group waved over to them, and then moved into one of the side streets.

“What do you think? Check them out?” asked Erdeniz.

Agent Johnson nodded slowly.

“Look. If they are doing the same thing as us, we can pool resources and assets. Just remember what we are here for though. Our objective is to seize control of the broadcasting station in the main plaza. Don’t get distracted.”

The two stayed low and watched the movement of the other group. From their position it wasn’t completely clear who they were waving at. After all this time, it would be humiliating to be finally caught because somebody waved in their direction. The rest of their unit was back in their compound almost half a kilometre away. They had sent out three teams to scout for survivors, and so far this was the first group they had run into.

Special Agent Johnson wasn’t taking any chances. He had worked on Kerberos for some time and had seen firsthand how the enemy had infiltrated and then taken over the colony. His team had worked deep inside various gangs on the colony for many months. Even with all his experience, nothing had prepared him for the cunning and resourcefulness of the Echidna agents. They seemed to have people at every level of society from policemen to local officials and even military personnel. It still shocked him how easily the population accepted their new masters. Like many of his fellow police officers and agents, he had been working at the time of the revolution and was lucky to have escaped the cull following the presidential assassination. He almost felt a sense of justice and satisfaction that they were now suffering under the yoke of the Union. But it was only for a few seconds before he remembered the terrible atrocities the Union had committed. The civilian population might be stupid, but they didn’t deserve this.

They waited until the patrol moved around the corner. Based upon the last three patrols, this meant they had a window of four to five minutes before any more enemy forces arrived. After checking one final time, the two men darted across the road and towards the other group. It took just seconds before both sides were sheltered in darkness on the other side. Agent Johnson made it first, only to find three men and a woman holding up weapons to his chest.

“Who are you?” the woman asked with a suspicious, almost desperate sounding tone to her voice. She wore normal civilian clothes but with a military jacket over the top. Across her waist was a thick bandolier of ammunition and in her hands a heavily modified civilian thermal shotgun. The men wore a motley combination of clothing, but none carried military equipment.

“Captain Erdeniz, Confed Navy. You?”

The women looked to her comrades before looking back at them.

“Confed Navy? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on a ship somewhere?”

The two men waited for an answer to their own question. They stood, silent until one of the group of men pushed forward.

“I’m in charge here. We’re a scouting party for the Nova Three commercial zone. Answer her question. What is the Navy doing here?”

“We’re from Fort Hood. We were hit by a series of attacks weeks ago. The survivors are helping to rally numbers in the city.”

“Fort Hood? I heard the Confederacy abandoned it and us months ago. We’ve been left to fend for ourselves ever since the troubles started on Prime. It’s always the same here. No matter what state Kerberos is in, every resource and effort will be made on the shiny beacon of Prime.”

“Abandoned? We fought and died in the fort until we had no choice but to escape. Very few people made it out alive. As for Prime being shiny, thousands have already died in the ground battles there. You’re welcome to steal a ship and join them if you’re that concerned.”

The man shrugged.

“Well, I didn’t know that.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as the two groups waited for the other to say or do something. The man spoke quietly to Special Agent Johnson.

“What are you doing in our part of the city?”

Before he could speak, a patrol craft moved overhead. In the blackness of the night it was almost impossible to tell what it was. Captain Erdeniz knew immediately what it was though. The silhouette, the engine sound and configuration gave it an unmistakable sounds and shape. It was a Cobra scout vessel, and a craft he had previously seen back at Fort Hood. It was fitted with rotating mounts and four powerful engines that allowed it to fly and hover with ease. They were usually unarmed, but in this situation none of them wanted to take a chance. It was small, barely big enough to carry eight men, but its speed and agility made it perfect for rapid insertion and extraction of troops. Two lights blinked on underneath its hull and proceeded to move about, scanning the ground for movement.

“They’re looking for us!” cried the woman. She ran back to the wall on the other side of the alley, disappearing inside what looked like a tunnel. The three men followed, and the last one waved to the two Confed officers to follow them.

Without pausing to consider the consequences, they ran after them and slid inside the damp and murky tunnel. It was almost perfect timing. The searchlights bathed the area around the entrance of the tunnel as they slipped inside. The six kept on moving, but the slippery flooring, water and debris hampered their progress. After five minutes of continuous travel, the tunnel started to open out and a series of low level lights provided just enough visibility to see each other. The woman stopped, as did the men. They moved through the new area and each of them checked the walls and gaps.

“Looking for bugs?” asked Agent Johnson.

None replied, and they simply continued digging about the place for almost a minute before stopping to relax. The man claiming to be their leader moved closer.

“Look, we’ve been trying to survive for over a month now. When we started, there were sixty-three of us. Most were workers from the factories plus their families and a few friends. We’re now down to twenty-four people, including us four.”

“We’ve tried everything, but so far the only way they have not been able to find us is by hiding underground,” added the woman.

“Because of their sensors?” asked Erdeniz.

“Probably. Whenever we head to the surface, we get hit by Union troops or militias in less than half an hour.”

Agent Johnson nodded in agreement.

“Makes sense. They have access to the colony satellites and airborne surveillance. I thought they’d be too busy pursuing the war to worry about a few stragglers in the city.”

“What about you two? Is that all that’s left?” she asked.

“A few more of us got out alive, and we’re staying in hiding like you right now. Not for long though, we need things to change, and it needs to happen fast.”

The woman moved even closer, staring hard into his face.

“Are you insane? By staying hidden we have lost many. If we try to act against our oppressors, we’ll lose everybody in a matter of days, maybe even hours.”

Erdeniz shook his head in disagreement.

“Almost any decision we make will mean we’ll all be either captured all killed in the end. So the real question is, what can we do to maximise our chances of surviving the occupation by the Echidna forces?”

“The only way to survive in the long term, Navy boy, is to be rid of them once and for all. We can’t do that with a few dozen people with light weapons and no military training.”

Long shadows appeared in the direction they had all entered the tunnel. The group went silent and listened intently. It sounded like the sloshing of water, and as though a number of people were moving quickly through the space.

“It’s them!” said the woman.

“Union troops?” asked Erdeniz.

“No, the creatures. They send them underground to hunt us. We must leave, now!”

The young Captain reached out and placed his hand on her arm.

“No, if we keep running, we will eventually be caught. Stay with us, and I promise we’ll have a fighting chance.”

To emphasise his point, he pulled his L48 carbine from around his body and lifted it up to his shoulder. Agent Johnson did the same and moved further back so they could both cover the same access point.

“How many do they normally send?”

The woman turned to the three men and spoke quietly before turning back.

“Normally three or four. If you listen, you’ll hear their breathing. They sound like demons.”

“I know, I’ve met them many times before,” said Captain Erdeniz.

“Listen. We will let them get close, really close, and then deal with them quickly. Aim for the centre mass, the chest area. They bleed and die just like a man.”

“Last time we stood and fought, I lost three people, good people.”

“Trust me, it will work.”

The two moved into position, waving the others on further into the tunnel and away from the potential battle. The sound of the creatures was much louder now, and the two men doubted for a moment exactly how many there might be. For a second Captain Erdeniz felt a pang of fear that a large group might hit them.

“Maybe this wasn’t the best plan?” asked Agent Johnson.

They both aimed their carbines into the tunnel towards the blackness that greeted them. Unlike the weapons used by the frontline infantry units, these lacked the special ammunition or sighting system. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, but right now they could have used the extra abilities.

“Can you hear that?” asked Erdeniz.

There was no time to answer as out of the blackness burst three pale creatures. Each was about the size of a leopard, yet with the cruel and distorted body of horrific genetic experimentation. These Biomechs were the early efforts created by the Echidna Union and had proven extremely effective. Their arms and legs were bloated and enhanced to excessive levels, and their neck and jaw muscles bulged with savage intent.

“Now!” shouted Erdeniz.

Both men fired their carbines. The silence was quickly shattered by the violence of the powerful guns. Each gun blasted large calibre explosive rounds towards the creatures. As each one struck home, it triggered its tiny charge and ripped a substantial hole through the core of their bodies. The first one to enter the open space took six rounds, two in the head and the rest in its torso. The explosive power of the weapons sent blood and bone against the walls in showers. More creatures pushed in from behind and through the blood to leap at the men. They kept shooting, but with five dead they were already almost out of ammunition. One more creature emerged, only to be cut in half by a careful burst from Agent Johnson. As the tunnel sank back into silence and darkness, they looked at each other with just the faint glow of the low level lighting showing their shapes.

“I’m okay, you?”

Agent Johnson forced a smile.

“Yeah, fantastic. We have one problem though. Now they know we’re here.”

Movement behind them caught their attention, but it was only two of the civilians who must have turned back.

“Come with us. We have a safe house.”

“Don’t you think you should have mentioned this earlier?” asked an irate Erdeniz.

The man smiled, his teeth almost glowing in the odd light of the tunnel.

“Maybe. Until now, I couldn’t be sure who you were.”

“Great. Come on then, take us there. We have things to discuss.”

The group moved off into the darkness with the only light coming from small flashlights that emitted a dull red glow. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to stop them crashing into each other.

*

It took almost thirty minutes of hard crawling and running before the small group emerged from the tunnel into the lower levels of an industrial building. It had been abandoned for at least a few years. Cobwebs, rats and dust seemed to be all around the low levels. There was no artificial lighting, so it took a few seconds for the small party to adjust their eyes until they could see the rest of the people. The four civilians moved ahead first. They stopped in front of what looked like an iron pump over five metres tall. As they stood there speaking quietly, a large man with an upright posture and commanding manner moved towards them. His voice was low and gruff, yet it was still difficult to hear him even at this short distance.

“Who the hell is that?” asked Agent Johnson.

Erdeniz said nothing, but he simply watched the group for any signs of familiarity or intention. The last thing he wanted was for them to end up trapped and outnumbered this far from their allies in the city. The group stopped talking for a moment until the large man beckoned with his right hand for them to approach. They moved forward and into the middle of the open space. From this position, there was just enough moonlight for them to be able to make out the rough shape of each other’s faces.

“I am Caladus, the leader of this unit. My friend here says you helped fend off a creature attack in the tunnels. Is this true?”

“Creature attack, you mean the Biomechs?” asked Erdeniz.

Caladus nodded but said nothing.

“Yes, we were at the rear of your group when he were hit by a small group. Luckily for us, they are using the smaller, more primitive models.”

“Yes. They seem to use them as hunter-killers in the tunnels and sewers system. I’m not entirely sure I would describe them as smaller or primitive though.”

“Maybe not. The larger Biomechs have been used in large scale combat, and even our best marines have found it hard to match them in close quarter combat.”

“Closed quarter? Which idiot would try to fight the large Biomechs in close combat? It would be suicide.”

“Sergeant Spartan of the Marine Corps has fought them in several engagements. He has become quite the celebrity and has killed at least two with his bare hands.”

“Spartan? The pit fighter?”

“I think so, but I’ve never actually met him. His reputation is well known throughout the fleet though. He is the first to have met the Biomechs in battle.”

“Well, I’ll be damned! Trust Spartan to manage to wrangle his way into the military, and then end up trying to steal all the glory,” said the man with a barely concealed grin.

“You know him?” asked Erdeniz.

“Know him? Of course, I taught him everything he knows in the arena. Spartan and I were rivals back when I still fought on the circuit.”

Caladus moved back and sat down. He reached forward and pulled back his jacket to reveal his muscled torso. One of the men moved closer with his light to cast its dull red glow onto his flesh. A series of lines ran along his upper arm and chest.

“You see these. Spartan gave them to me during one of our greatest matches. It was a melee with a dozen of the best fighters. I knocked him out, but not before he gave me these scars to remind me of him.”

He pulled his jacket back on and looked at the two military men.

“Something tells me neither of you came here to chat about old sparring partners. You are Navy, so what about you?”

“Special Agent Johnson, formally working on an inter-colonial taskforce.”

“Interesting.”

“Yes. Tell us about your group then? I assume you are running an underground operation against the Echidna regime?” asked Captain Erdeniz.

Caladus looked about the open space and then back to the two men. He beckoned for them to come closer.

“In my experience, giving up information to people you’ve never met is a sure-fire way of ensuring you die. Let’s just say my people are keeping out of everybody’s way until all of this dies down.”

“Dies down? You do know they are taking citizens away to camps, don’t you? Where do you think the Union is getting the raw materials to build their Biomechs?”

Caladus looked back at one of his men, a similarly massively built man who carried a large calibre automatic weapon under his left arm. He moved forward and whispered into his ear. Caladus nodded and looked back at Erdeniz.

“According to our latest information, the Biomechs are synthetic.”

“Yes they are, but only the newest ones. Every previous generation has been built on the mutilated remains of donor humans. Just look at the smaller ones. They are simply modified and abused humans who have had their minds wiped and replaced with the most bestial of functions. Before I left the fleet, the reports suggested the technology had been under development for over three decades, maybe longer.”

Caladus looked at him and said nothing. Either he was digesting the information, or he just didn’t care. After what seemed an eternity, he finally spoke.

“Three decades or more. So not long after the end of the Great War. A coincidence?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Captain Erdeniz looked over to Agent Johnson who looked equally surprised.

*

Commander Anderson watched from his position at the observation platform. The landing bay on Prometheus had been transformed over the last months into a heavily fortified and equipped base. With the initial success of Operation Perdition, the demand on personnel and equipment had increased massively. Civilians had volunteered in large numbers. Especially those that had been living in the poorer and severely crowded facilities on the Prometheus Seven Trading Post. The huge station was the largest artificial space station in the Confederacy. The structure was based on the early Bernal sphere design and now used as a long-term home for permanent residents, trade and commerce. A number of small ships had already been launched, and the facility was quickly turning into an efficient forge. The air conditioning was vastly improved over the way it had been during their takeover of the site.

The video changed from its default black screen to show the captain of one of the newest ships.

“Commander. I have the last consignment of parts and weapons for the fleet. We are good to go.”

“Good work, Captain. It is critical that you get the prisoner to Admiral Jarvis as soon as possible.”

“Understood. We are due to rendezvous with the fleet at Titan Naval Station. I have your tech team on board as well.”

Commander Anderson nodded at the screen. The mission to take the prisoner was an important one. He had already debriefed the prisoner as much as he was able, but the fleet was much better suited. The Naval Station itself contained interrogation rooms and well-trained professionals who could help extract intelligence from the man.

“Very well. Contact me as soon as you have completed the prisoner transfer. You have two frigates for escort, and I understand a cruiser is meeting you on your approach to Prime. Good luck, Captain.”

The man on the other screen saluted.

“Sir.”

The image flipped back to the standard Confed logo before fading and switching off. Sergeant Kowalski approached from the right along with two other marine technicians.

“Sergeant.”

“Sir. The science team here have been making some interesting discoveries about the Anomaly. Perhaps we could go somewhere more private to discuss them?”

Commander Anderson nodded in agreement and turned away from his viewing point. From the corner of his eye he noticed the engines on the most distant ships firing up, and for a moment he panged for a return to space. Working on a base like this wasn’t what he had trained for. Before this posting he had been the XO on CCS Crusader, the flagship of the entire fleet.

The group walked the short distance down the stairs and through a secure access point to a conference room. Two marine guards waited outside. Each was wearing full armour and carrying the usual L48 rifles. They saluted as he approached and then slid open the door for him. As they filed inside, Sergeant Kowalski exploded in chatter.

“Sir. The readings. Off the chart, I mean…”

“Slow down, Sergeant,” said Anderson. He indicated off to his right for the group to sit down. They moved to the chairs and the two marine technicians placed a three-dimensional projector unit on the table. With the tap of a button, a detailed model of a cloud appeared.

“Sir. These are the readings from the Furious Battlegroup. As you already know, there is a form of gateway or point whereby our vessels can move through to Alpha Centauri.”

“Yes, yes. I know. You have already briefed me on this. The team there already think it is a form of Einstein-Rosen Bridge. It is one of the postulated Spacebridges, although most thought it was a theory, no more than that. What do you have?”

“Well, Sir. The information sent to us from the research teams shows three unidentified objects within the Anomaly. If you look here, you will see the entrance to the bridge is deep inside the cloud. The three objects are in the cloud and…well.”

“What is it?” demanded Commander Anderson impatiently.

One of the marine technicians pressed a button and enlarged the model so that one of the objects was shown more clearly. He then turned to the Commander.

“It would appear that these objects are the remains of some kind of fabrication or assembly structure.”

Commander Anderson said nothing for a moment. He simply stared at the image of the cloud and the object moving slowly inside it. The more he looked the more detail he could identify. There were gantries, containers and machines, but it looked heavily damaged.

“How large is this thing?” he asked.

“Massive. Our estimates are that the largest structure is over a kilometre long and heavily damaged.”

“It could just be the remains of a damaged ship.”

“Perhaps, but if you look at this part, you can clearly see construction cranes and loading areas. It is the opinion of our science team that this is part of an advanced construction platform of some kind.”

“For building what exactly?” replied Anderson, but it was clear he already knew the answer.

“Sir, this damaged platform is almost certainly responsible for the creation of the Anomaly.”

Commander Anderson looked at him in confusion and then at the three-dimensional model. He tapped the button and zoomed out to see the cloud and the three parts of the object.

He reached down and pulled out his datapad. With a few taps it connected to his communications officer.

“Get me Admiral Jarvis immediately. This is a priority one communiqué.”

“Kowalksi. Get a team of engineers ready for me and as much support equipment that we can spare. I need our best software guys as well. You’re going to follow the supply convoy with an extra ship. We need to get them to the Anomaly with this gear and fast. Who is our best software man?”

“Man, Sir? The best software engineer on Prometheus is Misaki, Sir.”

“Really? Well, get her here immediately. It’s time she earned her keep. Be ready to leave in forty-eight hours. I have a few transports on standby, so you can use them. There might even be space for some of the modified Jötnar weapons.”

Kowalski saluted smartly.

“Sir!”

As the Sergeant left the room, Commander Anderson looked back at the assembled group.

“Gentlemen, if you are correct, then you may have found the single most important discovery since mankind travelled into space. If there is a way to build them, it will change everything.”

CHAPTER TWO

The Proxima Emergency bought back the spectre of advanced machines and artificial intelligence. Though mankind had managed to avoid complex machines taking on major roles, the Artificial Intelligence (AI) Hubs were something radically new. Rather than rely upon imperfect machines, the fusing of human intellect with a high bandwidth databus brought about the most advanced AI in history. Those devices found on ships in the conflict were just a taste of things to come.

History of Adaptive Computing

Spartan was still unable to fully use his left leg and was forced to use a metal stick to stay upright. The doctors had told him it was healing, but the pins forced into the bones meant he was currently unable to fully bend or put weight on it. It was a painful way to have ended his last mission, but at least they had been successful. He stood quietly at the observation platform on CCS Crusader, waiting to be called in. The great battlecruiser, the flagship of the fleet, had taken a great deal of external damage during the battle for Euryale, but after just two weeks the engineers had done fine work. At least that was his assessment from his hospital bed or when walking the decks of his home on the Marine Transport CCS Santa Cruz.

He could see through the window the glimmer of metal from the myriad of warships still circling the colony. Many more ships had arrived, including some thought lost during the ambush at Prometheus. He tried to count them but gave up after reaching twenty-three. Of all these ships he could see, the single largest vessel was CCS Yorkdale, the heavily modified transport and now badly damaged base of operations for the Jötnar battalions.

Two marines walked past. He recognised one as Captain Daniels, his commanding officer and leader of his company. He tried to get his attention, but before he could catch his eye the young officer was being whisked inside the entrance to the officers’ quarters, specifically the office of the Admiral.

“Spartan!” came a familiar voice to his right.

He turned sharply and quickly regretted it. The pain ran straight up his body and sent tingling sensations through his spine. He arm was a little numb, but at least the damage there had been mainly superficial. Nothing a few drugs and medical procedures couldn’t handle. He turned his body more slowly in the direction of the sound.

“Spartan, okay?” continued the voice. It was Gun, the commander and leader of the Jötnar, and a close personal friend of his. His people were the last generation of synthetic creatures produced by the enemy. Three metres tall, and built like trolls, they were mighty and dangerous. What they lacked in social skills, they more than made up for with power and brute strength. Thankfully Spartan and his comrades had saved a large number of them in the prison compound at Prometheus. Ever since, Spartan had found them a loyal yet unruly bunch. They were excellent allies in a fight, and with their newfound status in the Confed military their reputation was growing quickly. Spartan reached out and grabbed Gun’s arm.

“Yeah, I’ll live Gun. Thanks. What about you?”

Gun shrugged and looked down at a few marks and scars on his arm and chest.

“No problem, small cut,” he said with a sly grin on his face. The warrior had small cuts and scrapes across his face, but the most telling sign of his struggles was his missing eye. He lost it apparently during the ambush that resulted in the Vengeance being captured. The Confed medics had promised him a prosthetic, but so far none had materialised.

“You bastard, you took rifle rounds through your body. It’s not my fault your hide is like titanium plating! You’re a tank with legs!”

A group of four marines walked along the corridor in their off-duty uniforms. As they moved past Spartan and Gun, one of them said something and the group laughed. Two of them were looking towards Gun, and it was perfectly clear he was the butt of their jokes. Spartan couldn’t quite make out what they had said, but Gun certainly had. He stepped backwards and turned, blocking their path and forcing them to stop.

“What?” asked one of the marines with obvious disdain in his voice.

Spartan hobbled over to them, sensing trouble.

“He wants to know what you were laughing at?” he asked as he looked up at Gun.

The young Jötnar smiled at Spartan, a look most assumed was anger, though in Spartan’s experience the two were very similar. There was a subtle inflection in the corner of his mouth, but it told him exactly what Gun was thinking. The Jötnar were not the most sophisticated of people, and Gun was no exception. Bizarrely, the two characters had a lot in common besides their violent past and tendency to get into trouble. It hadn’t taken long for the two to form a bond. They had first met on Prometheus where Spartan and a small group were attempting to escape from the massive underground facility. Gun was one of the many Biomechs being created there, but unknown to the Union guards his programming had been removed. With an absence of barrier and boundaries, it seemed the Jötnar had a very strong sense of self-preservation. As if this wasn’t enough, they all carried a boiling resentment in their veins for the way their brothers had been sent to the slaughter.

The four marines, like the rest of the battalion, were well built and tough, and the best the Corps had to offer. The obvious leader of the group was a good head taller than Spartan and a towering figure amongst the group. He looked cocky as well. He pushed forward, right up to Spartan.

“So? Who cares what a meat head thinks?” he laughed.

His three henchmen, playing the part of his stooges laughed at his line. A shorter, athletic looking marine with silvery grey hair stood next to the taller man.

“Ain’t you Spartan, the pit fighter that abandoned his unit on Euryale? You a coward or something?”

Gun started to laugh, but it was so low pitched it almost sounded like he was choking. Spartan looked to him with an impassioned looked, evidently unimpressed at the Jötnar’s support, or lack of, for his position.

“Your meat head friend seems to think so,” continued the taller man.

“Meat head?” asked Gun with almost a roar.

The tall marine moved up to him and stared intently at his face.

“You’re one ugly motherfucker. You know that right?”

Gun looked to Spartan and back to the man, an evil grin starting to show on his face. He started to laugh again and said something unintelligible to him. The marines looked impatiently at them both. At the other side of the observation area stood the two marine guards. Both were completely still and carrying their L48 carbine at their sides. They wore full body armour as opposed to those in uniform elsewhere on the ship. They appeared completely disinterested in the altercation that was taking place.

“What did he say?” asked the tall marine.

“He said that’s what your mother called him last night.”

Gun continued laughing, enjoying humiliating the man in front of his comrades. He moved right up to Gun and without pausing slammed his fist hard into Gun’s face. It was a powerful strike, and one that would easily have knocked a full-grown man to the floor.

“You know who you’re talking to meat head? I’m a sergeant in the Confederate Marine Corps. I can have your ass up on charges for this.”

Gun grunted and Spartan had to try and hide his own smile as he listened to what he knew was amused laughter. When he finally stopped the noise, Spartan spoke directly to the taller man.

“Really, Sergeant? I think you’ll find he outranks you.”

The taller man started to pace in front of Spartan and Gun. He stopped at Spartan and pointed at Gun as he launched into a tirade.

“Outranks me? That’s a goddamned joke. The synthetics have no authority in the fleet or anywhere else. They are half the problem.”

One of the other marines, who until now had been quiet, pushed forward to add his own comments. He had the classic build of a Confederate Marine with broad shoulders, hardened muscles and an almost totally shaved head.

“The meat heads just have stupid ranks to keep them happy. They mean nothing on this ship.”

The other marines moved about Spartan and Gun, in front and around like a pack of hyena circling their prey. Spartan’s patience was now starting to wear thin. It was one thing to be annoying or rude, but they were moving to racism towards a group Spartan both trusted and respected. He reached out and grabbed the taller man around the throat.

“You want to try that with me?” asked Spartan.

The other three moved in quickly, each trying to grab at Spartan. Gun was too quick and substantially stronger. He struck the first lightly in the stomach and sent him straight to the floor. The other two he grabbed with his massive, muscular hands. The more they struggled the more he squeezed. Spartan pulled his captive closer to his face, but the look on the man was nothing but anger and contempt as he tried to push Spartan away with his hand. The dressing on his arm partially obscured his rank, and so the man hadn’t considered that Spartan might be his superior. He shook his shoulder slightly to reveal part of the uniform until now hiding the insignia. The marine quickly spotted the material on his arm and immediately loosened his hand. Spartan relaxed his hold and pushed him back.

The marine, though visibly shaken by having his air supply cut, even for a short time, straightened his back. He coughed twice and then looked directly back to Spartan.

“Sir, I assumed you were a ranker,” he replied quickly and simultaneously saluted.

Spartan turned to Gun who was watching intently and had completely forgotten about his prize. The two men were pinned between his arms, and although they had stopped struggling, there was a good chance one of them had already passed out.

“Gun!” called out Spartan.

The young Jötnar looked at him with a confused expression on his face.

“Release them,” he added.

Gun looked at his arms and remembered what was happening. He groaned in disappointment and released the two men. One stumbled forward and the other slumped to the ground. The first man dropped down and helped him up. When the three marines were stood to attention Spartan walked along them, looking at each of them and ensuring they spotted his marks of rank.

“I am Lieutenant Spartan, commander of the Vanguards.”

He then stopped and pointed towards Gun who did nothing to help but give a crooked smile.

“This is Commander Gun.”

The ogre-like Jötnar interrupted him.

“Ko’mandor Gun!” he growled.

“Exactly,” added Spartan before continuing, “He is the leader of two full battalions of Jötnar, and they have already proven themselves in battle. They’ve fought for us, bled for us and kicked some serious ass.”

Gun nodded in agreement. Spartan continued, and he appeared to be relishing the opportunity to regale them of the merits of the Jötnar.

“They are a strong breed and completely loyal to him. Almost two thousand of them operate within our command structure, as you all well know. Is it your intention to just piss them all off and start some kind of internal struggle? Perhaps you might want to alter your tone of voice in his presence next time. Understood?”

“Sir. Yes, Sir!” the three men shouted in unison.

“Now, get back to your business and remember, the Jötnar are our allies and our friends. We have enough enemies in this System without adding to them with this kind of childish behaviour.”

The men saluted and turned to their fallen comrade. Two helped to lift him, and the third glanced at Spartan before they moved quickly away. They said nothing and soon disappeared around the corner. From where they stood and waited, the signs of battle damage appeared to be minimal. Most of the destruction during the space battle had occurred along the bow and on parts of the forward superstructure. With combat operations over, the rotating sections were back into use and the artificial gravity functional.

“Thank you for rescue, Spartan,” said Gun with a much more serious tone than previously. Spartan looked at him, as always trying to gauge the synthetic creature’s mood. It wasn’t easy, but he was convinced he was making progress.

“You would have done the same for me.”

Gun looked at him and then moved back to the window that looked out to the limitless space outside the ship. The rotating section was moving at three full revolutions a minute, and the stars drifted past. Spartan was well used to their movement, but it looked like Gun was a little disorientated by them. He turned back to Spartan.

“Probably,” said the Jötnar, again with that wicked grin. His teeth were much bigger than average, and his jaw muscles implied strength and biting power of a substantial predator.

“You know they are going to roast our asses for Euryale?”

Gun shrugged, not particularly concerned at Spartan’s worries. They both looked out through the windows and watched a number of cruisers travel past in a tight formation. The ships were still scarred by the battle for the colony, and Spartan was convinced he could see a Lightning fighter near to one of the ships. The small two-man spacecraft had provided ground support fire during the fighting on the colony. He was curious to see if it was the same squadron. There were few fighter units still left in the fleet as the bulk of the Confed carriers had been destroyed in the early suicide attack in the first week of the uprising.

Before Spartan was able to double-check on the squadron, a noise came from the guards at the other side of the corridor. It was one of the two marine guards stood outside the door to the office of Admiral Jarvis. He indicated for Spartan to enter. As he moved, Gun gave him an odd expression. It was part grin and also part grimace. Spartan tried to stay serious, but the look on his face must have said otherwise as he moved inside the room. Gun stayed outside and waited for somebody to tell him what was happening. Admiral Jarvis sat at her desk with General Rivers, and two unfamiliar officers sat at the side of the room. Spartan glanced at them before saluting to the leader of the Confederate Fleet.

“Lieutenant Spartan, 1st Platoon, Vanguard Company,” he said smartly.

Admiral Jarvis said nothing and continued reading information on her datapad in front of her. Spartan waited, knowing full well that this was all part of a show. He glanced to his left and spotted two officers. One looked familiar from behind. He strained his eyes, but it was a wasted effort, the officer turned to look at him. It was Captain Hobbs, leader of Charlie Company in the 5th Reconnaissance Battalion. She gave him a cold stare.

“Lieutenant. I have read your report as well as the after action reports on all units involved in the assault on Euryale. As I am sure you are aware, Euryale is now under complete Confed control, and we are already reinforcing this area to prevent it being retaken.”

“Yes, Admiral,” he replied, but unsure as to what her point was. He noticed the flicker of movement on Captain Hobbs’ lip. It was almost as if she was excited by something.

“The assault and subsequent defence of Oenopion was a major military victory. Major Howard indicates that forces under the command of Captains Daniels and Hobbs fought a tough action and are to be commended. A number of Army units, as well as one pathfinder force, are also to be credited with the victory.”

The Admiral leaned back in her chair and Spartan, sensing something was up took a deep breath.

“This leads me on to a much more uncomfortable issue.”

She waited and looked directly at him. Spartan had no idea what to say, even when she raised an eyebrow expecting him to speak.

“Perhaps you might explain to us your neglect of your own platoon and your withdrawal from the combat area? According to Captain Daniels, your orders did not include a provision for leaving the combat zone.”

Spartan wasn’t surprised, but it had been two weeks since the action aboard the Vengeance, and he had assumed that any issues had been resolved. He spotted more movement from Captain Hobbs as she turned to look at him, waiting for an answer. Sat next to her was Captain Daniels, the commanding officer of the Vanguards and his immediate superior.

“Spartan! I have read your reports,” she moved her hand and indicated to all the assembled officers. ” I have read all of your reports. It appears to be quite simple. You and Sergeant Morato abandoned your unit on Oenopion for the sake of rescuing your friend. You must understand that the chain of command, the very essence of the military, is that we follow orders. If each of us runs about conducting our own personal missions, the entire system will fall apart.”

Spartan stood straight, sensing what he said would make little difference to the proceedings. The Admiral nodded to Captain Hobbs who stood up and approached Spartan. He could see the sneer on her face and had to force himself not to strike her.

“Lieutenant Spartan. During the battle for the city, my company arrived into action to rescue the civilian population and reinforce your own weakened forces. As explained in my detailed report, you and your lover Sergeant Morato ignored my direct orders and abandoned our forces in the critical stage of the battle. Because of you we

“

“Bullshit!” retorted Spartan firmly.

“Lieutenant!” called out General Rivers, who until now had sat silently.

“Sorry, Sir, but the Captain is not correct, Sir. I do not see the relevance of my personal relationship with my military responsibilities.”

Admiral Jarvis looked over to the commander of the Confederate ground forces and second only to herself. She nodded to him. General Rivers stood up and walked in front of Spartan. He looked uncomfortable, probably because he and Spartan had spent considerable time together on Prometheus as prisoners. It was only through guile, cunning and a little help from people like Gun that they had managed to escape.

“I know your unit smashed the defensive lines at Oenopion, and I also know your forces broke through to the civilians underground. What I do not know, and neither does Admiral Jarvis, is why you disregarded orders and took it upon yourself to return to orbit. In doing so, you abandoned your troops to their fate on the surface.”

“Sir, that is not what happened,” replied a nervous sounding Spartan. He looked over to his left and towards Captain Daniels.

“We had already done the hard work, and Captain Daniels had sent me and a small unit to help with the arrival of reinforcements. These troops were what was required to hold the city and because of the actions of my forces and the Army Pathfinders the fresh troops, including those of Charlie Company, were able to land.”

“Undoubtedly,” replied the General, and Spartan couldn’t help notice how his comment seemed to hit Captain Hobbs like a well timed barb. He almost smiled before remembering that he was still the one being questioned, and the one inevitably on trial.

“With fresh forces on the ground the city was well supplied and ready for a defence, which I understand the Captain played her part in,” explained Spartan with a nod to Captain Hobbs.

“I also received word that the captured War Barge, with a large number of Jötnar aboard, was about to be fired upon by our own ships. These are our allies and it was their first time in battle fighting for the Confederacy. Firing on them could have caused a full scale Jötnar revolt in the fleet.”

“That is true, and with hindsight you are of course correct. A difficult decision for all involved, but one that can never excuse the facts that you disobeyed the commands of your superior officer.”

“But, Sir! All they needed was a little more time.”

“Hindsight is a wonderful thing, Lieutenant, in that it is never wrong. The reality was that the ship was hurtling towards lightly armoured transports and also in position to directly threaten the colony below. There were tens of thousands of lives at stake. Not that any of this mattered to you because you are not a General. Your job was to secure the city, no more.”

Spartan shook his head, disagreeing vehemently with the General.

“I wanted to contact you directly, but Captain Hobbs refused any contact up through the chain of command. My actions put none of my platoon at risk, and by landing on the Vengeance we were able to find the Jötnar and regain control of the ship.”

“That is also correct, Lieutenant. Your actions, and those of Commander Gun and his Jötnar, certainly saved many lives including Captain Severus who was found by subsequent boarding parties. This isn’t the issue though, Lieutenant. You broke the chain of command and have brought the Vanguards into disrepute.”

Spartan looked anguished at the suggestion. Before he could speak, General Rivers joined in.

“Lieutenant Spartan. You were an excellent Sergeant, and there is not one person in the Confederate military who would doubt your loyalty or resolve. Captain Hobbs has repeatedly brought up the manner of your enlistment, and the fact that you have skipped many official stages on your fast track to promotion. Nonetheless, we cannot have officers who will leave their units on a whim. Captain Hobbs has lodged a formal complaint with your battalion’s commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Blake and demanded that you lose your commission.”

Spartan spotted the grin on Captain Hobbs’ face. It reminded him of some of the bullies he had faced in his early years at school. It was an adult version of the same emotion, the pleasure of experiencing another’s misfortune. He felt anger welling up inside him. It was the kind of anger that made him want to clench his fist and slam it into the Captain’s face. Before he could act, he noticed something in General Rivers’ face. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it certainly caught his attention.

“The Colonel has decided that the Vanguards will be transferred away from the Santa Cruz and from the 5th Reconnaissance Battalion. The marine company will effectively be disbanded and removed from the battalion. This will also mean that you and your marines will also be removed from the unit.”

Spartan took half a step forward to protest, but the General lifted his hand and Spartan could see he had no space to manoeuvre. Captain Hobbs’ face looked as though she had just won a substantial prize in some kind of lottery. General Rivers turned to Captain Hobbs.

“I understand this will allay the Captain’s concerns?” he asked.

Captain Hobbs moved to the two and looked at Spartan for a brief moment before turning to the General.

“Yes, Sir. If Lieutenant Spartan and his entourage are removed from the battalion and the unit is disbanded, I will be more than happy to withdraw my formal complaint.”

General Rivers nodded, but Spartan could tell from his body language that this meeting was far from over. He stood patiently, waiting for the next blow. The Captain continued her tirade.

“The Vanguards were a mistake. They are undisciplined and take resources and space from the battalion. People like the Lieutenant have no place there. Units that rush about on their own personal missions cause more problems than they solve. The 5th is the best battalion in the entire Corps.”

“Indeed it is,” replied General Rivers, “Very well then. You are dismissed, Captain.”

She appeared disappointed for a moment, perhaps she wanted to gloat at the removal of Spartan from the battalion or maybe she wanted an even harsher punishment. Either way, the door opened to reveal two marine guards. She saluted and left the room. As the door shut, there was a palpable sense of relief from the General. Admiral Jarvis stood up and moved to Spartan. She called out to her guards.

“Bring in Commander Gun.”

The door opened and in walked the giant. He was forced to stoop as he pushed his three-metre bulk into the room.

“Commander.”

Gun nodded at the Admiral and examined the room, checking for those personnel he knew. He already knew Captain Daniels, General Rivers and the Admiral. The rest he wasn’t sure about. He wore light armour rather than clothes or a uniform. It was a throwback to the rough armour worn by the Biomechs that fought for the Union. Those foul and violent creatures fought for no apparent reason other than a forced loyalty to the enemy regime. They were little more than well-trained and bloodthirsty animals. The Admiral looked at them both and then extended her arm as if to shake their hands.

“I owe both of you an apology,” she started.

Spartan was stunned. He had been expecting a substantial reprimand, but instead he was receiving an apology from the supreme commander of Confed forces in Proxima Centauri. Spartan shook her hand and then Gun followed. His massive paws made her hands look like those of a small girl.

“Technically your decisions have put me in a difficult place with regards to the chain of command. This hasn’t been helped by the number of toes both of you have trodden on in the last few months.”

General Rivers nodded in agreement at this point. The Admiral paced in front of them and continued.

“I should have made more effort to help you and your comrades on the Vengeance. Your forces, and the Vanguards that assisted, managed to save the War Barge. Not only did you protect a massive military ship, but you also rescued over three hundred surviving crew.”

Spartan lifted a hand to speak, but General Rivers shook his head, discouraging him for continuing.

“As if this wasn’t enough, you then assisted my additional boarding parties in tracking down and extricating Captain Severus from those Zealot fighters still remaining aboard. He has already commended the Jötnar and requested to meet Commander Gun to thank him personally for his intervention.”

Gun looked to Spartan and back to the Admiral, but he said nothing.

“Your Jötnar suffered heavy casualties trying to retake the Vengeance, yet you kept on fighting. I, and the Confederacy, owe you a great debt. It is with this in mind that my command staff, and the civilian government under Dr Hamis, have come to a decision.”

Gun looked to Spartan and shrugged in confusion before looking back to the Admiral.

“Until the war is over, and we are able to offer a suitable settlement for your use, we have a suggestion. The Yorkdale has proven to be a tough and dependable ship, but she has sustained heavy damage during this opening battle and needs major repairs. The War Barge Vengeance is the single largest warship in the fleet, but is in a poor state of operation. By stripping some of the weapons and armour, we can reinforce and improve the Yorkdale into a fortified and heavily armed home for the Jötnar. My engineers estimate two weeks to transfer the weapons, additional armour and power systems. The Vengeance will be left with a small crew in orbit around Euryale as a defensive platform. Her days as a warship are over, but she will still serve as a powerful orbital defence system. What do you think?”

Gun looked to Spartan and then over to General Rivers.

“We have Yorkdale as Jötnar base?”

“Yes, Commander. You will have a powerful ship to train your people and prepare them for the struggle. When we reach Titan Naval Station, we can then complete the repairs and make substantial modifications to the hull to turn the ship into a mobile colony for the Jötnar.”

Gun nodded, evidently liking what he heard.

“Yes, do it,” he said firmly.

“Excellent. I will have engineers from the fleet and also from Euryale colony sent to the ships immediately to start work. If you want to rename your new home, it would be more than acceptable.”

Gun smiled to the Admiral but said nothing. Admiral Jarvis then turned to Spartan.

“Lieutenant Spartan. I have no choice with you and the 5th Battalion. Captain Hobbs isn’t the only officer that has made official complaints against you. Some are still bitter about your rapid promotion. You only joined the Marine Corps sixteen months ago and have seen rapid promotion as well as a transfer to the elite 5th Battalion. Your brief time with the commandos is now over.”

General Rivers approached. Spartan looked both disheartened and angry at the news. He hadn’t been with the commandos for long, but they had been through some tough fights, and it was never easy being pulled from your home and comrades.

“We have a suggestion that will retain the operational capability of the Vanguards, but at the same time remove them from the 5th.”

Spartan scratched his temple in confusion.

“I don’t understand, Sir. The Vanguards are to be disbanded.”

“Yes, that is true. The 1st Company of the 5th Battalion no longer exist. Now, as you know, the battalion is designed for rapid insertion and high mobility operations. The Vanguards are more a heavy assault force, much like the Jötnar but with additional combat options.”

“Yes, Sir, we are definitely the hammer when it comes to the 5th Battalion.”

General Rivers smiled, albeit briefly.

“My proposal is for the Vanguards to join the Jötnar into a combined assault unit battalion. You will be based upon the Yorkdale and under the joint command of the Commander Gun and the newly promoted Major Daniels. We will have a combination of the marine equipment and expertise under the Major and the power of the Jötnar in one force. I want you to operate as the Confed advisor to the 1st Company under the command of a Jötnar called Khan. We will supply you with additional staff, engineers and crew for your equipment. You will assist him in running the platoon. See it as being an acting Captain, but you will retain your existing rank.”

Spartan turned to Gun who had a grin across his face. The rest of the officers in the room remained dispassionate as Spartan tried hard to avoid the look on Gun. He turned his attention back to General Rivers.

“I..I don’t quite understand, Sir. Both Vanguard platoons are to be transferred to the Yorkdale?”

General Rivers looked over to Major Daniels who still sat in the room.

“Yes, all those in the existing platoons will be sent to the Yorkdale. Those that expressly wish to stay with the commandos may be allowed to stay. As you know, Major Daniels is still recovering from wounds sustained on Euryale. When he is fit for duty, he will return to the Yorkdale as Major and will work alongside Commander Gun to manage the battalion. You will have a lot of responsibility Spartan. The 1st Company will contain your Vanguards as well as a large number of Jötnar. Captain Khan is a tough but experienced commander of the Jötnar, and you will have to work with him to ensure the smooth running of the force. Ideally, you would be promoted for this responsibility, but that is no longer an option. I can transfer you, but promotion this fast will cause trouble in the Corps. If the assault unit proves effective and reliable, we will revisit the situation in six months time.”

“What about my team?”

“Both platoons, including their support staff, will be transferred to the Yorkdale. Due to casualties and loss of equipment, it is going to be tough filling two platoons, let alone the third that I am also activating. I’ll leave the organisation to you and Khan. You are welcome to recruit from the fleet, including units on the Santa Maria and Santa Cruz. Any questions?”

Spartan shook his head. He was still surprised at the news. Admiral Jarvis nodded to the marine guards who opened the door smartly. Spartan knew when he was being relieved and saluted quickly before leaving the room. Gun lifted his arm in a rough imitation of a salute and followed him out. As they moved past the door, it closed with a short but firm clunk. Spartan stopped and turned to Gun.

“Were you expecting that?”

“No.”

“We’d better go and get the rest of my marines. We have work to do.”

“Yeah,” answered Gun in a monotone and almost disinterested tone.

“Come on.”

The two moved off along the corridor and through one of the many internal airlock seals that would separate the ship’s sections in an emergency. The floors, walls and ceilings looked much alike. It was hardly surprising as the gravity was often not available, or it might push them to the rear or forward of the sections depending on the acceleration or angle of the ship. At the moment the vessel was making slow progress around Euryale, so all gravity was provided by the artificial rotation. They passed into the next area that looked far less neat, and over a dozen marines in fatigues working on a partially ruptured bulkhead populated it. As they arrived, a groan from the metal structure reverberated and two large cracks appeared in the largest section. One of the marines cried out as a section of debris hit his face and knocked him to the floor.

“Never stops does it?” called out Spartan as he ran over to the fallen man. Upon reaching him, two more marines were also helping to drag him to cover. Spartan knelt down but was satisfied the wounds were superficial. He pulled his intercom unit from his datapad and hit the medical bay button.

“Lieutenant Spartan. I need medical attention in bulkhead…” he looked up at the wall to check the number, “A6. One marine down, light burns and lacerations to arm and face.”

“On the way,” was the rapid response through the speaker. He replaced the unit and stood up, looking at the growing damage in the ship.

“What happened here?”

One of the marines, a young man with oil-covered overalls, called over from where he was working with a box of tools.

“This section took a broadside from one of the cruisers. We’ve already patched the hull and armour breaches, but the bulkheads weren’t spotted until this morning. From what we can tell, she must have taken a dozen shots through here. It’s amazing the whole compartment wasn’t blown out into space.”

Another groan from inside the ship sent a series of shudders through the flooring, and for a brief moment Spartan lost his footing. A loud cracking sound tore from his right, and he spotted another gash appear on the metal framing. Part of the bulkhead ripped away and twisted. Gun dashed forward and directly towards the damage. It all appeared to happen in slow motion as the crack expanded, and a large chunk of reinforced bulkhead ripped away and dropped down to the work crew. Gun arrived moments before and lifted himself up, grabbing at the massive chunk of metal. It dropped lower and the mighty Jötnar struggled to keep it away from them.

“Move!” he roared.

Two of the men and a woman pulled themselves free, leaving just one man who appeared trapped inside. Gun looked down and was about to move back when he saw the man still there.

“Spartan!”

He was already there, along with two burly marines who reached in and pulled at the man. They made progress, but another piece of snapped metal sprung out and slashed at the man’s leg. He cried out in pain.

“Come on!” growled Gun, his patience and strength starting to wear.

Spartan crawled inside and grabbed the piece of hardened steel, pulling the severed section to one side so that the others could pull the man out. No sooner were they free than Gun released the piece of bulkhead. It dropped like a rock and sent splinters around them.

“Everybody out of this section, now!” shouted Spartan. They ran from the airlock doors and left their tools and equipment behind. Once Spartan was through the door, he looked back to see one man turn and move back to grab a case.

“No, get here!” he shouted.

The man paused, but the tone in Spartan’s voice proved more influential than the potential loss of tools. He was finally through the airlock, and Spartan slammed his fist on the seal button. With a great hiss the doors slammed shut. Spartan bent over, panting slightly at the unexpected exertion. When he regained his breath, he pulled the intercom from his belt-mounted datapad.

“Lieutenant Spartan. Bulkhead A6 has just collapsed. Recommend depressurisation of the area and shutdown of the rotating sections. It is breached and tearing itself apart under pressure.”

Gun look at him, a trickle of blood running from a light cut to his head.

“Well?”

“They’re sending a team out to investigate. Why do you always seem to get yourself cut?”

Gun shrugged, bearing his teeth in an odd display of amusement.

CHAPTER THREE

The newly minted Vanguard and Jötnar combat unit provided the Confederacy with an assault juggernaut. Prior to this, the force was made up of sturdy and manoeuvrable forces that could table a variety of roles. By utilising the strength, toughness and armour of the new unit, it was now possible to make use of brute force to resolve issues. For the first time in hundreds of years, the balance tipped in favour of close ranged combat for the Confederacy. The Biomechs turned from being the greatest enemy to the greatest weapon in the Confederate Arsenal.

Edged weapons in the Emergency

The medical bay was in a poor state of repair like most parts of the ship following the space battle near Euryale. A number of explosive shells had penetrated multiple sections of the ship and left tears and ruptures in many places. Thankfully the damage to this part was mainly cosmetic. Only one power relay had been shattered, and four engineers were busy working on the repairs. CCS Santa Cruz was one of the heavily armed and armoured Confederate Marine Corps troop transporters. It was as large as the most powerful capital ships, yet capable of carrying a fully equipped battalion of marines along with their landing craft and shuttles. What made this ship even more important was that it was the home of the 5th Reconnaissance Battalion, the elite commando unit in the Corps. Although all marine units were well trained and highly capable, this particular unit was considered the best of them all. The ship was scarred from her recent fighting, but that hadn’t diminished her ability as either a troop carrier or as a fighting ship.

Inside the medical bay there were over two-dozen separate sections, each protected by reinforced bulkheads. The last ran near a drugs cache used for dispensing tablets and fluids to injured personnel. In this particular area there were eight beds with each metal frame positioned relatively close to the next one. The wheels were raised and the legs clamped down in case of battle or loss of artificial gravity. Spartan lay back on the bed as the marine medic checked his leg. Stood next to him was his girlfriend, Teresa Morato, and Marcus Keller. Both were sergeants in the Vanguards and close friends that he had made during his first months as a marine. Marcus was from one of the few still remaining colonies of Germanic descent. His stature matched Spartan’s, but his ebony skin made him stand out in a crowd. Teresa looked over to Marcus.

“Is everybody from your squad transferring to the Yorkdale?” Teresa was a good part shorter than Spartan, and her tanned skin and black hair was in stark contrast to his pale but muscular looks.

“Yeah. I passed the news on to my squad, and you could say just a few of them are pretty pissed at the whole thing.”

Spartan groaned a little from the discomfort the medic was creating as he pulled and prodded his leg. He lifted himself up slightly, so he could see the two. Unlike most marines, he had personal experience of both the Biomechs and the Jötnar. Though they were essentially the same, he knew that meant nothing. The Zealot insurgents and suicide bombers were men and women just like the marines, and that didn’t make them the same. It was the kind of racism that Spartan really detested. On top of that knowledge and experience, Spartan also had a relationship with the leader of the Jötnar. He and Gun had fought shoulder to shoulder in battle.

“Look, I don’t want this either, but we did the right thing. Gun and hundreds of others would have been killed. We owe them.”

Teresa nodded in agreement, but Marcus looked less than convinced.

“What?” Spartan demanded.

“I know Gun helped us, but what do we really owe them? I mean, they are just Biomechs after all. Wipe their brains and they could just as easily hunt us down and kill the lot of us.”

Spartan wiped his forehead in his hands and shook his head.

“Marcus, I thought more of you. If the enemy wiped your memory and reprogrammed you, they could turn you into a serial killer or rapist.”

“Or both?” added Teresa unhelpfully.

“Great, thanks,” answered Marcus.

The medic cleared his throat, wanting their attention. Spartan looked at him, yet he said nothing for a few seconds. After giving them all an irritated look, he finally spoke.

“You are happy to discuss your situation with them?” he said as he looked at Spartan.

“Of course. What situation?” he asked, and he was starting to feel a little less secure. He was no stranger to wounds, but there was always the nagging fear of something more permanent that even the best medics and scientists could manage.

“Very well.”

The man pressed a button on his datapad to bring up a detailed colour model of Spartan’s body. The image was focussed specifically around his damaged leg.

“You are no doubt aware that your injuries are healing nicely. All of the shrapnel from your last engagement has been removed, and muscular damage has been repaired and is regenerating nicely.”

The image zoomed down closer to the lower part of his leg.

“We are having some issues with this leg. The projectile damage smashed a number of nerve endings as well as shattering a great deal of bone. The scans show the damage itself has been repaired, but the leg will never be as quick or reliable as before.”

Spartan looked confused.

“I thought the bone had been reinforced with metal?”

“It has, but the damage is more widespread than that. I would suggest the range of movement and lifting power is about eighty percent of what it was prior to the damage.”

“Can’t you improve on that, Doctor? I kind of need that leg for my duties.”

The man shook his head firmly.

“Not a chance. Be thankful this took place on a Confed Naval ship. If this were a civilian transport, you would have lost the leg. You muscular capacity is still listed in the battalion’s top five percent, so it’s not likely it will hold you back too much. Perhaps this will encourage you to spend a little more time commanding and a little less fighting with the rest of the marines?” he suggested in a tone that made Spartan think he knew something else. The medic turned to move away, but Spartan reached out.

“Great, thanks. Hey, Doctor?”

He turned back to look at Spartan, but at the same time glancing over to the many other patients in the bay.

“What is it, marine? I am quite busy following the last slaughter.”

Spartan look surprised. The medics aboard Confed ships were usually more stoic than this. Maybe he had seen too much? Spartan looked down and shook his leg.

“When can I use the leg?”

The man shrugged.

“No reason you can’t do that right now. Just remember to avoid heavy lifting, and report to your ship’s doctor every week for the next three months. When the war is over, maybe somebody on Terra Nova can give it a look over. What with the advances the Union have made in synthetic biology, you might even be able to replace or upgrade it in the future.”

He moved away to examine another patient and left the three marines alone. There was an uncomfortable silence as Teresa and Marcus waited for Spartan to speak. Marcus took his opportunity to change the subject before it took a turn for the worse.

“Upgrade your leg? Do you think Confed scientists will be able to make use of the synthetic research this quickly? What about the raw materials?”

“I heard they still need biomass to feed the equipment. I suppose they could chop off your leg and put it in the machine to build a new one,” Teresa said with a wicked smile.

“Nice,” replied Spartan, but his mind had already moved on from his leg. Right now he seemed far more interested in Marcus.

“Marcus. Is this Biomech issue going to be a problem? If you’re transferring to the Yorkdale, there’ll be nearly two thousand of them. There won’t be a space on the ship without at least a few of them wandering about.”

Marcus shrugged and said nothing. Teresa glanced over to Spartan, and she immediately recognised the look on his face. It wasn’t one she particularly liked to see. She was all too aware of what Spartan had gone through, at least what had happened in recent times. He was still very quiet about the years before joining the Marine Corps, and she wasn’t about to push him on it. Her own team had arrived in the very last stages of the battle on Prometheus during the breakout and riot. Gun had proven his worth, and there were few he would trust more.

“Not good enough. I assume your thoughts on the subject are shared by some of your platoon?”

Marcus nodded in agreement, but his facial expression betrayed his doubts. It was strange. Spartan had known him for what seemed like an eternity, and this was the first time he had ever broached such a subject. Spartan slid off the bed and lowered himself carefully onto his injured leg. The newly fitted metal leg brace gave him an almost bionic look. Sadly it added no strength, and it simply kept his leg pinned into place. Teresa helped him down as she grabbed onto his arm.

“Right. You’d better get the platoons assembled. I think it’s time the Vanguards and me had a little chat. Don’t you?”

Marcus nodded again, but his expression was of disappointment. Spartan looked at him for a moment before walking away. He wasn’t happy with what he had heard, and it wasn’t just because of Gun and the Jötnar. Marcus was one of the few people he had confided in, and he was a man he could trust. He’d fought shoulder to shoulder with him in some truly awful battles. The only others he trusted as much were Teresa and Jesus. The group of four had met when they were stationed aboard the Santa Maria back when they were still recruits. With Jesus dead, and Marcus doubting his decision, he was quickly running out of people he could trust. His mind slipped towards Gun and his people. Could he really trust them? What about Marcus? One day he might have to make a choice, and he prayed he would make the right one.

“Come on, Spartan, let’s get this over with,” said Teresa with forced a smile.

That brief moment was enough to shake his thoughts, even if for just a moment. Teresa was probably the only person able to gain his full attention. Even she only managed a few seconds before his thoughts returned to the Jötnar.

“Yeah, let’s do this,” he replied seriously.

*

Major Daniels stood at the far end of the training hall with a handful of sergeants and his two platoon commanders present. Spartan was in charge of the 1st Platoon and Lieutenant Weathers the 2nd Platoon. The rest of the hall was made up of the survivors of the two platoons. Each of them was already an experienced marine, and many had served alongside Spartan during the heavy fighting on Prime. The experiments with the modified CES armour during the defence of New Carlos had been pivotal in the decision to develop the new armour for the unit.

“Marines. Some of you may have already heard of the organisational changes proposed by General Rivers and the command staff. Forget what you have heard, the facts are plain and simple. The Vanguards have blazed a trail of destruction and violence that no other company in Proxima Centauri can even dream of.”

A cheer rang out from a good number of the marines, but most just wanted to hear the news about the unit rather than the rhetoric.

“Both underground at the Bone Mill and on the surface of Euryale, we have fought against overwhelming odds and prevailed. Even when hit by superior strength, we have fought them with gunfire and with blades.”

He paced a little and looked to Spartan who gave him a low nod.

“You may have noticed that we aren’t making many friends. Our equipment and strategies are based around heavy assault, and some consider us to be loose cannons in the fleet. On top of this, we are always going to be the minor player in the battalion. To be truly effective we need to expand, and that will require space and resources.”

He paused for effect before continuing.

“Now, against my initial requests, the decision has been made for the removal of the company from the Santa Cruz. As of today, we are no longer part of the 5th Reconnaissance Battalion.”

A group of marines stood near Sergeant Keller started complaining loudly. It took stern words from their sergeant before they quietened down.

“I understand the work we all had to endure to get a posting to this unit. The 5th is the most experienced, best-trained and effective unit in the Marine Corps. That was until today. Those of you that wish to remain with the unit will transfer with rest of the Vanguards to the Yorkdale. A new heavy assault unit is being assembled using the Vanguards and the Jötnar together. From today, this new unit is called the 1st Assault Battalion and will be commanded by myself, in my new role as Major of the battalion, and Commander Gun of the Jötnar. I will be assisted in this duty by a number of officers who will be transferring to assist in the running of the dozens of combat companies.”

He tapped a button to show a simple diagram of the structure of the existing Vanguard Company and its two platoons.

“This company will form the bulk of the 1st Assault Company. Elements of the most experienced Jötnar, as well as our Vanguards, will fill this unit to almost one hundred and fifty warriors. This is a large and powerful unit, and one I’m sure many of you will relish getting involved with. Over time, as more armour and weapons become available, we will transfer more marines to the Yorkdale to join the other companies. Lieutenant Spartan will assist Jötnar Captain Khan with the company.”

The room remained completely silent. Major Daniels looked to Spartan and gave him an urgent-looking nod. Spartan moved to the middle and looked out to the tired looking marines.

“None of us wanted this, but in the end I think it will make us stronger. We have been given access to heavy armour from the Army as well as all production Vanguard armour units from the marine arsenals. We will start by creating openings for new recruits to join us, and to help build training and equipment fabrication facilities on the ship itself. It won’t be long before the unit grows to many hundreds of Vanguards.”

Major Daniels took over and waited for Spartan to move aside. Some seemed interested, but there was an obvious sense of disappointment in the hall.

“I know this isn’t what you expected, but we use what we have. The Vanguards will not be operating as an independent unit anymore, but we should use this as an opportunity to increase our capabilities. We will provide a high-level leadership structure within the Jötnar that is currently lacking. This will allow us to make the most effective use of their abilities while ensuring they operate with other Confed forces correctly. To do this, I will be assembling a command staff on the Yorkdale taken from the best of this team.”

The display switched to a diagram of a company of warriors. It was split into multiple branches, much like a tree.

“Assault Battalion will be based around a number of companies. You will of course be based in the first of these new units. Unlike the squad and platoon system used elsewhere, the Assault Battalion will be reorganised on a simple ten-man system. Each of you is more powerful, more capable and much larger than an equivalent soldier or marine. These ten-man squads will consist of Vanguards, Jötnar or mixed units led by an NCO. Existing officers will assist in the command of other companies. This close integration will allow us to build a deadly team, combining the firepower and armour of the Vanguards with the brutal fighting power of the Jötnar. Initially, each of the squads in the 1st Company will be commanded by Vanguards, but as the Jötnar gain experience, they will be given equal opportunity to commands the units. Before I get to the details, are there any questions?”

A few hands went up, most coming from near Sergeant Keller and his squad. Major Daniels pointed to one of them.

“Sir. We heard rumours that this is a punishment detail. We’ve fought hard and done as we were told, and now we’re being dumped on a wrecked transport ship. The Jötnar posting is the lowest we can go, Sir.”

Major Daniels brushed the marine’s comments aside.

“Really, Private? The Jötnar are the toughest and strongest troops in the Confederate military. I consider it an honour to fight alongside them. What better unit is there in the fleet to match our skills than the Jötnar?”

Another marine shook his head and started to speak without raising his hand.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but we can’t just take this. They speak of them as though they are allies from decades ago. Apart from the one the Lieutenant is friends with, what do we actually know about them? Some of them fought on the Vengeance and one company landed on Euryale to help with the mopping up. Then we give them their own ships, weapons and crew.”

“You don’t trust them, Corporal?”

The marine shook his head.

“No, Sir.”

“Well, I can understand that, but don’t underestimate what they have already done. The Jötnar are not just on the Yorkdale. They have already provided small squads for bodyguard work, boarding actions and fighting on four separate worlds. They have earned our respect, yet never asked for it.”

He looked around the room but decided to continue speaking when he saw an ever-growing number of hands being raised. The discussion was being held to let them speak their minds, but he was under no illusion that the actual job was to inform them all of the changes.

“Nonetheless, we will still be transferring to the ship and begin integration of combat units immediately. The Yorkdale has over sixteen hundred fit and able warriors. We have just over sixty Vanguards to add to this with more to follow. The first fifteen companies will be ready for combat within the week and are to include one mixed company and fourteen Jötnar companies. We have to be ready and fast. Our orders include the battalion’s first independent operation, and it is going to be one of the toughest I have ever seen. I can’t give you the details yet, but it will require a substantial full frontal assault using all our assets. Perhaps when that battle is over you will feel differently.”

He waited, giving the marines the opportunity to discuss the situation. It was clear there would be dissent in the unit over the changes. Both the company and Spartan were being punished, but privately the Major was happy at the prospect of being able to operate more independently. He lifted his hand to continue.

“Equipment is already being transported to the Yorkdale. This is a volunteer assignment. You can return to your previous units or come with me to the Yorkdale. The Jötnar are our allies, and they offer much and ask for little. All I ask is that we give them, and us, the chance to prove ourselves.”

He pointed to Spartan and Lieutenant Weathers, the unit’s two platoon leaders. The two men moved to the sides of the hall and stood in plain sight.

“I want you to decide right now. Will you stay with the Vanguards, and join the Jötnar to create the new Assault Battalion? Those that do will be at the forefront of all major actions. We’ll get the toughest assignments and can expect the heaviest casualties. Those that have issues with the synthetics or have had enough of the Vanguards must choose. If you want to join, stand next to Lieutenant Spartan. Those that want to quit, well, you can move over to Lieutenant Weathers. Both of our officers, I might add, are heading to the Yorkdale and will be working with the elite 1st Company, a unit of one hundred Jötnar and Vanguards.”

A few men started to move before Marcus raised his hand.

“Sir, I have one question.”

Spartan looked over at him, a gnawing feeling of doubt starting to spread from his stomach. What did he want and how far was he prepared to go? Major Daniels indicated for him to speak.

“Why is this happening, Sir? Is it because Lieutenant Spartan deserted his unit on Euryale? He did this along with Sergeant Morato, but the rest of the unit continued fighting until victory was declared, Sir.”

The marines in the hall exploded into chattering and shouting. Two of the marines from Teresa’s squad made their way towards Marcus. Major Daniels, from his vantage point in the hall, could sense the danger and was in no mood for the entire hall to erupt into violence.

“Stop!” he shouted.

The movement slowed in the hall before finally halting. A tussle had started around the Sergeant, but a number of men were holding the troublemakers apart. Marcus had taken a few steps back and was being protected by a small throng of marines from his platoon.

“I will not have insubordination or a breakdown of discipline in my unit! Lieutenant Spartan has not been charged with any crimes, and his actions on Euryale were nothing but commendable. You have all fought on the same side and against our terrible enemy, the Union and their allies. Petty disagreements about units and organisation are above all of you!”

He was visibly angry and the marines knew it. It was one thing to annoy or antagonise the lower ranks, but causing trouble with their Captain could lead to serious and permanent repercussions.

“The unit is being moved because we are all considered to be too much trouble. That goes for me, for Lieutenant Spartan and the rest of you. Each of you was chosen because you had something to offer this unit. On top of this, a Vanguard marine needs three times the space of a conventional marine plus more support crew. This is simply too resource intensive for the Santa Cruz. She’s a specialised ship with a unique battalion of the best commandos in the fleet. As a unit we are rough around the edges, yet we punch well over our weight. This isn’t just a description for you, it is also one that matches both Spartan and myself perfectly.”

He looked towards Spartan who stood patiently, waiting for him to finish his speech.

“The Jötnar have been languishing on the Yorkdale with minimal direction or support. If left, they may simply leave us or refuse to participate. We have a responsibility to help them do what they have offered to do. Forty-two have died so far in action, and I have yet to hear one single grumble about their situation. By merging the Vanguards with the Jötnar, we can build the ultimate fighting force that every warrior is going to want to join.”

The hall stayed silent, but a line had been crossed by many of the people present.

“Now. Make your choice.”

*

Spartan watched through the small window as the shuttle circled the great hulk of CCS Yorkdale. From there he had the perfect opportunity to examine his new home. Though the ship was not technically a warship, it had already been improved with armour and weapons. With the recent upgrades, the ship was easily capable of taking on a vessel up to the size of a light cruiser. Compared to the conventional warships of the fleet it looked massive and could fit a battlecruiser and half a dozen cruisers inside its hull with space to spare. There were many similar ships that plied their wares through the colonies of the Confederacy, but this was the only one of its kind to ever be reconfigured for war.

“Look at that,” said Teresa as she pointed to an object off to the side.

Spartan looked carefully. At first it looked like a stack of girders and metal, but with closer examination he could see the cranes and arms. It was an orbital maintenance platform.

“It’s for the modifications. If you look on the bottom side, its carrying auxiliary fuel tanks and gun mounts for the Yorkdale. By the time they finish the first changes, she’ll be one tough vessel.”

He leaned back in his seat and looked back at Teresa. She could see on his face that he was still angry about the incident back on the Santa Cruz.

“How many are coming to the Yorkdale?”

Spartan shrugged.

“Less than I thought. Only two from Marcus’ squad, and another nine refused to come over from the other five squads. It’s not a good start.”

“Maybe. If they can’t be trusted with Gun and his people, then it might be for the best.”

“You’re probably right. Still, I am going to be setting up a recruitment campaign though the fleet for people to join us. Have you got the numbers on equipment yet?”

Teresa looked down at her datapad and lifted it up to her lap. She moved through the pages using her fingers until finding the correct page.

“Here it is. So far we have eighty-nine operational Vanguard suits plus ammunition and spares for double that number.”

“What about the technicians and fabrication equipment?”

“Not installed yet. We have seventy workers from Euryale who have volunteered to work on the ship. They are due to arrive later today along with more tooling and equipment. Kowalski is supervising a shipment of weapons and gear from Prometheus, and so should be here in a couple of days.”

“How long until we can have more weapons and armour ready to use?”

Teresa shook her head.

“No idea. We need to speak with the engineers and techs about that.”

“Oh, it looks like the prototype mules are being sent to us as well.”

“Interesting. Is it just me, or are we being sent all the oddballs and spare bits of junk?”

Teresa smiled and reached out, resting her hand on his arm.

“I’m sure Commander Anderson will have sent over something useful for us. He is very resourceful.”

“So I keep hearing!”

She looked about the inside of the small shuttle. It wasn’t one of the heavily armoured assault craft used for ground attack but instead a personnel transporter. There were eight seats and the internal bulkheads were fully exposed. It lacked comfort but was a cheap and easily modified utility craft. Sat in the other six seats were a group of crewmen on a shift transfer with the crew already on the Yorkdale.

“Spartan?”

He turned to look directly at her.

“I’ve been thinking about Prometheus and what it was like before we joined up. You never told me what happened with you and the pit fighting. You ready to talk about it?”

“There isn’t much to tell. I got into a bit of trouble and the pit fighting circuit was the only way I could get out of it. In the end it didn’t really matter, the Corps has wiped my debts. I just have to fight for another nine years, and I’m free.”

Teresa nodded, but none of this was new information to her.

“Why though? What happened to make you do it? You never told me what you used to do.”

“Let’s just say I went through a dark time and got involved with some shady people. Things went south fast, and I had to go on the run. I kept moving for a few years before my past caught up with me while passing through Prometheus. There was a big fight, I mean big. It should have meant the end of me, but my creditors saw a way of getting their money back by selling me as an indentured worker to one of the fighting guilds.”

“Okay, but still I don’t understand. I thought you still had debts that the Confederacy wiped?”

Spartan sighed.

“Being sold to the guild paid off my creditors, but it didn’t stop the guild charging me for food, training and housing. I had to win ten major fights to pay them off and be allowed to leave. That was my contract and the price of getting out of there.”

They sat quietly, both watching as the shuttle manoeuvred around the Yorkdale as they made their way to the landing bay.

“Did you like it?”

“The Arena?”

“Yes.”

Spartan paused before answering.

“Yeah, I did. It was the first time I felt I was good at something. My last fight was to choose the guild champion to be presented in the licensed arena circuit. If I’d made it, the money and fame would have been substantial.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Going pro would have set me up for life. Assuming I didn’t die of course!” he laughed half-heartedly.

The vessel shook slightly as it twisted to match the rotation of the large central section of the transport ship.

“Pro? You would have joined the pro circuit? Wouldn’t that have meant doing the large-scale melee on the major events? I saw one of them when I was on Prometheus a long time ago. There were about thirty fighters in the Arena, and over have of them were put in hospital.”

“Well, I didn’t say it was easy. The thing about the pro circuit is you get the big pay and lots of exposure. You fight the best people and travel through Proxima Centauri. If you do really well, you can even travel to Alpha Centauri and fight in the main Arena on Terra Nova.”

“I didn’t realise it was something you wanted to do so badly. Will you go back after your service in the Marine Corps?”

“I’ve not even thought about it. At the rate we’re going Teresa, we’ll be lucky to make it out of this war alive. Planning for afterwards is a luxury I don’t think we can afford for now. What about your family, have you spoken to them recently?”

“No. Don’t you remember? They are all on Carthago. We’ve not spoken for a long time now. When the war is over, I’ll see them again.”

“When. That is an interesting one. You think the war will be over soon?”

“Of course, we can’t keep fighting forever.”

“Why not? One major reversal could stop Operation Perdition it its tracks, and the war could run on for years, maybe even decades.”

“Well, we’d better get this unit knocked into shape then. If we do this properly, we should have a battalion that can smash through any enemy.”

“You’re right about that.”

*

Spartan was the first to step out of the shuttle and onto the first metal surface of the landing bay. He was not wearing his body armour but was dressed in his urban camouflage fatigues and carried his issue knife and pistol on his belt. Standard procedures had changed concerning weapons on ships after the attempted hijack of CCS Crusader. Only marine guard units were authorised to carry assault weapons when in space. As Spartan stepped off the ramp, the rest of the passengers followed him. Teresa was the closest and stepped directly behind him.

Unlike the main cargo section of the ship, this part was rotating along with the rest of the habitation zones. The end result was substantially more space on the ship for artificial gravity. Many doubted the wisdom of artificial gravity on these kinds of ships, but combat experience had shown the retained strength and dexterity helped keep combat units fit and effective. There was normally a delay after transportation so that troops could acclimatise to the addition of weight and work on muscle development.

The only real problem with this amount of rotation was the difficulty in landing vessels in the environment. Luckily, the shuttle crews were experienced and used to alignment with capital ships. The built in auto-align facilities on many of the smaller ships helped make the job easier.

Spartan stepped down the ramp to find a full platoon of marine technicians lined up and waiting. Each man was stood smartly to attention. Off to their right was a group of five Jötnar. Next to the marines they looked massive, but they were obviously doing their best to fit in and not look uneasy next to their companions. Each of the synthetic creatures stood roughly three metres tall and built like ogres. Their wide set shoulders and exaggerated muscles gave them an almost cartoonish look. Spartan spotted Gun in the middle of them and smiled at him He moved towards the group and stopped, looking in surprise at the change of clothing and armour they were wearing.

“What is this Commander?” he asked with one raised eyebrow.

Gun looked to the other four Jötnar before turning back to Spartan. They were wearing metal armour. It was crude and only covered part of their bodies. The metal shields the chest and shoulders, but the heads and lower body were unprotected. Gun wore the same but decorated in red patterns, almost like blood had been spilled on the metal. As Spartan examined the pattern, he noticed a series of marks along the one arm. The other four had similar markings.

“New design. We are Jötnar!” he growled. The others struck their chests with their arms in a laudable but imperfect imitation of an ancient salute. Spartan smiled at the display, but he could see a twinge of fear on the faces of a few of the new crew that had travelled with them to the ship.

“Yes, you are,” he said and moved up closely to Gun. He pushed out his arm to find it grabbed and shaken firmly by the Jötnar warrior. The strength of the monstrous creatures always amazed him. Gun was easily twice the size of Spartan and much heavier and stronger. He had fought Biomechs at this range before, and every time it had felt like he was taking on a monster.

Teresa approached and stopped in front of Gun. He cocked his head slightly to one side as though he was sizing her up.

“What?” she asked feigning surprise.

“Spartan is correct,” he said not giving anything away with his expression.

“Commander Gun, one day I will figure you out. One day.”

Gun shrugged but looked pleased with her confusion. He looked over to Spartan.

“So, you are here to join. Are you ready?”

Spartan looked confused. He looked back at the shuttle, thinking perhaps he was talking to somebody else. The door was already shut and the pilot was running through his checks prior to departure. He looked back at Gun to see one of his Captains stepping forward. Spartan looked at him and then to Gun.

“What is this?”

“He is Captain Khan, he demands you join his unit.”

“What? He understands I am an officer in this unit, right?”

“Yes. All officers must prove worth.”

“You’re kidding? We don’t have anything to prove to each other.”

“No, we don’t. Khan fought on Skylla. He killed three Biomechs with blades.”

Spartan nodded in surprise at the news.

“Killing a Biomech is no easy business. Killing three without firearms is a major feat. Is this what got him the promotion and leadership of a company of Jötnar?”

Gun nodded but said no more.

“So I have to prove myself to him before I can join the unit?”

Gun nodded again.

“It is the rule. To lead you must fight leader.”

Spartan looked back at Teresa who looked even more confused that he did.

“You outrank them all, apart from Gun and this Khan. Just refuse,” she suggested.

Khan growled, evidently unimpressed and even a little angry at the suggestion Spartan would refuse to fight him. He was almost identical to Gun, perhaps a couple of centimetres shorter. He was scarred and on his left arm was a crude piece of metal where somebody had performed very basic first aid. A metal splint had been fused through the flesh and directly to his bones. It wasn’t pretty, and on a human the risk of infection or rejection would have been likely. The Jötnar, however, were made of more resilient stuff. Spartan inhaled and then faced the angry Jötnar.

“Of course I’ll fight him. I’ll fight any Jötnar warrior that thinks he is worthy of my time,” he said, trying to sound relaxed and unconcerned at the size and stature of the creature. Gun smiled at him, both recognising the honour of Spartan but also that his Captain was easily the stronger of the two.

“My only question is what do you want to fight with?”

Khan turned to Gun and spoke quietly. Gun answered with just one word. Two of the other warriors stepped forward, each holding out a metal bar to the fighters. It was a rod of about two metres in length and weighted about two kilograms.

“What the hell is this?” demanded Spartan.

“Training rod,” answered Gun. “Ready?”

Spartan handed the rod to Teresa who leaned in to speak with him.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she said as quietly as she could manage.

Spartan pulled off his jacket and shirt until he was naked from the waist up. Years of tough living, followed by a long stint with the pit fighters and then the marines, had honed his body into a vicious fighting machine. He stretched his limbs, quickly feeling a flicker of pain in his still healing leg.

“Come on then, let’s do this!” he growled. The Jötnar grinned and took up position in front of him. Gun called over, but the grunts and noise were too fast for Spartan to make out. Khan dropped his rod to the floor and pulled at his armour. With a few heavy tugs the metal plates fell to the floor until he was also stripped to the waist. He bent down, picked up the rod and roared in anger. Spartan shook his head.

“Spartan, you idiot. What the hell are you doing!” he uttered to himself.

CHAPTER FOUR

Over the generations, there were many experiments with different calibres of ammunition. Combat statistics from every war in the last five hundred years had shown infantry combat took place at short to medium distances. More importantly, the side with greater firepower usually prevailed. In a world where the average marine could expect to be outnumbered, it was never a surprise each would carry the most powerful and adaptable weapon in the Confederate arsenal, the L48 rifle system. Available as a battle rifle, carbine and sniper rifle, it could even use a small calibre modification kit with a box magazine for suppressing fire and assault operations.

Equipment of the Confederate Marine Corps

The brig was one of the smaller parts of the ship and rarely contained anybody of note. In the last six months, less than two-dozen people had been locked away. In fact, for a short time the locked space had been used to store additional ammunition for the marine boarding parties. As Operation Perdition continued its inexorable progress towards clearing Proxima, the number of turncoats and traitors being found was increasing. Three days before a group of three traitors from the Santa Maria had attempted to sabotage the engines of the marine transport. After a short firefight with the marine guards, they had been apprehended and shipped to the Crusader. For now they were in the interrogations rooms leaving just two more people in the small and thoroughly depressing rooms.

In one corner were two crewmen, and were both mortified that the Admiral of the fleet was present. It wasn’t just that she was in charge of the Navy, but that she was the supreme commander in the entire Proxima Sector. In the past, the Army, Navy and Marines had been Earth based with each branch of the military controlled by a separate person. So the Chief of the Army would have supreme authority of his troops, but not of the Navy or Marines. A committee or defence ministry usually controlled these heads. In this new world, however, things were very different. The main military forces in the Confederacy were the Navy and the Marine Corps, both of whom were under the command of Fleet Admiral Jarvis. The Army was planet bound and used as a backup to the faster and more flexible marine. This meant that the Admiral was the supreme military commander in the whole of Proxima Centauri. Only the President was placed higher, and he was away, probably on Terra Nova and impossible to reach.

The nervous looking naval officers had committed nothing more than the usual naval crimes of being drunk and disorderly. They watched as she moved past them and along the corridor. They may have caused trouble, but that was not the reason for having a senior commander down below in the brig. As she continued along, they spotted her approaching the solitary confinement wing, an area reserved for the most dangerous or treacherous in the military. She stopped and looked through the triple-plated transparent plastic that covered the metal bars. Inside sat the traitorous brother of Tigris, the betrayer of the Confederate units on Prometheus. One of the heavily armed marine guards motioned for the Admiral to approach.

“Sir, the prisoner has refused food or counsel.”

The Admiral watched the man through the bars of the cell. He looked like any other Navy officer. She had seen dozens, probably hundreds, of Navy officers in her career, and by all accounts this man had a clean record. A quick glance at his file revealed a high quality officer with an almost perfect service record and excellent credentials. It was this that made her so confused and angry at the same time. How could a decorated, and experienced, officer turn on their own friends and comrades in times of war? It was a question that she applied to many serving crew and marines in this struggle. So many had already made the ultimate sacrifice, and those that casually threw away those bonds of friendship and loyalty was one of the problems that kept her up late at night.

“Captain Leander, you know who I am?” she asked through the bars. The man looked at her, for a moment he stirred but then thought the better of it. He had been stripped of his uniform and wore prisoner overalls, something the Admiral had not seen for some time. There were marks on his hands and face, and she almost smiled for a second as she imagined the treatment he must have received from his comrades upon finding out his secrets. She quickly regretted it though. She was better than that. His face was taut, as though an electrical current was pulling at his muscles as he watched her. The expression betrayed bitterness, either towards her or his situation. She thought it must be the latter as the two of them had no issues prior to the one over his recent actions. There was nothing in his file that indicated otherwise. She moved closer to the bars and indicated for him to approach. He glared but refused to move.

“I understand your brother was involved in an incident at an illegal camp and facility on Prometheus. He attempted to betray a Confederate General and many serving personnel to improve his own position. He died for his acts of sedition.”

Captain Leander still said nothing although she was convinced there was just a hint of satisfaction, perhaps pride in what his brother had attempted. That was something she would not tolerate. As far as Admiral Jarvis was concerned, Tigris was a coward and a traitor to his own side.

“Still, his violence actually helped the Confederacy. Just one wrong decision and he could have been a decorated hero, instead of just another Zealot sympathiser. You should know he died a pointless death, cut down by a loyalist Biomech. If there is any part of you left that loves the Confederacy, you should be proud that some of his actions were responsible for the safety and escape of thousands of prisoners. Without him, the General and hundreds of officers would have perished.”

For a moment he almost spoke, his mouth opened, but with great effort he managed to stop. It was clear to Admiral Jarvis that he would not have to be pushed much harder to get information from him.

“Thanks to Tigris, we now have thousands of loyal Biomechs who want nothing more than the chance to gain their revenge upon those who created them. In some ways, I wish I could thank your brother.”

The young officer looked at her carefully. Deep down the Admiral knew she had crossed a line, but it looked like it may have worked as the young officer opened his mouth to say something.

“My brother fought for Echidna. He died a hero.”

He stopped, and perhaps realising he had just spoken when there had been no reason to say a word. Admiral Jarvis did her best to look dispassionate.

“Really? That is not what the reports from the people he saved had to say. It is a tragedy he changed his allegiance when it counted. You do understand the penalty for treason in the Confederate Navy? Your brother saved us the time, but you on the other hand

.”

Captain Leander glared at her. He started to clench his fists and then tried to hide them when he noticed her watching his movement. The man was finding it hard to control himself, yet he desperately wanted to lash out.

“Admiral, you don’t know what you’ve started. You think you’re winning? Do you really believe a handful of Biomechs you think are loyal will change anything? The Confederacy is weak, and it always was. It is time for the errors of the past to be rectified. Echidna and her children will rise, and Proxima will burn.”

Admiral Jarvis shook her head before turning to the marine guards stationed a short distance away. His words confused her. The language he’d used reminded her of the historic speeches made during the Great War. It was well known back then that some of the fundamentalists from Carthago wanted to see Terra Nova burn. Still, that was a bit of a leap from an off the cuff comment.

“Very well. As expected, the prisoner is refusing to co-operate. He will undergo interrogation by our intelligence personnel, so please secure him for transport to the interrogation rooms.”

She then turned to face the Captain.

“Your refusal to assist in our investigation has been noted in your record. Know now that our people are excellent at extracting information. When they have finished, we will speak again on what they have uncovered.”

She turned from the cell and walked away, accompanied by her guard unit. When she reached the corridor outside another party of four that included Sergeant Bishop met her. He was one of the marines Commander Anderson had sent from Prometheus. The group stood to attention and she responded appropriately.

“Sergeant, you have something for me?”

Bishop nodded but said no more.

“Good, walk with me.”

They moved off along the corridor, and the small group of marine guards walked behind them. Although they stayed close, they tried to be as discreet as possible. There had been multiple attempts to overrun civilian and military vessels, and all it took was a dedicated team to penetrate the engineering rooms or CiC. The kidnap of a senior officer could be just as useful to the enemy. As they walked, the Admiral thought back to the file on Captain Leander. He was obviously trying to hide details of the battle on the perimeter of the Prometheus waypoint. He had secrets, perhaps about people or ships, but they were secrets nonetheless. The threat of the children of Echidna concerned her slightly. It may have just been rhetoric, but it could be more. Did he mean they were creating something new, perhaps even worse than the Biomechs? Or were the Biomechs the children of Echidna? She shook her head and looked at Bishop.

“Tell me about Prometheus, Sergeant. How is work progressing there?”

He took a short breath before speaking and appeared slightly nervous. It wasn’t that unusual. The Admiral often had that effect on junior officers and NCOs.

“The place has been transformed, Sir. Commander Anderson has brought large numbers of contractors to the compound and turned it into a research site and factory. Probably the best and most advanced in the whole of Proxima.”

“Yes, I have seen the reports, very impressive. Three completed vessels already, and two are in service escorting the fleet. At this rate, we will be able to replace escort losses in three to four months. If only we could replace our marine casualties, this war would be over in weeks. What about the Biomechs? Have you come across any issues? Any indications they might not be what we think they are?”

Bishop looked at her as he walked, slightly confused at the terminology.

“You mean the Jötnar?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the last of the cylinders have been used and all of them are now free. Most have been sent to the Yorkdale, but the Commander has retained a number on the base.”

“Interesting. What for exactly?” she asked.

“Security. Commander Gun left us a handful of his captains behind, and they have been working with Commander Anderson to beef up the security around the place. With most of the marines now gone, we have to use what we have. It is a valuable target for mercenaries, pirates and Union raiders.”

“Of course. What is your assessment of the Jötnar?”

“They are perfect, Sir, tough, strong, loyal and completely dependable. There have been several security situations on Prometheus, and every time they have proven their worth. I would happily go into combat with a platoon of them on my side. Hell, I doubt there isn’t an objective they couldn’t take, Sir.”

He quickly realised he had dropped into informal speak and tried to retrace his steps before she could say anything else.

“They are practicing with firearms and unit tactics under the supervision of our marines and are getting better everyday.”

Admiral Jarvis looked surprised.

“Really? I’ve not heard of any situations on Prometheus. What exactly has been happening?”

“Well, here’s an example. Last week, there was a raid on one of the research labs by an armed gang from the space station. They landed in a stolen military shuttle and killed two guards in a violent attack. We thought it was a Union attack, but in the end it was nothing more than computer theft. They were removing the computer equipment when three of the Jötnar found them.”

“What happened?”

“They were given a warning which they broke. Five minutes later all of the gang were in the brig. A few had light injuries, but no deaths, and the equipment was returned.”

“Fascinating. So they are learning discipline and control. I’m sure our political friends will be pleased to hear that.”

They approached her private quarters. One of the guards opened the door and the two entered. Before either of them could move further, the door clunked behind them. It was made of thick, durable metal and capable of withstanding multiple projectile impacts or even a full loss of pressure. The Admiral beckoned for Sergeant Bishop to sit down in front of her small oak desk. As he lowered himself, she moved to the side of the room and poured two small glasses of port. She returned and placed them on the table. Bishop looked a little uncomfortable being entertained by the leader of all Confed military forces.

“Sergeant. I understand you have important information for me from Commander Anderson. He has told me about your work together, and that you are a trusted go-between. How is he?” she asked before taking a sip from the glass.

“He is very busy, Sir. The number of vessels visiting the base each day means we have hundreds of people coming and going, so security is very tight. He checks the logs of each himself. It isn’t an easy assignment.”

Admiral Jarvis nodded to herself.

“I can quite imagine. Still, of all the senior officers I know, he is the most trustworthy and studious in his role of commander. He has already told me about your work together prior to Prometheus. In fact, the Commander has sent me nothing but praise for the work of you, Kowalski and Sergeant Morato. It seems that since leaving the Crusader, you have all be gallivanting around Proxima having all sorts of adventures.”

Bishop felt nervous and also a little apprehensive at what was to follow. For a moment, he thought there might be some kind of reprimand in order.

“I must therefore assume that the information you have brought to me personally is of the utmost importance. Am I correct?”

Bishop nodded in agreement.

“Good. Tell me then. What has he found?”

Bishop pulled out his datapad and placed it on the desk. He turned it over and struck the lower section of the unit. A small slither of plastic slipped off to reveal a compartment. Nothing obvious was revealed until Bishop pulled out a small tool from inside his jacket.

“Anderson really isn’t taking chances on this is he? Have you seen the data?”

With a click, a small metal disk extended about the size of Bishop’s small finger.

“No, Sir. The Commander gave me this and told me I had to destroy it unless I was able to give you the data personally.”

“Why so long? You’ve been with the fleet now for several weeks.”

“Yes, Sir. We had to collect some additional data from the Yorkdale before coming here.”

He leaned forward and handed the datacard to the Admiral. She turned and pulled out a spare datapad from the drawer in her desk.

“Is that a secure unit?” asked Bishop.

“Of course, this unit has had its data connections severed.”

Pressing a small section on the side revealed the standard dataport for cards and secure encryption keys. Wireless technology had been the norm for centuries, but with this kind of data a hardware link was always the safest method of transfer.

The screen flashed green and displayed a series of images, graphs and data. As Admiral Jarvis skimmed through, she spoke quietly.

“What about the Yorkdale? Do they have a copy of this?”

“No, Sir. I had strict instructions to speak with Commander Gun before revealing this.”

She stopped for a moment and looked up.

“You checked with the Jötnar before coming to me?” she demanded, her face starting to tighten with either anger or surprise. Bishop wasn’t sure which.

“Yes, Sir. My orders were very strict, Sir. He said it was of importance to their race, and it would be disingenuous to hide it from them.”

Admiral Jarvis looked back down and continued reading the data. The first section was addressed specifically to her and contained the summary of Commander Anderson’s intelligence on the Biomech programming. At first it appeared dull and overly scientific until she reached the third paragraph. The words program termination’ caught her eye. She read further.

According to the data, the Biomechs had all received accelerated basic development with regards to muscle, bone and intelligence. None of this was news until she came to the part of training and re-education. The scientists reported that the computers and equipment on Prometheus were required to send a series of codes to manage and handle their Biomechs. One of the injured, but still living Biomechs, had been found with the ability to receive updates from the compounds data system each day. Admiral Jarvis looked up at Bishop.

“You have seen none of this? What about Commander Gun or his comrades?”

“Commander Gun has seen this same data. He said it didn’t matter to him.”

“Really? That’s interesting. Was there anything else?”

“No, Sir, other than Commander Anderson would like to speak with you on a secure line once you have read and checked the datacard.”

She nodded, but her eyes remaining glued to the pages of text. The more she read, the more she was surprised at what she found.

“Very good, Sergeant. That will be all.”

“Sir.”

He saluted and made for the door. As he approached, it hissed open to reveal the corridor and her ever-present marine guards. Displaying utmost professionalism, they stayed completely still, but she knew they were able to watch from inside their helmets. With a nod, they closed the door, and she returned to her desk and the datacard that was still connected. She sat down, took a short sip from her glass and continued reading. She paused for a brief moment then from her standard issue datapad, sent a signal to the Naval Intelligence unit on board the Crusader. She wanted experts to have a good look at the data. Once finished, she looked back at the screen.

The graphs and statistics showed that the Biomechs had been programmed with additional layers of knowledge and motivation. All contained the basic level of problem solving, motor functions and the like. The second and third layers were temporary and specifically to do with combat and strategy. The first two layers were permanent and nothing could remove them once installed. The third and most superficial layer was used for direct orders, control, strategy and tactics. Though it wasn’t confirmed, it was the opinion of all but three of the senior researchers that this was how the Union forces were able to control the Biomechs. A daily update was transmitted to their forces that continued or modified the third layer of programming. It was short term, and if interrupted for more than a day the Biomechs would revert to the first two stages. Commander Anderson considered it a failsafe in case the masters lost the ability to control them. They would then cease their current operation in less than a day.

“Interesting. So if we can find a way to alter or halt these signals, we could create substantial problems for the enemy,” she said quietly.

Leaning forwards, she tapped on her datapad to connect her directly to the CiC.

“Get me a secured video link with Commander Anderson on Prometheus, immediately.”

“Yes, Sir,” came the reply.

She turned back to her datapad and examined several of the summaries concerning the dissection of the Biomech casualties. The more she read so, the happier she felt. One screen caught her eye. It was to do with the AI Hubs. The damaged models examined by her the staff on Prometheus had established the units contained the same three levels of programming as the Biomechs. It seemed the synthetic creations were not just mindless animals after all. They had been built with multiple levels of intelligence, skills and tactical mastery. The Echidna Union was on the cusp of commanding a completely synthetic race from the four-legged animals up through to humans and then the control of warships.

Admiral Jarvis tapped the intercom unit again and connected with her communications officer.

“Sir?”

“Send the Chief up here as soon as possible.”

“Sir.”

She leaned back in her chair and took another small sip of the red, almost brown fortified wine. She let it sit on her tongue for a few seconds as she savoured the taste. There really was not anything better on board a ship than a fine glass of port. She thought back to the synthetic creations they had discovered over the months of war, allowing herself just a moment of satisfaction. If they were correct about this communication layer, then they might have a chance against the Union after all.

*

Spartan rolled to the side as the heavy metal rod smashed into the floor. The din of metal on metal reverberated through the landing bay. A scatter of sparks flickered along the floor, and a narrow mark ran for almost a metre. He had been forced to move fast to avoid the attack and even then had only just managed it.

“Spartan!” shouted Teresa as loudly as she could.

Over a minute had gone by so far, but neither of the two warriors had managed to make a strike of note against each other. Both were well built and tough, but they were a world apart in technique. Spartan was by far the more experienced and capable fighter. His footwork and posture was years ahead of Khan’s. With skill and timing, he moved like a dancer as he carefully evaded strikes, but Khan was no slouch in combat. While lacking the experience of Spartan, he did have brute strength and lightning reflexes. He was able to deflect or displace every attack Spartan launched, with annoying rapidity. By all account, it would have been a fight worthy of the pits and areas throughout Prometheus itself.

Spartan jumped up and spotted Teresa calling to him. He was used to the roar of the crowd but seeing her there was a distraction that could cost him his life. He turned back and examined Khan’s posture. His mighty opponent stood like a monster from ancient legends. He held the rod up high on his right shoulder like a bat and glared at Spartan. The creature’s left foot was forward, and his expression betrayed arrogance. Spartan had fought in scores of close quarter battles from criminals on Prometheus, to the pit fights and then the battles in the Marine Corps. He knew when his enemy thought he was winning. He moved closer to Khan but not close enough to be hit.

“Khan, you’ll feel this one!” he shouted. The words were not just to inspire himself, but also to encourage Khan to respond.

He swung his metal rod hard and brought it down in a powerful cutting motion. It looked like a two-handed sword from Earth’s medieval past. If the blow had caught any man, it would have killed him instantly. But he missed and cut short, managing to miss the massive creature by half a metre. The weapon clanked uselessly on the ground, now impotent against the follow-up strike from the Jötnar.

Khan smirked and slammed his own rod down. His own attack involved even more effort and power than Spartan had used. It all happened exactly as Spartan had intended. He had practiced the same feint and counterattack move many times in the past. By attacking short, it encouraged his opponent to give up his posture and start his own heavy attack. Spartan lifted the rod up horizontally and took the impact on the rod. The force hit so hard it almost buckled his legs. He let the rod drop down to his right, so the attack slid off and the Khan was thrown off balance. He had his opening, and without hesitation he jumped at it.

“Now!” he roared and spun the rod around in a circular motion behind his back, over his head and then down onto the back of the Jötnar. It struck him hard on the right shoulder with force that would have broken the bone of a normal man. Khan groaned in pain and released his rod as a spasm rocked his body. His left leg buckled, and he dropped down to one knee. Spartan stepped back and readied himself. He was convinced this was the fight-winning move, but he didn’t want to go further. Beating one of Gun’s Captains was one thing, killing him was quite another. One of the Jötnar moved forward to intervene, but Gun grabbed him and pulled him back.

“Fair fight!” he snapped.

The subordinate lowered his head and stepped back. Gun had clearly established a firm chain of command, and one that almost certainly revolved around him hitting people that disagreed. Gun stood upright and watched with a look of enjoyment on his face. He lifted his arm and pointed past Spartan. Suspicion now starting to enter his mind, so he turned back around to check on his opponent, who he assumed at this point, would be on the ground in pain. Incredibly, the hurt Khan glared at him and shook his body as though stretching before a fight. His body creaked and crackled as the muscles and bones were pulled hard. Spartan couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“No bloody way.”

He looked over to Gun who appeared to be chuckling. Spartan looked less than impressed.

“Yeah, thanks a lot, Gun,” he said quietly.

“That it?” snarled Khan, as he turned to face Spartan. The mighty Jötnar shook his shoulder blades and leaned his head from side to side. Each time he moved, the joints crackled. It wasn’t what Spartan expected or wanted to see. The mighty creature left the rod on the ground and pounded towards Spartan with both arms extended to grab at him. In a fight of brute strength and mass, Spartan would have no chance. Khan was easily twice his weight, possibly much more.

He lowered his body closer to the ground with his feet pushed out in a wide stance, waiting for the clash. Khan came into range and reached out for him with his great paws. Spartan easily evaded with a quick twist and moved off to the side. The Jötnar stumbled past as he expected to slam into the body of Spartan. Without a second’s hesitation, Spartan moved in for the blow. With one carefully executed cut, he struck against Khan’s left forearm. As it hit the limb, a crunching sound indicated a major fracture. But that wasn’t enough, and Spartan had decided it was a decisive victory or none at all. With a second flurry of twists, he brought the rod down onto Khan’s jaw and crashed into the bone. He jumped back and rested the rod on his shoulder, expecting to see Khan collapse to the floor. Instead he stopped and turned to face him. A trickle of blood ran down his cheek from the second strike.

“Are we done?” asked Spartan. He knew the fight could get out of hand, for the Jötnar had a reputation for never backing down. This fight could easily end with one or both of them being seriously hurt.

Khan moved to the fallen rod and lifted it up. He said nothing, but his actions told Spartan all he needed to know. Khan stepped forward, but this time was playing it safe. Spartan jumped forwards in another feint, much like his first attack. Khan had already worked this movement out and simply waited until Spartan withdrew before attacking. Spartan was thrown onto his back foot and forced to defend against a dozen attacks, each heavy strike following the next. As the metal rod struck, he felt his leg becoming weaker and weaker.

“Now you fall!” shouted Khan, and with one swift motion he swung the rod in a horizontal arc that knocked out Spartan’s legs from under him. He flipped over backwards and hit the ground hard onto his back.

“Spartan!” Teresa cried out, and she moved forward to help him. Gun grabbed her around the waist and held her back. She looked up to Spartan, but he twisted his head away and shook himself. The pain was starting to spread from his leg, and he could already see a vision of the medic telling him off. He was aware of the potential for long-term damage by using his leg in such a violent melee. A metal rod hitting him on the head if he didn’t move was a great motivator, and he’d rather lose a leg than be dead or brain damaged.

“Not yet. I’m just getting started!”

With all his remaining energy, he lifted himself back to his feet. His injured leg felt like fire burning through his body. He knew he should stop, but something inside him refused to let him back down. Maybe it was pride, perhaps even stupidity that kept him on his feet. Over these many years, the one thing he had always found difficult was when to back down. He lifted the rod, the metal now feeling twice as heavy as it had before. He extended it as though he had just completed a fencing thrust towards Khan.

“Are you ready?” he asked with a crooked smile.

“Yes!” shouted an excited Gun from the sidelines. Teresa looked over to him with an expression of dismay and anger.

“What?” he said with a wicked snigger.

Spartan’s attempt to goad the Khan into attacking him wasn’t necessary. He surged forward, and with a roar he swung his rod at Spartan’s own weapon. It was a dismissive strike, more a swat than a cut. As the rods were about to meet, Spartan dipped the rod low. It was a move often used in fencing called a disengage, allowing him to attack offline and towards Khan’s right-hand side. As the monster barrelled past, his attack missed by several metres.

In one fluid move, Spartan brought the rod down hard onto Khan’s wrists. As it struck, there was a sickening crunch of bones cracking. Khan roared in pain and dropped to one knee, the pain now starting to affect him. Spartan didn’t stop and swung the rod around, sweeping it hard into the back of Khan’s legs. The warrior was strong and stable on his feet, but there was nobody that could stand after receiving a major blow behind the knee. The strike swept his legs out from under him, and he collapsed in an awkward mess.

“Finish him,” cried Teresa, finally sensing Spartan might have a chance.

Spartan knew it and leapt around Khan, pushing the rod up and around the warrior’s throat. He pulled hard and locked it into a painful choke.

“Yield!” shouted Spartan.

Khan shook and shuddered as he tried to shake Spartan from his body. Even with a shattered right arm, and pain wracking his body, he refused to stop the fight. He tightened his throat muscles, and with his unbroken arm he punched Spartan hard in the ribs. The blow hit like a block of concrete and Spartan cried out in pain. Like a terrier he wouldn’t let go, and instead he pulled even harder on the metal rod, his muscles bulging as he strained against the might of the Jötnar. He could feel the creature’s pulse pounding away through the thick veins on his body. One more squeeze and he tipped forward slightly, yet he still refused to back down.

“Enough!” shouted Gun from his position off to the side. The roar from the Jötnar leader was louder than anything Spartan could have imagined. Those that had been cheering for Khan were instantly silenced. Spartan felt Khan loosen his body slightly at the command from his superior. Sensing he might be about to yield, he moved backwards, but he kept the weapon in his hands. So far, the Jötnar warrior had managed to fight on no matter what happened in the fight, and he had no doubt Khan would continue to strike even after being told to stop by Gun.

In a surprising move, Khan lifted himself up and turned to face Spartan. The gash on his head had opened up a little more, and several streaks of blood ran down his face and neck to his chest. There were welts and marks all over his body from the violent fight he had just fought. His broken forearm was crooked. It was an obvious sign of heavy damage, yet he seemed unaffected by it. He exhaled and roared at Spartan.

“Great,” muttered Spartan as he braced himself for battle. The Jötnar stepped forward and extended his unbroken arm. For a moment, Spartan suspected it was a feint, but something about his face made him think otherwise. Taking a chance, he moved forward and grasped Khan’s forearm. As they made contact, the Jötnar stepped closer and grabbed Spartan, squeezing him hard before releasing him.

“Commander Gun was true. Spartan is mighty.”

Spartan tried to keep himself upright, but his injured leg couldn’t take anymore and it finally gave out. He dropped to his knees, but Khan grabbed him and helped him maintain his balance. The two looked at each other as both recognised the warrior spirit each contained. They were fighters, and neither was ever likely to back down in any kind of fight. Gun and Teresa approached and stood to the side of the two warriors.

“Spartan? Talk to me,” said a concerned and slightly angered Teresa. Khan looked at her. He was surprised at the venom and anger he could sense in her tone. He leaned forward to examine her, and she turned and stared back at him.

“You Spartan’s mate?”

Catching them all by surprise, she brought her fist in hard and struck Khan on the chin. Against any other man it would have put them on the ground, but not him. The impact shook him, but the result was laughter, not pain.

“I like you,” he said to both of the marines with a smile. A small quantity of blood dripped from his mouth, and he spat a mouthful onto the floor. Two Jötnar approached. One wore a red sash across his shoulder and carried a heavy looking leather satchel. He said something quietly, and then removed a series of splints and bandages to patch up Khan.

Spartan turned to his right and looked at Gun who until now had said nothing.

“Well?” he asked.

Commander Gun looked first at Spartan and then to Khan, who nodded solemnly.

“Very well,” said Gun quietly and then placed his hand on Spartan’s shoulder.

“You’re one of us.”

Teresa stood motionless, apart from shaking her head in confusion. Spartan raised an eyebrow at her expression.

“One day, Spartan, you’ll refuse a fight, and I want to be there when that happens.”

Spartan grinned.

“You might wait a while for that.”

They looked to Khan who was sitting on one of the old and heavily worn bulkheads. A group of Jötnar stood around him and were talking excitedly about the fight. One, with less markings on his body and armour, jumped about as if re-enacting parts of the fight.

“He is young one. Inexperienced. We turn to warrior…like you!”

Teresa put her arm around Spartan and pulled him till he groaned a little from the pain still spreading through his body. He tried to smile, but it was more than he could manage.

“Nobody is a warrior like him!” she laughed. Gun joined in, greatly enjoying the joke. Spartan simply shook his head.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Terra Nova Guards Brigade is a unique unit in the Confederate military. As one of the many territorial regiments raised in the war, it saw much action. Originally known as the 2nd City Militia Battalion, the unit contained a large number of British migrants from the home colonies. The regiment was given the unique Guards designation due to its heroic defence of the capital buildings in the Great War. Over seven hundred of the twelve hundred soldiers died in the final battle. The Guards are now the largest of the Army Brigades, and with over six thousand soldiers spread over five battalions, they are well trained and dedicated to the defence of Terra Nova.

The Terra Nova Guards Brigade

Spartan and Teresa walked slowly along one of the many crude gangways running the length of the habitation section. Several parts had been hastily repaired in the last week, and the welds were showing. It wasn’t the smartest work, but it did the job. More importantly, the flooring was intact along with the majority of the railings. On the inside, the ship had more in common with an industrial site or construction yard than any of the vessels they had served on before. The internal compartments of the Confederate Navy vessels were generally clean and bare metal or grey throughout. Functional, clean and effective was the best way to describe them. That was a description that couldn’t be further from the Yorkdale. The metal was old and in parts rusting and rotten to the level that both expected to find breaches in the hull.

The Yorkdale had never been designed as a ship of war, and this was similar to most of the marine transports. They had all been built for civilian work, but with improvements that would make them useful for other jobs at a later date. Transports like CCS Santa Maria and CCS Santa Cruz were usually built for colony construction. The Yorkdale was different and unlike most other commercial ships. She was fitted out with reinforced bulkheads and strengthening struts throughout the hull. The underside was double the thickness of the rest of the ship and utilised thermal protection plates. She was larger than the marine transports and even tougher. The single largest different was that she looked crude and rough in comparison to the sleeker, more modern looking transports.

According to the original specifications, the Yorkdale had been constructed to enter the storms of Prometheus and even the atmosphere of planets like Euryale. There were few ships capable of this feat without being destroyed by gravitational pull and the fires of re-entry. The only other vessels in the merchant fleet were the colony landers and transports used for establishing settlement. Even CCS Santa Maria was incapable of planetary landings. When used for colony settlement, she had to maintain an orbit around the target and send landing craft to the surface. Substantial resources and time were required to create vessels capable of planetary landings. It was only ever done if there was a legitimate and economic reason to do so.

The innards of the old ship were solid and even though she had taken a beating in the battle for Euryale, she was still almost fully functional. Even as the troops on board continued their combat training, the engineers were patching and repairing. The ship was also receiving upgrades to communication gear, weapons and armour. From their position on the walkway, they could look down to the six separate halls, each one the size of a sports hall. They stopped and looked at one where a number of Vanguard marines and Jötnar were working together.

“Interesting,” said Teresa. “Do you think they can train nicely, or will they end up re-enacting yours and Khan’s little spat?”

Spartan grinned at her obviously tactless insult. He looked at the two-dozen warriors, and he doubted for a moment whether the idea of mixing the two groups together was necessarily a good plan. The Vanguards were well known for being the most independently minded of all the marine units, and the Jötnar were no different. Teresa pointed at a group of five in one corner of the hall.

“Look at them.”

Spartan watched intently as the group moved out into a wide circle. They all faced away from the middle. It looked almost like an old nineteenth century shootout, except none was equipped with firearms. Each of the Jötnar carried a dull training rod, and the armoured Vanguards held the same.

“Weird, I’ve never used this training method before.”

A sound from the right caught their attention. Spartan took a short step back and moved his hand out and low. It was instinctive, but years of troubles had taught him vigilance. From the shadows of the gantry emerged the shape of Commander Gun. Spartan visibly relaxed and moved forward, grasping the warrior by the arm. Gun still wore the rough eye patch on his head, and Spartan decided it was time to investigate.

“Gun. You never explained to me how you lost your eye.”

Gun shook his head violently.

“Not lost, just broken,” he answered abruptly.

He slid the patch up to reveal his eye and three scar lines. They looked as though a claw had scraped from left to right over the eye socket. The eye itself was still red, but it moved and gazed intently at Spartan.

“Marine medic says one more week till healed. Then I have two.”

“Was it a Biomech?”

Gun nodded.

“In the ambush we were boarded. Humans, Biomechs, machines, all came in. Jötnar stopped them and I took this.” He lifted his great paw to his face.

“Sounds like a tough fight,” said Teresa.

“It was, but my Jötnar enjoyed all of it. It is our ship, given to us by Jarvis and Rivers. All of my people deserve our revenge.”

“Is that why you pursued the enemy to Euryale and boarded the Vengeance?”

Gun said nothing for a moment, and he just gazed down at those preparing to train. Spartan and Teresa waited patiently until they assumed he must have forgotten what they were talking about. Spartan started to speak but was cut off by Gun.

“The ship is our home. They attacked and killed us. Anybody that attacks us will suffer, just as Vengeance did.”

Spartan nodded in agreement. He understood very well the anger and rage that came with seeing those around you attacked.

“I know, you should be proud of your people.”

“I am.” After a few more seconds, he indicated towards the group of fighters still standing in a circle. They all held their weapons up high and were shouting something.

“Your idea, Gun?” asked Spartan.

Gun shrugged and continued watching them.

“The guards on Prometheus made us do it. Helped us train for combat. I make it better.”

There was a final shout and the group turned to face each other. All but two rushed at each other, swinging their training rods like clubs. The remaining two, both Vanguards, circled the group and watched for openings.

“Some kind of melee training?”

“Sort of. Last man standing.”

Spartan nodded, now understanding the point of the exercise.

“I see.”

In the melee, the three Jötnar and two of the Vanguards were engaged in what looked more like a bar room brawl. They each struck out with the rods, and at the same time did their best to avoid being hit by the rest. There were no loyalties the fight, with the Jötnar fighting each other as well as the two Vanguards. One of the Vanguards rolled on the floor, and the heavy thud of his metal armour crashed to the ground. Before he could stand, one of the slightly bloodied Jötnar dropped onto him as if they were involved in a mock wrestling match. Before a decision could be made, another Jötnar swiped him over the head with his rod and knocked him unconscious. Spartan chuckled to himself.

“That looks painful.”

“Yes, will help bonding,” replied a nonchalant Gun.

Teresa tapped them both gently on the arms.

The fighting continued, and Spartan was enthralled to watch the improvements in fighting skills and movements of the Jötnar. They were starting to pick up some of the wrestling and boxing techniques used in the Marine Corps. It was strange to watch them fight, he could easily forget who they were and imagine them as a mixture of marines going about daily combat sparring. One of the Vanguards fell only to find two of the beasts on him.

“Hey!” said Teresa, but Spartan seemed lost in his thoughts. As he watched the fighting, it brought back memories of Prime and the defence of New Carlos. It had been a hellhole, a ruined and burnt out city defended by the bloodied and injured warriors of the Marine Corps. They had suffered badly over those terrible days, but they had emerged victorious, and the Vanguards themselves could see their genesis at that moment. The success of the marines and the CES armour was directly responsible the modification and construction of the newest armour sets, known by the Marine Corps as Vanguard armour. He turned back to face her, noticing immediately that she had been waiting, but he couldn’t tell for how long. Gun stood there watching them both, and it seemed to Spartan that he was enjoying himself. Whether it was the fighting or the face Teresa was showing, he couldn’t tell.

“I have something to say. I was going to tell Spartan alone, but you are more like brothers. You might as well know now.”

They turned to look at her. Gun looked as he usually did, vaguely interested and permanently bemused. Spartan on the other hand looked worried.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

“More than fine. We’re to have a child, Spartan.”

Spartan said nothing, but Gun stepped forward immediately.

“Small Spartan or small Teresa?” he asked.

Teresa shook her head as she tried to work out what he wanted. Spartan just looked confused, and more than a little stunned. It was as though she had just given his some form of insurmountable mathematical puzzle to solve.

“Boy or girl you mean?” she responded.

Gun grinned, baring his front teeth.

“Yes.”

She looked back at Spartan who looked dazed.

“Do you want to know?” It was almost comical, the mighty Confederate warrior, beaten by a simple question. He had looked more confused than when he faced off against a Biomech warrior or a battalion of Zealots. Gun swung his arm and slapped it hard against Spartan, the impact almost throwing him from the gantry.

“Good news!” he growled and then moved off, leaving the two of them in peace. As he moved away, he looked over his shoulder to Spartan.

“Answer her!”

Spartan watched him go before moving back to Teresa. He had regained his composure, but she couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not by the news.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. I just came back from a check-up with the medic on board. He says I am sixteen weeks gone.”

“Sixteen? How is that possible?”

“You know how it all works?” she replied, partially as a joke but for a moment actually worrying about his understanding of what she was saying.

“Yes, of course. I mean how could you not know all this time?”

“Oh, right. Well, my injuries and fatigue from our last few actions have been keeping me a little busy. I had a feeling something was happening. The medics ran a couple of tests and have confirmed it.”

He stepped forward and grabbed her, pulling her close to him. She relaxed and closed her eyes. The only sound was the din of the fighting Vanguards and Jötnar behind them. It felt almost natural to discuss such normal events with the background of war and violence around them. As she thought about it, she realised the only thing missing was explosions and gunfire.

“Do you want to know?” she asked.

“The sex?”

Teresa nodded.

“Of course.”

She waited for a few seconds to compose herself to give him the news.

“It will be a boy, a baby Spartan.”

Spartan’s face relaxed, and he finally smiled.

“So, you are off frontline duty for now.”

Teresa shrugged.

“I suppose so. Still, there’s plenty to do around here. We have an entire military unit to prepare for battle that has never worked together before.”

“Have you thought of a name?” asked Spartan.

“No. Actually, I haven’t given it any thought. Do you have any suggestions? Before you speak, there is no chance he is going to be a Spartan Junior!”

Spartan rested his chin in his hand as he considered different options for the child.

“Do you know when the child was conceived?”

“Sometime after we retook Prometheus. I can’t tell you exactly when. We were, well, kind of busy…often!”

“True. I will think on it.”

Spartan looked back at the training warriors below them. Only two remained and it seemed fitting that it was a Vanguard and a Jötnar. The rest were either still on the ground or being helped up to watch. Two of the other Jötnar and a marine were laughing to one side. The remaining two rushed at each other. The Jötnar managed to strike the Vanguard who spun wildly and crashed to the floor. Unsurprisingly, the excitement of the Jötnar kept him pushing forward, and he was unable to stop before crashing unceremoniously into a bulkhead.

“Hmm. Let’s hope they never have to fight each other in the field,” said Spartan.

Teresa put her arm around him and watched the group laughing and re-enacting their violent melee.

“True. We’d have nobody left to fight for us then.”

*

Admiral Jarvis lay in the darkness of her cabin. She had been awake for half an hour now, and nothing she did helped her fall back to sleep. The room was almost pitch black with just the faint red glow of the low level lighting providing basic illumination. As she lay there, she considered the possibility of moving her command position to the nearby Titan Naval Station. It was well defended and supplied, and probably a more useful place to be than here on the battered battlecruiser, CCS Crusader.

The communication unit lit up gently before the display showed a series of icons and movement. It was a message from the CiC and based on the colour and pattern, an important one. She lifted herself up and shook her head.

“Not like I was asleep anyway,” she said quietly, then stood up and walked to her desk. She was still wearing her nightclothes and grabbed at her robe before sitting down. With one tap, the display changed to the face of Captain Tobler.

“Admiral, sorry to disturb you. We are receiving signals from the Furious Battlegroup. There is trouble at the Anomaly.”

“Serious?”

“Very, they are under attack.”

“Understood, Captain, I will be there shortly.”

“Admiral.”

The image cut back to the default screen and sent its dark blue hue through the room. The Furious Battlegroup was a powerful force, and one that was certainly capable of fending off trouble. If there was a chance something troublesome was taking place, then it must be major. She stood up, opened her wardrobe and started to pull on her uniform. She was fast, and in just over two minutes was out of the door and on her way to the CiC. As she left the room, her escort of marine guards followed closely behind.

*

Multiple video feeds flashed and distorted throughout the CiC as streams of data arrived. It looked like the ship was in the middle of a major battle, but CCS Crusader was safely orbiting Prime’s largest moon, Kronus. Providing protection to the Titan Naval Station was probably the safest place for a warship to be right now. Captain Tobler spotted a series of images on one of the feeds.

“That one. Where is it?”

The XO enlarged the image on the main display.

“About three days from the Anomaly. The cameras cannot breakthrough the clouds. We’re just picking up gas clouds and distortion, Captain.”

“Damn, don’t we have anything that can see inside there?”

“No, Sir. Apart from the outer part of the clouds, the only other section we can detect is the entrance itself. The energy being kicked off from the Spacebridge easily burns through the clouds.”

As the officers struggled to find a clear way through the interference, Admiral Jarvis entered the CiC, and it was clear something major was underway. All the officers were busy, either speaking on the communications system or moving their hands over the many computer systems. Captain Tobler beckoned for her to approach the tactical display, along with a small group of officers.

“We’ve received an urgent transmission from Captain PJ Williams of the CCS Furious.”

She stepped up to the display and scanned through the ship dispositions. In the middle was the recently scanned Anomaly, along with the three large structures. A short distance away were the ships of the Furious Battlegroup. The largest vessel was the heavy cruiser Furious. In a loose formation around the Furious were three Achilles class cruisers, the Bellerophon, Patroclus and Perseus. Much smaller coloured icons showed the presence of five destroyers and one frigate.

“The message?” she asked.

“Lieutenant,” Captain Tobler called out.

From her station off to the side of the CiC, sat Lieutenant Nilsson. She pressed several buttons before turning her chair around.

“Sir, replaying the signal now.”

The tactical display reduced in size to make room for a video feed from the Furious Battlegroup. An image of the bridge of the heavy cruiser appeared, along with a dozen officers who were acting in a frantic manner. A woman’s face appeared on the screen.

“This is Lieutenant Jane Matterson. The Captain is wounded along with over half the senior officers. I have assumed temporary command of the Furious.”

A number of flashes came from the left of the video feed and a crewman was blasted back several metres before hitting the ground. Two people helped lift him up and away from a small fire burning near his workstation. More ran past with fire extinguishers. The young woman ignored what was happening and pressed something to the side of her. It was presumably a button or switch of some kind. For a brief moment the video stream turned to static, but the audio channel remained operational. The static changed to blackness and then adjusted to the light levels to show a video feed from the warship that replaced her face. Her voice continued in the background.

“We sent two probes through the entrance of the Spacebridge to the other side. As soon as they passed through, the signals stopped. We weren’t able to even get an image from the other side. We assumed they had malfunctioned and were about to send another pair through. One hour later, as we were sending them through, a dozen Confederation vessels entered through the Anomaly and opened fire. All of the ships were transmitting Confed IFF codes. There was no warning and the first battery of missiles damaged our main engines and killed over two hundred people. We have withdrawn into the distortion of the Anomaly, but they are continuing to look for us. Luckily, the interference in this field makes missile target acquisition difficult, or we would be dead already.”

On the screen the exterior of the warship appeared undamaged, apart from one section near the bow that looked as if it had been burnt through. Bright flashes flickered off to one side.

“Nukes, Admiral,” said Captain Tobler as they watched. Each of the impacts was over quickly, much more so than a blast might happen in an atmosphere. A flight of Lightning fighters moved out of sight before reappearing and launching a swarm of missiles towards the approaching vessels. The feed cut back to the young officer.

“We have destroyed three of the ships and have positioned mines around our defensive location in the Anomaly. We can’t hold for

” a final crackle and then the feed vanished.

“Is that it?” asked Admiral Jarvis.

“From the Furious, yes. This signal was sent by a reconnaissance Lightning fighter. It was sent on a one-way mission out of the Anomaly and back towards us. We think it was operating as a relay to allow the signal to reach us.”

“Any news on the fighter?”

“None, Admiral. There is something else. Not long after this message arrived, we received word from our agents on Prime. They are stripping away garrisons of troops and a large number are preparing to leave.”

“Leave? To where?”

Captain Tobler brought up the tactical map of the Proxima Centauri System.

“We are not sure about the troop ships, but we have tracked over a dozen smaller vessels that have left Union territory. It seems they are massing in small groups and then making their way towards the Anomaly. I have already ordered escorts to spread out to enforce the blockade and stop any ships leaving Prime. If they make it past the escorts, we have the Crusader and our cruisers to finish them off.”

“What are they doing?” demanded Admiral Jarvis.

“We’re not sure yet. We have also received additional information from Prometheus that powerful signals have been intercepted from the Anomaly. Commander Anderson says a large surge along with encrypted data was received by their partially operational equipment on Prometheus.”

Captain Tobler looked confused as he paused for a moment.

“I don’t understand why a signal would be sent there though. Surely that is just giving us information on the enemy movements?”

Admiral Jarvis nodded in agreement.

“You could be right. Don’t forget that Prometheus was until recently a primary centre for the Union and the Zealots. Whoever sent the signal may think the factories and computer systems are still under the control of the Union. Commander Anderson has allowed a subset of the computers to be left active and to maintain basic communication and control links. I think this is the first major signal he has received since we regained control of the place.”

Captain Tobler looked back at the message.

“The Commander has sent multiple attached intelligence files on the Anomaly. He suggests that the distortion is of great importance to the Union war effort for a variety of reasons. His scientists postulate the area could hide a significant number of vessels and potential stations to operate from.”

He looked back at the Admiral.

“But why? Are they hiding military vessels in the distortion? What if they already control the other side? What if they have the support of the government on Terra Nova?”

Admiral Jarvis tensed up slightly at the prospect of trouble in the larger half of the Confederacy. The thought of the enemy having such resources was a matter that she considered almost daily.

“If true, they would have the entire armed forced of the Confederacy and the Alpha Centauri fleet. We would never stand a chance against that. The only assumption we can make is that if this were true, then why have they not moved against us already?”

She moved her hand across to enlarge the images from the Anomaly.

“This signal, do we know where else it was received?”

“That is difficult to establish. The transmission was just under a minute long, narrowband and heavily encrypted. We have confirmed signal reception on Prometheus plus possibly, but unverified, at Kerberos and on three of the colonies below.”

“So in theory, this signal could have been sent to all seceded colonies?”

“True. Oh, there was also a signal from the technicians on the Vengeance. Apparently, a similar signal was received, but they were unable to store it in time.”

“The Vengeance? She was being used by the Union. It seems clear to me then. The transmission from the Anomaly was sent to all fixed installations and vessels in Proxima Centauri. Shortly after that, they started to move the bulk of their assets towards the source of the signal. The question is, what has changed? What triggered this?”

“The Furious Battlegroup? Until their arrival, we had never put one of our vessels anywhere near it. Perhaps they have something there they want to keep hidden?”

“Maybe. Or they are doing everything they can to keep us from using the Spacebridge.”

Admiral Jarvis looked carefully at the cloud type formation around the Anomaly. The figures state it was almost a full astronomical unit in diameter. That was large enough to hide stations, fleets and even entire planets.

“The first thing I need to know is who attacked our ships. You said the IFF codes said they were friendly?”

“That is what the crew on the Furious thought. We don’t have that information to confirm it.”

The Admiral scratched her chin as she considered the options.

“They must have come from somewhere, and I need to know where from. Can we expect more of them? Are they a scouting party, or is this the fleet that ambushed our ships near Prometheus? Tell me about these enemy ships. Do they match anything in our order of battle? If they had valid IFF codes, they could still have faked them or cloned the details of other vessels.”

Captain Tobler brought up three images of ships.

“These are from the external camera feed of the Furious prior to losing the signal.”

The images were grainy and partially obscured by the debris and weapons fire in the battle. There were two vessels highlighted by the computer system. A few presses and the images were quickly enhanced and as much of the grain and noise removed as was possible.

“Is that the best you can do?” she asked.

“The computers are still working on them, but based on the battle, electromagnetic interference and the damaged signal, I think this will be it.”

He bent down and looked closer at the ship designs.

“Odd, very odd.”

“What is it?” asked Admiral Jarvis.

The Captain brought up two extra screens and started to pan through pages of ship’s specifications and details. Most of the images were the usual three-dimensional blueprints with detailed schematics. He quickly moved past these and onto the older designs. The further back he went, the less detail there was. He stopped at a particular page with three sketches and a poor quality image of a space battle.

“I’ve seen that picture before,” she said.

“Yes, it is from the last battle at Terra Nova from the Great War. Look here,” he pointed at a group of six ships in the corner. Enlarging the image reduced the quality, but it was clear they bore a strong resemblance to the ships recorded during the current battle at the Anomaly.

“I don’t understand. You’re suggesting they are the same models as those used in the War?” said Admiral Jarvis with a sceptical tone.

“No. I am suggesting the ships at the Anomaly are in fact ships used during the Great War.”

“What?” she demanded.

“It isn’t unheard of. A number of the old war barges are still in service. We have civilian ships that are over one hundred years old being used by some of the less scrupulous traders.”

He brought up a page of details and sighting of the ships parallel to the images.

“They are Scimitar class missile cruisers. It says they were a common vessel in the last years of the war. Over two dozen were unaccounted for and presumed lost following the armistice in 239CC.”

“So these ships have either been in hiding for fifty years, or they have been repaired and put back into service recently. Captain, get me everything you can find on these vessels. Their histories, specifications, captains and personnel.”

“Going back how far?”

“As far as it goes, I want the lot.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

Admiral Jarvis looked back at the screen with the classic image of the Great War. It was a colour image that she had seen when at school. Like many such images, over time it had become a moment in time and used on books, games and many forms of entertainment. If she wasn’t mistaken, it might be on one of the old Navy recruitment posters. Lieutenant Nilsson interrupted her thoughts.

“Admiral, a signal is coming in from Kerberos. It is coded as a deep cover operative. No name or identity code.”

The Admiral looked intrigued. The coded messages were almost impossible to clone due to their detailed biometric signatures and multipath encryption. Based on the likelihood it was legitimate, it was either something important or someone had been caught and interrogated. Either way, she needed to listen to it in confidence.

“Send it to the private comms unit.”

Lieutenant Nilsson pressed a sequence of keys and nodded to the Admiral. She walked over to the computer system and sat down. It was one of the few systems on the ship where codes and secure messages could be viewed while protected by an electromagnetic bubble. Though the crew in the CiC were all trusted, it was standard procedure to never publically view or discuss covert units on a ship. The display showed a series of progress bars as the computer system started the decryption sequence. After almost thirty seconds it was completed, and a video feed started. The quality was grainy and very dark. She could make out half a dozen people in the image, but they were too dark to make out any features. Movement to the right morphed into a head as one of the people approached.

“Admiral. Special Agent Johnson here. I have been working with a small unit of survivors under the command of Captain Sanlav Erdeniz. Our time is limited, so I must be brief. Union forces on Kerberos have started stripping districts in Yama City of people. So far, we have counted eleven ships in orbit taking on prisoners. Reports from other cells in the city say more people are being rounded up. Our intelligence shows a large group of transports are due to arrive in the next five days. In the last three hours, a large number of garrisons have been loading troops into shuttles and joining the ships. We have

“

The video distorted badly before cutting back. Several of the people in the background were running about and shouting came from somebody out of shot.

“Our transmission has been detected. We have joined forces with several resistance groups…intend to start a full-scale assault before they can take the rest of the civilians away. We will do anything we can to stop the shuttles but

“

The video stayed on but the clatter of gunfire drowned out the voice of the man.

“If you

help us. Weapons and

“

He was cut off once more, but this time the signal didn’t return. She lifted her hand as she considered the news. If ships were taking citizens from Kerberos, there was a good chance the same was happening on other colonies. The question was, what was the plan? By removing people and military resources from the colonies, they could only be doing one of two things. Either they were redeploying somewhere more important, or they were moving them to attack a point on Confederate Space.

She stood up and moved towards the tactical map.

“Lieutenant Nilsson, set up a conference call with General Rivers and President Hamis in the conference room.”

“Aye, Sir.”

Captain Tobler walked to her and looked at the display.

“Something I should know?”

The Admiral examined the screen for a few seconds before replying.

“I suspect we may be moving back into the fire sooner than expected. Make sure the ship is fuelled and armed for combat. I suggest a series of drills. You are going to be leaving soon.”

“Operation Perdition is to continue then?”

“The operation never stopped. We have been mobilising for the next objective. Just make sure Crusader is ready for battle.”

“Understood, Sir,” he replied though it was obvious he was a little put out by her tone and the fact he was out of the loop.

She moved to the door and glanced over her shoulder at the crew in the CiC. The ship was being run well, and she had no doubt they would perform their duties as always. But there was something about this news that made her uncomfortable. Perhaps it was just the unknown that worried her. Not that long ago she was in charge of this ship and Commander Anderson had been her XO. Now she commanded the fleet in war, and the ship had a new XO and captain. As she left the room, she realised her main feeling of unease was that the ship just didn’t feel the same anymore.

It was a short journey to the conference room. When she arrived at the door, she was pleased to see it unlocked and ready to use. One marine technician and two guards waited for to enter. At first glance, it seemed an empty room apart from a large holographic projector unit. She moved inside and the device activated. The three-dimensional models of General Rivers and President Hamis appeared around her. Both were life-size and able to move about as though actually in the room. The only difference was the slight flickers and muted colours.

“Admiral, what is wrong?” asked Dr Hamis.

“There is no immediate problem, but I have received interesting and somewhat troubling news.”

“Is this about the fighting breaking out below on Prime? I have two reports for you that will need your urgent attention,” said General Rivers.

“No, but I am glad to hear the resistance cells are ramping up their attacks. I trust you are assisting them where you can? But this is a much wider issue that involves the entire Proxima sector, possibly even Alpha Centauri and the rest of the Confederacy.”

“Go on,” said a nervous looking Dr Hamis.

“I have received intelligence and reports from multiple locations throughout Proxima Centauri. There is something substantial happening, and I fear the Anomaly is at the heart of it. First, we are getting information on large numbers of citizens and soldiers leaving the fallen colonies. Most appear to be making their way to the Anomaly. This has yet to be confirmed. If the info is correct, it will mean multiple capital ships and troops will be making their way to the single point that could give us quick access to Alpha Centauri.”

“What about our vessels already stationed there?” asked Dr Hamis.

“The Furious Battlegroup. Yes, that is the second part of the problem. They are still there and have established a secure foothold in the outer parts of the Anomaly. The storms give off heavy interference that conveniently offer them a refuge from the new threat.”

“New threat? Don’t we have enough of those already?” asked a sarcastic General Rivers.

“True. It isn’t something we choose or can easily avoid. A short while ago, a large number of Great War era cruisers attacked the battlegroup. We have sustained casualties and they have withdrawn to the protection of their minefield and automated defence platforms.”

“What, great War era ships in this sector? Where are they from, and why have we not come across them before?” demanded Dr Hamis.

“We have no information on this as yet.”

“What about the Anomaly and Terra Nova? Have we made contact yet?”

“No. The Furious Battlegroup was in the middle of doing that when it was attacked. Shortly after the battle began, a series of powerful communication pulses were sent from the Anomaly to multiple locations in Proxima. One was sent to the old Union base there. We are still unable to decipher the data, but we do know one thing.”

“What?” Dr Hamis asked. He looked uncomfortable and confused. Admiral Jarvis tried to hide her scorn as she gazed at his face. It always seemed the same to her, the politicians were your friends until something bad happened. He had the look of a man looking for a way out.

“I think the Admiral is referring to the ships and troops preparing to leave the colonies. The signal sent to Prometheus would presumably have said the same thing? Something along the lines of an automated distress beacon to draw all Union forces to one area.”

“My thoughts exactly, General.”

“What percentage of their forces are leaving, and how well defended are the fallen colonies?”

“What does it matter? We have to control the Anomaly!” said an almost hysterical Dr Hamis.

“No, I think we can use this an opportunity, if you are up for something of a gamble?”

Admiral Jarvis nodded in agreement.

“Yes, General, what are you thinking?”

CHAPTER SIX

Private ownership of long distance starships moved into a new era when the East Proxima Trading Company was founded. Based upon the exploits of the trading companies of old earth, this company expanded quickly. Starting with a fleet of ex-military cargo ships, the company soon found over thirty obsolete ships with which to ply the colonial trade routes. As the colonies developed, so did the companies making money trading between them.

Origins of Private Space Travel

The atmosphere in the conference room was electric. In the centre was the three-dimensional display showing a detailed holographic representation of the entire Confederacy. Dozens of planets and colonies filled the middle as they circled the unusual binary star system of Proxima Centauri. Each planet followed its elliptical orbit, and a series of ghostly lines indicated their paths. A cloud of lines and dots showed the substantial number of warships, transports and other vessels in the System. The entire display looked similar to the space traffic controllers control boards where they monitored all space traffic.

Admiral Jarvis examined the representations of the many ships making their way through the System. A number were travelling on routine causes to deliver goods and supplies, but there were many IFF neutral vessels. These ghost ships had one more thing in common; they all started their exodus from the colonies. Some had already started the journey, and others were forming up into small groups and then moving off together. It was a migration on a scale never seen before, and it worried her a great deal. They were leaving for a reason, and she was sure it was not for the benefit of the Confederacy. If it was good for the Union, then it was bad news for her. She sighed quietly and looked back at the expanded group in the conference room. The meeting had been running for only a short time, and already another two more people had been brought into the discussion.

“Hit them and hit them hard before they can regroup,” said General Rivers as he finished his own briefing.

Dr Hamis shook his head firmly in disagreement.

“I do not agree, General. If they want to leave, why not let them go? We have some of the colonies back, so our government is stable on Kronus. Pursuing them may simply encourage them to come back and carry on the fight,” he said with as much passion as he could muster in his voice.

A scrawny looking man motioned for his turn to speak. He wore a dark suit, and looked suspiciously at the decorated and experienced officers in the room. Dr Hamis nodded to him and indicated for him to start.

“I agree with the President. As the newly selected Minister of Defence, I have reservations about using our limited forces without an obvious strategic benefit. The newly chosen cabinet is deeply concerned at continuing the war outside of our sphere of influence. While I recognise the great strides Admiral Jarvis has made during Operation Perdition, it is surely time to consolidate. If we pursue either of the options proposed by the Admiral, we risk the very places we have only recently taken. If the Union forces intend on leaving Proxima Centauri, then good for them. We do not want them here, and if they leave, we will save the blood and expense of continuing the war.”

“You’re joking, Defence Minister?” said an angry looking General Rivers. “So far, we have taken back no major populated worlds. Euryale and Skylla hardly count for the loss of most of Prime, Kerberos and Orthrus as well as the other less populated worlds. We control the least industrious of all the colonies in Proxima Centauri. Don’t forget, our enemy is resourceful and fast. With the colonies of Orthrus and Kerberos, they can rebuild and re-equip faster than we can.”

The Defence Minister shook his head furiously.

“Not at all. We have Prometheus, and we have a functioning government. Surely that facility can be used to repair and construct heavy equipment as and when it is needed? Your own reports indicate the unused potential of the site. It is quite clear that strong civilian leadership is required. The military has had a free rein in this crisis since the destruction of the Confederate political system,” said Dr Hamis as he faced off directly towards Admiral Jarvis.

“There is also the possibility of making use of the Union’s developments in synthetic construction. With the appropriate resources and personnel, we could replace our losses in just a few months without risking a single citizen. That is something I am sure the voting public would like to hear,” he said firmly to Dr Hamis.

“What?” demanded General Rivers.

Admiral Jarvis shook her head in disbelief.

“You are suggesting we reactivate the equipment on Prometheus to construct more Biomechs for battle?”

“Why not? You are already using them on the front line,” the Minister retorted.

“The Jötnar are a special case, and I have already made a firm agreement that control of the Biomech facilities on Prometheus will not be used.”

“An agreement? With whom exactly?” asked Dr Hamis.

General Rivers brought down his fist in his desk. Though it was out of sight via his hologram, the sound and fury were obvious.

“You know full well who. The price of Commander Gun and his Jötnar to join us was incorporation into the Confederacy, and the shutting down of the equipment. The machines can only be reconnected and operated again with his permission. He has the data chips with the authorisation codes.”

“Treason!” cried the Acting President.

Admiral Jarvis was starting to lose her temper at the lack of foresight being demonstrated by Dr Hamis.

“You forget your place, Mr President. The Confederate military have restored the office, cabinet and council through blood and sacrifice. The leadership of Kerberos capitulated without a fight, and the politicians throughout Proxima vanished overnight. Without the military, your title, position and ideas will die in hours. The Union, the Zealots and the Biomechs are still here. Just because some have left doesn’t mean we have won. Have you even seen a Biomech?”

“You are of course forgetting about Alpha Centauri,” said Rear Admiral Churchill, who until now had been silent. The senior officer was now the second in command of the fleet after Admiral Jarvis and considered one of the most aggressive commanders in the fleet.

“We are not talking years or months. With these troop movements and ships travelling to the Anomaly, we are seeing a substantial change in strategy for the Union. Admiral Jarvis is correct in her assessment that the enemy are making big changes, and we must adapt with them or face the possibility of extinction. “

Dr Hamis and the Minister started talking loudly to each other, and to the surprise of the group they started arguing. The three officers looked on in despair before General Rivers tried to break them up.

“Stop! This is getting us nowhere. It is very simple. We have information on ship and troop movements in Proxima Centauri, and we need to adjust our plans accordingly. Admiral Jarvis has the options available to us for the next month. Anything after that will be futile if we lose the System. This isn’t a war we can come second place in, and the Confederacy and the Echidna Union can never be friends, never! It is their stated goal to persuade or force every colony and every citizen to join them. We have all seen what this means. You have seen the chambers and processing plants on Prometheus. They want to use our citizens as nothing more than raw materials to create their synthetic creatures.”

The group quietened for a few seconds, each listening to the stern voice of the General.

“Now, perhaps we can listen to the Admiral and her suggestions.”

“Thank you, General. I arranged for this discussion between the senior civilian and military figures to update you on these critical and highly unusual developments. Based on the latest intelligence we know, the enemy has changed tactics, and this is a major turning point in the war. The enemy is leaving their captured territories weak while they send everything they can in one direction. That tells me their destination is more critical to their long term survival than the colonies they have taken.”

“Perhaps this was their intention all along? Not to control the colonies but to take something from them to use in the Anomaly or on the other side?” suggested Admiral Churchill.

“That is a possibility, and a very good one. What is important to us right now is what do we do? We have good intelligence on their numbers and movements, so that is enough to form some basic judgements on. The question is what do we do with this intelligence?”

She zoomed the map in to just the Proxima Centauri sector.

“We can continue our current course of action, or we can change our strategy to capitalise on this. If we stay, then we move on to our next major target and continue Operation Perdition until every colony is ours. But the enemy has seen what we can do. They might be planning on blocking the Anomaly prior to a final blow against us or even moving their forces to Alpha Centauri. Do we send everything we have to the Anomaly? If so, what is our intention? Do we engage the Union in a single battle and possibly cripple them for the duration of the war? Alternatively, we can ignore the Anomaly and strike the seceded colonies in a fast multi-pronged offensive. This decision concerns where we concentrate our efforts to achieve our objectives. Has our goal changed?” she asked while looking hard at Dr Hamis.

“Citizens of the Confederacy elected me for one reason, to protect them from the Zealots and their allies. My priority is to keep them safe. After that, the rebuilding of the Confederacy, but not at the expense of the people. In this case my recommendation is to continue with a slow but steady campaign to reclaim the colonies. Let the Union do what they want with the Anomaly. It doesn’t affect us in the slightest.”

“What about their command and control technology. I understand we have made strides in understanding this?” asked the Minister.

Admiral Jarvis motioned to her right where Rear Admiral Churchill stood waiting. Like Dr Hamis and General Rivers, he was another holographic model, so designed so that all five could take part in the videoconference. His image shimmered slightly, the only visible way of checking whether he was real or not.

“The information regarding this transmission from the Anomaly confirms the intelligence we have recovered. When the 13th Fleet was ambushed, a number of our capital ships were taken over and turned against us. We assumed at the time they had been captured or even worse, the crew had mutinied. The enemy controlled ships were able to respond quicker than any of our own vessels and were able to outshoot in both accuracy and speed. We were forced to break and run for the Proxima System or face annihilation.”

“What is your point, Admiral?” asked the Minister.

“My point?” he answered, sighing with exasperation. “The signal from the Anomaly matches part of the signature of the unidentified signals we detected prior to the ambush.”

Dr Hamis stamped his foot, and the gesture gave him the impression of an impertinent child. He still looked angry as well as confused. Turning to face the Admiral, he launched into a vicious tirade.

“You already knew about these signals and didn’t tell us? What is this incompetence? This information could have saved lives, Admiral! Are you working for the enemy?” he demanded.

Rear Admiral Churchill was surprised at the outburst, especially the implied attack on his integrity as a naval officer. A quick glance at Admiral Jarvis reassured him that she took the President’s comments no more seriously than he did. He scratched his cheek for a second, giving Dr Hamis the irritation of having to wait for an answer.

“Well?” he demanded impatiently.

“Treason you say? Where were you three months ago when the colonies were being overrun? Now, back to things that are more important. Until the transmission from the Anomaly, we had nothing to compare this data to. Prior, during and after the ambush there were terabytes of data collected by our computers, but almost all of it encoded and impossible to break. We have identified the relationship between the signals. That is just as important, perhaps even more so.

It is in my opinion the time to strike hard and fast. Whatever happens in the Anomaly, we still need to tighten our grip here, in our home System. I vote for an accelerated and committed strike against the remaining colonies. Our intelligence suggests their defensive forces are less than a quarter of what they were a week ago. We can split our forces into three divisions and hit each site hard. It will not be easy, but if we are successful, we will regain our citizens and resources ready to fight the next stage.”

“We don’t have the manpower to hit four locations at once. If we maintain the blockade on Prime, we could possibly send three forces to strike Kerberos, Agora and Orthrus. This would give us just a few ships in reserve in case of an emergency. This would achieve those objectives suggested by the Minister and ultimately reduce casualties. A drawn out attritional war works to their favour, not ours.” General Rivers added.

The Minister actually nodded in agreement, noticing the olive branch being offered to him by the General.

“What of those heading to the Anomaly? Don’t we have forces trapped there?”

“Yes, that is a problem. The Furious Battlegroup can hold but not forever. At the current speed, the enemy forces leaving Proxima will take nineteen days to reach it. Even at maximum burn, anything we send will take another day on top of that.”

“Twenty days to the Anomaly? Can’t we get there faster, Admiral?” asked the Minister.

“No, Minister. We cannot break the laws of physics. The location is a long distance from any of our settled worlds. We can make the trip faster, but the ships need time to slow down, or they will simply move straight past the final destination.”

“If only we could get some people there first, we could blockade the entrance to the Spacebridge and block the enemy,” said General Rivers.

Admiral Jarvis appeared to be ignoring them all as she gazed at the map in front of her. She pressed two buttons and it altered the shape to a twodimensional flat view of the planets and their orbits.

“What do you see here?” she asked, pointing to some shapes on a wide path and leaving Prime.

“A number of our ships that have left Prime, and it looks as if they are on course to rendezvous with more vessels from Prometheus.”

“Exactly. These vessels are the closest to the Anomaly. If they changed course now, they would arrive approximately thirteen hours before the first of the Union ships.”

“Are you sure about that, Admiral?”

She looked at him with a look that told him to not question her mathematics ability again.

“Time is of the essence, gentlemen. I suggest we conduct a risky but potentially war winning operation. It will require speed, timing and a great deal of courage on the part of our brave men and women. If we are successful, we will save lives and guarantee the Confederacy a secure and safe future. I think it is a risk worth taking.”

Dr Hamis looked to his Defence Minister who gave him a curt nod.

“Okay, what do you have in mind?”

Admiral Jarvis smiled and turned back to the map. It expanded to show the area of space around the small group of ships.

“These vessels comprise enough for a modest taskforce. We have the Santa Cruz and Yorkdale as well as a dozen other cruisers and escorts. We merge them with the resupply convoy from Prometheus into a force at this waypoint, and then send them all at maximum speed to the Anomaly. I understand the vessels from Prometheus are carrying equipment and weapons for the Jötnar. The force will reinforce the Furious Battlegroup. Once the area is cleared, they will mine and blockade the Spacebridge. I will follow with an additional cruiser squadron and the Wasp to provide a rearguard and to mop up any surviving ships. I anticipate I can arrive within forty-eight hours of the Yorkdale taskforce.”

“What about the rest of the fleet?” asked Rear Admiral Churchill.

“You will liaise with General Rivers and utilise all remaining forces including the fleet, marine and army transports to hit the three most important colonies.”

“Yes, if we split them up into two divisions based around one marine transport and the army transports, we should have more than enough to conduct two landings at once. What if the Union ships turn back?”

“That is one of the reasons I am taking Crusader to the Anomaly. It is the most important ship in the fleet, and the Union won’t be able to resist the chance to take her out once and for all. You will take all our forces, including all frontline marine and army units, to Kerberos, Agora and Orthrus. Use everything and the reserves to do this. By the time the enemy reaches the Anomaly, we should have wrested control of our main colonies back from them.”

“Won’t that spread our forces thinly here?” asked General Rivers.

“We are already thin. Keep your forces in no more than two divisions and concentrate your force. I suggest you target two locations and hit them with everything you have. Once secure, regroup and then hit the third and final colony. Contact Commander Anderson on Prometheus, and arrange for him to divert any frigates or newly constructed hardware to assist you.”

General Rivers nodded in agreement.

“What about Prime? The colonies on the surface have yet to respond to our demands to surrender,” General Rivers asked.

“The toughest nut of all to crack. I am confident that with the rest under our control, and the military poised for a ground attack, they will capitulate.”

She turned and faced the rest of the group one at a time.

“Well, we need a decision.”

General Rivers lifted his hand.

“If we can end this war within the next three weeks, I say we go for it. Our numbers are limited whilst theirs increase by the month. This is potentially the best opportunity we have had since the discovery of the facility on Prometheus. We also have intelligence of the insurgency fighting the Union forces on Kerberos. This could help speed up the first attacks and possibly return Kerberos to the Confederacy quicker than expected.”

Rear Admiral Churchill paused for just a moment.

“We need to act fast. Every ship and fighter is valuable to us. We need to take the initiative and hit them first for a change.”

Admiral Jarvis nodded in agreement and turned to the two civilians who looked uncomfortable. The Minister and the President froze as they conferred privately. It took a few seconds before both reappeared.

“We have our reservations, but I agree with your assessment. This is a limited opportunity, and if we do not act, we could find ourselves in an even worse position than before,” the President said.

Admiral Jarvis looked quickly at General Rivers who gave her an almost impossible to spot nod.

“Very well, then. Return to your commands and offices, and prepare for this new action. Operation Perdition will commence with the full-scale invasion of Kerberos and Agora in one week’s time. We will follow them with Orthrus immediately afterwards. General Rivers, please forward your revised plans as soon as possible. This needs to be a tight operation that will strike hard like an anvil. I will mobilise a taskforce for the immediate support of the Furious Battlegroup. If all goes well, we should be able to seal the Spacebridge and trap the bulk of their forces around the Anomaly.”

*

A great rumble shook the innards of the ship as the engines went through their initial warm-up cycle. It was only on long journeys that these massive power units were used, and careful tests were required prior to them being activated. Blasts of steam puffed from a series of pipes running through one of the shafts leading to the great hall. It gave the impression of a dark, humid and very dangerous place to be. On the highest gantry stood the small group of senior officers from CCS Yorkdale.

“Ready?” Gun asked.

Spartan nodded to him slowly.

Gun lifted his arms.

“We go to war. Spartan has information and plan!”

The hall moved quickly to silence as the assembled crowd waited to hear what Spartan had to say. Commander Gun indicated for him to step forward in front of the assembled officers and NCOs. Spartan nodded at him and moved to the front.

The main hall on CCS Yorkdale was the largest open space on the ship, but even this was barely big enough for all the Vanguard marines, Jötnar and crew. Many of the warriors were still carrying their training weapons including empty firearms and combat rods. As he moved into position, the shrill voice of the computer countdown indicated that they had seventeen minutes before the primary engines would be starting their ignition sequence. The warning was required because the rotating sections would be shut down for the journey’s duration. The artificial gravity would be created by the constant acceleration of the trip. For a short time, however, it would be imperative that all crew and passengers were strapped down. It was loud enough for everybody to hear it, but not so loud that it would drown out Spartan’s voice.

“As you all know, I am the acting Confed Captain on this vessel, and it’s my job to help work with Jötnar captains and to lead the 1st Company. Major Daniels, formally of the Vanguards, is due to arrive shortly. He is the second in command of this vessel and the combat forces here. He will provide a more thorough briefing to you later on the specifics of our operation and the plan for each of the assault companies. I am working in conjunction with Commander Gun and his command staff, and we believe this is the single greatest opportunity that we have had so far in the war.”

A marine stepped out from the side and handed Spartan a datapad. The information displayed was about the position of the rest of the ships and their ETA with the Yorkdale. He nodded to the man and turned back to the assembled crowd.

“We have received new orders from General Rivers and Admiral Jarvis for a special mission. This isn’t just another boarding action or planetary assault. This mission is critical to the war and has a strict time limit. The Admiral suggests this one action could win or lose the war for all of us.”

Spartan waited for a moment to let the news settle in with the marines and Jötnar.

“We will be joining a small taskforce of warships and set course for the Anomaly. As I speak, the Furious Battlegroup is fighting a desperate last stand in the clouds and storms. They are massively outnumbered and need our help.”

He pointed to a two-dimensional projection on one of the walls. Unlike the warships, they lacked the conference and tactical mapping hardware common on warships from frigates upwards. The image showed the Anomaly as well as scores of dotted lines heading towards it.

“These lines are the projected paths of nearly seventy Union ships making their way to the Anomaly. There’s a mixture of transports, supply ships and warships, and each of them is heading to this point at maximum speed.”

There was an audible gasp from the marines and human crew present, but the Jötnar appeared to be less than impressed at the news.

“Our taskforce is due to arrive at the location just hours before the vanguard of their forces. We will strike hard and assist the Furious and her surviving ships in destroying the enemy presence and then create a defensive position around the entrance of the tunnel. We are already carrying heavy engineering equipment and have a lot of partially installed weapons and gear. There are sections from an abandoned station at the target. Upon completion of the operation, we will board this station and establish a supply base and a series of weapons platforms.”

The hall was silent and Spartan turned to Gun, for he had no idea why the group appeared so muted.

“Tell them about the enemy,” said Gun, trying his best to help.

Spartan nodded, instantly understanding what he was saying.

“The clouds and storms around the Spacebridge make visibility almost nil. The only reason we have any intelligence at all, is due to a fighter taking a massive risk and leaving the safety of the clouds to bounce the signal to us back here. The good news is that this will also interfere with missile systems and computers. We will be conducting close ranged gunfights with the enemy ships. Fighting up close and dirty is what we do best.”

There was still a stony silence. Spartan looked at the group and could sense the hunger in the eyes of the Jötnar. They were like a crowd of children waiting to be told about an exciting day out, or that they would be seeing something new or unusual. Though more mature than children, they lacked the experiences a normal adult would expect to have found at their age. He nodded, now knowing what they wanted to know.

“This won’t be a day for fancy ship battles. The gas clouds cut the range of combat down to just a few hundred metres. We’ve all seen what our assault troops can do in battle. The Vanguards have fought in space, on the ground and under it. The Jötnar have done the same. Your troops have even managed to successfully board a major warship and taken control of it. This is where you will all come in. Our advantage comes in close quarter combat. We will need to board and take the enemy vessels by force. I expect our combined assault units to cripple or capture as many enemy warships as possible. Forget about us losing ships in this battle. I expect at the end of it we will control more ships than we started with! This will be your toughest and most violent battle yet!”

A great howl of excitement erupted through the hall as scores of Jötnar started waving their arms and shouting with excitement. Spartan looked to Gun who was waving his right arm in the air as well.

“Better,” he said quietly.

“We are due to rendezvous with the rest of the taskforce in twelve hours. Once we have met, we will make final course changes and then move on full burn to the target. Check your gear and continue with your training. This may very well be the most important battle of the war, one that will help restore the Confederacy and destroy the Zealots and their masters, once and for all. Move to your lockdown position and listen to the countdown.”

A final roar of excitement rumbled through the halls as the pleasure of the Jötnar spread. After a few seconds of shouting and banging of fists, the warriors moved to their various positions on the ship where they could strap in. Spartan stepped back and Gun grabbed his arm.

“Good speech, Spartan. You ready for battle?”

“Always, my friend.”

“Teresa, and child?”

“They are fine, she is in the gymnasium right now.”

“Good.”

The hall was now over half empty. Just a few marines and crew were fitting into straps in the small number of alcoves and bulkhead seating in that part of the ship. Spartan looked at Gun who as usual appeared nonplussed about the entire affair.

“Come on you fool, unless you want to be blasted through the ship, we need to get strapped in. You know what this thing is like when she fires up the engines, don’t you?”

Gun shrugged and followed behind Spartan as he made his way to the far side of the hall. As they approached the nearest bulkhead, Spartan glanced back over his shoulder to the previously packed hall. He thought of the hundreds of warriors that had been stood there, and for a brief moment he had a vision of them all dead. With a shake, he threw off the thought. They’d been through worse. At least, that is what he consoled himself with.

*

The room lit up with the dark red glow of the emergency light. Misaki was a light sleeper, and just this one change woke her as though she had been experiencing the most terrifying of nightmares. She lay there, completely still and gazed at the nearest glow. She almost started to doze before a series of massive vibrations shook her hard. Several fittings on the wall rattled, and a picture fell down and shattered.

“What the hell?” she cried.

The room’s built-in tannoy loudspeaker system activated.

“Action stations! This is not a drill. Union frigates approaching, all hands to your stations.”

Misaki lifted herself from her bunk at the shrill voice blasting through the hull of the military transport. More vibrations shook the room, and a dull thumping sound started to spread down the hall.

“What’s going on now?” she grumbled.

Next to her, the shape of a half-clothed crewman rolled over and nearly fell from the bunk. It was only the young man’s waking reactions that made him grab the rail before he fell the two metres to the ground. He lowered himself to the floor and looked up at her. Before he could speak, the internal speakers blasted again.

“This is the XO. Storage sections one through seven have been boarded. I repeat. Biomechs have breached the habitation level. All crew prepare to repel boarders!”

“Boarders? Are they kidding?” asked the crewman.

Misaki jumped down from the bunk in just her white underwear and pulled on a pair of loose fitting green overalls. He watched her as if mesmerised. The sight of her almost naked body proving to be more of a distraction than whatever else was happening on the ship. She reached out and grabbed a Navy issue thermal shotgun from the weapons locker and slammed in a full magazine.

“Uh, what are you doing?” he asked.

She looked over to him and noticed he was watching her. More specifically, he seemed to be looking at her chest. He stood there, undressed and doing nothing at all other than gawping.

“Grow a pair, Davis, we’re being boarded! I appreciate you like what you see, and if we’re alive in the next hour, you can have another look. Got that?”

He nodded and then her words must have finally sunk in.

“I…I thought we were avoiding the front lines. We’re only carrying supplies for the war effort. There shouldn’t be any Biomechs around here.”

Misaki shook her head in annoyance.

“What front line? The war is everywhere. What does it matter anyway? Whatever the reason is, they are here, and they’re on our ship. Now get some pants on and come with me. We have work to do!”

The young man grabbed his clothes, but before he could reach for his shoes, she thrust a pistol into his hands. It was a standard issue military sidearm. He took it from her as though it was a firecracker waiting to blow off his hand.

“I…I don’t…” he started.

“No time, Davis. Talk to the Biomechs if you like, but in my experience they prefer pulling off your head to talking. Cock the pistol, let’s go!”

She pushed open the door to reveal the dimly lit access corridor that ran the length of that part of the transport ship. There were seven similar parts to the ship, and they provided access to all the main compartments and storage areas. If it had been a military vessel, it would have been split up into secure areas. This ship was just a commercial transport, so the only change was a lick of paint and a few weapons and targeting equipment. She looked back to Davis, and glad to see he was at least holding the pistol correctly and waiting for her words. She lifted her hand to her mouth, indicating for him to stay quiet, and then pushed the door.

“Come on,” she whispered.

As the door creaked open, she could hear the dull crack of weapons fire as well as shouting. She looked back at Davis.

“We need to get to the engine room. That’s where they will hit first.”

“Huh,” came the dulled response, “how do you know that?”

Misaki looked at him in pity. Davis may have the body of a marine, but his intellect was less than some of the Biomechs she had met. She sighed. He would do for now.

“Because that is where I would go. Take out the powerplant and you cut artificial gravity, weapons and engines. We’d be easy to take over then and would have no way of escaping any pursuing vessels.”

She looked along the corridor before stepping out into the cold, empty space. She shook her head as she walked, evidently angry about something.

“This isn’t good. I told Anderson I didn’t need to come with the gear. Kowalski can use it all just fine. Now I’m stuck on this barge with nothing but a thermal shotgun.”

Davis appeared behind her in his combat pants, but his chest and feet were bare. Misaki glanced at him and said nothing, simply indicating with her hand for him to follow her. They moved down the corridor, both with weapons drawn and looking for signs of trouble. Two thirds of the way down the section the lights were out, and a series of sparks flew from the wall to the right.

“What’s that?” asked Davis.

“No idea, just stay close.”

A loud crashing sound came from behind. Misako spun around to see a piece of metal, roughly two metres in diameter, blast away from the wall and crash into the other side. A subtle change in air pressure instantly let her know something was coming from another part of the ship. A cloud of steam blasted through the breach and was followed by a man in robes. Misaki watched in surprise as he jumped into the corridor. Another two followed him. Their robes covered them well, but she could just make out some kind of armour beneath them.

“Look!” cried Davis.

The men heard his voice and lifted their rifles towards him. There were no questions, and no attempt at a dialogue. In less than a second, all three were firing and sending dozens of rounds down the corridor. Misaki threw herself to the side and behind the narrow bulkhead that barely covered her diminutive frame. Davis, on the other hand, stood no chance. Round after round smashed into his torso and head, sending blood back metres. He staggered and collapsed to the ground. She lifted her shotgun and leaned around the corner.

“Bastards!” she screamed and let off four rounds from the shotgun. Two missed, but the second two managed to strike the nearest. He roared, but whether in anger or pain, she couldn’t tell. It stayed upright and lifted its arm and pointed at her. She tried to see what it was before something snapped her arm back and pinned her to the bulkhead. She looked to her right to see a long metal barb embedded in her flesh. It looked like a crossbow bolt or spear. Her shotgun lay on the ground out of reach and leaving her hanging there impotently.

More noise came from the other end of the corridor, and she turned just in time to see another chunk of metal blast apart, but this time it was almost double the size of the previous one. As the metal dropped down, a large, dark shape emerged through the hole. It hit the ground and straightened itself, almost completely filling the space with its three metre tall frame.

“Biomechs!” she muttered to herself.

The heavy clunk of the creatures walking along the corridor brought back memories of the terrible violence back on Prometheus. She had been a prisoner like thousands of others there, and the Biomechs had been used for security. She had even seen the harvesting areas where human organs and body parts were harvested to create some of the monsters. Anderson told her the most recent models were synthetic, but she knew full well that the smaller and more primitive ones still used human parts.

“You!” snarled one of the men in robes.

She stared at him, wanting to lift her shotgun, but she knew if she did so it would mean her death. The man pulled on his robe to reveal his face. He was young, probably in his thirties but with a scar down one side.

“Who are you?” she asked.

The man looked at her for a few more seconds and then reached out and grabbed the metal bolt. He grasped it firmly and ripped it from her flesh. She stumbled forward in front of him but managed to steady herself, even though the shock of the injury had almost caused her to faint. He then turned to the Biomech next to him. He nodded, and in a flash of speed and power, the creature struck her in the side of the head. She dropped to the ground as if dead.

“You know her?” asked another of the robed warriors.

“No, but she’s on our list. Look,” he said as he lifted a battered and only partially functioning military datapad.

“She is one of their data experts. Typhon will be pleased.”

“Yes, he will be,” replied the man.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The mechanical mules of the Confederate Marine Corps are one of many robotic warriors used since the Great War. Four legged and equipped with autonomous reasoning, independent power system and advanced weapons, they were the first capable military robots. Though used as a fire support unit, there were many that feared the day they might be used as an alternative to the living.

History of Slave Labour

The space battle along the trade route to Prometheus had begun. The small fleet of Confederate transports and their escorts circled amongst the enemy ships like a swarm of World War 1 fighters. Each vessel manoeuvred to fire its guns at the optimum position, and streaks of gunfire ripped through the cold vacuum of space to tear chunks of metal from each craft. The larger craft attempted to concentrate on the capital ships, and the smaller ships and fighters did their best to avoid the big guns. Tracking speed and optimum firing distance were serious issues for the primary weapons, and each pilot did their best to avoid damage.

“Look,” said the pilot as he pointed over to the group of transports. “The heavy transports must be their main target.”

“Makes sense, there are at least three assault landing craft attached to the hull of each ship. If it were me, I would eliminate the crew and take control of the ship,” said the co-pilot.

Spartan stood behind them and leaned inside the small cockpit. He watched the view through the projected windscreen.

“Why bother to secure the ships? The longer they wait, the more time they give us to bring in reinforcements. This looks like a hit and run attack to me. We need to be fast,” he said seriously.

“I think you’re right. The last mayday we received indicated the force was led by a single heavily armed capital ship. The details matched the vessel used by Typhon during the battle of Euryale, well, apart from one thing.”

“Which is?” asked Spartan.

“This ship has a dark red paint scheme. It is all over the ship, and we’ve seen nothing like it before. Our sensors cannot penetrate the surface, so it could be a reflective material or maybe an energy absorbent device.”

“Like a stealth covering of some kind?”

“We’ve used similar technology on vessels before. The trouble is, in space it is very, very hard to mask a thermal signature. Against the coldness of space, even a slightly warm object is easy to detect.”

“What about electronic jamming? Could this be to stop our sensors penetrating their hulls?” he continued.

“I doubt it. I’m already picking up a number of readings from them.”

A streak of projectiles blasted past just metres away from the shuttle, and something crashed against the hull.

“Incoming fire! Brace for impact!” shouted the pilot.

Inside his thickly armoured Vanguard suit, Spartan could still feel the impact as the vessel fired its retro-boosters to blast away from incoming fire. He breathed hard, instantly noticing the change in g-forces. It was as if he was inside an accelerating rocket blasting up through the atmosphere. Thankfully, the built-in pressure suit system was able to take most of the strain out of his body, but it was still violent.

“Hey, look at that!” said one of his marines pointing to the left of the shuttle.

Spartan twisted his head but still couldn’t see from where he waited. He tapped a button that brought up the video feeds on the outside of the shuttle. Inside his suit, a number of small images popped up from each camera unit. A glance from his retina was all it took to select one and to enlarge it on the display unit. He could barely make out the dark hulk of the Confederate transport they approached, but that was not what the marine had been pointing at. He moved his eye over to another image, and it quickly changed to the new feed.

The starboard mounted camera clearly showed a formation of enemy frigates. They looked just like the still images that had been spread through the fleet. The weekly bulletins were issued to all personnel with such items as wanted terrorists, security breach issues or known enemy vessels. One of the most colourful bulletins had been concerning a Zealot fighter, turned pirate, who prowled the Rim. As Spartan examined the enemy vessels, he instantly recognised them as the new frigate designs used by the Union. He watched a small group split off and advanced on one of Confederate light cruisers. Lines of yellow dots indicated a great volley of defensive gunfire, but it seemed to be having little effect on the enemy. Part of the cruiser’s hull glowed dark red, and then with a flash a large section of the vessel exploded.

“What the hell is that?” cried the man.

“Particle weapons. We heard about them being used at Euryale. They are direct energy weapons that explode the target on impact.”

“Particle weapons? How do we defend against that?”

Spartan looked to the small group of Jötnar. Each was wearing light armour and carried close quarter weapons and heavy firearms. Khan was stood with them, and his great paws grasped the metal railings as the shuttle buffeted about.

“Intel says it has a slow rate of fire due to the power requirements. Our heavy ships take damage when they try and get close, and her armour is too thick. She is vulnerable to small vessels though.”

Khan nodded in agreement.

“Plan?” he asked.

Spartan looked back at his tactical map projected inside his armoured suit’s display.

“My plan is pretty simple. We swamp them with assault craft and take them by force. One ship at a time.”

“Boarding action?” asked another of the Vanguard marines from the 1st Squad.

“Yes!” roared Khan.

Spartan smiled to himself. The Jötnar looked to his comrades, and they spoke excitedly at the prospect of a full frontal assault on one of the craft. The Jötnar never seemed happier than when given the opportunity to launch a deadly assault.

“Not yet though. Right now, we need to secure the transport.”

He turned back to the viewscreen to spot two shuttles crashing into the landing area of one of the frigates. Streams of tracer fire from defence turrets blasted near three shuttles, but they were too late. The Confederate troops were already there.

“Look, marines from the Santa Cruz are already hitting them.”

“Come on…our turn!” growled Khan.

“Patience, you’ll get your share, I promise,” said Spartan as carefully as he could.

He watched from one of the viewscreens as the powerful searchlight lit the side of its hull. The occasional flash from the enemy ships illuminated sections of the transport with their gunfire, but there appeared to be no signs of life. Their small group of assault shuttles tore past the transport and rotated, so that the crew could take a good look at her exterior. The video screen in his suit allowed Spartan to examine the transport, and it was clear to him the ship was dead in the water. The exterior hatches and loading bays were all open to the vacuum of space. The voice of the pilot appeared over the vessel’s speaker system.

“The transport has been stripped clean. Her hatches are open, and the ship has been flushed.”

“Shit!” swore Spartan.

They were only three hundred metres away, but they might as well have been a parsec away. With the seals and outer hatches blown, it was a simple sign that the enemy had stripped her of what they needed and then dumped air. They shook violently as the craft dodged two streams of projectiles from the nearest frigates. The Yorkdale and Santa Cruz were right in the middle of the small group of Union frigates and firing shot after shot into them. Although neither ship was designed as a ship of the line, they were both equipped with enough close and medium range weapons to make them a threat to anything up to a cruiser.

“What’s that?” called out the co-pilot.

Spartan strained in the passenger section to see what he was looking at.

“Got it,” said the man before looking back towards Spartan.

“Sir. We have a number of transports returning to the cruiser. It looks like they are heading back from the largest transport.”

“What about the other ships?”

“Marines from Santa Cruz are already aboard and searching for survivors. News on the wire is they only hit the one transport. Some bodies, but no equipment was taken. Just people by the looks of things.”

“Anybody on the cruiser?”

“No, Sir, she is too much for us to take on.”

Spartan turned back to Khan.

“Did you hear that? He says the enemy cruiser is too much for us to take.”

Khan looked livid and started pulling at the electromagnetic restraints that stopped him and the rest floating about in the craft. Spartan turned back to the co-pilot.

“Yeah, I thought he might do that. Put me on with Major Daniels.”

“Sir.”

Spartan looked back at the space battle. From their position, the display unit was full of ships and flashes but no fires or explosions. It always amazed him how different a battle in space was compared to on a planet. There were no shockwaves from the weapons, no flames or burning over time and even more strange, no sound. It made this battlefield feel even more inhumane and cruel.

“Lieutenant, the Yorkdale is not responding. I cannot make radio contact with her.”

“Damn. Are they still operational?”

“They are on the scanner and being hit by multiple frigates. It looks like assault craft are attached to her hull.”

“They are being boarded,” said an almost jovial Spartan.

“Shall I change course, Sir?”

Khan started laughing in the back of the shuttle.

“Don’t worry about them. I’m sure upwards of a thousand Jötnar can defend one ship. I just wonder if any of the Union troops will make it off the ship alive?”

He paused for just a second.

“What about Colonel Blake?”

“Already trying, Sir.”

He looked back at the marines and Jötnar who waited patiently. One of them cradled what looked like a two-handed mace. The design was crude, but it looked sturdy and must have weighed at least four or five kilograms. Spartan shook his head as he watched the warrior.

“This isn’t looking good, Sir. The primary transport is without power and already being searched by marines from Santa Cruz. We’re tracking a number of smaller vessels moving back to the cruiser, and I suspect they are taking prisoners, possibly hostages back to the ship.”

“Why?” asked one of the Vanguard marines.

“Maybe they need more slaves for their synthetic servants. More likely they have intelligence on the people aboard and want them. There are a large number of techs and Confed crewmen there.”

“True. Aren’t they shipping a group of them to the Anomaly?” asked Spartan.

The co-pilot shrugged in reply, but a series of flashing lights took his attention back to his console.

“Uh, Sir. Got the Colonel.”

“Put him through.”

A light flashed inside Spartan’s suit indicating a connection with the Santa Cruz. He tapped a button, and the image of Colonel Blake appeared.

“Lieutenant?” he asked with suspicion.

“Yes, Sir, Lieutenant Spartan 1st Company, 1st Assault Battalion, Sir.”

“What can I do for you? I’m sure you can see we’re somewhat busy!”

The video display shook, and he could see two officers getting up from the floor. The ship must have been taking quite a pounding from the enemy frigates.

“Sir, the cruiser. I think she is taking on prisoners from the transports.”

“Yes, we spotted the movement. She is the Eternal Vigilance. Intel says the vessel is under the command of a Zealot corsair, but we don’t have his name. Apparently, he has hit through other convoys in less than a week.”

“Can you stop her?”

There was a short pause as the Colonel spoke with his XO. He turned back shaking his head.

“No chance, son. This particular warship is known for its hardened and reinforced armour. She took on two cruisers out on the Rim just four days ago. One is crippled and the other is heading for dry-dock. Anyway, they are already starting their ignition sequence. We expect they will be out of here in less than ten minutes, twelve tops. It is probably best to let them go. We don’t have the manpower or the firepower to stop them leaving.”

“We can stop them!” snapped Khan, his booming voice making it inside Spartan’s suit.”

“You have Jötnar with you?” asked the Colonel with surprise.

“Yes, Sir. We are a mixed assault unit.”

The Colonel tuned from the screen and spoke to another marine in urban camouflage. The man appeared almost excited at the information given to him by the Colonel. After a few more seconds, the man saluted and quickly moved away. The Colonel turned back to the camera.

“Lieutenant, this is very interesting. If there is any chance we could take one of these vessels intact, it would be extremely useful to the war effort.”

“And the prisoners?”

“That would be a bonus, Lieutenant. Now, we can keep them busy long enough for you to conduct an assault landing, but we can’t hold them forever. How many people do you have with you?”

“Four shuttles, a full assault company of Vanguards and Jötnar. Commander Gun and his bodyguard squad are also with us. If you can keep the guns off us, we can get inside the ship.”

The Colonel thought for just a few seconds, not even bothering to check with his own officers. Spartan was well aware of the man’s reputation. He was as daring as he was stubborn, and he was almost certainly weighing up the benefits of risking a company to do this job against the possible rewards.

“Do it. We don’t have the luxury of time. All you need to do is stop her from leaving. Don’t try and take the entire ship, just ensure she stays put and we will do the rest. We will make sure she can’t settle long enough to accelerate safely. In twenty minutes I can have Captain Hobbs with a full company of marines to assist you. Following that up to another two platoons within forty minutes, if needed. I will liaise directly with Major Daniels.”

“Yes, Sir. He is on board the Yorkdale and assisting in the defence of the ship, but I am unable to reach him. We were the only company to launch before the ship was hit by boarding parties.”

“Boarding parties? The Union tried to board the Yorkdale? Are they insane?”

Spartan smiled and said nothing.

“Ah, well I can imagine he will be busy just keeping his own side under control in that situation. Don’t you have an entire battalion of them on board?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Oh my, what a shame.”

“Sir, can I assume Captain Hobbs will operate independently of my unit?”

Spartan did his best to mask his disgust of the name Hobbs. She had made his life hell and had been instrumental in the removal of the Vanguards from the battalion. Whenever she was around, Spartan always seemed to come off worse.

“You and Hobbs, not the best combination? Listen Spartan. You do your job, and I’ll make sure her marines land well away from you. Save personal issues for another day.”

“Sir,” said Spartan reluctantly.

The video feed vanished.

“Lieutenant, we’ve scanned the enemy ship, and it looks like the cargo area on the port side is still open for loading containers from our ships. If we’re fast, we can hit them from there and put your forces inside the container and habitation areas. I’ve sent the scan to your intelligence brief.”

Spartan looked at the newly arrived image. It was a crude but usable three-dimensional model of the outer parts of the enemy ship as well as several of the landing areas.

“Any idea on complement?”

“No, Sir. The habitation area is smaller than most capital ships, but that doesn’t mean the crew size is any smaller. As you know, there are plenty of warships that still operate without artificial gravity of any kind. It actually makes sense for short distance craft as you retain more usable space.”

Spartan nodded and continued looking at the model. He traced the main access points and the known power blooms that would be the location of the primary power nodes. The pilot and co-pilot watched him carefully, waiting for his news.

“This is the plan. We’re hitting the cruiser and fast. Do you have the location for the landing zone?”

The co-pilot checked his navigation system and then turned in his seat, giving him the thumbs up.

“Good. We hit the ground running, but we’ll be outnumbered to start with. We fight our way inside and move to the engineering section. We only need to stall them to give the reinforcements time to arrive. Any questions?”

None of them said a word, just stood there waiting for their orders.

“Good. When we land, go in hard and fast. Leave casualties. We’ll come back for them. If we’re too slow, they will take us with them. Got that?”

The marines and Jötnar shouted and cheered at the news. Spartan tried to look cheerful, but he was starting to feel the strain. How many combat landings had he made now? Every time he did this a good number of marines didn’t come back. He resolved himself to the fact that he would do everything in his power to mitigate casualties. He just hoped they actually made it to the ship in one piece.

“Okay, people. Hold on, this is going to get rough!” called the co-pilot of the shuttle.

The formation of four shuttles split apart to increase the gaps between them and moved in at an accelerated pace. Each craft was equipped with rotating high power vectored engines that allowed rapid position changes. They pushed on towards the dark red cruiser and into the fire of its point defence system.

*

Captain Schaffer watched the enemy cruiser on the main screen. CCS Santa Cruz was a massive warship and easily dwarfed the enemy ship. Sadly, the marine transport carried marines rather than heavy weapons and was incapable of defeating the vessel. The CiC shook as it sustained repeated gunfire from three frigates plus gun deck fire from the cruiser.

“Report!”

“Light casualties, Sir. One gun battery out and breaches on the port intakes, but the armour is holding.”

“Good, she’s a tough lady. What have we learnt so far about this vessel?” he said as he pointed to the cruiser.

“It definitely shares its basic design with the heavy warship Leviathan that we encountered over Euryale. Based upon on threat assessment from back then, she carries a formidable set of weapons but more importantly, she is very heavily armoured.”

“How much armour are we talking?”

“At least triple space plating, reactive sections and two layers of composite material. Reports from Euryale showed the railgun shells simply embedding eleven metres inside her outer hull. The bulk of the exterior is armour.”

“That would explain her reduced weapons capability then.”

“Yes, Sir, it would also explain why she couldn’t be stopped at Euryale.”

“True. This time we have assault units on the way, and they can land before she can get away, but only if we give them a landing window. Target her guns and navigation arrays. Hit her with everything we have.”

“Aye, Captain,” said the weapons officer.

The gun crews were waiting for their new targets, and in less than ten seconds the railgun batteries started their firing cycles. Streams of plasma blasted from the gunports as each launched a hardened core round at hypersonic speeds. These powerful weapons were the standard armament on all modern Confederate ships. Though lacking in advanced warheads, they were designed much like roundshot fired from cannons. The hardened and extremely dense projectiles would blast through metres of armour and often cut through a ship and appear on the other side. Heavier warships, like battleships and cruisers, carried heavier gun mounts with larger calibre weapons and more gunports.

“Sir, reports of light damage to her hull. We can’t cause critical damage against her armour in the time we have.”

The alarms started blaring, their shrill tone indicating that the enemy fire had breached at least one major habitation section on the ship.

“It doesn’t matter, just keep her busy. We need to give the troops time.”

He turned to the XO, a trickle of sweat dripping from his brow.

“Make sure they get it. If they escape, they will take some of our best engineers and scientists.”

“Sir. We’ll do our best.”

*

The battle was already reaching the final stages as the Union vessels began their orderly withdrawal. Half of the Union frigates were crippled or heavily damaged, but the cruiser itself appeared unscathed, despite the hundreds of projectiles and shells smashing against her armoured hull. One of the crippled frigates had just detonated its engines to avoid being captured, and part of the debris had struck the aft section of the Santa Cruz. It was a short but violent battle that had more in common with a raid by privateers than a military operation.

The cruiser, meanwhile, had finished its rotation, and the last transports were landing inside its ample landing and cargo bays. Streaks of fire ripped between her and the largest Confederate ships as they did their best to engage the vessel in a deadly duel. The defensive turrets on both sides managed to intercept a number of the rounds, but there were simply too many to stop. It was into this inferno that the first assault wave approached. The four shuttles formed up in a loose v’ shape with a squadron of Lightning fighters providing escort.

“Hold on, we’ll be inside in sixty seconds!” called out the co-pilot from the front of the assault shuttle. Spartan nodded and looked back to the head-up display in his Vanguard armour suit. Each member of his company showed on a small panel to the left. It was a quick way for him to monitor numbers, casualties and their approximate positions in the middle of battle.

“Fifty seconds!”

Spartan tapped the company channel, so he could speak to all his fighters.

“We are going in hot, and it’s going to be a mess. Stay with your unit commanders and push hard. Follow the main corridors and make for the objectives. We take no prisoners, so just get in and clear the ship as quickly as possible.”

Alarms started all through the shuttle as light gunfire pattered off the armour like rain. Spartan tensed up, fully remembering what it was like to be on a craft like this shuttle when taking fire. He’d been in multiple crashes, and they always ended badly. A light flashed in his suit indicating a message from the second shuttle.

“Ko’mandor Gun here. We take cargo bay.”

“Understood. Just watch your fire. We’ll be landing one corridor away from you.”

“Of course.”

“Twenty seconds!”

Spartan looked at his group, a motley selection of Vanguards and Jötnar that were spoiling for a fight. There was a marked difference between this unit and the normal marine units he had served in previously. Neither the marines, nor the elite commandos, had such a violent or brutal character as this company. Clattering along the hull broke Spartan’s concentration, as a series of sparks worked their way along the right hand side of the craft.

“Landing now!” shouted the co-pilot.

“Ready!” called Spartan through both his intercom and built-in loudspeakers.

The impact almost threw him to the rear of the shuttle. If it hadn’t been for the hardened mag-seals on his limbs, he most certainly would have been in a crumpled heap. He shook his head and found the assault door and ramps already activating. A quick check on his suit told him this was an artificial gravity section, and probably the outer habitation ring on the cruiser.

“Go, go, go!” he cried.

Three Jötnar jumped out and onto the ramp, closely followed by Vanguards and then Spartan. The innards of the ship were well lit from a series of harsh bright white strip lights fitted to the walls on both sides. The visor of his suit altered the screen to protect his eyes from the glare. He moved forward and into the large corridors. It was hexagonal in shape and easily wide enough for three or four Jötnar to stand side by side. Without needing advice or assistance, Khan, Captain of the Jötnar, moved ahead, followed by two dozen other Jötnar and Vanguards. They covered the ground fast, and so far not a single shot had been fired.

One Vanguard stopped and placed a metal unit with three legs on the ground. It pulsed green and then went black as though deactivated. It was a sentry sensor unit, and one of the numerous recommendations made by Spartan during their many boarding actions. Spartan slowed his pace for a moment and gave the rest of Vanguards space to move ahead. He didn’t like it, but both experience and his superiors, had lectured him on the value of keeping a clear head and not just running at the front. Many officers thought he simply clamoured for glory, but it wasn’t true. Spartan was a fighter and had been for many years. It was all he knew, and this new system of utilising strategy and tactics was something he had to work on.

He looked at his head-up display and was pleased, but also surprised, to see no casualties or wounded reported.

“That’s not right,” he said quietly.

A ship the size of the cruiser would normally carry upwards of a thousand crew and at least fifty to a hundred troops for defence and security. Even an automated vessel would need a number of people to manage the systems.

“How are they moving the prisoners if they have no crew?” he said before hitting the key to contact Commander Gun who was already on board the cruiser.

“Gun. Have you hit resistance yet?”

“No. Empty ship,” came the curt response.

“Damn,” muttered Spartan quietly.

He double-checked his mapping system. They were definitely in the right part of the ship, but he would have expected fire teams to be there already to stop them, unless the ship was unmanned, of course. He thought about it for a few more seconds before acting.

“Captain. We’ve found a number of dead crewmen, and they are all wearing Zealot robes. Looks like they were hit by ship-to-ship fire.”

“How can you tell?”

“Well, there are bits missing. Only a high velocity slug could cut so cleanly,” replied the corporal.

“Good work, keep moving.”

Spartan checked his scanners again, but he could find nothing. He shouted out to the group of Jötnar who were approaching the end of the brightly lit corridor.

“Khan!”

He turned and cocked his head.

“Khan, I think the ship is unmanned, or at least only carrying a skeleton crew. They must have an AI core like the ones we’ve seen on other ships. Follow the main corridor to the CiC. We can sever the systems from the control hub. It will be quicker than trying to find it with the time we have.”

“Yes,” he replied.

“Spartan, we will meet you at CiC,” said Commander Gun over the intercom unit.

Half of the shuttles’ marines and Jötnar were out and making their way to the target. Spartan glanced back and then moved off to join them in their rush to the CiC. As he moved forward, he looked down to the mapping software. It was constantly updated by data picked up by the rest of the company. The main access corridors seemed to merge into a ring, much like a large hall, and at the centre of this was what must be the CiC. The scanners were showing it as the most active part of the ship for power and communication traffic, as well as letting off significant electromagnetic fields. He moved to the end of the corridor where it split in two directions. His forces had taken the right path, and he was about to follow when he spotted a locker on the wall. He reached out with his heavy mechanical arm and pulled it open to reveal a weapons store that was bare, apart from several empty magazines.

“Spartan!” came the familiar voice of Gun over the intercom.

“Yes?”

“We’re in the command centre. Where is the crew?”

“That I do not know. Spread your men out. I’ll be there in thirty seconds. We need to find the hard-lines.”

Spartan moved back into the corridor along with four other Vanguards. Their heavy metal suits clunked loudly as they made quick progress through the ship. The corridors were clearly designed for regular usage, as the lighting wouldn’t be there unless the place was used frequently. As he reached the end, the corridor widened until coming to a pair of large sliding doors. Both were heavily reinforced with thick metal ribs. As he approached, they slid open to reveal a bewildering sight. The room must have taken up a full habitation ring and was packed with stores, cases and equipment. Gun and a dozen of his fellow Jötnar were busy examining two crates that they must have smashed open onto the floor. Spartan moved closer.

“What have you found?”

Gun shrugged.

“Not much. Computer parts, bullets.”

From the right, another pair of doors slid open to reveal more Jötnar who rushed inside. The eager and excitable fighters spread out, each looking for a sign of the enemy.

“Spartan, message!” called out Gun.

He tapped the connection button in the suit. It was Major Daniels, and he looked concerned.

“Spartan, is your unit okay?”

“We’re fine. We’ve secured the storage area and are trying to locate the CiC.”

“Yeah, good luck with that. The Vanguards that landed in the third shuttle have tracked a series of data pathways that lead further to the rear of the ship.”

“What about the CiC?”

“That’s the problem, I don’t think the ship has one. Link up with the marines from the third shuttle and trace the pathways. If you can locate the source, you’ll be able to sever the control system from the navigation and power units.”

Before he could speak, Gun shouted over to him.

“Trouble, look!”

Spartan checked the scanner that Gun was carrying, and it indicated large head blooms around their position.

“Major, are you seeing this?”

“Yes. If you ask me, I think this ship is unmanned. It does seem to be carrying a large number of defenders in multiple sections of the ship.”

He paused for a second.

“Yes, they know you’re there. My tactical officer here estimates at least four hundred head signatures, and all of them heading your way! Can you get out of there?”

A quick glance at his suit’s mapping tools showed the enemy were moving through the spider’s web of corridors to their current location.

“No, Sir, it’s a trap.”

“Fight your way out, Spartan. You know what you have to do. Don’t die on that lump of metal.”

“Sir!” he replied.

He looked back at the mixture of nearly seventy Jötnar and Vanguards. Over half were waiting near the six access doors, and the rest were searching the large storage area.

“Listen up. We’ve been set up. It looks like the ship is automated, possibly controlled by an AI core. We need to meet up with the rest of the Assault Company who are working their way to the rear of the ship, and find a way to shut down or halt the engines.”

Two Vanguards started to move before Spartan called over to them.

“Stand your ground. Yorkdale has detected a large number of heat blooms heading our way. The ship must have barracks or holding areas at different points. Either way, we need to fight them off until we’ve thinned enough of them to make a break for the aft of the ship. They will be here in…” he checked his maps, ” less than a minute.”

At his last words, the Vanguards started to drag cases and equipment into position away from the doors. They were rough barricades, but they would do the job. The Jötnar quickly saw what was happening and threw themselves into reinforcing their position. In just seconds, there were multiple mounds from which the Confederate forces could fight from.

“Sir, they are fifty metres away!” called one of the Vanguards, who was busy monitoring the sentry field they had placed on the way in. The units were simply constructed and capable of detecting sound waves as well as movement, using ultrasonic grids fitted on their exterior. When enough were placed, they were capable of returning a rough three-dimensional map of the area around the sensors, along with any possible intruders. Spartan checked the same map to see a great horde of colour approaching their position.

“Here they come. Keep them close, and keep them busy!” he shouted.

Spartan turned to the nearest entrance and lowered his stance. Two more Vanguards positioned themselves each side of him. The suits gave the marines the impression of armoured beetles, each bristling with metal plating and weapons. He looked at those around him and realised most had not activated their close quarter weapons.

“Fix bayonets!” he cried.

The Vanguards responded quickly, each flicking the switches that pushed a series of blades out from the arms of the suits. Though not technically bayonets, the order was an anachronism. The Jötnar, on the other hand, carried a mixture of vintage military Gatling guns, thermal shotguns and edged weapons. Due to their size, most of the weapons had to be heavily modified for their use.

“Twenty metres!”

Spartan flicked the safety off the twin L48 Rifles fitted to his arms. He had selected the 6mm box magazine variant of the firearms for the boarding action. Though lacking in the explosive power of the large calibre rounds, these had their own advantages. The smaller bullets were much safer in a pressurised environment, and he could carry far more rounds in the large box magazines. At half the diameter of the normal ammunition, the recoil and rates of fire was something to behold.

“Ten metres, they’re here!”

Spartan watched the doors with his eyes fixed on the entrance. Rather than the shapes of the Biomechs, entering the space a number of small spheres rolled along the floor or bounced off the walls. There was nothing they could do to avoid them, and with a flash the devices ignited. There was no immediate damage, just a bright energy pulse and a great cloud of white smoke.

“Stun bombs!” he cried.

The Vanguard armour was well prepared for such an eventuality, and a combination of white noise generators and modified welding shields activated. The bright flashes could blind a man for up to a minute, but the thick, reinforced glass of the suit’s visor instantly darkened. The design was partially to protect against stun weapons, as well as for use in space where the operator might have to face the blinding light of a sun or the retina-damaging arc of a welder. The darkness of the visor dropped off to reveal a horde of Zealots and the smaller Biomechs. They streamed though the open doors and rushed at the temporarily blinded Jötnar.

“Protect them!” he cried and stepped out from his cover. A number of stunned Jötnar flailed about with their close quarter weapons, but the smaller, faster creatures quickly brought two down. Spartan stomped towards the first fallen warrior who punched and kicked at his unseen foe. Extended his left arm, he opened fire with both barrels. The L48 rifle with the small calibre box magazine sounded like a buzz saw, and he put scores of bullets into the creatures, easily cutting them in half. Another jumped past, but a still dazed Jötnar grabbed it and slammed a rough looking blade up into its throat, and then hurled it to the wall.

“Close ranks, watch your fire!”

The Vanguards closed the gaps until barely a metre of space existed between them. Each marine let loose with a devastating amount of firepower. The killing ground moved from their feet to the multiple entrances into the hall. The approaching Biomechs didn’t stand a chance, and with the element of surprise now gone, the Vanguards and those Jötnar armed with ranged weapons made short work of them.

“2nd and 3rd Platoon get moving. 1st provide the rearguard!”

Khan signalled for the mixed platoons to follow him, and in less than a minute, most of them were out through the one entrance and hacking down any stray Biomechs that came their way. Spartan followed a short distance behind with the 1st Platoon. Lieutenant Weathers stopped next to him.

“Spartan, no casualties, but I’ve got a few injured Jötnar. They are tough bastards. We could have used them down on Euryale.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Church of Echidna still dates its formation back to the martyrdom of the Bishop of Echidna. Some ships in the Great War carried religious icons, and one even had its bow carved into a replica of one of the relics. The power of these symbols cannot be denied and could be seen right up to the bombings on Kerberos during the Proxima Uprising. Veneration of idols is one of the many issues thought to be at the heart of the troubles.

The Iconoclast Controversy

“Sir, we’re picking up major life signs near the primary powerplant. It might be the prisoners.”

Lieutenant Weathers examined the signals on the displays in his Vanguard suit. The heat blooms were the same height and mass as the average person. From a quick glance, it looked like it was around fifty or so people.

“Could be Zealots, guarding the Core?”

Spartan peered down the corridor and then ducked back as a dozen rounds of small calibre ammunition hurtled towards him. Three rounds struck his arm and bounced off into the nearest bulkhead.

“Maybe. But what if they’re prisoners? We go in there all guns blazing, and we’ll have scores of casualties.”

Weathers nodded in partial agreement.

“True, we have to do something though. What if they are human shields?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Three Zealots jumped from cover and rushed towards them. One hurled a device that exploded near a Vanguard and sent him tumbling to the ground. Spartan took careful aim and emptied both left barrels into the group. They staggered back several metres under the weight of the bullets before dropping down dead. He looked back to Lieutenant Weathers.

“They must have at least fifty prisoners on the ship, based on the number of bodies found on the transport. They could easily hold us back with a few civilians. If we wait, we lose the ship.”

“Lose the ship, and we lose everybody on board,” added Lieutenant Weathers.

The corridor was fairly wide, and one of the four main tunnel sections led towards the rear of the vessel. They were packed with Vanguards and Jötnar, as well as an almost constant barrage of gunfire.

“What about the rest of the enemy? They didn’t just vanish.”

“Sir!” said one of the Vanguard marines, a young looking private.

“I’ve been flicking through the wavelengths. I’ve picked something on the thermals.”

Spartan altered his display mode and his helmet was instantly filled with strange colours. The warmer parts of their suits glowed red or yellow, whereas the colder parts of the ship showed up as dark blue or black.

“What do you have?”

“Up there.”

Spartan lifted his head to the roof of the tunnel and instantly spotted the warm heat signatures. They were not obvious until he switched off part of the temperature range to block off some of the ship’s coolant pipes and ventilation hardware. As he watched, they started to move in the same direction as his company. He knew immediately what it was.

“All units stand your ground. Switch to thermal imaging. Watch the walls, ceiling and floor. They have service tunnels all around us.”

His message came just seconds before all hell broke loose. One by one, scores of small hatches blew open, many of them smaller than a man’s head. From the gaps, the remaining hundreds of smaller Biomechs hurled themselves at the Jötnar and marines.

“We’re surrounded

need

” came a transmission from the front of the second corridor before it was overwhelmed with dozens of voices. Spartan lifted one arm to protect him and sent an override transmission to all assault units on the ship.

“Stand your ground, switch to close quarter weapons and clear your sectors!”

He felt as though he was losing his balance and tried desperately to grab the nearest bulkhead. With a hard pull, his arm was yanked back and three Biomechs, each the size of a man, dragged him to the floor. They wore crude armour and carried a vicious hand weapon. Lights flashed inside the suit as multiple breaches appeared in the weaker parts of the armour.

“Get off you bastard!” he roared and swung his free arm. It connected with one of the creatures and threw it against the wall. Two more replaced it, and for a second Spartan felt a pang of dread. Was this to be the way he died? Trapped and overwhelmed by Biomech creatures on an enemy ship.

“Spartan!” came a familiar snarl. One of the creatures lifted up and vanished. Another broke into two equal pieces, and a spray of arterial blood splattered over his visor. A firm hand grabbed him and lifted him up to his feet. The hallways were packed with bodies as both sides fought a bloody and desperate close action.

“You alive?” said the familiar voice again. Spartan twisted his head so that he could see through the clean part of his visor. He could just make out the shape of a Jötnar warrior.

“Gun?” he asked in surprise.

“Yes. We have work, Spartan!” he said and turned back to the creatures in the corridor.

“Follow me!” he shouted.

Spartan watched him run along the blood-splattered floor and directly into the Biomechs. He fired his Gatling gun as he moved. The cases pumped from the side like a waterfall. One after the other, the Biomechs fell until he crashed into them. More Vanguards and Jötnar followed, and in less than a minute they were through the ambush and moving on further inside the ship. Spartan lifted his right arm and rubbed off as much blood as he could. More heat blooms appeared, but this time behind him and about twenty metres away. Lowering both arms, he waited until they appeared in the corridor. The weapons and armour certainly told him they were not friendly. Two more Vanguards joined him as they bathed the area in small velocity machine gun rounds.

“Lieutenant Spartan, Daniels here. We’ve cleared the Yorkdale and are assembling a rescue team to assist in your action. My sensors show the Eternal Vigilance is powering up her main engines. You have sixty seconds to disable her or you will be trapped!” he said.

“Shit!” muttered Spartan, forgetting his two-way communication protocol was still active. He turned and moved along the corridor to follow in the direction of the rest of his party.

“Anything you can suggest?” he pleaded, knowing it would be almost impossible to be able to stop the ship in the time he had.

“Just get to the rear and try and disable something, anything!”

“On it!” he replied and jumped around the corner and into a large hexagonal shaped room. A dozen Jötnar lay dead or wounded on the ground. He moved on past them and into a wider corridor. Pipes ran along the ceiling and wall. He was going to ignore them, but an image of electrical cables or water pipes popped into his mind. He might as well damage whatever he could find, so something might be disabled or damaged enough to give them some time. He reached up and smashed his metal fists into the piping. He grabbed the damaged metal and ripped it from the ceiling. Steam and vapour pumped inside making visibility almost impossible. A flash of sparks ran for almost a metre, and two electrical fires quickly spread along the ceiling.

“All units, if you find wiring, pipes or machines, just smash them. Cause as much damage as you can,” he ordered on the company-wide communication channel.

Orange streaks from Zealot firearms blasted towards him, but Spartan did his best to ignore them and pushed on. A dozen Vanguards moved with him. Each lowered their weapons and unleashed a firestorm in the direction of their travel.

“Spartan, this way!” shouted Khan.

Spartan twisted his head and spotted the Jötnar and a small group of his warriors moving into a side chamber off to one side. He grabbed the nearest Vanguard.

“Protect this area, and don’t let anything get past you. If you do, we’ll lose control of this place.”

“Sir!” replied the young private. She planted her feet firmly on the ground and continued firing as Zealot warriors attempted to push her back. Spartan was already three metres away when he saw a large group of Zealots manage to get to her. He made to move back, but four Jötnar appeared around her. Two swung hand weapons and the others fired close-ranged Gatling guns and shotguns. The walls flashed with white and yellow, and hundreds of rounds were discharged at the enemy. Spartan almost smiled at the violent defence and turned back to follow Khan. The delay cost him vital seconds. He barely managed to spot Khan vanish into the smaller corridor. He pushed against the ground hard and chased as quickly as he could. It was a tight squeeze, but with a little effort and stooping low, he was able to keep moving.

“Spartan, the engines are activating!” came the voice of Major Daniels. Spartan flicked the switch and cut out the audio feed. He was aware of the situation, and the constant nagging of his superior officer wasn’t helping.

A panel ripped open to his side, and two Biomechs, each the size of a large dog, leapt out. Spartan was in no mood to be held back by yet more synthetic monstrosities. He hit the power boost and forced energy into his right arm, slamming the metal fist into the nearest creature and pinning it to the wall.

“Get back!” he roared in anger.

His left arm swung around and opened fire. The dozens of rounds cut the head clean off. The blood and tissue splattered against the second creature, and so he quickly finished it off with another burst of fire. Pulling the metal fist from the bloody stump, he continued onwards until he reached the gap in the wall where the rest of the Jötnar had jumped through. Gunfire and shouting came from inside, but Spartan didn’t have time to check what was happening. He jumped through and found himself in a darkened engineering room. A number of Zealots lay dead on the floor, and less than five metres away stood a large group of prisoners. They were being held in front of a number of Zealots. It looked like they must have been on the move, as the prisoners wore chains and were facing off into a long corridor. The tallest of the group wore the traditional robes and carried a thermal shotgun in one hand.

“Get back or they die like the rest!” he snarled.

“What others?” Spartan demanded.

“When you boarded my ship, I was forced to dump their prisoners. Not my problem, you brought it upon your own heads.”

“Your ship? You’re just a slave. Who is your captain?”

The Zealot threw off his hood to reveal his face. His skin was pasty and thermal scoring scarred the side of his cheek. His jawbone was sharply defined, and he looked almost handsome, if it were not for the bloody predicament they found themselves in.

“My name is Captain Talos, and I have been given the full protection of the Union Fleet.”

“Protection? So you’re not part of the fleet.”

The man threw Spartan a sneer.

“The Union is just the same as your Confederacy. My interest in these people does not concern you. I have what I want. Now leave my ship, or I start killing hostages.”

“You’re a pirate, the filth of Proxima. You prey on the weak and vulnerable to line your own pocket. Just like all the other Zealots, there isn’t anything honourable or noble about you or your cause. You just want to punish the Confederacy and make money at the same time.”

He must have struck a nerve as the man was already reaching for what looked like a curved blade on his belt.

“There are no pirates here. We have a charter.”

“Bullshit!” swore Khan. He stamped his foot down hard onto the ship’s deck.

Spartan sighed. He had just seconds to go before the cruiser powered up, and they were taken from this place. He flicked the switch to open up an audio channel with Major Daniels.

“Sir, we have a problem down here.”

*

Wing Commander Anders grimaced as the massive acceleration of the Lightning Fighter forced him back into his seat. The space battle was all but over, and the enemy cruiser’s engines were already glowing with power. It would be a matter of seconds before the ship rocketed away and took with it hundreds of warriors and prisoners. He led three squadrons of fighters, but battle losses had reduced their number to just nine still functioning fighters.

“We’re in range. The cruiser is about to depart, any ideas?”

“We have enough missiles for one more pass. Maybe we can force her off course?” said the pilot of the leftmost fighter.

“Doubt it, our missiles keep getting shot down by the aft turrets.”

His squadron of fighters maintained their close formation as they hurtled towards the enemy ship. Under normal circumstances they would simply launch their anti-ship missiles, but two attack runs had achieved nothing so far, other than the loss of two fighters.

“How about the engines? Can we disable them with missiles?” asked his wingman.

“No, the cruiser has multiple engines, and we have already hit them with three impacts. The turrets just take them out early. The ships in the fleet keep hitting her there, but they can’t inflict enough damage. Nothing short of a nuke is going to stop her.”

“The bombers?”

“No, they won’t be here in time. Somehow we need to get explosives inside her armour and near the engines or fuel lines,” Anders replied.

“Sir, the energy signature of the ship is showing severe energy fluctuation on the port section, near the rear of the ship. The marines on board must have damaged the power supplies to the turrets. The engines are still powering up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Sir. They still have plenty of turrets, but it is something.”

“Okay, it might be enough to get us in close enough for one more attack. We need to hit them harder than ever before. I have an idea. Angel Squadron, follow me, we’re going in.”

He hit the boost button that supplied additional thrust to the main engines and accelerated towards the enemy vessel. At this speed, they would be at the target in less than ten seconds.

“She’s starting to pull away!” cried Flight Lieutenant Jenkins.

“Arm your weapons for timed detonation in eight seconds. Full thrust to engines. Set your course to twelve degrees above the cruiser. On my mark, hit eject!”

“What?” shouted his wingman over the radio.

“Just do it!” he ordered.

The group of fighters moved faster and faster, until to anybody watching they appeared as nothing more than silver missiles heading towards the ship’s engines. Wing Commander Anders looked down at his control panel. His Sea Skua missiles were armed and due to detonate in four seconds. That was the exact calculation made by his onboard computer for a high-speed collision. The small group of fighters would pass directly over the ship on their present course.

“Now!”

He reached out and tugged on the eject handle. A series of small explosions rippled through the craft as the crew compartment blew out and upwards. He kept moving forwards, but the force of the blast accelerated the crew to safety and well away from the cruiser. The explosion had the side effect of altering the course of the fighter by ten degrees, more than enough to force it into the direct path of the cruiser’s engines. All the fighters completed their ejection sequence safely, and just in time. The first three were saturated by concentrated turret fire, but the following six made it through. The wreckage of the damaged fighters slammed into the rear of the cruiser. With a total speed well in excess of ten thousand kilometres per hour, they smashed deep inside the rear of the ship. Almost as soon as they hit the engines, the onboard weapons and missiles exploded.

Wing Commander Anders watched from his spinning life support pod at the flashes and light coming from the rear of the ship. A series of sparks rattled along the hull, followed by a bright flash. Several large chunks of fuselage ripped off from the ship, and the cruiser started to drift.

“Angel One here. Cruiser is disabled, requesting immediate pickup for my pilots.”

*

The tense standoff continued deep inside the blood red warship. More Jötnar had arrived, and it took all of Spartan’s authority and self-control to stop them rampaging into the group of people. He glanced at the prisoners and immediately spotted two familiar faces. The first was Sergeant Kowalski, one of the marines that had been working on Prometheus. He had last seen him during their violent and desperate ordeal on the planet. Stood just a few paces to his right was Misaki, the young Asian tech expert. She looked at Spartan with a mixture of pleasure and anger. Spartan couldn’t tell which was stronger but in his experience, it was the latter. The leader still refused to back down, but the rest of his guards were starting to look a little nervous.

“Engine ignition sequence in thirty seconds,” came a loud voice through the ship, it sounded computerised.

Spartan looked to the leader and noted the look of satisfaction on his face. It was that of a man who knew he’d already won. Spartan decided to take a different tack.

“You live on a ship run by computers?” he laughed. “Who are you?”

The tall Zealot warrior stared at Spartan, his bitterness clearly evident.

“You don’t recognise me? We fought many times on Prometheus.”

“Prometheus? You were a pit fighter like me?”

“Oh no, nothing like you, Spartan,” he said with a spitting gesture.

Khan lurched forward, and Spartan was forced to grab him. The angered Jötnar looked to him in confusion. Spartan held him firmly to stop him from surging into the group of prisoners and Zealots.

“Yes, keep your animal on a leash. We have to do the same with ours. The synthetics do have their uses though, don’t you think?”

A great blast rumbled through the hull of the cruiser, and Spartan crashed into the wall. His vision was blurred. All around people were falling or staggering. It must be the engines he thought. The acceleration would throw them to the ground or walls, depending on where they stood. He shook his head and spotted two Jötnar rushing to the Zealots. One was hit at least a dozen times but still managed to reach them before dropping to the ground. The second leapt over his body and swung his curve blade with terrible speed and efficiency. Spartan lifted himself up and staggered forward. Screaming civilians ran amok, so rather than use his firearms, he was forced to ready his edged weapons for close quarter battle.

“Stop them!” he cried.

One Zealot tried to slip past, but he spotted the tanned armour underneath the man’s robes. He swung out his arm and struck the man in the chest. As he dropped down, another three Zealots appeared, each blasting him with pistols and shotguns. One was jumped on by a group of escaped prisoners. Khan whose rage was up cornered the other two. He lifted his futuristic looking axe and swung it in a wide, horizontal cut. The power was impressive, and the butchered remains dropped to the floor.

“Spartan!” screamed the Zealot leader who was trapped in the middle of the room and surrounded by a bodyguard of six warriors. Gunshots from the Vanguards quickly peeled them away until just the leader remained. Spartan faced him and checked to ensure his retractable blades were extended and ready.

“Drop your weapons, Talos. We have things to discuss.”

A final volley of gunfire burst through the room, and then it was as silent as it had been prior to the gun battle. There was still the occasional rattle of combat through the vessel, but for now it looked like they were in the clear.

“Lieutenant Spartan. This is Colonel Blake. Good work on the ship. You managed to disable enough gun turrets to get a fighter squadron in close enough. They took out the main engines as well as one of the two main powerplants. What is your status?”

“We have the Captain and some of the crew under our control. There are at least fifty prisoners here. I recognise a number of them from Prometheus.”

“Excellent work, they will be from the transport. Captain Hobbs and a relief team are due to arrive in the next fifteen minutes. They will work from the front of the ship and work their way to you. Watch out for them.”

“Yes, Sir, I’ll be waiting for them,” replied a less than enthusiastic Spartan.

One of the Vanguards stepped forward to Captain Talos, but the man lifted his sidearm and pointed it at his own temple. Spartan reached forward.

“No, stop there!”

The Vanguard stopped and waited. Talos remained still, but his pistol was unchanged, the muzzle resting firmly against his skin.

“Spartan. What the hell did you do to get a commission in this crap little marine corps? You aren’t even man enough to fight out of your armour.”

“Armour is just a tool, you know that, or you would if you remembered any of your training.”

Talos looked at him with a subtlety different expression.

“So, you do remember me?”

“I remember a pathetic little whelp that liked spending time in the showers with the trainees. Didn’t they find you on the take?”

Talos shook his head and almost lowered the weapon before realising what was happening.

“I see, you think you’re clever, don’t you? I left because I was able to, not like you and the others. Where is the honour in fighting when you have no choice?”

“You’re a coward. You never fought a single battle in the Arena, did you?”

Before he answered, Spartan hit the release button on his Vanguard armour. It hissed open, and with a subtle twist, he dropped out and onto his feet. Khan stepped closer, sensing the increase in danger that Spartan was placing himself in.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you a deal.”

“What?” demanded Talos.

“You lower your weapon and I’ll let you fight me. You’ve wanted to do that for some time, right?”

Talos glared at him and then around the room. It was as if he was trying to find a friendly face, or anybody that would help him in some way.

“Don’t waste your time. Your Zealot friends are either being taken away in chains or are dead. No one can help you now. You have a choice. You can either shoot yourself like the coward I know you are, or you can fight like a man!”

Khan and the other Jötnar roared with enjoyment at the spectacle. To Talos it must have sounded more like laughter, but the threat in their voices was obvious.

“Why would I want to fight you, Spartan?”

“You never fought in the Arena. You never experienced the fear or the blood of combat. I know a coward and a weakling when I see one.”

Talos threw down his pistol and stepped towards Spartan. One of the Vanguards took half a step towards the man, presumably thinking it was now okay for him to take the man prisoner.

“No, he made his choice. Now he can find out how much of a man he really is. Are you ready, pit fighter Talos?”

Spartan stepped out in front of the man with nothing but his combat overall and webbing. He wore no armour, and his arms were bare from the shoulders down. Talos watched him with suspicion. With a flourish, he threw his robe to the ground and exposed his armour underneath. It was almost copper in colour and made up of thousands of tiny plates, each one no larger than a fingernail. From his belt, he pulled out a long, curbed dagger with a silvered blade and fine detailing on its hilt.

“Pretty knife,” sniggered Spartan. From his own webbing, he pulled out his M11 Bayonet. It functioned as a bayonet for the L48 rifle and was also designed as a tough and durable fighting knife. As he dropped into a fighting stance, he thought back to the words of his instructor back on the Santa Maria so many months before. The description of the edge, tip and build quality was etched into his mind as if it was only yesterday.

He lowered his centre of gravity and placed his left leg forward. His left hand and arm moved out to the side so as to make it difficult to strike. His blade was reversed with it pointing downwards in his clenched fist.

“Spartan. You and your friends made my life hell on Prometheus!” said Talos.

The two circled each other slowly. Their Jötnar captors held the handful of surviving Zealots tightly, but they still watched the fight carefully.

“Talos, you know I said I remembered you back in our fighting days?”

“Yes.”

“I lied. You must have made no impact on me. Did you even fight one bout?”

“Bastard!” he screamed and lurched forward. The attack came quickly as a classic overhand strike, like a murderer stabbing down with a kitchen knife. Spartan had practiced this manoeuvre many times and caught his right arm with a firm blow, parrying it with the bone of his forearm. The impact was hard and nearly knocked the blade from Talos’ hand. With his free hand, Spartan locked his left arm, and delivered a savage blow with his knee into the man’s stomach. He dropped down, doubling over with pain. Spartan stepped back and waited.

“Is that it, Talos? Who even gave you your name? Did you make it up to frighten your innocent prisoners on your raids?”

It was not over though, and Talos managed to lift himself up and move forwards, but this time far more cautiously. Spartan sensed the change and forced himself to calm down and watch carefully. He had seen this before. A foe was much more dangerous when they calmed down and fought more tactfully.

“I fought alright, dozens of bouts, but you were their favourite. Don’t you remember the day we lost two fighters in one bout, and nobody knew why? They just collapsed and died.”

It took a few seconds, but the memories started to come back. He remembered the series of fights, incredibly brutal melee battles with up to a dozen combatants. In the middle of the fight, two of their warriors started to shake and then collapsed to the ground, dead. It was a serious scandal and had nearly shut them down.

“Yeah, why?”

“It was supposed to be my turn in the Arena that day. Because of you, I was moved back to training with the plebs.”

He jumped forward, this time stabbing from underneath at Spartan’s belly. The attacks were shorter and faster than before, and it took skill and speed to avoid them. One almost struck his rib. He was forced to beat it aside with a strike from his right knee.

“So what? You failed and now you pick on the weak to make up for it.”

“Oh, no. That isn’t what I did. You see I poisoned them before the fight. If I couldn’t fight, then neither could they.”

Spartan stopped in his tracks, not so much surprised as angry at the behaviour of the pathetic man that claimed to be such a mighty warrior. He looked directly at his face and spat on the floor.

“You aren’t a warrior. You aren’t even Talos. You’re a pathetic child with inadequacy problems. In fact, forget it. This fight is over. You aren’t worth wasting sweat over.”

Spartan turned his back on the man and took a step towards Khan who watched with a disappointed expression. Around him stood the bloodied but contented looking Jötnar.

“What?” he asked.

Two of the Vanguards turned to their right and raised their weapons. Khan spun about and lifted his own serrated axe, all of them expecting trouble.

“Lower your arms! Captain Hobbs, Charlie Company, 5th Battalion,” said a familiar voice.

Spartan slid his blade back into its sheath on his belt and watched as his rival approached from the darkness. She walked in, upright and commanding. Her armour was spotless, and the visor of the PDS armour was slid open to reveal her face.

“Lieutenant Spartan, I might have guessed,” she said angrily.

In the reflection of her gleaming armour, Spartan spotted the tiniest of movement. He lurched to his side and spun about, narrowly avoiding a final thrust by Talos. He spun on the spot and struck the lower back of the man. The Zealot leader dropped to the floor just a metre away from Captain Hobbs. He tried to lift himself up, but the heavy boot of Khan crashed onto him and pinned him to the floor. Spartan moved back and stood directly in front of Captain Hobbs.

“Spartan, look at yourself,” she smelt him, her nostrils recoiling at the imagined slight. “You smell like a labourer. Officers do not roll on the ground like swine.”

“He saved your neck!” snarled Khan, his arms tensing around his axe.

Spartan glanced at him and gave him a look that hopefully reminded him not to do anything rash. He looked back to Hobbs.

“This is Talos and he is the Captain of this vessel. He should prove useful for the Intelligence Division.”

“Indeed. It was fortuitous I arrived before your private brawl got him killed and anything he knows lost.”

She turned and marched past him to the smaller corridor. As she moved away, she spoke quietly to two of the marines near her.

“Take him to our landing craft and ensure he is secure. He should prove useful.”

She stepped through the gap and looked back over her shoulder at Spartan.

“I will document this incident in my after-action report, Lieutenant.”

She departed along with a squad of the marines from the Santa Cruz. Spartan recognised a few of them, but they did their best to avoid eye contact with him. He stood there and shook his head, always amazed how quickly people were to turn on their friends or comrades.

“Spartan? How did you find us?” asked an excited looking man in torn and slightly bloodied fatigues.

“Kowalski, I’m glad to see you.”

“Not as much as I am. Here, you remember Misaki?” he said and beckoned for the woman to step forward. Spartan looked at her and smiled, doing his best to disarm her after the bitterness he had found in her the last time they met.

“Spartan, thank you,” she said coldly.

“It wasn’t just me. I take it you noticed our Jötnar friends? We have joined them in the creation of a full blooded assault battalion.”

“Assault battalion? That sounds like the kind of place that would suit you just fine.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“We’re fine, Spartan. Could do with a sit down though, they weren’t big on the facilities on this ship.

“No problem, Misaki.”

Spartan waved to two Vanguards who stomped over to him. One carried the painted insignia of the 2nd Squad leader.

“Escort the prisoners to the assault shuttles. Make sure these two are returned to the Yorkdale.”

“Sir,” said the man and indicated for them to follow him. Spartan looked back at Kowalski.

“This is Sergeant James Lovett. He’s a trusted Sergeant in the unit. Follow him, and he’ll make sure you get to my transport. You’ll find Teresa and Gun there as well.”

“Nice. One happy family!” said Kowalski with a partial smile.

Spartan looked at Misaki, but she was already looking away from him. They moved off to leave Spartan, Khan and a small group of Jötnar and Vanguards in the room. The remaining thirteen warriors were all sweaty and covered in streaks of blood. Spartan’s Vanguard armour was where he had left it. He moved up and stepped inside, pulling the straps on and hitting the seal button. As it clamped down, he gave the instruments a cursory glance. They were damaged, but all the main functions were operational and still had sufficient ammunition on board. He tapped the communication button.

“Lieutenant Spartan here. Prisoners and enemy Captain secure.”

There was a very short delay, barely enough time for Spartan to examine the location of the rest of the Confed forces on the ship.

“Daniels here. Good work, Spartan. I’m getting reports from the other units on the ship. Her systems are partially out of action, and a tech team is already tracing the communication lines to find the AI hub. We will find it soon enough. There are more marines from the Santa Cruz arriving to assist in moving the equipment and prisoners. I suggest you return to the Yorkdale and take care of your casualties. That was some good soldiering there, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Sir. I will be in touch upon my return to the Yorkdale. There is just one thing left for me to take care of. There are still Zealots on board, and they are working to the rear of the ship.”

“Understood, Lieutenant, I’ll get a few fighters to watch for any that try to escape. Good luck. Oh, and one other thing.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Watch your back.”

The connection cut and Spartan spent a brief moment checking on the status of his Vanguards. A number were out of action, and at least a dozen were injured. He checked the schematic of the ship and concentrated on the aft.

“All assault units converge on the rear of the ship. I’m picking up minor heat blooms eighty metres further back, a short distance from the escape pods.”

“Escape pods?” asked Khan.

“Yes, these Zealot cowards are probably trying to escape with whatever intelligence or data they stole. If they get off the ship, they might be able to make it through the debris to one of the surviving frigates. We need to be fast.”

“Yes!” roared Khan and he ran off. The Jötnar pushed out through the gap and into the corridor that continued into the bowels of the ship. Spartan shook his head at the impetuous warriors.

“I thought I was bad,” he muttered and then moved after them. He moved through the gap and found most of the lights were off. A quick flick and he switched to thermal imaging.

“Commander Gun here. Loading bay clear, have prisoners.”

“Excellent, I am taking the rest of our forces to the aft of the ship. Some of the Zealots are making a break for the pods.”

“Okay, we will join you.”

Spartan continued after Khan, stepping carefully to avoid the many bodies that littered the interior of the warship. Gunfire became louder the further they travelled to the rear of the vessel. Very little seemed to be working this far back, probably due to the damage sustained in the fighter attack that had crippled the engines.

“Thirty metres to the pods!” called one of the Vanguards as he powered on at a substantial speed. Spartan tried to move faster as he was aware of the danger they were in if they didn’t move quickly. Lights started flashing in his suit as the external sensors picked up the tell tale signs of excessive smoke and burning flames. He stepped out into the main engine room to find smashed metal and over a dozen dead Zealots. At the far end, a group of almost gold clad Zealots swung curved weapons and blasted away with pistols as the enraged Jötnar hacked their way through them. A small explosion sent one of his warriors staggering backwards and to the floor. By his best estimate, the two sides were evenly matched. They must have expended all their Biomechs in the battle and were trying to save what few Zealots they had left. It was just as he had suspected, the Biomechs were nothing but slaves to the Zealot caste.

Several more shots rang out, and another Vanguard swung out of control and crashed into the wall. A door opened to the side, and two Zealots moved through to the waiting escape pod. They were out of time.

“Charge!” cried Spartan. With his blades extended, he surged forward into the surviving group of enemy soldiers. Khan and the others did the same, and in less than five seconds the battle turned into a hellish scene of blood, gore and steel. Body parts and ammunition littered the floor. It was over almost as quickly as it had begun. Spartan took a step back and peered through his splattered visor. Khan and the rest of the warriors were dripping in blood. Thankfully, their casualties were low, but the enemy unit had been cut down to a man. Spartan shook his head at the carnage. It was not what he had planned, but he had done what was necessary. At least that is what he consoled himself with.

Commander Gun and his bodyguard rushed into the room to find the battle over.

“No!” he growled, obviously angry that he had missed the fight. Khan stepped forward and struck him in the chest.

“Too late, Gun, fight is over.”

He nodded in agreement and turned to Spartan, baring his teeth in a grin that looked more like a grimace.

“Good first mission, Spartan.”

The Jötnar lifted their weapons and howled in delight at their bloody victory. Spartan watched them and found against his better instincts that he wanted to do just the same. He lifted his arms and joined in with the celebration.

CHAPTER NINE

The Proxima Emergency proved finally that the battleship class was far from obsolete. The speed of CCS Crusader allowed her to get into and out of trouble quickly. The single inarguable issue, however, was that only a modern battleship could stand its ground over a long period. Thick armour, redundant systems and heavy weapons were of more value long term than high speed. Luckily, for the single ship in the battlecruiser class, its armour and weapons was easily a match for the previous and much older generation of battleship. The real question remaining is, what will the battleships of the future look like?

Origins of the Battlecruiser

Spartan was feeling good for a change. He had just left a meeting with the senior commanders on CCS Santa Cruz and been commended for a change. Even the damning report from Captain Hobbs hadn’t been able to diminish the bloody victory he had won. Casualties had been lighter than expected, but there had still been a number of deaths. Most of the Jötnar wounded were already recovering. The Vanguards had sustained substantial equipment losses and four dead. It was a costly endeavour, but the rewards had been great. It was the capture of over twenty Zealots that had given the Assault Battalion its first battle honour and commendation by the Colonel. As he walked down the corridor, he noticed almost every marine stepped back. It might have been out of respect, but more likely it was the fact that two heavily scarred Jötnar warriors flanked him and Sergeant Lovett.

“Spartan, why a commendation?” asked Gun.

Spartan was surprised. He hadn’t realised the concept would appear alien to him. Going back to school, the idea of awards or commendations was the thing that pushed them all to excel in contests and sports.

“It is a sign of respect by the commander of our ground forces. Every unit here knows the Assault Battalion has been recognised for its skill and bravery in battle.”

“We are Jötnar. Do they not already know this?”

“True. It isn’t the warriors though, it is the battalion.”

They walked for a little longer.

“Vanguards and Jötnar?” he asked, his voice giving the impression he was still a little unsure.

“Yes.”

Khan nodded, finally looking as though he understood, even if Gun wasn’t completely convinced.

“So now Vanguards and Jötnar are one?”

Spartan nodded.

“Yes, well, I hope so.”

They reached the entrance to the canteen to find it blocked by a throng of marines who were busy arguing over some minor issue. As they approached the group, none of them moved to give way. One finally spotted Spartan, or more specifically spotted his uniform, and whispered something to the others. In seconds, the group had split either side of the doorway to give them space. Spartan walked on and proceeded to the doorway, but Khan stopped in the middle of the throng.

“What you argue about?” he asked in his dull, emotionless tone.

“Why do you want to know?” asked a young looking marine with a skull tattoo on his cheek. Spartan turned back and looked at the man.

“He wants to know because he is a Captain from the Assault Battalion, and you will show him respect.”

Three other marines started muttering behind the cover of their friends. Spartan pushed through and grabbed two by their collars. He grasped them firmly and dragged them out in front of the group. Gun grabbed for the third, but he managed to evade him and struggled to escape. The marine ran quickly, and it looked like he might make it, but Khan had other ideas. He pushed out his leg and caught him around the ankle. The young man staggered, desperately trying to regain his balance before collapsing to the floor. He reached out to pull himself up only to find Gun lifting him up and pushing him to Spartan and the other two marines. Spartan stepped closely to the one that had run and stared into his eyes. He waited for a few moments, letting the tension rise.

“Why did you run, marine?”

The young man looked to one of his comrades but said nothing.

“Marine?” demanded Spartan.

“I…uh…I just ran, Sir.”

“You are a marine, aren’t you? Marines don’t run. We stand and fight.”

He turned to the rest of the marines.

“Don’t we?”

A few at the front muttered in agreement, but most said nothing.

“Now, answer the Captain’s question.”

“We were talking about the best close quarter weapons we have access to.”

“I see, and what was the conclusion?”

“We didn’t get that far, Sir. Most think the bayonet, but some of the reports from the Vanguards showed other weapons being used.”

“This is true. We did use a great variety of equipment before we were shipped out to the Yorkdale. In the end though, it is the marine, not the weapon. You should know this.”

A chorus of agreement met him as the tension started to fade.

“Captain?” asked a young marine, barely in his twenties.

Khan swivelled to look at him. He stepped forward, his vast bulk making him look like a child.

“What weapons do you prefer?”

Khan looked to Spartan and then back at the marine, his smile obvious to all.

“Anything with edge. I like this one…”

He reached down to the bandolier slung across his body and pulled out what looked like a one-metre long rod. He held it in front of him and twisted the base. From the top, two large blades sprung out. Each was the size of a man’s fist and razor sharp.

“Wow, an axe?” asked the marine.

Khan nodded with enjoyment.

“Fast and powerful…just like me!” he growled.

The marines started laughing, partially in amusement, and also in relief. As the group continued talking, Spartan turned around and moved through the doorway.

He stepped inside the marine canteen to find Teresa, Bishop, Misaki and Kowalski sat at a table in a heated debate. The table was halfway along the left wall and near a large colour painting of some twentieth century battle. Spartan hadn’t noticed it before, and he was intrigued by the imagery of hundreds of soldiers charging a hill with bayoneted rifles. They looked surprisingly similar to the L48 rifles they now used. The only real difference was that these warriors made use no of armour, other than simple metal helmets on their heads. It was an image of a war hundreds of years ago, yet it could easily have been Prime or Kerberos. It reminded him of something one of the instructors had told him about combat. Nothing changes. We just find new ways to do the same jobs.’ At the time he wasn’t sure what the man had meant, but looking at this painting it was becoming all too familiar. He turned and continued on to the table and his group of friends. The rest of the canteen area was surprisingly full, and it was clear a good number were recovering from their ordeals. Spartan counted at least a dozen personnel with bandages or casts on their limbs.

At his side were Sergeant Lovett, Khan and Gun. He moved to the table and almost reached it before Kowalski spotted him. He gave a nod and Teresa twisted around to find them walking towards her. Spartan was a big man but compared to the two Jötnar he looked like a teenager. He stepped closer, and Teresa stood up and almost threw herself at him.

“Whoa!” he cried, nearly falling back from the impact. She placed her lips firmly on his before pulling away. She lifted her hand and struck him across the face.

“Hey, save that for later!” he replied with a painful grin.

“You crazy bastard, Spartan. Kowalski has just been explaining what happened on the cruiser. You do realize you’re issued with armour and firearms for a reason?”

“Funny.”

He turned to the two Jötnar who waited patiently as his side.

“You’ve all met Gun before. You’ll be pleased to know he is now the Commander of the 1st Assault Battalion, and my CO.”

“CO?” asked Kowalski in surprise. “Nice going there, Gun. I hope you’re kicking his ass? You need to keep him in order.”

“Sergeant Lovett has been one of my most experiences and trusted NCOs since the formation of the Engineer unit, and he is now in charge of one of the squads in our 1st Company.”

He then turned to Khan.

“This here is Captain Khan, he is in charge of the 1st Company, and you’d be hard pressed to find a more aggressive or overly violent Jötnar anywhere on Yorkdale.”

Khan stated to laugh in his guttural and almost angry sounding tone.

“Got enough space for us?” he asked.

“Sure,” said Teresa as she shifted over. They had only made use of half the seating around the table, but the Jötnar were big and needed even more space. Gun lowered himself next to Teresa. Khan dropped down with a thump between Bishop and Misaki, much to her annoyance.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Ah, my apologies. Sergeant Bishop and Kowalski are some of the best marines in the Corps. They assisted in the rescue of the Jötnar and myself on Prometheus. If it wasn’t for them, and Teresa here, none of us would have made it out alive, and the Jötnar would have joined the rest of the brainwashed Biomechs. Hell, you would probably be on Prime right now fighting for the Union.”

“Really?” asked Khan in surprise.

Gun nodded in agreement. Khan turned to Bishop and grabbed him in one arm. He lowered his head to the marine.

“Thank you.”

Spartan was surprised at the words from the grizzled and somewhat vulgar warrior towards the marine. Their behaviour often flummoxed him, and on this occasion he was more confused than usual. Teresa left them talking and turned to Misaki, a woman she had heard about but not met before.

“Misaki, Spartan told me you met on Prometheus. How did you meet?”

The young women looked at her and did her best to hide her discomfort.

“I, uh, I was in one of the prisoner groups. We were selected to use in combat against the Biomechs for their training. Spartan and I fought against one of them.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it was pretty nasty, but we prevailed, didn’t we?” replied an uncomfortable Spartan.

Teresa watched them both but couldn’t work out what was going on. Neither seemed keen to discuss it further, so she could only assume it was the memories of the place they would both rather avoid.

“How did you get there?” asked Sergeant Lovett.

“Me?”

“Yes, how did you get on Prometheus?”

“Right, I was a dancer on one of the stations,” she started but was quickly stopped by the Sergeant.

“Dancer? I thought you were a tech specialist?”

“I am…a girl has to earn her keep though. Prometheus is full of specialists of all kinds. Ask Spartan, he got screwed over just like me.”

“You know about Spartan and his past on Prometheus?” asked Teresa. Misaki looked at her, and a twitch flickered across her brow as she detected a hint of suspicion in her voice.

“Of course. We were there quite some time, and we got to know each other very well, didn’t we?” she replied as she looked at Spartan.

An uncomfortable silence settled around the table, but Gun or Khan could not understand what was happening.

“How you get in with Spartan?” asked Khan. It was an honest question, but the implication in his wording did little to help things.

“I was performing a show with my troupe when the police arrived. It was a licensed venue, so there shouldn’t have been any problems.”

“Licensed? What kind of dancing are we talking about?” asked an intrigued Sergeant Lovett.

Misaki smiled at him coyly, enjoying the attention she was receiving.

“The police unit wore no insignia and said we had breached the peace. They cuffed us and took all the dancers away. Next thing I knew I was on the ship, in chains and drowsy. Then we were in the compound on Prometheus.”

“That’s where you met Spartan?” asked Teresa.

“Yeah.”

Again, there was an uncomfortable silence. Bishop looked to Misaki and tried to encourage her to move closer to him. She threw him an angry glance and looked back to Spartan.

“Bishop and I have been given our new orders. We’re going to be transferred to the civilian passenger liner Oceania.”

“Oceania, the old civilian cruise ship? Isn’t she coming with us to the Anomaly?”

Bishop nodded.

“Yeah, she’s been outfitted to carry work crews, engineers and some troops. Looks like Confed have big ideas for the area. I’m part of the security detail, and Misaki here is getting back at doing what she does best.”

Sergeant Lovett and Kowalski both tried not to laugh at the obvious double entendre.

“Her tech skills and software knowledge are highly regarded by the computer specialists on the ship.”

“Yes, they need help reconfiguring the firmware for the new site. Looks like interesting work.”

“What about you, Kowalski?” asked Spartan.

“Well, I’m supposed to be getting a shuttle back to the returning transports. Commander Anderson still needs help back on Prometheus.”

“If you can spare a bit of time, I could really do with your tech knowledge on the Yorkdale. We’re a bit of a mess right now, and our gear and systems are all over the place.”

“Really?”

He looked at Teresa and then back at him.

“If you’re sure?”

Spartan nodded in agreement.

“Okay, I’ll get in touch with the Commander and see if I can arrange a temporary assignment to the Yorkdale.”

“Excellent. How is Anderson these days?” asked Teresa.

“Tired, mainly. The site has turned from a ruined warzone to a factory and research site. I don’t like to admit it, but the Union forces set up one hell of a secure site to work from. We’ve been getting the factories and shipyards fully operational.”

“How about the Biomech facilities?”

Kowalski looked to Gun and Khan before turning back to her.

“As agreed, the entire system has been deactivated, and most of the important control units have been taken away for study. The good news is, the tech we recovered will help us with tissue regeneration and maybe even organ and limb replacement.”

“Interesting. Are you any closer to understanding how the synthetic process works?”

“Kind of. Best we can tell the harvesting of organs was being used to create the less capable Biomechs. The main thing is the system is fast. Our estimates reckon a fully operational and combat ready unit in less than a week.”

“A week?” said Spartan in surprise.

“Yes. It is no wonder they had so many on Prime and Kerberos in a matter of months.”

“What about us?” asked Gun in a gruff tone.

“Well, as you might expect, you are something very different. Completely synthetic, your base components were being mined directly from the surface of Prometheus. A complete artificial life form, with no dependency on donor organs. The big problem though, is time. It takes months to develop a fully capable Biomech, such as yourself, and that is with the resources and technology already at Prometheus.”

“We are not Biomech!” growled Khan.

“No, of course not,” said Kowalski as quickly as he could.

“Any idea on when the fleet briefing is?” asked Bishop.

“Just over an hour in the main hall. All the captains will be present, as well as a large number of the marine commanders. Based on the number of people being collected here, I think we are going to get the full story on the Anomaly operation.”

Bishop nodded.

“You don’t think this will be another part of Operation Perdition? We’ve got the ships and manpower to cause a lot of trouble here.”

“You’re right. You’ve seen what the 1st Assault can do now. We’re not far from almost two thousand Vanguards and Jötnar. I doubt there is a ship, colony or base we couldn’t take from the enemy right now,” Spartan answered.

Khan slammed his right fist onto the table and nearly broke a chunk of metal framing off in the process. His fist was easily double the size of any of theirs, and the great bulk was like a hammer coming down.

“Yes! We cannot be stopped!” he growled, and at the same time gave them all the strangest of grins. Spartan shook his head in amusement.

“We only have so many warriors, Khan. We can’t fight everybody, all of the time!”

Khan looked at him and tilted his head to one side.

“Maybe not you, we can though!” roared Khan and with speed that surprised them all, he slammed his fist into Gun’s shoulder. The more experienced Jötnar easily evaded the strike and leaned back to grab the back of Khan’s arm. With a twist, he slammed his face down onto the table. The group went completely silent as they waited for the battered Jötnar to sit up. As he did so, a trickle of blood ran down his cheek. He looked at Gun and then to Spartan before laughing even louder.

“You’re crazy,” said Bishop, pointing at each of them, “all of you!”

Teresa started laughing, and the tone of the group returned to the calm state it had been the moment before.

“Okay then, Spartan. Let’s get to the real news. What’s all this about you knocking up the Sergeant here?” asked a coy-looking Kowalski.

Misaki’s face dropped as though she had just heard the most terrible news. Her brow tightened, and for the briefest of moments it looked as though she would vomit. The rest of the group hadn’t even noticed, much to her chagrin. They started chatting amiably about the news and ignored her. She sat back, thoughts and memories flashing through her mind. No one noticed her attention was focused completely upon Teresa. Bishop couldn’t see who she was looking at, but he finally sensed something was wrong. He put his hand on her shoulder, but she flinched at the contact.

“Are you okay?”

“I

feel a bit faint,” she said weakly.

Bishop excused himself and helped her from the table.

“You need a hand there?” asked Spartan.

“No, she’s very tired. A few hours rest should do the trick.”

*

Sanlav ducked back down from the railing and moved to the waiting men. It was dark, and the clouds over Yama City blotted out large parts of the city. The shadows were ink black and gave no tone or detail away. Rain fell further out into the city, giving a damp and miserable feel to the group of fighters clustered in the ruins. As he moved down, he thought back to where he had been a year before. It was incredible, but he had been transformed in a short time. On board the CCS Crusader he had been simply a lieutenant on a gun deck, but now he was the leader of a group of freedom fighters. It was something he could never have imagined, and a position he had never wanted. He jumped over a crevice in the masonry and landed near the waiting fighters. Caladus and a dozen heavily armed civilians waited off to his right. Each of his fighters were crouching down low beside a burnt out transport vehicle.

“Well?” asked Caladus from his secure position.

“The shuttles are there, but we have a problem.”

“What is it?”

He didn’t reply immediately as a sound from one of the streets far behind them caught his attention. With a quick hand signal, a number of his marines trained their rifles and carbines in the direction of the sound. He lifted his night vision glasses and examined the building. The wind blew debris, and a number of crates slid across the road. Satisfied they were safe for the time being, he turned back to Caladus.

“We have a security problem. Somebody must have tipped them off. I count over a dozen heavy Biomechs and at least fifty infantry. They aren’t just standing around either. The Biomechs are waiting near the shuttles, and the troops are split into groups patrolling the perimeter.”

Caladus considered the predicament.

“I don’t like it. Do you think they know we’re coming? Maybe they are just taking extra precautions being as these are the last prisoners being sent away.”

“Perhaps. There are dozens of transports out on the landing bays though. They must be taking out thousands of people.”

“Between both of us, we can must nearly thirty fighters. That’s enough to take on their infantry, but not the Biomechs. Screw that. What about your friends? I thought you’d made agreements.”

Special Agent Johnson pushed ahead.

“Don’t worry about them, they’ll be here.”

Almost on cue a flight of fighters rushed overhead. It was impossible to tell what kind of aircraft they were, but the odds were that they were turncoat pilots flying Lightnings. They were the most common aircraft and perfectly suited for all kinds of operations on Kerberos. As they reached a position over the shuttles and transports, they started dropping off flares.

“They must know we are out here. Those flares are a diversion for our heat seeking missile systems.”

“They would be, if we had any!” said Captain Erdeniz with irony in his voice.

“Sir, look!” said one of his marines.

The group looked off to the other side of the escarpment to spot a snaking column of people. From their position it was almost impossible to make out details, but they were clearly armed, and there were well over thirty of them.

“Your friends?” asked Caladus.

As if to answer his question, one of the people flashed a dark green torch in their direction. The pinprick of light was difficult to pinpoint, but it did its job.

“That’s the signal. They should be the survivors of the industrial precinct.”

“I thought you said there were over two hundred of them.”

Johnson moved to the right of Caladus and whispered across to him.

“There were before the Biomechs cleared the place up last week. Last we heard was that over half had been captured. I reckon this is all that made it out.”

“Cover me,” ordered Erdeniz. Before they could reply, he dashed across the battle-scarred stonework to reach the group. It was only fifty or so metres, but as he moved, the rest of the fighters stood in silence. They each held their breath, praying he would make it. He prevailed and slid down next to the nearest of the group. As he arrived, he was met by a dozen rifles and all pointed directly at his chest.

“Captain Erdeniz, I presume?” asked an almost amused sounding woman.

He stood for a second, desperately trying to make out the woman’s face. The dull light from the flares gave her face some form but not enough to recognize her by.

“Where is Manager Carter? I was told he was coming here.”

“Good luck with that. He was taken this morning by a hunter team. We’re down to thirty-seven. Give it another day, and we’ll probably be half that number. We didn’t know whether to split or come here. There might be one other group left, but the last I saw of them was when five Biomechs chased them into the ruined tractor complex. Maybe they made it, maybe they didn’t. Either way, the place was destroyed by bombers an hour later.”

Erdeniz shook his head at the news.

“I’m sorry to hear that. So they still have troops in the city as well?”

“Looks that way, from the columns of trucks we spotted half an hour ago, I would say they are starting a full scale evacuation of the city.”

“How many trucks?”

“We lost count after eighty. They are being protected by about a hundred militiamen, too many for us to take on with just thirty-seven people. Is the plan still on?”

Captain Erdeniz was shocked by the news. He knew the Union was taking a large percentage of their troops as well as numbers of prisoners, but he never thought they would take so many.

“Yes, that’s why we’re here. The plan is simple. We hit the port area before they finish loading, and slow them down long enough to get some of the civvies armed and turn the entire place into a warzone. They don’t have many troops left, so if we make it too costly, they will be forced to leave or bring in reinforcements. Do you know the area?”

She nodded.

“I know the area well. We did a recce two days ago when we first heard about this operation. The army barracks is nearby.”

“Good. We start the operation in thirty minutes. I need your forces to create a diversion. Hit the spaceport from the west and spread out. Cause as much damage as you possibly can, but try not to lose your people.”

“Okay, and you?”

“We’ll hit the command post and barracks. With them knocked out, we should be able to clear the site of hostiles. If we are lucky, we might find extra help for those spare firearms.”

“What about their reinforcements?”

“We have another group working on that. Based on the numbers, we calculate less than a thousand troops remain on this planet. If we are fast and bold, we have a chance to end this occupation before they realize we are even here. Are you ready?”

“Yep. What about your people?” she asked expectantly. She looking into the darkness and strained her eyes. It wasn’t easy, but she desperately wanted to see if the Captain had brought the kind of numbers she had been expecting.

“We’re all here. You just make sure you keep them busy, and we’ll do our bit.”

*

Misaki and Bishop made their way to the guards’ station. It had taken almost five minutes for them to reach this part of the ship, and already the number of civilians pushing their way around was becoming irritating. The ship was apparently an expensive liner used to carry up to five hundred people in exquisite luxury to various destinations. Bishop had seen one ship like it before as it carried people on a yearlong voyage between Terra Nova and Prime. As they approached the entrance to the passenger section, they stopped at the hastily erected security station. Two heavily armoured marines guarded it, yet Bishop was less than impressed by the position. From what he could see, the lax measures taken by the civilians would prove almost useless in a crisis.

“Name?” asked the civilian guard. Bishop looked at the man and then over to the nearest marine. The two stood motionless, yet paid neither him nor Misaki any attention. He couldn’t see how two motionless and inattentive guards, plus one gruff looking civilian, would stop foul play.

“Your name, marine?” snarled the man.

Bishop leaned closely towards the man who recoiled slightly at his approach.

“Why the rudeness? We’re all here for the same reason.”

He looked over to the marines and back to the civilian in his fancy dress uniform. It was something of an anachronism, yet on this extravagant ship he had seen many others. He could only assume this was the company’s uniform.

“Why are civilians running the security details here?”

The man pulled at his jacket before replying.

“This is a first-rate civilian passenger liner. We never asked to be drafted into the military for this operation.”

“So what? Do you think anybody will hire you and your ship if the Union control this sector?”

As they spoke, Misaki tapped away on her datapad. Bishop could not quite make out what she was up to, but from experience it would be something that would get him into trouble. The man cleared his throat and tried again.

“Please, Sir, what is your name and what is your business?”

“Better. My name is Bishop, Sergeant Bishop, and this is Misaki SatM.”

“Your business?”

“None of yours. Check your roster, and you’ll find me on the list.”

The man shook his head but said nothing more. He ran his hand along a list on his computer system until reaching one of their names.

“Ah, yes. I have you here, Sergeant. Miss SatM, you are not on the marine roster.”

“Does she look like a marine?” asked Bishop.

He pointed at her, and as if to emphasise the point she struck a pose. Her tight trousers, and less than conservative blouse, seemed to attract his attention. Bishop spotted him looking a little too attentively at her.

“Miss SatM is on attachment to our tech unit for the time being. She should be down on the

” he was cut off by the man who quickly regretted not waiting.

“Yes, here we are. Miss Misaki SatM, R&D department. You are both clear to enter.”

“What?” Bishop demanded.

“You may enter the passenger decks.”

“What about checking who we are?”

“Well, Sir, I’ve already asked you this.”

Bishop shook his head in irritation.

“We could have lied.”

He turned to Misaki who was still working on her datapad.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“One second…hold on.”

He waited patiently until she finally finished whatever it was she was working on. Bishop led the way and Misaki followed a short distance behind until they were through the double doors and approaching an open plaza-type space.

“What were you doing?” he asked.

“Give it a few more seconds and you’ll see.”

The open area was actually a triple-width corridor but decked out with marble on the walls and floor. The ceiling was a single panel of what appeared to be glass. Bishop had heard of this level of artificial surface modelling before, but he had never seen one as extravagant as this. It gave the impression of a domed ceiling made entirely of glass that provided exquisite views of space. In reality, the ceiling was no different to any other part of the ship. It was merely a three-dimensional projection, in much the same way as those used to create the bridge on military ships, but without real windows.

A series of red lights started to flash at intervals where they stood until their intensity increased, and a number of alarms triggered. The response from a rapid security team was impressive. In less than thirty seconds, four men in civilian work clothes and two marines rushed back towards the security post.

“What did you do, Misaki?”

She smiled but said nothing. Voices of somebody shouting came from behind, and the security man they had been speaking with appeared, flanked on both sides by the newly arrived marines. As he was taken away, he threw a bitter glance at the two of them.

“That was you?” asked a surprised Bishop.

“Well, not entirely. I merely implied he might have been on the take.”

“What?”

“It’s okay, once they run checks, they’ll find it is down to a simple auditing error on the system.”

Bishop sighed.

“And how long will it take for the checks to be carried out?”

“Well, that is up to how efficient they are. At least three to four hours, I would think.”

Another group of marines move past, and one stopped in front of them.

“Bishop, Sergeant Bishop?” he asked in a thick accent.

Bishop looked at the man; he was also a sergeant but slightly older and heavily scarred. His dark black skin was unusual in the Corps with the larger than average percentage of Hispanic and Caucasian men. The patches and insignia on his uniform indicated he was from the 5th Reconnaissance Battalion, the elite commando unit of the Marine Corps.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“You know Spartan and Teresa?”

“Yes.”

“I thought it was you. I’m Marcus Keller. We all went through the training programme together. I don’t know if you remember, but I was one of the prisoners, along with General Rivers and Spartan, that you helped rescue.”

He turned to Misaki and nodded politely.

“And who might you be?”

“Misaki SatM, at your service,” she replied, almost comically.

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard about your technical work. I didn’t quite expect to see somebody quite as attractive on this rust bucket.”

Bishop looked pained at his painful flirting, but Misaki seemed to be enjoying the attention.

“Tell me, Sergeant. What is happening here?”

“Nothing serious. Looks like there was some kind of security sensor problem. We have people working on it. Look, I need to go. Perhaps the three of us could meet up later?”

Bishop was prepared to make an excuse, but the look on Misaki’s face told him otherwise. He opened his mouth to speak, and she nodded before a word left his lips.

“I’ll contact you on the comms system. In the meantime, you probably want to go and sort out your quarters. See you later.”

He turned from the two, moving through the door where the rest of the marines were checking the computers. Bishop stopped and looked at her sternly.

“What the hell was that all about?”

Misaki feigned surprise and pointed at him.

“Is poor Bishop feeling jealous?”

He said nothing as he watched her stand in front of him, but his body language told her more than any words.

“Look. We met on Prometheus and shared a terrible experience. It would be good to talk and meet up again.”

“Talk. That all you want?”

“Well, it’s not like I spent time with you for that, is it?” she asked with a wicked grin.

“Come on, let’s see what our quarters are like.”

She moved on ahead and continued through the beautifully detailed decor of the ship. A number of sailors and marines were moving about, most carrying equipment and supplies. A small number of the personnel on board travelled light and were probably looking for their quarters as well.

“Where is your place?” asked Misaki.

“To the right and next to the secondary escape deck. That’s it, there,” he said, pointing in the direction they needed to follow.

Misaki moved ahead, quickly reaching a circular door protected by a security panel. As he moved closer, a light flashed on and a holographic face appeared to the right of the panel.

“Good day, Sergeant Bishop. Your quarters are ready. Please enter your security information.”

“Nice AI and sensor suite,” said Misaki, genuinely impressed with the equipment.

“Yeah, the perks of staying on a liner right?”

He pushed his hand to the panels where it his fingerprints were scanned.

“Thank you, please enter,” continued the security unit. The door slid open with no discernable sound. They stepped forward and looked inside. It was a large suite that was probably designed for a single family. Bishop moved in first, gawping at the wooden furnishings and the substantial amounts of crystal and glass covering almost every surface. The beds had been removed and replaced by three bunks. Each doubled up to provide sleeping space for six. On the floor were a number of military issue bags, obvious by their labelling and urban camouflage pattern. Bishop checked them until finding his and pulled it over to one side.

“Yeah, that’s mine,” he said.

“Where are the others?”

Bishop shrugged.

“We’re earlier than expected, maybe the next transport. Why?”

She turned to the door and pushed it shut. She stood there, facing away from him and pulled her blouse upwards and dropped it on the floor. She turned to face him with just her tight fitting pants and dark blue bra.

“Hey, not here. What if somebody comes in?”

She stepped forward and pushed him to the nearest bed. It caught the back of his knee as he fell back. She jumped on top of him.

“You know what I want!” she said with a wicked look on her face.

Bishop reached up with his hands around her, and with a few clicks undid her bra. It dropped off behind her leaving her naked from the waist up.

“Come on, Bishop, now!” she shouted.

A loud thump signalled the opening of the door, and in walked four men. Each was wearing marine fatigues and carried small bags.

“Nice!” exclaimed the first.

“Yeah, can we get in on that?” asked the second.

Bishop sat up surprised and embarrassed. Misaki, on the other hand, just started laughing. Another man entered the room. It was Sergeant Keller. As he spotted the two, he stopped and grinned.

“You two didn’t waste any time, now did you?”

He thrust a datapad towards Bishop who was forced to lean past the almost naked torso of Misaki.

“We have reports of two men, possibly armed, trying to take weapons from one of the arms lockers. We’ve got them pinned in that section, but I’m down on manpower. Until the rest of the squads get here, I could do with a hand.”

Bishop jumped off the bed and stepped closer to the Sergeant.

“No problem, lead the way,” he said firmly.

Sergeant Keller bent down and lifted the crumpled blouse from the floor. He stepped towards Misaki and handed her the item.

“I think you dropped this, Miss.”

She looked up at him and smiled.

“Thank you, Sergeant, you are too kind.”

Bishop watched them both with an irritated and frustrated expression on his face.

“I won’t keep him long, so save it for later,” he laughed, and with a wink headed for the door.

“Come on, marines, let’s go.”

CHAPTER TEN

The formation of the 1st Assault Battalion occurred at the high watermark of the Proxima Emergency. Though unknown at the time, the decision to move Spartan and his Vanguards to work alongside the allied Biomechs would prove critical to the war. Their early operations established Spartan as something more than just a platoon commander. He would find himself at the heart of the greatest battle of the war. A battle that would see the Jötnar reveal their true loyalty.

The Rise of Spartan

The mess hall on board the Oceania was nothing short of spectacular. The vast open space was normally used as the main banquet area, but now it was used exclusively by the marines and sailors serving on the ship. The fine cutlery and porcelain may have been removed, but the furnishings, tables and lavish artworks all remained. There were a number of high quality liners and passenger transports in Proxima Centauri, but it was rare for anybody below the top brass of the military or wealthy industrialists to ever see the insides of such a vessel.

At one of the larger tables sat Misaki and Bishop, as well as another three marines from his new unit. The other tables were all packed with hungry marines, and every single one of them looked totally out of place when compared to the grandeur of the well-decorated ship.

“Well, we’ve already met, but I don’t know your names,” Misaki said, doing her best to break the ice. She was aware that her first impression with the marines hadn’t been ideal, but with a little tact and diplomacy, she should be able to turn things around.

The tallest of the group, a muscular looking marine with a strong rural accent, spoke first. Like the other marines on board, he looked green. It wasn’t just the look of his uniform that was spotless and unblemished, but it was the way he sat. Whereas Bishop had the look of a man that had seen enough to know he didn’t need to go looking for trouble anymore, but for some reason it had no difficulty in finding him.

“I’m Jones, these two are Terry and Vince. We just transferred from the marine barracks on Prometheus. You’re not in our unit?” he asked.

“You sound disappointed?” she replied.

“Well, you did have a way of brightening up our quarters.”

Bishop leaned forward, his face starting to redden. He wasn’t easily embarrassed, but this was his first time with the group of marines, and it was never a good thing to give them too much ammunition to use, especially from the beginning.

“Yeah, well that isn’t going to be happening again soon. At least, not when you bunch of pervs are about.”

It was a minor but useful insult, and it instantly turned the conversation around to the normal banter that could be expected at any marine barracks or on a Navy ship.

“Anyway, Misaki is a high-level tech specialist. She won’t be wasting time with the likes of you.”

“Nice,” said Vince, the shortest and slightly portly looking fellow, “Bishop said you’ve both seen quite a bit of action. This is our first posting since finishing boot.”

“We were on the underground Biomech facility on Prometheus.”

“The factories? You mean the camps where they were feeding prisoners into the machines?”

“Hey,” said Terry as he thumped Vince in the arm.

“You’ve seen them up close, then?” Vince asked.

Misaki looked a little confused.

“The factories?”

“No, I mean the Biomechs.”

“Oh, right. Yes, I’ve seen them all, and I’ve seen what they can do.”

Marcus entered the room and noticed the group. Bishop spotted him instantly and signalled for him to approach the table. The new recruits tensed up as they saw the arrival of a decorated and experienced sergeant.

“Relax, gentlemen. I’m just here for some chow.”

He sat down next to Vince and Misaki, and placed his tray of food on the table.

“You have to admit, the food in this place is something else.”

“You’ve got that right, Sarge,” said Vince.

Marcus took a bite out of the synthesised meat and chewed for a few seconds before continuing.

“So what exciting tales are we discussing today?”

“Prometheus and Biomechs,” replied Vince excitedly.

Marcus stopped chewing for a moment. The look on his face was as if somebody had just given him the worst of news. The three new marines looked at each other, still unsure what they had said to upset him.

“Biomechs,” he finally exclaimed, adding no more. Bishop interjected.

“The Sergeant here was on Prometheus as well as people like Misaki and many others. He has experienced every kind of Biomech you can think of.”

Marcus nodded slowly.

“That’s right. I’ve fought them on the hard rubble of Euryale, Prime, in space and even the hot earth of Prometheus. They are though, uncompromising and vicious. Forget the Zealots or the Union. The Biomechs are the power behind them. Without the creatures, they are terrorists and suicide bombers.”

“But I don’t understand, aren’t some of them on our side now? I thought the Yorkdale was the home of a special unit?”

“Special alright. Because of Lieutenant Spartan and his Biomech friends, they split my unit apart.”

“They fight for us, right?” asked Vince.

Marcus turned to face him, his jaw tightening.

“For now. Do you honestly feel safe with over a thousand of those things just outside, and all sitting in their own ship? They can go where they please and fight whenever they want. We found them on Prometheus, and they are no different to the ones we had to fight down there. I promise you, one day, maybe tomorrow, they will turn on us.”

“Spartan would never have gone along with it, if he had even the slightest doubts about them,” countered Bishop.

“Spartan? He’s gone, Bishop. Since he abandoned us on Euryale, he is more interested in their welfare than us. I tell you now, Spartan is not the man we knew back on Prime.”

Misaki listened to him with interest. She had a past with Spartan, or at least she liked to think she had. One night on the hot planet, she had forced herself upon him, only to be pushed aside. It was a moment she wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

“What can we do?” she asked meekly.

“For starters, we can start talking about them and treat them for what they are.”

“And what is that?” asked a less than friendly Bishop.

“Bio-engineered monsters that have one mission in their lives. They exist to attack and destroy anybody that gets in their way, and that includes all of us.”

Terry looked to Misaki.

“You’ve met Spartan, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve met him.”

“Has he changed that much?”

“I agree with the Sergeant. Since he met his new friends, he’s slipped away from us all. They could easily be part of their plan to make us feel attached or obligated to them in some way.”

Marcus rested his clenched fist on the table.

“That’s when they kick us in the nuts.”

The group fell silent at the last comment. They were unsure as to where the conversation was going.

“Look at it this way. The loyalty of the Biomechs is just a computer program, and no different to the software on our ships or anything else that uses firmware. It can be updated, improved or just changed. What if they all have the same underlying desire to kill us all? One signal, and they could turn on us. Do you honestly want to have to fight those things up close and personal? I don’t. Trust me, I’ve seen what they are all capable of doing.”

“Actually, I’ve seen some of the reports on the programming of the Biomechs. Most of it is very simple. With the correct equipment and coding, it would be possible to change their current programming,” said Bishop.

“Why don’t we do that instead of fighting them?” asked a confused Vince.

“Because these creatures have to be captured and brought to a centre like the one on Prometheus. Unless you know of any other ways to program them,” replied Marcus suspiciously.

“If I knew that, don’t you think I might pass it on to the Intel Division?”

“No, Bishop, I don’t.”

*

It was turning out to be one of the coldest and most miserable nights Kerberos had seen all year. The bright light from the early rising sun cast soft shadows out into the landing pads and runways. The second, more distant, sun did its bit to add a yellow hue to the morning’s glow. As the light increased, so did the columns of smoke along the horizon. It was like a scene of an apocalyptic event with scores of buildings burning in the distance. Captain Erdeniz and two of his scouts watched from their observation position.

“Sir, we’re picking up sounds of gunfire and fighting five kilometres away to the north.”

“Yes, I’m getting the readings as well. This isn’t good. They must be rounding up stragglers.”

“What about the fires, Sir?”

“That, I do not know.”

“So, let’s just do the recount. We have two squads near the barracks and a couple of guards at the tower. The rest are helping to load civilians onto the aircraft.”

“Yes, Sir. Wait,” the marine pushed the Captain to one side and then rolled behind a rusted metal girder. “Look out, Sir!”

Erdeniz forced himself lower into the debris as a heavy transport rumbled overhead. It was the same size as the heavy loaders used by the Army and could easily carry upwards of a thousand people. He had seen the specifications, and those kinds of vessels could even land a number of armoured vehicles directly into action.

“Shit, that was close!” said the marine to his right.

“You could say that. We need to get going. Pretty soon this transportation will end, and it will be just people like us left here.”

The number of transports and shuttles was increasing, and from where they watched, it was beginning to look like a mass exodus. The civilians were already being escorted from the massive hangars usually reserved for passenger transports and heavy loaders. Quite a few were struggling, and Captain Erdeniz was convinced they would fight if given the chance.

Noise behind him gave away Caladus and one of his trusted lieutenants. She was a short woman carrying a heavy looking sniper rile with a large thermal imaging scope fitted along a top rail.

“I can’t believe how many there are,” said Caladus. “No wonder the city has been so quiet for the last week. We thought most were being arrested or interned, but I had no idea they intended on removing the bulk of the able-bodied population.”

Erdeniz leaned back, nodding to Caladus.

“I know, at this rate they will have stripped almost the whole of the western quadrant of the city in less than a day. We have to hit them, and fast, or we’ll lose thousands of citizens, maybe even the colony.”

Caladus nodded and slid back down to where his own ragtag unit of fighters waited. Some wore captured Army militia armour, and at least two wore a full set of carapace armour. This obsolete armour was still used by the Army, due to its ability to withstand heavy gunfire in full frontal assaults. It was slower to move in than marine armour and less useful in space or on ships. In urban combat, where you could expect to find snipers and heavy explosions, it was the perfect equipment. Caladus wore just a carapace breastplate, more a combination of the armour worn in the renaissance and the gear worn by the marines. He had added a few markings and embellishments to give it a more flamboyant look. As he reached his unit, he slid into position next to Special Agent Johnson. The experienced officer finished speaking on his radio unit and rubbed the back of his hand on his face.

“They are ready to start the attack on the perimeter walls. You realise that once they open fire the flares will go up, and we can expect air cover in a matter of minutes?”

“I know. You just get us inside the barracks, and we’ll do the rest.”

Almost a minute early, a volley of orange sparks erupted along the far side of the site from dozens of rifles. A streak of flame sent a guided rocket half a kilometre before it struck a parked Lightning fighter. The explosion was impressive and tore the aircraft into two large chunks. A line of dark shapes moved inside the perimeter of the base and commenced a substantial, albeit suicidal, assault on a dozen parked military aircraft and their crewmen. Two more aircraft burst into flames, and small arms tracer fire rattled in streaks across the spaceport.

“What the hell?” Erdeniz shouted.

Johnson was already on the radio and speaking furiously with the group of rebels they had spoken with previously. He turned back to Erdeniz with a confused expression on his face.

“They haven’t started yet. It must be the other survivors going ahead with the attack.”

“Great, they could screw this up. Get the others to move in now, and try and reach this new group. We don’t want any friendly fire.”

Johnson continued speaking on the radio for several more seconds.

“Okay, they are going in now. Let’s do this.”

Captain Erdeniz looked behind him to see the grim but keen faces of his small command. It was a mixture of Confed fighters, mainly marines, but also a smattering of Navy and Army troops. All were armed, but few had much in the way of armour.

“Ready?” he said quietly.

Blasts of heavy gunfire tore across the spaceport as the second group did their best to create as much noise as possible. More rockets from both sides rushed across the flat, almost featureless ground.

“Is your team ready?”

Caladus nodded.

“They’re waiting at the perimeter wall. Charges are set and heavy weapons in place.”

“Good. Okay then, thirty seconds and we go in. Remember, we lack the numbers to fight them all. Get through the breach and then stick with your groups. One hits the barracks, and the other the control tower. Don’t stop for casualties. Just move fast, and shoot anything that moves.”

The group nodded and followed their Captain along the narrow gully towards where four of Caladus’ fighters were waiting alongside the wall. The nearest lifted his hand to make them stop. It was a spot they had located just half an hour earlier. It was the only location that allowed them to move close enough to the wall without being seen. The only real concern was that there was a large open space on the other side that could become a terrible killing ground, if they were unable to clear it quickly enough.

“This is it!” said Erdeniz.

A great flash ripped a hole over four metres wide through the wall and sent dust and debris in all directions. One of the fighters was struck in the head by a chunk of damaged masonry and knocked to the ground. It didn’t look serious, but there wasn’t time to hang around and check. Captain Erdeniz lifted his rifle and called out to his party.

“Now!”

He moved through the breach first, closely followed by Johnson and the rest of the fighters. Though the hole was fairly large, it still took time for them to make it through. Only six made it before one of the Army soldiers, a rookie private who had escaped the Fort Hood massacre, stumbled and fell. It delayed them for just a few seconds, but it did split up the party.

Captain Erdeniz rushed out of the smoke and spotted two guards staggering about, presumably shocked from the explosion. One had blood dripping from a wound on his forehead. Erdeniz lifted up his L48 rifles and sent a round towards each man. The semi-intelligent ammunition calculated the proximity to the target and exploded. The devices opened up a hole the size of a football in each of them, and they dropped lifelessly to the ground.

“Keep moving!” he shouted without checking behind him. The six-man group fanned out and continued firing short busts at any enemy troops they encountered. Special Agent Johnson ducked to the right to avoid a rocket-propelled grenade that exploded impotently in the hard ground. Shards of masonry scattered about, but incredibly, nobody was hurt. He turned to check his men and noticed the enemy reinforcements rushing into prepared positions in front of the barracks. He looked back to see the next wave of his own forces emerging from the breach. They were sitting targets. He turned back to the enemy and fired a burst before rifle fire forced him back to cover.

Almost as soon as the group emerged from the dust, they were hit by concentrated machine gunfire. Two of the lead marines were cut almost in half. The rest scattered to any cover they could locate and returned fire. The unfortunate Army private tried to take cover, but he was hit three times in the body and sent screaming to the ground.

Erdeniz rolled behind a stack of empty barrels and peered over them to assess the situation. The machine gun nest was all that stood between them and the front of the barracks building. He looked back to see the still writhing body of the private. More bullets hit around him, but incredibly no more struck him. He looked over to Caladus who was busy taking careful aim with his own weapon.

“Hit the nest!” he cried.

It didn’t matter, three of Caladus’ men rushed forward carrying improvised satchel charges to try and deal with the problem. Two were struck down, but the third managed to throw one within two metres of the nest before being hit in the leg. He tumbled to the ground and disappeared behind a cloud of dust. As soon as the bag made contact, it exploded with a great roar. The blast was of a similar strength to that used by Caladus’ men at the wall. The sound was deafening at this range, but it did its job. The gunfire stopped as soon as it had started, and the ground in front of the buildings was clear once more.

“Take the barracks!” shouted Erdeniz to Caladus. “Everybody else with me!”

He moved out from cover and did a quick thermal scan of the area using the PDS suit’s built-in sensor suite. There might be movements around the barracks, as most of the troops were making their way to defend the perimeter around the aircraft and transports. He pushed on towards the control tower. The large structure was stationed roughly eighty metres further along the flat surface. The rest of the unit spread out into a thin line and advanced at his pace. The PDS armour was nothing like the kind of equipment used by the Vanguards or even the engineers. It was a closely fitted suit and provided life support, a sealed environment and basic protection against small arms. A sniper somewhere up high in the structure fired down, but the round simply bounced off the curved armour of the marines. A third shot finally managed to knock one to the ground, but he quickly lifted himself up and kept moving forward.

Erdeniz spotted Agent Johnson moving off to the right as they approached the main doors. There was an emergency fire escape on the right-hand side, and he took two marines with him. Erdeniz moved up to the front door and off to the side. He peered through the thickened glass and could see what the situation was inside. He turned back to see most of his unit in position and waiting for his command. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the doors open. He heart almost stopped, for he half expected an explosive device of some kind to explode as he entered. Instead, four militiamen carrying cases from a side room met him.

“Drop your weapons!” he shouted.

The first man went instinctively to his sidearm fitted tightly into a holster on his thigh. Erdeniz didn’t hesitate and sent a large calibre projectile from his L48 rifle into the man’s shoulder. He spun backwards and into the wall. More marines surged inside, and the militiamen quickly surrendered at the sight of the dirty and bloodied fighters. He didn’t wait and moved ahead, pushing through the lobby to the open space near the stairs and elevator. He signalled to two marines.

“Secure this area, we’ll keep moving up.”

He moved to the staircase, narrowly avoiding several bursts of automatic rifle fire. His suit was able to use acoustic range finding to pinpoint the danger and flag the area on his visor’s head-up display.

“Two targets, forty degrees!” he shouted.

Two marines leaned around the corner and released several proximity rounds into the danger zone. A dull crump sound was the only obvious response. Captain Erdeniz didn’t hesitate and pushed on up the stairs, his rifle at the ready. The thump of his armoured boots rang out on the open metal steps running up inside the structure. A few more seconds of running and he was on the next floor. Johnson and a handful of fighters were with him. They were all panting from exertion.

The next floor was open plan and led to a number of computer terminals. A floor to ceiling glass window ran the full circumference of the structure. It gave the controllers a full view of the spaceport. A bright white light appeared, followed by one of his marines dropping to the ground, and a small hole burned through his visor. He scanned for the enemy and picked up heat from three people. They were all hiding behind a computer unit and were heavily armed. Erdeniz gritted his teeth and aimed his rifle slightly above their position.

“Kill them all!” he shouted and loosed off seven rounds that quickly shattered the computer unit, glass and half the dividing wall. As the broken material dropped to the ground, there was quiet. Erdeniz took a breath. It was almost unreal. The tower was theirs, and they had sustained fewer casualties than expected. He tapped the comms button.

“All units report in. The tower is under our control.”

“Caladus here…” a long burst of gunfire drowned out the sound, “we’ve taken the barracks, hundreds of people here. Lots of military, arming them.”

Captain Erdeniz allowed himself a brief smile.

“Casualties?”

“Light, most of their forces are out on the perimeter. We need to help them and fast.”

“No, the mission is to stop the exodus. We stop the transports, and then we mop up. Understood?”

There was a pause for almost ten seconds. The two-way radio kept transmitting, and the sound of small arms gunfire could just be heard over the speakers. It looked like something had gone wrong, but finally Caladus appeared and spoke.

“Okay, Captain, you’re the boss. Just don’t wait too long. They have numbers on their side, and the Biomechs are heading for the civilian fighters. My people can take care of foot soldiers, especially these militia lackeys. Biomechs though, they are something else.”

Special Agent Johnson checked the computer systems that were still operational. They showed the large number of shuttles and transports waiting to take off. According to the main screen, they were only partially loaded and waiting for fuel. Only one ship, the large transport near the barracks, was fuelled up and ready to launch.

“It says here they are due to launch in six minutes.”

“Fuel is what will keep them here. Take two squads and deal with the transport. Go for the crew or their engines. We don’t want civilian casualties.”

Johnson nodded and looked down to his rifle, checking the ammunition status. He looked back up, as though he had forgotten to say something.

“What about you?”

“Me, I’m going for the fuel!”

He made for the stairs, but not before he put a burst of gunfire into the computer and communications system of the control tower.

“That should make things a little harder for them. Come on!”

They moved back along the route they had arrived and met additional marines in the lobby area. There was no immediate threat in this part of the spaceport, but the battle elsewhere seemed to be getting worse.

Johnson assembled his small group of two squads and waited in the shadows of the tower. Nearby, the remains of the Army and Marine squads surrounded Captain Erdeniz. Each man and woman checked their weapons and loaded in fresh magazines. Erdeniz pointed off to the left where a number of refuelling vehicles were positioned. Two of them were parked near a transport, and a group of men were hastily trying to connect it up.

“We have to move fast. You, take three men and hit the men working on the transport. Give me a signal when you have disconnected the pipes. We’ll secure the rest of the refuelling fleet and destroy it. Make sure you let us know when you are through, got it?”

The young marine nodded, his burnt and slightly damaged helmet seeming useless when compared to the armour used by the Captain and a few of the other marines.

“Go!”

The two groups split off and rushed out into the open. Gunfire still raged across the site, and the Union Biomechs had now joined the fray. The massive hulks of the Biomechs stomped slowly towards the civilian fighters, and each creature carried a multitude of heavy weapons. Captain Erdeniz was tempted to divert to help them, but the sight of the transports, and the knowledge of the hundreds of thousands of civilians about to be taken away, forced him to stay the course.

“Watch out!” screamed an Army sergeant, but he was cut to shreds before he could move to out of the way. From behind of one the trucks emerged a group of three massive Biomechs. Each stood at least three metres tall and was armed with multi-barrelled Gatling guns. The three fired a stream of projectiles at the group and cut down four more before they could take cover. Something struck Erdeniz in the leg, and he flipped over and crashed painfully to the ground. Another marine grabbed him, and dragged the injured officer to safety behind a partially destroyed truck.

“Sir, are you hurt?”

The marine looked down at the damaged armour, and he could see a number of holes and jagged edges where shrapnel had torn through the lower leg. A trickle of dark fluid ran down, and he hoped it was oil and not blood.

“Marine, keep up the attack,” said Captain Erdeniz, his voice now weak.

More rounds slammed around them, followed by the loud thud of the Biomechs moving towards them. The internal communication array in his suit lit up as reports flooded in from his now depleted force.

“Captain, Caladus here. We’ve secured the transport, getting the prisoners off the ship now. We estimate over three hundred so far.”

The deafening roar of two wings of Lightning fighters screaming overhead obliterated his voice. Multiple smoke trails rushed downwards and a great pattern of orange and yellow flickered nearby to the transport. More missiles struck, and one of the closest Biomechs staggered back and fell to the ground.

Captain Erdeniz pulled himself up into a seated position and watched in awe as more fighters raced across the spaceport. Missiles and cannon rounds ripped into the enemy militia and Biomechs. Behind them came dark shapes. He couldn’t quite make them out, but the jets of white-hot flame indicated they were slowing down to land.

“Sir, it’s the marines!” said somebody nearby, but he had already passed out.

*

General Rivers held on tightly to the grab handles inside his personal assault transport. The vessel was the most heavily armed and armoured in the marine arsenal, and it allowed him to land directly into combat. A well as his personal bodyguard, he also travelled with a full company of marines plus a number of CES engineers in their heavy armour. He wore his prototype PDS marine armour, equipment he had used for almost a decade. Unlike the other marines, the shoulder and helmet were slight fluted, a design feature that betrayed some of the older ideas used before the PDS armour became standard issue. There were few of these original, hand-built suits left, but they were thicker and contained a wealth of features that had been omitted from the final models. He looked down to his left arm; it contained a small calibre automatic carbine built into the armour. The indicator showed a full sixty-round clip present and loaded. He carried a battered, but well maintained, L48 carbine that hung from a sling mount on his armour.

The pilot of the transport, a young captain in the Marine Corps, called out to him on the communications system.

“Sir, we’re counting a large number of enemy infantry and Biomechs engaged in battle with other forces. It looks like a warzone down there.”

“Yes, that will be the Captain. Spread the word, we are expecting large numbers of friendlies. Put us down right in the middle. I want to see what’s going on here.”

“Sir.”

With a quick flick, he switched to the tactical network used by all the commanders within a certain radius.

“General Rivers here. The battle has begun, and we’re the cavalry. Our primary objective is to seize control of this area and deny it to the enemy. Secondary objectives are to rescue as many civilians as we can and minimise damage to the infrastructure. Bring the Biomechs down, and take as many prisoners as possible. I want this to be a clean operation, and I intend to keep this place. Be under no illusions, Kerberos is Confederate territory, and it will stay that way!”

Behind the vanguard of the landing party, the Union ships fought a desperate action against the newly arrived Confederate forces. It was hardly a battle, for they were outnumbered almost four to one and unprepared for heavy warships. One by one, they surrendered, broke off and tried to outrun their pursuers, but there was little chance of success against the high-speed Confederate frigates.

The ground battle became clear as they moved in closer. Tracer fire arced upwards, but the thick armour and high speed of the marines’ craft kept them out of danger. The door gunners on the shuttles strafed the ground, and another run by the Lightning fighters cleared an area for them to land.

General Rivers’ transport landed first, quickly followed by three assault shuttles of the Confederate Marine Corps. These small craft disgorged fully armoured marines who were rushed into close combat with the enemy infantry and Biomechs. The ramps on the transport lowered and, for the first time in weeks, General Rivers smelt fresh air and stood on solid ground. He moved forward, closely guarded by an elite squad of heavily armed marines. They each watched for any sign of enemy movement. As the troops spread out, the battle expanded into a fully-fledged action across the entire spaceport. A marine ran over to the General.

“Sir, we’ve found the Captain. He’s been hurt, but he’s conscious.”

“Good, get him on the transport.”

“Sir!”

The Captain called orders to their platoon leaders as more marines rushed out and deployed into aggressive positions. It was all happening fast, and the fire from the Biomechs became even more ferocious. General Rivers took cover behind a fallen Biomech.

“Marine commanders, push the enemy back to the empty service hangar. I’ll bring in the Army and the heavies in from the right. Just keep them busy, and do not let them regroup near the transports.”

On his tactical map inside his suit, he could see the enemy troops deployed into a number of well-entrenched positions at key positions on the site. Friendly forces had been encountered along the perimeter and at three others sites.

“Here they come, Sir!” cried the nearest officer.

He looked up to see the four large Army transports. Each one was capable of depositing hundreds of infantry and several armoured vehicles. At least one contained a detachment of Jötnar, and he had no doubt they would excel in this battle. The first heavy vessel touched down too close to the control tower and started to take fire from the Biomechs.

“Idiots!” he snarled, angry at the dangerous landing that put the Army troops into danger. The transport was safe for now; its thick armour was able to absorb all but the heaviest gunfire. The front ramp opened to reveal a great cloud of white smoke or steam. Out of the mist charged a whole platoon of Jötnar, each blasting away with heavy weapons. A small group of Biomechs tried to slow the attack, but two Jötnar cut them down with what looked like modified two-handed axes. In seconds, the enemy were overrun and falling back.

“Gods

they’re good,” he said quietly to himself, finally fully satisfied at the decision to incorporate the Jötnar into the military structure of the Confederacy.

The follow-up transports landed and even more troops, this time the Confederate Army, joined the battle. It was a pleasant change to see surprise at the numbers of their side. He tapped a button in his suit to contact the communications officer on the transport.

“Patch me through to the fleet. I have an urgent video communication for Admiral Jarvis.”

“Yes, Sir,” came the muffled response through the suit’s speakers.

He looked back at the battle and the retreating Union troops, and nodded with satisfaction.

“About goddamned time!” he smiled.

*

The CiC of CCS Crusader was quieter than normal. A skeleton crew of officers manned their station as the mighty warship continued her journey towards the Anomaly. They were travelling at maximum burn, but they would still not arrive before the ships in the first wave, including the Yorkdale. Due to the nature of space travel, they knew exactly when they would arrive and also when the ship would need to perform a full one hundred and eighty degrees turn. Once reversed, the ship would fire up its engines and decelerate the second half of the journey. Even if they wanted to turn back, they would still reach the Anomaly before they could even consider coming home. Admiral Jarvis examined the latest maps and reports coming in from the scores of warships in action through Proxima.

“Admiral, signal from Kerberos. It’s General Rivers,” said the communications officer.

Admiral Jarvis tensed up at the news. She hadn’t been expecting to hear from him so soon. His forces could only have arrived in orbit around the planet a few hours earlier. She could only hope his news wasn’t that they had run into additional enemy forces. She couldn’t turn back now, even if she wanted to.

“Put it on my screen.”

“Sir.”

The image of General Rivers appeared. It was a live feed, but the delay was marked as being several minutes long.”

“Admiral. We have made landfall at Yama City. So far we have located over eight thousand prisoners who were being loaded onto transports. We have also seized a large number of transports in orbit with many more people on board. On the ground, the remaining Union troops have been utterly routed. Captain Erdeniz and his allies have done good work here. The enemy were disorganised, and the spaceport’s defences were offline. I have sent Army patrols into the suburbs to hunt for Union forces in hiding, but so far it looks like we caught most of them trying to leave. I can confirm that Kerberos is under Confederate control.”

Admiral Jarvis looked at the display in disbelief. She had been expecting terrible news. Instead, she received this.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The attack on the captured Marina 4 Science Station is still studied by Confederate Naval and Marine Corps recruits. The station had been used as a slaver outpost for over six months and was heavily defended by drone and automated turrets. A picked company of commandos from the famous 5th Battalion performed a zero-g boarding action. Moving silently, and with no lighting or vessels in sight, they were able to seize control without a single casualty. The defenders lost nineteen fighters and over two hundred were taken prisoner. Their transport, the CCS Santa Cruz, then used the station for target practice over the course of four days.

Great Battles of the Confederate Marine Corps

The fleet had swelled in size from just a handful of vessels to a powerful force of ten ships. CCS Yorkdale was by far the largest in the fleet, but the marine transport CCS Santa Cruz was the flagship of the taskforce. Under the command of her commander, Captain Schaffer, she had access to seven light cruisers, each recently refitted at Prometheus. These vessels were a cheaper, simpler version of the standard cruiser but with slightly reduced armour and weapon systems. With reduced crew requirements and increased accommodation and fuel supplies, the ships were the perfect escorts. To provide extra protection a further group of five frigates, donated by the primary fleet in Proxima, circled the heavy warships. The Oceania helped boost the troop carrying capacity of the ships. All fifteen vessels were spaced out at a fixed distance from each other. They accelerated uniformly to maintain formation. It was no easy feat to keep from losing ships in this kind of manoeuvre, but the captains had been well trained and the computer systems easily capable of keeping track of the myriad of data. It was critical they all arrived at the same time, or they might be attacked and destroyed piecemeal.

On board the Yorkdale, the large numbers of engineers and crew had done their job well. The ship had been completely transformed in just two weeks, and to all intents and purposes was on its way to becoming a powerful and extremely capable vessel. They were over two-thirds the way to the Anomaly, and yet the innards of the ship looked nothing like when they had left on their mission. Spartan sat down on one of the many benches in the temporary gymnasium he had organised for use by the marines to work in. A dozen other marines continued running circuits or lifting weights. Gun stood to one side, and once satisfied that Spartan was resting, he walked over.

“Gun, how long have you been waiting?”

“Spartan, we have troubling news.”

Spartan was ever surprised with the speed at which they were improving in conversation and dialogue. The Jötnar were never going to be great orators, but they were growing in sophistication, much to Spartan’s pleasure. Gun looked to where Teresa was running. She wore shorts and a khaki tank top and was jogging around the perimeter of the training space.

“Fine woman, Spartan.”

Spartan smiled at the odd compliment from Gun. It wasn’t what a marine would have ever expected to hear from a Jötnar, even from those that had proven themselves many times on their adventures.

“Yes, she is,” he replied.

Spartan watched her run, captivated by her as she moved past them.

“What was this news?” he asked, suddenly remembering what Gun had first said.

“There is trouble on Oceania.”

“The passenger liner? What’s the problem?”

“Captain Schaffer asked for a Jötnar on each ship for security.”

Spartan looked confused.

“I don’t see the problem. Your Jötnar have proven themselves perfect for ship defence. Hell, we’ve all seen what happens when you board a ship defended by you or your friends.”

Gun forced a smile before continuing.

“No. There is a problem with Jötnar on the Oceania. A marine is dead, Jötnar are blamed.”

“What?” demanded Spartan, his face already tightening with anger.

“I have spoken to the Captain of the ship. He says they were in argument with marines about Biomechs. One officer was present, said Jötnar attacked the marines with blades.”

“That isn’t possible.”

“I know.”

“We have to get there before the news spreads to the rest of the Jötnar in the fleet. Who else knows this?”

Gun shrugged.

“When is the next transport break?”

“Two hours, unless we can get them to stop early.”

“No, it is hard enough getting the entire fleet to cut acceleration at the same time. Last time we did an emergency halt, it required nearly three hours to fix the change in speed and schedule. Don’t forget, we are in the deceleration phase now. We need the engines on to slow down, or we’ll overshoot the Anomaly.”

“I know,” said Gun as he scratched his head. It was obvious he still wasn’t completely convinced on the idea that during the second half of the trip that switching the engines off meant they would reach their target quicker, but they would be unable to stop.

“I can see we are flying backwards, it just isn’t, well. It isn’t right.”

“True, it takes some getting used to. So let me get this straight, there was an argument on the civilian ship between Jötnar and marines. The result is hurt marines and one dead? The officer, who is it?”

“The Captain would not say.”

“What?” snapped Spartan.

He walked over to the communications intercom on the nearest bulkhead.

“Lieutenant Spartan, I need a priority secure connection to the Captain of the Oceania.”

“Yes, Sir, one moment,” came the reply.

Spartan turned back to Gun.

“I’m sorry about this, Gun. I don’t believe for a minute the Jötnar caused this trouble. I’ll find out who did though.”

Gun nodded, again staying silent.

“Lieutenant. The Captain is refusing to speak to anybody until an investigation team led by a Captain Hobbs from the Santa Cruz arrives on the next transport break. That is due to occur in the next two hours. His XO has confirmed that the Jötnar are being held in the brig prior to them being disciplined.”

Spartan’s face was becoming more and more strained. Gun had seen him like this before and knew exactly what he was going to do. He stepped closer, but Spartan spoke before he could reach him.

“In that case, Commander Gun and myself need an urgent connection to Captain Schaffer on the Santa Cruz. Priority one.”

“Yes, Sir.”

*

Spartan was off the shuttle first, but Gun wasn’t far behind. They stepped into the loading bay to find a dozen officers making their way from another shuttle. Spartan spotted Captain Hobbs in the middle of the group.

“Captain!” he shouted.

She must have heard him, but she chose to ignore Spartan and continued on to the security desk. A marine guard waved them on before Spartan could push past the throng of marines and crewmen in the area. He finally reached the desk only to be stopped by the guard.

“Lieutenant Spartan? I have a message from a Sergeant Marcus Keller. He asked for you to meet him urgently in his quarters.”

“What? I have important business to attend to. It can wait.”

“Sir, the message includes a privately encoded video attachment. I’ll send it to your datapad.”

Spartan looked back to Gun and his own marines he had brought with him from the Yorkdale. They were technically there to provide security, but in reality, Spartan had brought them along in case things turned nasty. He had a bad feeling in his gut that something sinister was going on. An alert on his datapad indicated the arrival of the secure packet.

“There, you are free to move about the ship now.”

“Good. Gun, let’s go.”

The group moved past the desk and chased after Captain Hobbs and her entourage. He glanced at the video message and stopped in his tracks when he saw the bloodied face of Bishop. He lifted it closer and activated the sound, though keeping it as quiet as possible.

“Spartan. I need to speak with you urgently. Do not meet anybody from the investigation team until we have spoken. I have attached the coordinates to a safe place. Don’t waste time. Hundreds of lives are at stake.”

The message paused and, to Spartan’s surprise, started to decode in front of his eyes. One-use messages were rare in the military as they were obsessed with record keeping. All that remained were the coordinates. He looked over to Gun.

“Come with me, we have somewhere else we need to be.”

Gun tilted his head, confused but also slightly used to this kind of request from Spartan. He looked at him for another moment, but Spartan’s expression made it quite clear he needed to go with him. Spartan turned to the Sergeant that had come with him.

“Take the rest of the men to meet with the Chief. I understand there is some equipment he has stored for us.”

“We’re not coming with you, Sir?”

“Not yet. Just make sure your squad is ready, just in case.”

The Sergeant saluted and returned to the small unit of men. Gun tapped Spartan on the shoulder.

“Spartan, let’s go.”

The two moved off along the corridor while Spartan checked the ship’s schematic on his datapad.

“You have a new destination?” asked Gun.

“You could say that. If this message is correct, we might be in the middle of something pretty dangerous.”

Gun laughed.

“What changes?”

Spartan shook his head, and did his best to smile. The route was a winding one and quickly took them away from the main galley areas and into the service corridors. Unlike the rest of the Oceania, these parts of the ship were narrow and crude in construction. It was immediately obvious that the luxurious quality of the vessel was nothing but a facade. The guts of the ship were no better than a normal transport, possibly worse. At one point, they ran into a group of technical crew who scrambled out of the way of the monstrous Gun, who did little to calm their worries.

“Ease back a bit Gun, you’re not trying to intimidate them all, are you?”

Gun grinned.

Spartan stopped and rechecked his datapad. He looked to his right and reached out.

“According to the schematic, this is below the primary intercooler. This is where Marcus is going to meet us.”

As he fiddled about in the dark, he managed to locate a handle and pulled on it. The door opened inwards to reveal a large, darkly lit storeroom. There were shelves and equipment, all strapped down to prevent movement.

“Over here,” said a quiet voice, almost a whisper.

Spartan moved slowly inside and Gun followed behind him.

“Just the two of you?” asked the voice.

Spartan was starting to feel uncomfortable. He reached down to his handgun in its holster. The door slammed shut behind them and the room changed to pitch darkness.

“Gun! Watch…” he started to shout but something struck him on the head. He tried to grab at his unseen assailant but was already falling to the floor. The last thing he saw was a dull yellow glow from a lamp or torch.

*

Spartan’s eyesight was starting to return. The dull glow of the room began to change until he could make our white and grey shapes. Something moved towards him, and then he felt a cold trickle down his back. He shuddered as the cold water ran down his body.

“You bastards!”

The darker shapes started to coalesce into the form of a number of people. One became much larger until a loud voice boomed at him.

“Spartan. Nobody will find you here,” said a familiar voice.

“Marcus?” he asked.

A number of people spoke quietly in the background.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Why are you doing this? Gun? Gun!” he shouted.

“Shout all you like, Spartan. Nobody can hear you down here,” replied a female voice.

“Spartan. I warned you long ago that you would pay for screwing about with me. We don’t need your half-breed monsters fighting with us. Today we will finally cut them off, all of them.”

“Hobbs, you bitch! What have you done?”

His vision was now much clearer, and he could make out the detail of the room. It was a luggage storage area. They had probably chosen it as it was only going to be accessed during departures and arrivals of passengers. Captain Hobbs, his nemesis, stood to his side. Marcus and two other marines stood close by. In the background stood a short woman. She leaned against the bulkhead with an almost bored expression on her face.

“Misaki!” he hissed.

“Hello, lover.”

“She told me all about it, Spartan,” explained Marcus.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your plans with the Biomechs. Your plan on pushing the General to use them, instead of the Army or Marines. I know you think you’re helping, but you must know they can’t be trusted. Look what happened here.”

Spartan shook his head.

“Bullshit. What happened here?”

“The Biomechs. They turned on our marines.”

Spartan looked directly at Marcus, shaking his head in disbelief that his old friend could fall for such an outrageous story.

“Did you see this with your own eyes?”

Marcus stepped back and looked towards Captain Hobbs.

“You’re different, Spartan. Since Euryale, you’ve changed. You chose the Biomechs over your own unit and forced us to be disbanded. What is the next step?”

“You fool, Marcus. Let me guess, Misaki told you this! Where is Bishop?”

“Bishop? Haven’t you heard?”

“Maybe you would like to enlighten me?”

Captain Hobbs nodded in satisfaction.

“Nicely played, Lieutenant, as though you don’t know what your own operatives are up to on this ship,” she said with relish.

“What?” Spartan muttered. From the look on her face, she was enjoying every minute of this discussion. Spartan looked about the room, but there appeared to be nobody of a higher rank or of greater importance than her. It was clear she was pulling the strings in this situation.

“Sergeant Bishop was the marine killed by the Biomechs. When I arrived at the scene, a security unit was already there and had disarmed the Jötnar.”

“A security team disabled a group of Jötnar? How many were there?”

Marcus was looking a little less secure and glanced back at Misaki who raised her eyebrow in dismay.

“Ah, I see. Let me guess, she’s been paying you late night visits for the last couple of weeks.”

“Spartan, just because you couldn’t have me!” she snapped.

Marcus leaned in towards Spartan.

“They are going to be court-martialled for Bishop’s murder. You must be able to see they can’t be trusted. If they could turn on Bishop, then what about us?”

Captain Hobbs stepped up so that she and Marcus stood almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Marcus looked at her but seemed uncomfortable, as though he had been forced to stand there.

“And when this happens you will get my personal guarantee that those responsible will be executed as accorded by Confederate Military law.”

The door opened and in walked four heavily armed marines, each struggling to drag in the docile and almost unconscious Gun. His armour and weapons had been stripped away, and there were cuts and marks all over his arms and chest.

“As for the rest of them, including him, I have evidence of a plot by you and the Biomechs on the Yorkdale to turn on us upon reaching the Anomaly. I am on my way to present this critical information to the Captain before I speak to the senior officers in this fleet. Watch him and take no chances. If my data is correct, Lieutenant Spartan would choose his Biomech friends over us every time.”

“You lying bitch!” snapped Spartan.

She slapped her hand hard against Spartan’s cheek. It caused no real harm, but Spartan could easily see the joy she took from it.

“Now, you can save him and the others if you co-operate. You work as a low ranking officer on the ship. Help us, and I will ensure you are reinstated on the Santa Cruz.”

“Come on, Spartan. This is a good chance, a clean break from them. We don’t need them, and what if they do turn on us?” Marcus asked.

“If? So you’re not even convinced they will, and you’re happy to go ahead with this?”

Marcus again looked over to Misaki.

“Man, she must be something in the sack, Marcus.”

The tall marine turned back, an angry and almost disappointed look on his face. He lifted his hand and brought it down on Spartan’s jaw. The shock almost knocked him out again, but Spartan wasn’t an easy man to knock out. His vision blurred but quickly returned.

“You pissed with me, Marcus? Or you pissed at what you’ve done? You know Hobbs won’t rest until every single Jötnar is dead or in chains. You know what she sounds like?”

“Enough!” shouted Captain Hobbs.

“Sergeant, you stay here. I need to meet with the Captain about this business. I will leave you with a squad of my marines. Make sure nobody leaves this room. Understood?”

Marcus first looked at Spartan, his face still contorted with rage. He looked over to the Captain who was already at the door.

“They’ll be here when you get back.”

“Good work, Sergeant. It looks like I’ve found somebody that actually deserves a commission in the Marine Corps. I will return within the hour.”

She marched from the room, to be replaced by a small group of armoured marines. Misaki wandered over and stood next to Marcus. She started whispering in her ear. He lifted her hand and stopped her short.

“Spartan and I have things to discuss.”

Misaki looked back at him, but he avoided her glare.

“She’s trouble, trust me,” said Spartan with a grin.

*

Captain Hobbs arrived at the brig to find a number of other marines as well as the Captain of the ship. It was deep inside the crew section and nowhere near the areas that might be accessed by the passengers. As she approached them, she could make out the shape of the bars on the room where the prisoners were being held. The Captain blocked her route with a look of suspicion about his face.

“Captain Hobbs. I take it you are the Confederate military representative that will be dealing with this matter?”

“That is correct. I have been authorised by Captain Schaffer, the temporary commander of this flotilla, to get to the bottom of this matter.”

Her small group of six marines stood behind her. There were two armed marines outside the door to the brig and another crewmember who was working on the computer system. The Captain turned to one of his marines who passed him a secure datapad of the type usually used for couriers.

“My security details were able to recover data from one of the surviving camera units in the area where the Sergeant was killed.”

“Murdered you mean?” she replied.

“Well, I think you might want to look for yourself.”

Captain Hobbs looked suspiciously at the datapad and then to the civilian Captain.

“I understood that internal security units were to be disabled for operational reasons?”

“Yes, that is true. This area of the ship is on a closed loop though, so somebody must have overlooked it.”

One of the Captain’s marines gave her a concerned look and he instantly spotted it.

“What?” he asked.

With speed and precision, Captain Hobbs pulled her sidearm from her holster, lifted the weapon and fired a single shot into the man’s head. The back of his head exploded with a sickening blast that sprayed blood over the wall. The rest of her marines drew their own sidearms and blasted the two guards and the civilian crewman. With four bodies on the ground she moved along them, one at a time and lifted them up. Captain Hobbs fired multiple shots into each of them before letting them fall.

“What about them?” asked the one of the marines guards, he was pointing to the almost unconscious Jötnar in their cells.

“Stick to the plan. Blast open the doors and kill them with the guards’ own weapons. Oh, and don’t forget to leave out sidearms with the Jötnar. We wouldn’t want them thought of as victims in this.”

“Yes, Sir,” he replied and moved off to the side of the metal bars. Another of the marines removed a set of small charges from a satchel and proceeded to place them on the frame.

As they continued their work, she pulled out her own communication device. It was similar to the military datapads but had an archaic, almost antiquated look to it. She tapped a button on the side and a video screen popped up showing a dark shape of a man. She moved to a dark corner in the corridor where the marines couldn’t easily see or hear her.

“Lord Typhon,” she said quietly, “We have been successful. The Captain is dead, as are his guards. I will deal with the Biomechs shortly. Everything is proceeding exactly as planned. Soon the fleet will be at war with their new allies, in time for our strike.”

There was a pause of almost ten seconds before the man spoke.

“Good work, your comrades will be proud of the work you have done today. We will be reunited shortly.”

“What about your brothers, my Lord?”

Again she waited and watched the marines putting the finishing touches to the charges. The devices weren’t particularly large, but their placement was critical in allowing the prisoners to potentially escape without harming them. It was of course all for show, and therefore had to be perfect.

“Do not concern yourself, my child. My brothers are poised for the final blow. As we fight these last battles, they are already gathering for the beginning of our retribution. We are just days from final victory. Ensure our allies in the fleet are ready, judgment day for the Confederacy is coming and your loyalty will soon be rewarded.”

“My Lord,” she replied and lowered her head reverently. The image turned dark and she dropped the unit back to its position on her side.

“Fire in the hole!” cried the marine near the cell.

Captain Hobbs stepped back and covered her ears. The blast was much less than she expected, but the shockwave it sent back in the confined space did throw a small amount of dirt and rubble about. As the dust cleared, she could see the small group of Jötnar. Two of them were trying to get up, and a third was moving his leg but was unable to get any further. She pointed at one of the carbines that had been held by the guards.

“Pass it to me,” she ordered.

One of her marines bent down and handed the weapon to her. With a quick glance at the magazine, she stepped to the barred entrance and took aim at the creatures. One, a heavily scarred warrior looked at her. Perhaps he recognized her, but there was something in his eye that she couldn’t quite understand. She took aim and then fired. It took a dozen rounds to kill the first. The others tried desperately to move, but whatever drugs they had been given did their job well. It took a magazine change and repeated shooting until she was satisfied that they were all dead. Captain Hobbs turned around to see her personal guard watching. They were cold, hardened warriors to a man, but even they looked shocked at the carnage.

“You know this has to be done. They cannot be trusted, understood? Now, put some of the weapons with the creatures. It needs to looks like they were killed in a breakout.”

The group nodded and moved about their work, but Hobbs detected a sense of confusion about them. She reached down to her sidearm, her right hand resting gently against it. One of the marines looked back to her.

“Sir, won’t it look odd if everybody is dead?”

“Good point, marine, somebody needs to survive this slaughter.”

She flipped her pistol out with speed and precision, putting two rounds into the man’s head. He was dead before he hit the wall. The other marines spun around in confusion, but she was already amongst them. At this close range they had no chance, and in a matter of seconds they lay dead and slumped to the ground with the rest of the bodies. She stood in the middle of the blood and carnage, smiling to herself. She moved towards one of the cells and pushed the gun into the hand of one of the dead Jötnar. After making sure the hand was pushed around it, she placed her hand back into her black glove and picked up a pistol one of the marines had dropped. She stood back up, walked the length of the corridor and stopped near to where she would have been standing had she just arrived.

“Spartan, you are going to wish you’d never joined the Corps,” she said happily. Reaching down to her comms unit, she tapped a sequence of keys and then lifted it to her face.

“It is done. Bring them to the brig, and fast!”

“Sir.”

A quick hand gesture on the device wiped any record of the conversation. With a slow turn, she moved the pistol around and pointed it at her leg. She waited though, as there was no immediate rush. This part of the ship was secured from the occupied areas and noisy. There was little chance she would be found for at least a few more minutes. As she waited, she thought back to the battles she had fought for the Confederacy and opportunities she had been given, but until now she had been held back. Now she had full authority to strike the hated enemy, and she intended on making one man pay more than any other.

“That should do it,” she said quietly to herself. With a quick squeeze, she blasted herself with a single shot. The impact dropped her to the floor. She cried out in pain, but also bizarrely in satisfaction. She hurled the pistol in the direction of the Jötnar and then pulled out an, until now, hidden handgun. This one was heavier duty and modified slightly to her specification. It was actually her regulation pistol, but it was fitted with compensators and a quick mode sight system. A quick tap on her datapad connected her with the security desk.

“Security, the Jötnar have escaped. They’ve killed the Captain and my marines are trying

” she paused and fired off several shots with her firearm in the direction of the Jötnar bodies. “Hurry, they are coming!”

Captain Hobbs dropped her datapad to the ground and slumped down, blood still dripping from her wounded leg. She knew it wouldn’t be long until reinforcements arrived. Try as she might, she simply could not disguise the slightest look of satisfaction on her face.

*

Spartan was becoming bored with having to wake from a daze to find himself in unfamiliar surroundings. But this time something was different. He could feel the cool, damp liquid about his body and thought for a second he might be in water. As he looked about, it was clear to him that wasn’t the case. He was slumped in the corner and against a wall in a darkened part of a ship. He forced himself to think back, but the last thing he remembered was the room with Hobbs and the others. He turned to the right only to feel a dull, throbbing pain in his head.

“Argh, dammed bastards.”

There were shapes on the floor and against the walls. He checked his hands and was glad to see they were unbound. Perhaps somebody had freed him, or maybe this was a prison cell and the binds were no longer needed. There was a problem, for resting in his right hand was a marine issue pistol. He lifted it closer, recognizing the shape as the kind of weapon he normally carried. Still it couldn’t be his, Hobbs and her cronies had removed it from him. He started to move when the noise of running boots became louder and louder. From the end of the room appeared a group of marines. All were in armour and heavily armed. A bright light almost blinded him, and before he could get his eyes to adjust they started to shout.

“God, no!” cried the first.

The second man moved closer with the beam of light still pointing directly at Spartan.

“Drop the weapon, now!” he roared.

Spartan look back to the weapon and then the direction of the marine. He dropped the pistol without hesitation. As soon as it hit the ground, two more marines pushed ahead and grabbed him, lifting him up. From this position, he could finally get a good view of the place, helped by the now indirect light of the marine’s light. There were bodies all about him, and most of them looked like marines, but at one end he spotted what looked to be Jötnar. A group of them were almost in a huddle around a blown out metal door.

“The brig,” he muttered, finally starting to understand what was happening. “Hobbs, you bitch!”

More marines arrived and started checking the bodies.

“Live one, it’s the Captain!” called out one.

“Another one, here. It looks like one of the Jötnar is breathing.”

The leader of the unit pointed his carbine in the direction of the fallen warrior.

“Watch him, they are hard to bring down.”

The Sergeant tapped his helmet and started speaking. He was presumably getting backup to assist with the bloodbath. As he started to talk, Spartan noticed the familiar outline and movement of his old friend.

“Gun?” he asked with slightly slurred speech.

The mighty Jötnar fighter turned his head to see Spartan. Gun stood with his hands free, but he had considerable blood on his body. Three marines levelled their rifles and aimed at his chest.

“Spartan? What is this?” he growled.

More marines arrived and quickly secured the rest of the area. Two helped Captain Hobbs up, but she cried out from pain in her leg.

“What happened?” asked the Sergeant.

“We came down to interview the prisoners when we were attacked by those two.”

She pointed at Spartan and Gun, a look of malice in her eyes.

“Bullshit!” snapped Spartan, but one of the marines struck him with the butt of his rifle, forcing Spartan to his knees.

“You’re in a world of pain, Spartan. We heard about your Biomech friends.”

He looked back at Gun.

“So, it is true. They are ready to turn on us whenever it pleases them.”

He waved over to the newly arrived marines.

“I want these two in lockdown. Take them to the starboard loading bay, and put armed guards on them at all times. We’ll get them shipped over to the Cruz at the next changeover. In the meantime, get the Colonel here. We need to start a serious investigation, and fast.”

*

Khan stopped outside Spartan’s quarters and hammered his fist on the metal plating. Flanking him were two more Jötnar, both carrying blades and modified carbines. It took a couple of seconds, and then the door slid open to reveal Teresa. She stood silently in her nightclothes and stared at Khan.

“Have you heard news?” he asked.

“No, what is it? Spartan? Is he okay?” she asked, her face betraying fear.

“Come with me,” replied Khan. He turned and walked down the corridor. Teresa grabbed her combat jacket and ran to catch up.

“Tell me, what is going on?”

“You know Hobbs?”

“Of course, she’s the bitch that got us thrown off the Santa Cruz for helping your people. What about her?”

“She has Spartan and Gun in prison. News is that there has been Jötnar revolt on Oceania. Jötnar killed the Captain, Bishop and marines.”

“What?” she demanded.

She stopped, but Khan kept moving and once again she was forced to catch up.

“Khan? What is going on?”

“Hobbs says they mutinied, and she says the will be tried today for treason. Five Jötnar are dead. She says they killed Bishop.”

“No way, Bishop and the Jötnar have been friends for a long time. Why would they do that?”

Khan shrugged and said nothing. They reached the doorway that led into dimly lit hall. It had once been used as just another storage room, but it was now a command and operations centre. The technicians and crew had installed a multitude of computers and communications equipment throughout the space. Inside stood a dozen Jötnar plus a small number of marines and crew. Teresa recognized most of them, especially the marines. They well all people loyal to Spartan. A Jötnar closed the thickened steel door behind her with a crunch. Two men moved from the darkness, and she instantly recognized the first as Major Daniels. It took longer to work out the second until he stepped under the ceiling-mounted light. It was Lieutenant Weathers.

“When did you get here?” she asked, surprised and also partially relieved.

“We came over on the last transport run. I was supposed to be taking over formally as Gun’s number two, but it looks like events have conspired against us.”

“You could say that,” replied Lieutenant Weathers.

Teresa was unsure for a moment exactly where their loyalties lay in the present predicament. She waited for them to speak first.

“As you all well know, Spartan is a shoot first, ask questions later kind of guy. No way did he or any of the Jötnar commit a crime, even murder. The idea they would try and mutiny on the Oceania is total bullshit,” said Major Daniels.

Teresa sighed, glad that there were some allies in the fleet, or at least on the ship.

“The problem is that the person in charge over there right now is Hobbs. She’s already declared martial law on the civilian liner and appointed naval crew with a new captain.”

“We need to get aboard, Sir,” suggested Teresa.

“No chance. Hobbs has already broadcast the attempted mutiny and conveniently outgoing long-distance communication traffic from our ships has stopped.”

“So we can’t reach Admiral Jarvis?”

“Exactly. Only narrowband ship-to-ship traffic seems to be working, and Hobbs has already persuaded Captain Schaffer to halt all inter-ship traffic until we reach the Anomaly. He is concerned that security breaches could occur, and with the fleet travelling together at this speed, the risks are too great.”

“What about Spartan and Gun?”

“Schaffer has authorised a trial by Captain Hobbs.”

“He must know she hates Spartan.”

“You don’t know the Captain. He is a traditionalist. As far as he is concerned, if he asks an officer to be impartial, then that is exactly what they will be. The trouble is that I have a feeling they’ll be found guilty and quickly. If that happens, they could be imprisoned indefinitely or

” he was unable to finish as Teresa interrupted him.

“They’ll be spaced as a security risk in such a critical operation.”

“There is another problem.”

Khan stepped forward.

“If Hobbs kills Gun, Jötnar will not fight for Confederacy.”

“There are squads of Jötnar throughout the fleet. They’ve already heard about the attack, and one group on one of the light cruisers has already been placed in the brig in case of trouble. If this isn’t resolved, and quickly, we could be looking at a full-scale Jötnar uprising in the fleet.”

“An uprising, just as we arrived at the Anomaly?”

“Exactly.”

“How long do we have?”

“We are due to arrive at the Anomaly in sixty-three hours. We are expecting to go into battle immediately.”

“So, less than three days before we get there and she dumps them out of an airlock. Have you spoken to Captain Schaffer?”

“Yes, ten minutes ago. I don’t think he trusts the Jötnar. He is backing Captain Hobbs and won’t consider other options until he can speak with somebody higher up the chain of command.”

“With the comms out, that isn’t gonna happen until after we are at the Anomaly,” added Lieutenant Weathers.

“Convenient,” said Teresa.

Khan stepped forward and placed his paw on Teresa’s shoulder.

“You and Spartan risked your lives to safe us. We Jötnar will risk ours for you. Tell us what you want.”

Teresa looked to the two marine officers. Daniels spoke first.

“Right now we need information. It’s not like we can just turn up and start shooting. When we know what is going on aboard the Oceania, we will make arrangements to do whatever needs to be done to fix this problem.”

“Get me on board, and I’ll find out what’s going on,” said Teresa.

“Another marine will just attract attention,” replied Weathers.

Khan lifted his hand to speak, but Daniels stopped him.

“No, Jötnar are not right, not yet. We need eyes in the place, if it comes to needing some muscle, you will be the first to go in.”

Khan nodded with pleasure, and he seemed satisfied with that answer, for now at least.

“We need a civilian crewman on board to get us some intel.”

“What, like this?” asked Teresa. She pulled the button on her combat jacket and let it fall to the floor. She stood in her black underwear that she had been wearing in bed.

The two officers stared but said nothing as both were equally surprised.

“Get me some overalls or civilian clothes, and they’ll never know who I am. Aren’t most of the marines rookies over there? Newbie’s from the garrisons?”

Major Daniels nodded in agreement.

“True, we can probably get a couple of people over, if we can work out a way of getting to the Oceania on the next run.”

“When is the next one?”

“Almost twenty-four hours from now, assuming there will still be some.”

“There have to be,” answered Teresa.

“Huh?” said a confused looking Khan.

“Good point. We are on a fixed schedule. If we don’t stick to the next two fixed engine cuts, we’ll reach the destination early. But more importantly, we will be well out of range and have to travel at a slower speed to reach the target.”

“Plus they’ll have more time to react to our arrival.”

Major Daniels turned to the rest of the marines, Jötnar and crew present.

“We have less than a day to prepare. We need to get an infiltration team on board the Oceania,” he explained and then turned to Khan.

“I need you to get a team of your six best warriors ready. We’ll find a way to get you over too. We’ll need to hide you away somewhere ready to be put into play once we have solid intelligence on Gun and Spartan.”

Khan nodded.

“Get working on this, people. I’ll get back on to Captain Schaffer and see if I can get any further with him. He must have people working on this communication problem. Stay calm, the last thing we want is dissent ripping through the fleet.”

He looked to Captain Weathers.

“Get in touch with the security teams and Jötnar units through the fleet. Let them know the situation is under control and being resolved peacefully. Say whatever ever you need to, but just keep everybody calm.”

He moved away to the nearest computer system.

“As for the rest of you, especially the techs. I need to know why we can’t communicate outside the fleet. We must be getting jammed from somewhere. I need to know how this is happening, and what we can do to fix it. Get to it.”

The door opened and in walked Kowalski plus two more Jötnar warriors. It slammed shut behind him as quickly as it had opened. Khan looked to Teresa, and then back at the marine.

“It can’t be true, the public net is saying Bishop’s been assassinated on board the Oceania.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s true. Somebody has started something over there, and something that could cause the fleet a great deal of trouble.”

Kowalski stepped closer until he stood in front of her.

“I don’t understand. He and Misaki were sent there to help on board a safe, civilian ship. How could something like this happen?”

Teresa placed her hand on Kowalski’s shoulder and tried to console him. The news of Bishop’s death was obviously a major blow to him. The two had been friends for a long time and had served together as marines in operations alongside Teresa and Commander Anderson.

“No way did Jötnar do this. That is total horse crap. If nothing else, there’s a lot of respect between the Jötnar and any marines that helped on Prometheus. Something must be going on. Where is Spartan?”

Teresa sighed.

“He went aboard to find out what was going on with Gun and a few others. We heard a short while ago they had been involved with an incident at the brig. The Captain is dead, so are the Jötnar prisoners and a number of guards and marines. Spartan and Gun have been incriminated in a plot to rescue the Jötnar.”

“What? They honestly think Spartan and Gun would kill marines and civilians?”

“There is more. Captain Hobbs has been injured, and the rumour is that Spartan or one of the Jötnar did it.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

The campaign to take Euryale proved to be the milestone event in Operation Perdition. With the total defeat of Union forces, and the recapture of the colony, it seemed that the war had reversed its course. General opinion in the Confederate military was that it was only a matter of time until the war was won. Little did they know of what awaited them on Terra Nova, or what was soon to come for the last remnants of the Confederate armed forces.

Reports of the Proxima Emergency

Admiral Jarvis sat in her chair and smiled as she read the latest battle reports. In just over two weeks of fighting, it looked like Operation Perdition was proceeding with great success. The first stage had been risky but had paid off. The combined ground forces of the Confederacy had managed to secure Euryale against a determined Union defence. With the Union military exodus taking place throughout the System, General Rivers had seized the initiative and secured Kerberos, right in the middle of the enemy evacuation. With that objective under control, he was making the final push on Orthrus and Agora. The combined use of marines, Army and the Jötnar, supplied by Commander Gun, had proven invaluable. The initial landings on Agora, the rural agrarian world, had been much more successful than even she had hoped. The heavily armoured land vehicles of the Army, combined with the mobility of the marines and the power of the Jötnar, were an irresistible force.

Even more important was the news on the uprisings taking place. It seemed there were more Confederate loyalists than her intelligence division had led her to believe. The attack on the spaceport on Yama City by Captain Erdeniz was just one of many similar events throughout Proxima Centauri. She took a sip from a glass and brought up the fleet roster. It was something she checked daily. Each vessel in the Confederacy was listed, along with its status, weapons load and personnel. A window appeared to the side of the display, it was Lieutenant Nilsson the communications officer.

“Admiral, I have Captain Hardy of the Wasp on the internal comms line. He has an urgent message regarding the Anomaly Taskforce.”

Her mouth pulled a little as she thought of the Anomaly. She hoped it was something good for a change.

“Put him through.”

The image disappeared to be replaced by a slightly distorted image from the Confederate Escort Carrier. It was Captain Hardy, the commander of the carrier. The image quickly stabilised as the buffering and error-correction kicked in.

“Captain.”

“Admiral, my electronic warfare team have picked up some unusual readings coming from the Santa Cruz taskforce. I have sent them to your ECM section for analysis. But I have concerns about some of the readings, and I thought you’d want to know immediately.”

“Interesting, what kind of readings?”

The Captain moved from the screen for a moment and then returned to press several buttons.

“We’ve been getting an almost permanent data stream from the warships in the force, as is normal of course. The issue is in the last six hours. Something has changed, and it has me worried.”

Her heart fluttered for a moment as she considered the myriad of explanations in her mind. Losing the signal could mean only one of two things, either they were unwilling to transmit or they were unable to transmit. Either option wasn’t good, and it could spell disaster for both the taskforce and also the ships already trying to hold on at the Anomaly.

“Please explain.”

“Yes, Admiral. I will pass you on to my electronic warfare officer, Lieutenant Mills.”

The officer stood next to the Captain and with a brush of his hand sent over several colour schematics and charts.”

“As you can see, the total spread of data became damaged over six hours ago. The first feed lost was from the Oceania, quickly followed by the Santa Cruz. Less than thirty minutes later, all traffic stopped. The last data from the Santa Cruz implied some kind issue with the military forces on board the Oceania.”

“The civilian transport?”

“Yes, Sir. It is the passenger liner requisitioned by Captain Schaffer for the operation.”

“What is your assessment, Lieutenant?”

“They are still travelling to the Anomaly. We have been able to pick up several status indicators over the last hour. They were faint, but still active. The main ships, at the very least, are still moving to the Anomaly and also conducting routine transport runs every twenty-four hours.”

“Well, that is something. So, we assume something is going on aboard these vessels? How far behind them are we?”

“Current figures are approximately eighteen hours and seven minutes.”

“Can you push any faster?”

Captain Hardy shook his head.

“No, Admiral. Wasp is fast, but we can’t push harder than we’re going. The engines are already providing the correct deceleration to get us there on schedule. We can overshoot, but we’d need to boost the engines for several hours. The increased g forces could cause massive problems. The internal bracings for the aircraft can’t take more than a single g of gravity. Even an increase of point one could cause substantial internal damage amongst our onboard equipment. We’d get there but be next to useless in combat.”

“Understood. In that case, I will take Crusader and half the escorts ahead. We will cut our engines and thereby decrease the time to get there.”

“If you do that, you will need to massively overpower your engines. It could cause problems, but if you don’t, you’ll just overshoot.”

“I’m aware of the risks, Captain. Make sure your people are ready. In eighteen hours, I suspect the deciding battle of the sector will be fought. I just hope we get there in time to do some good.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

The image turned black and Admiral Jarvis leaned back slightly as she considered the problem. Apart from the forces under the command of the stalwart General Rivers, the rest were all in transmit or pinned down at the Anomaly. The weeks it was taking to get forces into position for both sides had created a dangerous opportunity that she had exploited ruthlessly. She just prayed the enemy hadn’t done the same. She hit her comms unit again, the face of Lieutenant Nilsson appeared.

“Admiral.”

“I need a full status report from the Furious Battlegroup immediately. I need information, and I need it fast.”

“Yes, Sir, I will sent out a priority dispatch immediately.”

“Thank you.”

The image cut and Admiral Jarvis was left with a sickening feeling of dread in her stomach. Something inside her was telling her to fall back to Proxima and prepare the defences. In her heart, she already knew there was nothing she could do. There was also the issue of the Biomechs and their masters. It was already clear the Confederate forces could never match them long term. Their numbers grew with each month, but her own forces were becoming weaker and weaker by the day.

“Gods, no. What if they planned this to trick me into a final battle to destroy all that we have left?” she whispered to herself.

*

Spartan was starting to get annoyed. Every time he woke up, he ended up in an even worse position than before. This time he was shackled in a hangar with six armed marines. They all wore PDS armoured suits with their visors down and blackened. Whoever they were, they wore no insignia and their faces were hidden. Gun was also shackled several metres away. The thick carbon filament shackles bound him firmly to the bulkhead. As he lay there, he heard the sound of boots approaching. It didn’t take long for the hated figure of Captain Hobbs to appear, flanked by a number of marine and naval personnel. She ignored him and walked up to the guards watching the room. After a brief conversation, she walked closer to Spartan and looked down at him.

“Lieutenant, under Section 15 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, I am arresting you and Commander Gun on the charges of murder, mutiny and sedition. I have been duly authorised, as the senior officer on this vessel, as both judge and jury in times of war. Due to issues outside of our control, we are unable to transfer personnel between the main combat vessels. Because of this, you have been assigned a marine representative. Captain Schaffer has decided to place Sergeant Marcus Keller in this position. He has been selected due to his previous experiences with you, and that you will be able to trust him as your counsel. He will meet with you shortly to discuss your defence.”

Spartan tried to move his fist, but the heavy-duty manacles pinned him into position. Captain Hobbs watched his discomfort with pleasure. Spartan noted her expression, and even as he struggled, it was perfectly clear to him that this was a well-planned operation.

“Hobbs,” he said through his teeth. She leaned forward, close enough that he could smell her, but not enough that he could actually reach her.

“Yes?” she asked innocently.

“You really are a bitch. I’ve fought against half-breed Biomechs and traitorous Zealots, and next to you they were honourable angels. How can you judge this when you were present at the scene? Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

She smiled at him and indicated to one of the marines to come and lift him up. The shackles were connected to a rod that ensured Spartan was unable to reach his captors.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. This trial is only concerned with you and your Biomech allies killing the Captain, his crew and guard and others aboard a civilian ship. What you did to me, and my own marines, is a separate matter that I doubt we will need to get to.”

“What? You’re just going to hang me out to dry, aren’t you? If you hadn’t taken me prisoner to start…”

She turned away from him, ignoring his words and talking over him.

“Sergeant, make sure they are presentable for their counsel. The trial will begin in six hours, and I intend on getting this resolved quickly. We will arrive at the Anomaly in a little under fifty hours. We need to prepare our forces for the coming battle, and Spartan and his friends have already caused enough trouble. They cannot monopolise our time. Get them cleaned up so that they are ready to be presented to the Tribunal. They are beginning to stink.”

“Sir!” barked the Sergeant with a smart salute.

She left the room as quickly as she had arrived. Spartan looked to Gun, but the great warrior was too heavily drugged to be able to communicate, let alone attempt to even speak. He thought to himself, trying to gauge what exactly Hobbs was up to. It was clear she hated him and anybody that was on his side. Why the murders though? What had happened, and how exactly was she caught up in it all?

“Marine!” he called to the closest armoured man, but he ignored Spartan.

“Hey, when is my representative going to get here?”

The man still refused to move, but another crewmember approached from off to his right. Spartan didn’t recognise him, but he was wearing a naval uniform.

“Lieutenant, Sergeant Keller is due to arrive within the hour. You may confer with him then.”

“Who are you?”

The man stepped back and walked to a position off to the side and out of Spartan’s sight. Spartan sat quietly, waiting for the arrival of Marcus. He thought back to his friends on the Yorkdale, especially Teresa. She must be crazy with worry at the news of what was going on, assuming she even knew. He opened his eyes and looked about. He had to do something, and fast.

*

Marcus finally arrived, and after such a long wait, Spartan was starting to feel as though he would go mad. It must have been at least three hours since he had seen Hobbs leave, and he had been ignored since then, even when calling out for water. His old friend approached with a mixture of anger and remorse to his face. Spartan did his best to lift himself to his old comrade.

“Marcus, what have you done?”

“Spartan, we have a room to speak in. Don’t say anything until then.”

The two men looked at each other, both doubting the other’s intentions. It was a far cry from their days of fighting the Zealots and Union troops in ground battles throughout Proxima. Marcus turned to walk away, saying no more to Spartan. The marine guards did their bit to help Spartan to his feet, but they made sure only two were ever close enough to assist him. They were not taking chances and each maintained their weapons position. It was a short walk to a storeroom that had evidently been recently cleared for their use. A desk was in the middle with a striped, simple looking chair placed at each side. Marcus stepped in first and beckoned for Spartan to enter. They moved in and sat down. Spartan lifted his hands, but the Sergeant of the guard shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I’ve been left with strict orders. You must stay shackled and the Biomech has to stay in the loading bay.”

He left the room and pulled the door shut behind him. Spartan turned his gaze to his old sergeant.

“What the hell is going on here, Marcus?”

“You tell me. You’re the one who’s been helping the Jötnar, no matter the costs.”

Spartan looked down at his hands, still surprised at the sudden change in the man.

“What is it? Tell me!”

Marcus sat quietly, but it was clear there was something.

“Come on, man, we’ve fought and bled next to each other, at least tell me what has turned you against them.”

Marcus leaned forward with both hands on the table.

“It doesn’t matter, all you need to know is these things have hurt people, people that are close to me and people that mean something. I can live with the Jötnar not being exterminated. They’ve done their part, but I can’t abide by them being with us, treated as though they’ve been part of the Confederacy for hundreds of years.”

He pointed towards Spartan.

“The Confederacy is for people like you and me. Okay, humans, not some mutated monsters.”

“You know what that sounds like to me?” said Spartan.

Marcus looked hard at him and shook his head.

“This is the kind of black and white language I’ve heard from the bigots in the Union. Only a Zealot would see things so plainly.”

Marcus shook his head, but his temper seemed to have abated, if just a little. He said nothing and simply looked at several of the files on his datapad. Spartan watched him for a while before he realized he hadn’t asked him the most important question.

“Marcus, forget the Jötnar, what about that bitch Hobbs? Tell me you’re not in league with her.”

He looked at Spartan with a frown of confusion or possibly doubt on his brow.

“Look, Spartan. We don’t have much time, and according to this file there is a stack of evidence against you and the other Jötnar.”

“So?”

Marcus lowered the datapad onto the table and rubbed his eyebrow.

“If I don’t put together a half decent case for you, you’ll be convicted of at least three crimes. You know the punishment for sedition in times of war, don’t you?”

Spartan said nothing.

“It’s death, specifically spacing in our current situation.”

“Why do you care? You turned against me, Gun and Teresa over Euryale. Why would you want to help us now?”

“I don’t agree with what you’ve done, but I also know you. I’ve fought alongside you, and you would never betray or turn on your brothers. I don’t believe for a minute you were involved with the murder of Bishop.”

“So why help Hobbs?”

“Just because I’m not after your balls like she is, doesn’t mean I’m happy with the Jötnar with us. She is a necessary evil, but until we can cleanse the ship of this conspiracy, and the Jötnar responsible, I will have to work with her.”

Spartan shook his head, still surprised at the speed with which his old friend had turned on him.

“So what exactly am I supposed to have done then to deserve spacing?”

Marcus looked back at his datapad and slid it over to him.

“Well, first of all there is evidence from Euryale and your training aboard the Yorkdale that incriminates you. You abandoned marine and infantry units in favour of Jötnar troops in orbit. The training information entered as evidence is related specifically towards you and the Vanguards that joined the Jötnar. According to Captain Hobbs, your men have gone feral. They have adopted Jötnar customs, techniques and their battlefield bloodlust.”

Spartan tried to stand but found the shackles had already magnetically sealed. He finally calmed down and leaned forward.

“Are you kidding me? I’m being accused of turning marines into feral Jötnar foot soldiers? You honestly believe that?”

Marcus shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter. The rest of the evidence relates to the testimony of Confederate Marine Corps marines that confirm a group of Jötnar attacked and killed Bishop after a verbal disagreement. Further evidence shows you and your team arrived on the Oceania with the sole intention of seizing the prisoners and fighting your way off the ship. It says here, your men were all heavily armed and that a group of them, including one of your sergeants, is still at large.”

He paused and looked at Spartan suspiciously.

“Is that true?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Marcus. You know me. The only issue we have is that I think the Jötnar have a place alongside us, and you don’t. Other than that, nothing has changed. If you think I would kill our own marines, then you’re a complete and utter asshole!”

Spartan leaned back and turned his glance away from Marcus, his temper now flaring and his pulse pounding. He stayed there, determined not to be drawn in any further.

“Good, that is exactly what I thought. You realise this tribunal is nothing but a sham, don’t you?” Marcus asked.

Spartan turned back, a look of confusion and surprise on his face.

“What?”

“I just had to be sure. The question is how can we stop you and Gun from being put out of the airlock? The evidence I have here will get you both dead in a matter of hours.”

“You’re serious?” he asked.

Marcus smiled at Spartan, and for just a second he had a glimmer of his old friend.

“I’m glad you’re here, you crazy old bastard!” said Spartan. He smiled and this time it was almost relaxed.

“I have a few ideas.”

*

Teresa and Kowalski hunched over the antiquated transceiver, listening carefully to the heavily phased transmission sent from the bowels of Oceania. Teresa could barely hear anything, but Kowalski, with years of technical training and experience, was just about able to split the signal into discernable streams.

“There, that should do it,” he exclaimed.

“Go on then, let’s hear it.”

“Confirmed, prisoners are being cross-examined. Good chance of guilty

” there was a loud crackle, “most marines on board are green, no knowledge or experience of Hobbs or

“

Teresa wiped her brow.

“Is that the best you can do?”

Kowalski continued fiddling with the equipment and made a few more adjustments on the software.

“It’s not easy. The whole point of this gear is it is very low power and easy to slip past civilian scanning equipment. Sergeant Lovett can only transmit when in the forward weapons battery, and he can’t stay there for much longer.”

Teresa nodded and said no more.

“My team has dispersed, but they’re looking for us. Sergeant Keller is acting as defence. I might be able to contact him. I need intel and guidance. Will check for your transmission in three hours.”

Teresa waited for a few more seconds before realising the message was finished.

“That’s it?”

“Looks that way. From what I can tell, there’s a lot of internal communications traffic, so they must be ransacking the place. Let’s just hope Lovett can stay hidden for long enough.”

Kowalski turned in his chair towards the two senior marine officers.

“What do you think?”

Lieutenant Weathers looked to the Major and then to Teresa and Kowalski.

“Spartan’s tough, physically and mentally. He will hold, and in the meantime we need to get over there. We need evidence to clear him and the battalion.”

“I don’t think that will be enough. Based on the speed of the investigation, and the cutting off of long distance communication, I would say Captain Hobbs has a plan.”

“Like what?” asked Teresa.

“Well, we’re due to arrive at the Anomaly shortly. It can’t be a coincidence that this is all happening at the same time. What happens if we arrive to find she has split the fleet?”

Kowalski nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, that would be perfect. We arrive to help, only to find they’ve turned us against each other. We’ll lose this taskforce and the Union fleet will pick off our follow-up waves one by one.”

Major Daniels checked a diagram on his datapad before laying it out on the table. It showed the disposition of the major groups of ships.

“It is worse than that. If we lose this battle, we lose all our major warships, apart from those being used by General Rivers in his ground battles. We’ll be defenceless against Union space forces. They’ll turn around and sweep through the System and finish us off once and for all.”

“Assuming there is even anybody left at the Anomaly. They’ve been alone for over two weeks now. Could they hold that long?”

Major Daniels looked as optimistic as he could.

“Both sides were pretty evenly matched. By withdrawing to the prepared defensive positions around the debris, Captain PJ Williams should be able to make a decisive encounter for either side almost impossible. The question is, which side will get there with reinforcements first?”

He turned his datapad around, so they could all see the journey they were on and how long they had left. Several of the Jötnar leaned in to take a closer look. The rest of the marines could see from where they were positioned.

“As you can see, we’re on a one-way mission here. Either this taskforce of fifteen vessels makes it to the Anomaly as one force, or we will probably all die on our arrival. I need a full tactical response team capable of overrunning Oceania. One way or another, that ship is coming back under our control. Khan, Weathers, I need the two of you to come up with a revised plan. Six Jötnar as an escort isn’t going to cut it anymore. Somehow I need at least a platoon of heavies aboard that ship. When the time comes, we will be assaulting her, and I want minimal casualties. Put a plan together using any assets we have on board.”

Khan and Weathers nodded in agreement. Khan seemed almost excited at the prospect, but Lieutenant Weathers seemed far from convinced at the course of action.

“Get your people ready,” added Major Daniels.

Lieutenant Weathers turned to the small number of marines present and started making arrangements. Khan began gesturing, and it was clear his idea of a plan was to smash a hole in the hull and board the ship just as though it were another enemy cruiser.

The Major moved closer to Kowalski and Teresa.

“As for you two, we need to link up with Sergeant Lovett. There will be others on board that we can use. The next engine cut is due shortly. Take a small team and establish a site on the ship. I need you to stay in regular contact, once per hour to keep me informed.”

“How will we get any kind of craft between the ships without being spotted?”

The Major smiled at Kowalski.

“I’ve been working on that. Just make sure your unit is ready to go. I’ll have Khan and Weathers ready with their own unit in the landing bay. We will time their assault as late as possible. Your intel will decide when and how we take this further. At the next transfer, I will create a diversion like you cannot imagine, so it should give you a big enough window to get to the ship. Just make sure you’re prepared.”

“We’d better get ready then,” said Teresa.

*

The CiC was busier than normal. A drill thirty minutes earlier had dragged all of the crew to their action stations. It had been a short event, but the simulated attack by an enemy cruiser had gone well. Even Admiral Jarvis appeared pleased with the speed that the weapons and defensive systems had been brought online. Based on previous battles, it was critical that the ship was battle ready in a matter of minutes. The Admiral was stood to one side, discussing the drill with the command staff. Several major issues had come up with the ability to repel boarding parties. This was all halted when the critical message alert came through. Lieutenant Nilsson turned in her chair.

“Admiral, I have a heavily encoded status package from the Furious Battlegroup. The first section is jammed, so I’ll see what I can do.”

As she waited, the Admiral moved to the vertical display.

“Get me the last known ship dispositions from the Anomaly.”

The tactical officer hit several buttons and instantly transferred a detailed model of the Anomaly, along with the four capital ships. At the centre was CCS Furious, the heavy cruiser and flagship of the group. Around her were the other three cruisers, Bellerophon, Perseus and Patroclus.

“Admiral, the data packet has been heavily jammed, but our error detection protocols have recovered most of the message,” said Lieutenant Nilsson. “I’ll send it to your system now.”

“Thank you.”

The badly damaged video feed appeared on the screen, and the communication data went directly to the vertical display. The main feed was the external cameras from CCS Furious. The swirling clouds of the Anomaly provided a vivid background, much like a nebula with powerful colours and streaks. Two cruisers moved past the camera, and a pattern of white lights flickered in the distance.

“That’s gunfire,” explained the tactical officer.

“Yes, if I’m not mistaken that is long-range autocannon fire.” A number of the shells approached the first cruiser but were instantly destroyed by the cruiser’s own point defence turrets.

“Lieutenant Jane Matterson, Acting Commander of the Furious Battlegroup. We have established a strong defensive position in the Anomaly. As per our last reports, we are holding but are uncertain as to how long. Three more enemy frigates have arrived, and we expect more to arrive shortly. The orbital turrets and minefield are doing their job, but the Union frigates are picking their way towards us. If we are not relieved in six more days, I will have to order a full-scale withdrawal of this area. Perseus has sustained major damage to her engines and will be unable to leave the Anomaly. Current casualties since our arrival are now at over six hundred, and climbing. I have attached detailed information on the enemy dispositions, as well as expected forces from the rest of Proxima. There is something else though.”

The woman’s face vanished to be replaced by a series of grainy images.

“I managed to get two automated sentry drones through the Spacebridge to the other side. They were both destroyed in less than thirty seconds, but not before they were able to conduct a full spectrum sweep of the other side.”

“They have data on Alpha Centauri?” asked Captain Tobler.

Admiral Jarvis looked to him then back at the data.

“It would look that way.”

One of the sets of images showed the planet Terra Nova, the most important planet in the System, and the capital of the entire Confederacy.

“Seconds before our second probe was destroyed, we picked up tracking signals from a number of Confederate warships, and all were broadcasting correct IFF signals for the fleet. If out database is correct, we have detected over a dozen cruiser and battleship class warships. They are within twenty hours travel of the Spacebridge and that would put them another three hours from our defensive position here.”

“Confederate ships, interesting,” said the Admiral under her breath.

Captain Tobler walked to the tactical desk.

“Check the stats on those vessels. Who was last in command, and do we have any data on them since the start of the uprising in Proxima?”

“Sir,” replied the young man, who quickly returned to his computer and starting loading the various databases for crosschecking.

“It is critical that you are..” the transmission stopped.

“What? Is that it?” demanded Admiral Jarvis.

“Yes, Sir, something managed to clamp down on the signal stream at that point. They must have positioned some kind of ECM or interdiction vessel between the Anomaly and us.”

“So they are expecting us then,” added Captain Tobler.

“Perhaps. Either way, if they picked up the signal, they could easily have put two and two together. Frankly, I’m amazed we’ve been able to hold onto the area for so long while General Rivers runs havoc through the sector.”

Captain Tobler nodded in agreement.

“It is odd though. I’d expected a number of their vessels to return to protect Kerberos, at the very least. By keeping this exodus on track, they have essentially abandoned Proxima Centauri,” he added.

“Say what you will about them, they have been well organised to the level of insanity. If they are leaving here, it is for a good reason. My gut tells me the Anomaly is the key. Those Confederate warships that are waiting at Terra Nova could be just that. What if they have finally assembled a force, and intend to enter the Anomaly to investigate? Unless the Union are able to match them, they could lose the vital Spacebridge and be unable to stem a vast surge of reinforcements into this sector. Either way, our mission at the Anomaly has just been made even more important. Nothing must stand between us and control of that Spacebridge.”

The Admiral closed the video screen and turned to the command officers around her.

“I want a further series of drills. When we arrive, I intend on engaging their fleet immediately. I don’t care what their numbers are, but CCS Crusader will lead the charge, and we will not stop until they are driven away. This battle will not just decide the fate of the Anomaly. I intend on using it to remove their ability to engage us in space ever again. It will be the most important space engagement in the last fifty years.”

She swept her hand across the map of the sector.

“This is it, people. Now, to your posts.”

The command staff saluted and returned to their specific duties and problems to solve. Admiral Jarvis turned to the secondary display and checked the image of the Confederate ships. Though she had not mentioned it, there was one thing that concerned her. It did not affect her plan, but it was a concern, especially because of the finite number of ships and resources she had left. As she looked at the images, she spoke quietly to her left.

“If those are our friends, why are the ships all on my mothball list?”

She shook her head, unsure exactly what it all meant. By all accounts, the ships were due for scrapping, not battle. Either the Confederate forces in Alpha Centauri had been running low on ships, or somebody else had gained access to the obsolete hardware. Even more worrying, was that either option implied something had happened to the primary fleet.

“What has happened to the battlefleet of Alpha Centauri?” she said to herself before sitting down and checking the data once more.

*

Sergeant James Lovett, and two of his most trusted privates, waited near the third aft cargo bay. It was one of the least used parts of the ship when away from port and was surprisingly bare. He could only assume that the ship owners had stripped away anything valuable prior to handing over the ship. It made sense; there was no point in risking civilian stores and spares when they were already taking a chance on losing the entire vessel. He tried to imagine how much the luxury liner was worth, but he gave up after adding up the number of rooms and furnishings he had already seen.

“How much longer?” asked one of the men. He wore civilian crewman’s clothes but underneath his urban camouflage pattern uniform.

James double-checked his watch.

“They were due here five minutes after engine shutdown. That was ten minutes ago.”

“I thought there was supposed to be a diversion?” asked the second marine, a tall, attractive woman with an odd scar running down from the corner of her lip. Her dark hair was cut short and pulled back behind her head.

“Be patient,” said James, but neither of the two marines seemed placated by his words. Being far from friendly forces, their nerves were already frayed. The three were instantly drawn to a flashing red light on the Sergeant’s datapad.

“Crap, the proximity alarm. Take cover,” said James.

The three marines pulled themselves back and into the darkness of the storage area. It was spacious, and luckily for them the sections with a low ceiling along the bulkheads were poorly lit.

A man walked into the room with a gait that struck.

“Sergeant, are you here?” asked a familiar voice. The three marines stayed still, waiting for any sign of trouble.

“It’s me, Sergeant Keller. Spartan told me you would probably be near one of the outer loading hatches. I’m here to help.”

Sergeant Lovett moved out from the darkness with his service pistol pointed at the other man’s chest.

“James, I thought I might find you down here.”

“What do you want, Marcus?”

“Something is going on, and I think Spartan might be onto something.”

“Bullshit. You’ve done nothing but stab him in the back since Euryale, so why should I trust you?”

He moved around Marcus with his weapon still in view. He looked behind Marcus and checked nobody had followed him. There were two ways into this area, and the second proximity alert hadn’t been triggered. He relaxed a little, but not enough to lower his sidearm.

“Go on.”

“Captain Hobbs is up to something, and I think it is more than her personal problem with Spartan.”

“So I’m supposed to just believe you’re on his side now?”

“No, I’m not on his side, or Hobbs’ side or anybody else’s. I’m a marine with the Confederate Marine Corps, just like you. I’m interested in one thing.”

“Really, and what might that be?”

“The truth. I need to know what the hell is going on here between Hobbs, the crew, Spartan and this fleet. We’re going into battle soon, and we need everyone ready.”

Sergeant Lovett looked far from convinced, but he did know Marcus well, and there was sincerity in his voice. The two had fought alongside Spartan in many actions, and although Marcus had turned from the Jötnar, he had never seen him do or say anything that would betray the Confederacy or the Corps. He knew he was taking a chance, but with the clock ticking he needed to make a decision, and one that would resolve the situation on Oceania, and fast.

“Okay, Marcus, you have my attention. What do you have in mind?”

Marcus nodded, happy that he was being listened to, even if still with suspicion.

“Captain Hobbs hates Spartan, that much we all know. She thinks I feel the same.”

“Don’t you?”

“No, I’ve never hated him. He’s a great marine. I just could not follow in this new direction, but that isn’t the point. Hobbs is convinced I am firmly on her side. I bet I could get her to incriminate herself in some way.”

“How?”

“We’ve had two meetings so far to discuss the trial. It’s all a setup. Spartan and Gun will be convicted, and then out of the airlock they will go. If we could record this meeting, we could get the information out to the rest of the fleet.”

“Okay, that’s a start, but there’s a problem.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow in a questioning manner.

“The ship-to-ship communications system has been shut down, and in the last hour Oceania has put out a blocking signal. There’s nothing going in or out anymore.”

“Interesting, she must have allies on the bridge. That’s a problem. The information is useless unless we can get it out to the fleet.”

“What about the internal comms system? We could warn the crew and marines on board.”

“Maybe, but the internal comms are routed through the bridge. I know, because I tried to send a distress signal out when this all started, and it transferred directly to the bridge for authorisation.”

“So we need to get the information on Hobbs, find out what she is up to and then assuming we get it, seize the bridge and transmit the data to the fleet and the crew?”

Marcus smiled.

“Yeah, something like that. We’re going to need help. We can’t do it alone.”

Sergeant Lovett rested his chin in his hand for a few seconds.

“Don’t worry about that, meet me back here in an hour, and we’ll make arrangements. I’ll work out how to get the extra muscle.”

“Agreed, but remember, don’t use any internal comms gear on the ship. It will be detected, and you’ll be tracked down in minutes. Hobbs already has two squads out looking for you.”

Marcus turned and walked away. As he moved, the ship’s internal alarm fired up. It was a dull, two-tone affair designed to inform without annoying. Marcus checked his datapad.

“Interesting. It seems a landing craft from the Yorkdale has broken loose and is drifting. It has broken apart and sections are drifting towards our hull. Know anything about that?”

Sergeant Lovett shrugged, but he was aware that this was almost certainly a ploy to keep Captain Hobbs and her people busy while a much smaller team made their way to their position. Sergeant Keller smiled.

“I’ll be in touch in an hour, and remember to keep the noise down.”

In just a few seconds he was gone, and Sergeant Lovett was alone. He waited for a little while longer for confirmation from his proximity sensors. The light eventually went black, indicating they were safe.

“You both still here?”

The two marines emerged from the blackness of the bulkheads.

“Sergeant, the signal is coming through. Looks like an EVA unit is already inside the cargo layer.”

Sergeant Lovett looked surprised.

“That was damned fast, so they must have started the trip before the diversion. Are the codes correct?”

“They match up with those given to us in the last transmission. If I’m not mistaken, there are nearly twenty separate signatures.”

“Okay then, meet them down at the hatch. Looks like our support unit is here. All we need to do now is find out what the hell is going on, and seize the ship.”

The female marine gave a short laugh.

“Yeah, easy enough.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Many Zealots had previously fought during the Great War on the side of the Centauri League. In those early years, these fanatics were often sons or brothers of rural workers on planets such as Carthago. Like the religious refugees from Europe in the middle ages, these people coalesced into groups based around their religions and sects. The close-knit groups were the backbone of the infantry of the war. The defeat of the League left their ideals in ruins and created anger and distrust that simmered beneath the surface for generations.

Origins of the Zealots

The entire unit was now inside the first layer of the ship’s rotating habitation section. The outer skin was triple-skinned with a gap of nearly twenty centimetres between each section. It was nothing compared to the massively over-engineered plating on Confederate warships, and it was enough to absorb damage from light debris and high velocity dust, but that was it. The group of marines and Jötnar were stationary, but from inside it looked like they were flying around the two main layers.

“Hold on,” she said quietly through the comms in her suit.”

The rotation of the large craft was slow, and they were easily able to grab onto the series of handles and mounts positioned for crew and engineers to work. It took a few seconds to settle down and avoid the instant feeling of sickness that washed through her stomach.

The internal hatch seal opened slowly, almost so slow that Teresa couldn’t make out its progress. She looked over to the others to find them all holding on with grim determination. The gap increased until she could make out the dark interior of the cargo area. Pieces of debris from the damaged craft they had used as a decoy still moved about outside, and through some of the many slits in the outer skin she could see chunks of metal. Luckily the bulk of the junk had drifted closer to the bow of the Oceania, and that was where it had attracted the most attention. As she hung there, she spotted an automated sentry drone moving along the outer part of the hull. She looked over to Kowalski who was hanging slightly below her.

“Man, that was close,” he said.

“Yeah, another thirty seconds and they would have made us,” she answered.

Finally, the gap was big enough for her to squeeze through. The PDS suit was close fitting and required only a little more space than her actual body took up. She reached out to the hatchway, and an arm pushed out to grab hers.

“Hell!” she cried, but it was too late. The arm pulled her inside and into the cargo section. As she dropped to the ground, she flipped out her fighting knife, holding it low.

“Easy, it’s me, Lovett!” cried an almost panicking Sergeant Lovett.

“Gods, Lovett, I nearly gutted you.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He helped move her to one side, and behind her pushed more marines and even a small group of Jötnar.”

“How many are you?”

“One full marine squad and a handful of Jötnar. It’s not much, but with the time we had, it’s all we could get over without being spotted.”

One of the massive Jötnar warriors climbed inside and pulled off a crude but fully sealed helmet. He wore the normal half armour used by the Jötnar assault troops but with the current experimental sealed plates. It wasn’t a permanent solution and had limited movement and supply of air, but it was enough to make the short journey in the vacuum of space. Teresa tapped the warrior on the shoulder and looked back to Sergeant Lovett.

“You’ve met Khan before. He’s in charge of the assault team.”

“A Jötnar assault team, and led by a Jötnar that has trained alongside Spartan? I take it Major Daniels isn’t planning on subtlety then?”

“Not quite. The Major insists the priority is the arrest of Hobbs and taking back the ship. We need to be ready for the fight, and he certain she has another agenda.”

More fighters kept entering the vessel, and each one was assisted by the last to come aboard. Kowalski arrived at the back of the group, along with two sealed crates. He dropped down next to Teresa and turned back to the door. It slid shut and protected them from the dangers of the final sealed entrance that was already closed. He didn’t waste any time and started to remove his armour suit. Two of the marines opened the crates to reveal a selection of electronic tools and weapons.

“I have two marines in position and watching the area being used for the trial.”

“Can we get in?” asked Teresa.

Sergeant Lovett shook his head.

“Not without forcing a head on confrontation. Hobbs is using the Captain’s lounge as the area. It’s guarded by a dozen marines, and the prisoners have been moved to an adjacent room.”

Khan listened carefully to what they were both saying. He looked surprisingly calm and collected, especially considering he was in charge of the assault team.

“Need evidence about Jötnar, then we fight,” he explained.

“I agree. Without it, we risk a rift in the fleet.”

“I might have something we can use. Sergeant Keller has offered his help in tracking down the truth.”

“What?” Teresa roared. She grabbed his arm, and he almost yelped from the pressure. He held her hand and pulled it away.

“Look, I’m well aware of what he has done and said. But he says he is suspicious about the Captain, and he thinks she might have other plans, not just revenge against Spartan.”

“I don’t like it. He turned on Spartan, so why not us?” said Kowalski.

“Either way, I’m meeting him back in the storage area about eighty metres further inside the ship. I’m supposed to be there in just less than twenty minutes. He thinks he can get the Captain to talk about the plan, maybe not everything, but enough to free Spartan and Gun, and even clear the Jötnar of murder.”

*

Teresa waited in the next corridor. She was wearing her civilian clothes, the standard overalls used by the crew on many civilian ships. She had considered wearing military clothing, but there was a chance some of the marines might recognise her. The subtle change to civilian might be just enough to throw the odd person off. It was a chance, but one worth taking. Kowalski was dressed in his off-duty uniform and looked like any other marine on the ship. The rest of the force was waiting in two separate positions at the rear of the ship. She looked at her datapad to the video and audio feed coming from the next room. Inside sat Sergeant Lovett and Sergeant Keller. They had been talking for more than ten minutes now.

“What do you think?” she asked, her voice low and as subtle as she could be.

Kowalski looked back, and his face showed he was less than convinced with what he had heard so far. It was still an improvement since they had arrived, but until he heard something useful, she doubted he would change his mind.

“It does sound like he genuinely wants to help. I just hope he isn’t just playing us.”

“Yeah,” replied Teresa, “he really screwed us and the Vanguard over. Things were looking good before Euryale, but then he came down on us like a tonne of bricks.”

“Yeah, funny how that happened about the same time Hobbs came onto the scene with a vengeance. You think his plan will work?” whispered Kowalski.

Teresa shrugged and was about to speak, but he spoke first.

“The plan might work, if he can get Hobbs and the others away from the tribunal long enough to talk. It’s pretty risky, but I’m not sure we have any other options right now.”

On the screen they watched the conversation between the Sergeant and Marcus. It appeared to wind down and then completely stopped.

“What’s going on?” asked Teresa.

Almost on cue, Sergeant Lovett gave the hand signal to the camera. Teresa looked over to Kowalski. It was the hand gesture they had discussed earlier to confirm it was safe to enter the room.

“This is it then. Watch your back.”

“You too!”

They checked their sidearms and then walked along the narrow service corridor. It didn’t take long for them to reach the sealed security hatch that led inside. Teresa tapped on the side. The response was muted but almost instant. She tapped once more, and the hatch opened up. Kowalski moved inside first, his right hand resting on his holster.

“Kowalski, I didn’t expect to see you here,” exclaimed Marcus with genuine surprise. Teresa stepped out behind him but keeping at a safe distance.

“Teresa, I’m sorry about what…”

She cut him off before he could finish.

“Forget it. Just tell me if you honestly believe you can get her out of that tribunal for an hour.”

“I have an idea, but it’s going to be risky.”

“Risky for you or us?” she said sarcastically.

“Both. The only way she will leave is if she thinks it is too dangerous, or that we have something or somebody even more important. If I tell her I have Teresa in the brig, she will have to come and gloat. If nothing else, you would be the perfect bargaining chip to use against Spartan.”

Kowalski stepped forward and forced his forearm up into Marcus’ throat. He pushed hard until he had him pinned to the bulkhead. Marcus choked but refused to fight back.

“You expect us to hand her over to join the rest of the prisoners? Are you mad?”

Marcus said nothing, the pressure on his throat being sufficient to almost stop him breathing completely. Teresa stepped forward along with Sergeant Lovett. They stood in silence as Marcus choked on the obstruction.

“Stop,” said Teresa finally.

Marcus dropped to his knees, choking and gasping desperately for breath. The others stood still, waiting for him to recover.

“What do you suggest, then? You know she wants Spartan to suffer, with a passion. It’s more than that…” he coughed, still retching from being choked.

“I think she is using Spartan, and probably the Jötnar as well, for her own ends. If she is prepared to go that far, then there are only two options. One, it is for personal gain.”

“That sounds a bit farfetched,” said Kowalski.

Marcus nodded and then coughed again, lifting his hand up to his mouth.

“The second is much more sinister. She could be in league with the Union.”

“What?” Teresa asked. “You think the Captain could be working for the enemy?”

“Why else would all this be happening? Bishop and the Jötnar, well, that’s one thing. But Spartan gunning people down, is just not happening. If she is working for, or even helping, the Union, then what else has she done? This ship, fleet and battle are all in danger.”

Teresa stepped back with Kowalski and Sergeant Lovett. Marcus could see they wanted to talk and stayed where he was. They conferred for almost a minute, and at one point it looked as though Kowalski was going to hit Lovett. Eventually they returned to him. Teresa started to speak, but was stopped by Lovett.

“We’re not happy about this, Marcus. There’s a lot of distrust going on here. Teresa will take the chance, but, and this is a big but, if you screw us on this, you can forget about justice or the law. We’ll come after you with a passion.”

Marcus tried to placate them, gesturing downwards with his hands in deference.

“I know the risks. Don’t you think I’ll be strung up if Hobbs finds out I’ve been talking with you?”

“Well, that’s the chance you take for hanging out with scum like her. Now, let’s get to the details. What are you thinking?”

“Okay. We’ll stage a mock firefight somewhere a little more public. I’ll call for help and eventually knock you down.”

“Hey, you know she’s pregnant, don’t you?”

“What? Spartan?”

Teresa nodded slowly.

“Very well, we’ll take it slowly. Does Hobbs know?” he asked, a flicker of doubt now showing on his brow.

“How the hell would I know?” she countered.

“We need bugs. Without the intel we’ll have nothing.”

“Already on that,” mused Kowalski. He turned and walked to a case on the floor. With a gentle movement, he unclipped the security locks and lifted the lid. Inside were a variety of gadgets and devices, as well as two small pistols, each not unlike a derringer of antiquity. He pulled out a tiny capsule, no larger than a painkiller tablet. Teresa stepped forward, but Marcus put his hand in the way.

“No, you can’t be bugged.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Hobbs ain’t stupid. She trusts me, but not you. I guarantee you the first thing she’ll do is search you, and thoroughly. I’ve seen how she works, and she is nothing but a stickler for the rules.”

Kowalski nodded in agreement, but he appeared mortified at the suggestion she would be thoroughly searched. He had known Teresa for some time now and felt almost like a brother to her.

“Teresa, you don’t…” he started.

“It’s okay, I expected it might come to that. It’s a small price to pay,” she interrupted. “Let’s get this show on the road. We don’t have much time left, do we?”

“True,” answered Sergeant Lovett.

Marcus grabbed the tablet and swallowed it without pausing.

“Hey!” growled Kowalski. “I hope you took the right one.”

Marcus looked appalled, quickly realising that a kit like this would probably include suicide pills amongst other things. He looked at the case and back to a grinning Kowalski.

“You bastard,” he muttered.

Kowalski picked up his electronic monitoring gear as well as a cut down L48 carbine with a crudely fitted silencer. The others grabbed their own weapons and waited.

“This is it then, we’ll be monitoring what happens from one of our secure locations. It’s best we don’t tell you where. Just make sure you get something, anything out of her. Proof she is colluding with the enemy, or her plans for the Confederacy. Anything we can use. Until that happens, we can’t act. At least not without risking the lives of everybody on this ship.”

“Wait, how will you get the signal out to the rest of the crew?” asked Marcus.

Sergeant Lovett walked up to Marcus, his face directly in front of the Sergeant.

“Don’t worry about that. When the time comes, we’ll have the bridge. Just make sure you get the information out of her, understood?”

Marcus nodded.

“Let’s do this!” Teresa called to them.

She was first out of the door and out into the service corridor. Marcus followed her, but the rest stayed a good distance behind. They made their way through the rabbit warren of shafts and turns until reaching a crossroads.

“Wait, we’re nearly there,” whispered Marcus.

Teresa looked back, but there was no sign of the rest of her team. She placed her hand on Marcus’ forearm.

“You’re not gonna screw us now, are you?” she demanded.

“Trust me,” he answered. She was not reassured, but it would have to do.

*

Kowalski and Sergeant Lovett watched the two disappear around the final corner. They stopped, and Kowalski lifted up his datapad. The tracking device implanted in the bug was working and showed Marcus’ position in the ship.

“You realise there is one major flaw in this plan, don’t you?”

“Just one?” replied Sergeant Lovett.

“The bug only tells us where the Sergeant is. If he and Teresa are split up, we’ll lose her.”

“Well, we’d better make sure we stay close!”

Sergeant Lovett tapped his comms unit. It wasn’t the usual equipment they used and was far less powerful than normal. What it lacked in range, it made up for with focused directional control and encryption. The device would only work within one hundred metres of other connected units and was almost impossible to crack. As a real-time system, it was unsurpassed.

“Khan, you there?” asked Sergeant Lovett.

“Here,” came back the gruff reply. The audio quality was crackling slightly, and there was a delay of almost two seconds as the units at both ends performed complex encoding and decoding subroutines.

“Have you located the area being used to hold the prisoners?”

Again there was a short delay.

“Yes, we are one minute from target. Waiting your signal.”

Sergeant Lovett tapped Kowalski on the shoulder.

“They’re in position. All we need is the intel, and they can go in. What about the bridge? Can we take it with just the two of us?”

Kowalski lifted his datapad and placed it in front of them. It showed a detailed schematic of the ship.

“Where did you get that?”

Kowalski grinned.

“You have your skills. I have mine.” He traced a line of the display. “If we take this engineering route, we can take up a position three rooms away from the bridge. Now, if you look at these publicity photographs, you can see the bridge is quite small. The ship is heavily automated so that four officers can manage communications, engineering and navigation all from this one place. There is one way in, through this doorway at the rear of the bridge.”

Sergeant Lovett examined the images carefully. The information on the ship was extensive but only described the vessel in its civilian guise. Any changes to equipment, personnel or procedures would not be mentioned in the data they had access to. He checked the area around the bridge one last time before handing the device back to Kowalski.

“What about weapons and combat control?”

“Nothing, this ship is completely unarmed. Most crew are here to serve the passengers. All we have to do is force our way inside, and overpower or persuade the crew to surrender.”

“Easier said than done. What if they have guards? Even worse, there might be sensors or remote drones in the area.”

Kowalski checked the data again.

“We need a recce then. Until we’ve examined the area, we’re just spit-balling here.”

“Agreed, let’s go.”

*

If Spartan didn’t know any better, he would have thought the Captain was deliberately delaying the tribunal. He must have been brought in at least half a dozen times, but he had still not been asked any questions. Hours, maybe even days, had passed, and his ability to think coherently was fading. Maybe it was sleep deprivation, or maybe it was drugs. It could even be a mixture of the two. Gun wasn’t present. He was back in the side room that was being used as a temporary cell during this process. As he stood, he spotted subtle movement to the right. In walked a marine carrying a datapad. He moved quickly and stopped to the side of the Captain. At first she said nothing, but something caught her eye. She looked at the device with relish, and a sickening smile started to creep across her face. She finally nodded to him and said something quietly. He turned and marched quickly from the room.

“We will take a short recess. A critical development has just taken place that could prove vital in this investigation. We will reconvene in…” she checked the time and thought for a moment, “two hours.”

Misaki wandered over and began speaking with her. It could have been Spartan’s imagination, but he was sure he could see a spark between the two of them. He shook his head in surprise. Misaki was certainly adept at bedding any man or woman she found of use in the military. He chortled to himself that even Gun might be vulnerable. The thought of the two of them almost made him jump though, and a shiver ran up through his spine. His question was answered when Captain Hobbs placed her hand reassuringly on Misaki’s shoulder.

“What the hell is she up to?” he muttered quietly to himself.

Misaki looked positively excited at whatever the news had been, and she left the room along with a marine guard. Two marines headed towards him, both with their weapons aimed low at his chest.

“What?” demanded Spartan, but he knew perfectly well they were going to take him away. One pushed his metal rod forward until it connected with the attachment on his manacles. There was a gentle click, and Spartan was free, at least free to stand up. The guard pushed at him, and he moved in the direction shown. From the corner of his view, he could see Captain Hobbs heading for the door.

“Damned bitch!” he snapped, unable to keep it in any longer. The marine shunted him and he lost his footing. His right foot slipped and down he went. The impact wasn’t hard, but being attached to the pole it was hard for him to maintain his balance. As he lay in a heap on the floor, he watched her leave. The possibilities of what might be happening were running through his mind. It could just be a gambit, something like the prisoner’s dilemma he had been taught during basic training. The harder he thought, the more his head ached. The one thing that worried him more than anything else was that Hobbs and her marines might have discovered Sergeant Lovett and the rest of his men. He had faith in the man, and they had fought in many different warzones with great success. He was an expert at getting into and out of trouble. He just prayed he was still safe. It wasn’t just his life. It was Gun’s and the rest of the Jötnar. If the fleet split up, there would be blood split on every single ship.

“Get up!” snarled the guard. The second moved forward with his rifle muzzle just a few centimetres from his face.

“Big mistake!” he snapped.

The marine knew he was in trouble, but it was too late. Spartan kicked up high into the weapon and knocked it to the floor. The man tried to back off, but Spartan was on him in a flash. A savage kick to the marine’s knee dropped him down, and Spartan leapt on him. Using his knees, elbows and feet, he pummelled the man.

“Get off him, now!” cried the second marine. “I need help in here, now!”

The manacle stopped him moving his arms much, but there was enough movement to reach the man’s holster and pull out his issue pistol. Two guards, these two in what looked like civilian clothing, rushed in and both pointed thermal shotguns at him. He didn’t pause, just aimed low and squeezed. The gun clicked, but nothing happened. Another two crewmen entered, and both kicked and struck out at him. He tried desperately to get away, but was quickly knocked down and pinned to the ground. From the doorway, the shape of Captain Hobbs appeared. She stopped and looked down at Spartan.

“Spartan, you animal!” she snapped.

Behind her emerged two more guards, again in crew uniforms, not marines. This time they pushed a manacled woman. Spartan lifted his head just enough to see her.

“Spartan!” cried the woman. Spartan knew instantly who it was.

“Teresa?”

He was answered with a rifle butt to the temple. He slumped to the ground unconscious, much to the amusement of Hobbs. She pointed at the marines who were on the ground, writhing in pain from the injuries inflicted by Spartan.

“Take them to the brig. I want this area cleared of marine forces.”

The two crewmen nodded and bent down to deal with the fallen warriors. Hobbs turned around to face the manacled Teresa. Marcus stood next to her with a bleeding cut running down his face.

“Good work, Sergeant, much better than these individuals were able to manage.”

To emphasise the point, she kicked one of the men on the floor. He groaned and looked up in surprise and anger.

“You are probably wondering about the security? Well, with this trial I am getting very suspicious reports of possible unrest in the crew. These are marines and security specialists from the Cruz. Luckily they were here to help maintain the peace.”

“Good idea,” he replied, though not too keenly. He didn’t want to sound too out of character.

“Spartan has friends throughout the fleet, and we’ve already seen what his Biomech allies are capable of.”

“Indeed,” she replied, looking at Teresa. “What I really want to know is what you are doing here? Trying to rescue your lover?”

Teresa said nothing and just looked down at the floor. Misaki and a marine in full PDS armour entered the room. She moved up to Teresa.

“You found the bitch?”

Teresa looked up at the smiling face of Misaki. Though they hardly knew each other, it was clear the woman had some kind of vendetta against her. She knew Spartan was an honourable man, so it couldn’t be he had cheated on her. Perhaps it was something in their past, but she really didn’t know.

“Wait,” said Captain Hobbs suddenly. She turned to Marcus.

“Where did you find her?”

“She was trying to access one of the computer systems near Bishop’s quarters. She drew her sidearm, but I was able to bring her down. I think she was trying to locate Spartan.”

She stood still, looking at Teresa from head to toe. This went on for several more seconds until she waved over two of her guards.

“Strip her!” she ordered.

The older of the two men looked back at her.

“Sir?”

“You heard me. She might be carrying a bug, wire or even explosives. We’ve seen what these rebels are like. They’ve murdered the Captain, marines, crew and nearly me. Now strip her, or must I do it myself?”

The man handed his rifle to Marcus and stepped closer to Teresa. He placed his hands on her shoulder and started patting her down as though performing a security check.

“What are you doing?” roared Hobbs.

She stepped forward and grabbed clothing around Teresa’s midriff. From her belt, she pulled out her service bayonet and slashed it across the stretched fabric. The material fell away to expose her stomach and sides.

“There, it’s hard, is it? Now, get to it.”

The marine stepped closer and tugged at her top. With little resistance, it fell away to reveal just bare skin and underwear. He knelt down and did the same until Teresa was stood in her black underwear and nothing else.

“She looks clear to me,” he said finally.

“Really?”

Hobbs moved next to the almost totally naked Teresa. She ran her hand down the woman’s side until she reached her thigh, stopping when she reached fabric.

“What is this? I said strip her. Now do it, or I’ll find somebody else that will!”

*

Kowalski did his best to look calm as he walked along the main corridor. His service clothing made him look like many of the other marines moving about. Without a rifle, or body armour, he felt naked. He had already placed a number of sensors as he made his journey, but on this last section he’d been unable to stop. The bridge was through the next set of double doors and up one level. From the plans, he could either take a short staircase or the command elevator. The decision became moot as he pushed through the doors. A marine guard in full armour blocked the entrance to both.

“What do you want, Private,” asked the man in a bored tone. Kowalski had deliberately appropriated clothing below his rank so as not to draw attention. He was now wondering why he hadn’t chosen a high-ranking officer instead.

“I’m looking for the bridge,” he answered quickly.

“Really, why?”

“I was sent by the engineering team to help establish a level two sentry system around the bridge,” he replied as he held out his case.

“Level two?”

“Yeah, it’s the new microwave-based security unit. It will monitor everything within fifty metres of the room. We’ve got sensor nodes and defensive weapon units.”

“I’ve never heard of it. I’ll need to check this.”

Kowalski’s heart started to pound. He hadn’t expected to be stopped this early on. They were still waiting to receive something concrete from the bug Marcus was carrying. Apart from the sadistic comments from Hobbs about Teresa’s body, she had said nothing incriminating. Kowalski was convinced the woman had a more than professional interest in some of the women under her command. The guard opened his mouth to speak into his communications unit, and that was his chance. He leapt forward and swung the case hard into the man’s helmet. It struck with a crunch and threw him against the wall. Kowalski pulled him to the ground and leaned in, checking that the man was still breathing.

“Lovett, I’m one floor from the bridge. One guard down.”

There was a slight crackle on the earpiece.

“Guard down? Damn it, Kowalski, you’re supposed to be scouting the place, not attacking it.”

“No choice, I’m moving in for a closer look.”

“Be careful.”

He dragged the guard into the nearest storage locker and checked again that he was still breathing. From the case, he then removed several items, including the derringer-type pistol and a few electronic devices. They were all designed for nighttime commando operations and counter-insurgency work. He never expected they would be needed on board one of his own vessels. He checked his datapad that was connected to the spider’s web of sensors he had spread about. They provided a basic sensor net that could capture movement and thermal readings. It wasn’t perfect but should at least let him know when somebody was heading in his direction. He moved to the staircase and proceeded up. Kowalski winced at even the slightest sound as he worked his way up towards the next level. He could have taken the elevator, but it would have made his arrival loud and obvious. As he reached the last step, he tapped his communications unit.

“I’m approaching the bridge, what’s your status?”

“I’m thirty seconds out, main corridor is secure. Be careful.”

He had expected to find a guard at the door but instead found it sealed shut. It was a substantial blast door, designed to be impervious to weapons fire or hijacking attempts.

“Uh, we have a problem.”

“Why am I not surprised?” came back the reply. “Come on then, tell me?”

“The door is sealed, and there’s no guard.”

“Well, that isn’t so bad. We just need to find a way in.”

Kowalski was already removing a small electronic device from his case. His years of studying the Confederate military had given him many useful skills. It was his slightly murky experiences prior to joining that really made the difference though. The device was a wireless communication node used for running diagnostics. In less than ten seconds, he was already connected to the low security section of the system.

“I’m in, shutting down the sensors and alarms in this area. I suggest you get here. When the door locks unseal, it could draw attention. Who knows what we’ll find inside?”

“I’m on the way, but don’t open it yet.”

“No problem, three more levels to get through first.”

His device showed him multiple access points, but that was of no use to him. He needed the service menus that were used by technicians and maintenance crews. With a little fiddling, he managed to damage one of the lesser subroutines and forced his way through the security centre software.

“Man, this system is old,” he muttered to himself, pleased at both his progress and the confirmation that his skills were still good enough. At this point in the system, he could connect with any of the internal security systems in that part of the ship. As he moved through several datastreams, he spotted something unusual. It was a multiplexing stream of data that was easily ten times larger than he would have expected. He slid his finger on the small screen and attached two monitoring nodes to the streams, and watched. It was a series of control codes and heavily encoded traffic.

“What the hell?” he whispered.

A few more attempts and he was able to put on a trace. It was quickly clear that the bulk of the data was coming directly from inside the bridge, and then heading out to all the main systems on the ship. He scratched his head, surprised at what he could see. Sergeant Lovett appeared on the staircase, his sidearm already out and held low but out of sight.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s the bridge. There’s a massive amount of computing power in there. From the streams I’m monitoring, I’d say there is enough traffic to control fifty ships like this one, and all from inside there.”

“What?”

“I know. It’s overkill. Why does a civilian ship have that much power? Last time I saw something like this, it was the data pathways back on Prometheus.”

The two looked at each other, and the obvious solution occurred to them at almost the same time.

“An AI system?” said Lovett.

“Yeah, if Hobbs managed to get one aboard, she could remotely manage the ship’s systems with almost no crew.”

Kowalski turned back to his device and checked more of the data.

“We need to get in there. Come on, just get the door open.”

Kowalski nodded, but said no more. The last two barriers were much tougher, and he was forced to move segments of code from one of the emergency subroutines directly into the access point to create a breach. A click ahead indicated the first of the bolts opening.

“Get ready, any second now.”

They lifted their weapons and pointed directly at the door. Nothing happened, and Sergeant Lovett made to turn. A great clunk came from the hatch, and then it swung open with almost no sound. The two marines moved inside without hesitating. They each moved off to the sides of the doorway and scanned the room with their weapons out in front, searching for the enemy.

“What the hell?” snapped Sergeant Lovett.

The bridge was empty, apart from a capsule about a metre long with dozens of pipes and thick cables running from it. Kowalski examined it.

“Yeah, it’s similar to the ones I’ve seen before. Not the same though.”

Lovett lifted his pistol and aimed it at the object, but Kowalski jumped in front of him.

“Hey, what you doing? Until we hear from Marcus, we have no evidence.”

The Sergeant raised an eyebrow and pointed at the device.

“What do you call that?”

Kowalski nodded in acknowledgement.

“True. That doesn’t look good. But it isn’t evidence against her. What if she say’s Spartan brought it from Prometheus and installed it?”

“We need to keep this place secured until we get the data. Can you bypass the Hub, or do we need to destroy it?”

Kowalski was already connecting up his device via a maintenance port on one of the consoles.

“With this direct access, I should be able to run a parallel module. Just have to make sure it doesn’t detect me.”

“It?” asked Lovett.

“Yeah, you’ve seen these things. They’re a kind of hybrid, human brain matter and bio-electronic interface. It’s state of the art gear.”

“You make it sound like its alive.”

Kowalski turned to him for a brief moment.

“Well, in a way it is.”

Something seemed to alert Sergeant Lovett, and he lifted his hand for Kowalski to be quiet. Both stayed still for a moment as he listened.

“It’s Teresa. Sounds like something’s happening.”

*

Teresa lay on the table with thick ropes binding her to the surface. Marcus, Misaki and five other guards stood nearby. She watched the people in the room, and for a second couldn’t find Marcus. Then she spotted the Sergeant. He was stood next to Misaki who was busy checking a computer display. Captain Hobbs was speaking with her and becoming agitated.

“What do you mean?” she asked loudly.

“Two hearts, she’s pregnant.”

Hobbs turned away and approached the bed. She walked around it with a slow, steady pace until she was just a short distance from her face. She lowered her hand and traced it along Teresa’s cheek.

“Spartan’s?” she asked.

Teresa said nothing and did her best to turn her head away from the hated officer. Marcus watched on, fidgeting uncomfortably.

“Sir, what about the tribunal? We’ll be at the Anomaly shortly, and the comms are still down.”

Hobbs was enthused by Teresa and acted as though she hadn’t even heard the Sergeant.

“Sergeant Teresa Morato. Another traitor, like your lover. You thought you could rescue him?”

She twisted her head to look at the Captain.

“Spartan doesn’t need to be rescued. He knows who you are, and he’ll find you.”

Captain Hobbs started laughing.

“Who cares? Soon it won’t matter.”

Marcus stepped towards the two. He sensed she was occupied and her guard lowered. As she moved, one of the guards stepped ahead and blocked his movement. He easily knocked the carbine aside and continued on to the Captain.

“Captain? We need to resolve this issue as quickly as possible. The ship and the taskforce are vulnerable.”

“Spartan will be dealt with soon enough. You saw what happened to the others, and the same fate awaits him. Only those that remain loyal to me will make it out of the coming battle alive.”

Teresa started struggling and wriggling hard against the ropes holding her down.

“You killed Bishop, didn’t you? He was my friend.”

“I’m sure he was. Bishop died like a coward, just like the Captain and the rest of his lackeys. If you want Spartan to live for longer than the next ten minutes, you’ll give me information on the Yorkdale and the Biomech battalion.”

“What?” she exclaimed.

Captain Hobbs struck Teresa hard in the face, opening up a small cut on the side of her face. She almost laughed at the impact.

The ship’s alarms started blasting through the hull. It was the automated signal that announced the vessel was about to initiate a major manoeuvre. After the short series of blasts, a pre-recording repeated a short message. The ship would be firing retro-engines in sixty seconds as they arrived in the warzone. Captain Hobbs seemed disinterested in the announcement and turned back to Teresa.

“Spartan and his friends have stood in the way of my plans for long enough.”

“Like Bishop?”

“Of course. Unless you want to suffer his fate, you’ll give me what I want.”

She looked around at the rest of the personnel in the room.

“I suggest you strap in, this is going to be rough.”

The marines moved to the many bars and straps dotted throughout the hull for this kind of situation. The gravity would be deactivated just before the engines fired, and if they weren’t in position, the thrust would push them back into all manner of objects. Teresa flashed her eyes towards Marcus and saw a look of grim determination with a hint of elation. It wasn’t much, but it was an acknowledgement of his involvement. Marcus made for the door, but Hobbs spotted him.

“Where are you going, Sergeant? You need to strap yourself down.”

“Getting a medic for her wound,” he answered nervously.

The Captain lifted herself up from her position alongside Teresa.

“What do you care?” she asked.

Marcus froze, either from confusion or simply the realisation he had been found out. Misaki stepped up to him, almost smelling the fear.

The alert sounded again through the hull, and the engines were just seconds away from being powered up.

“He’s lying,” she said vindictively.

Marcus knew the game was up, and instead of trying to talk his way out, he swung at the woman. His fist struck her hard in the head, and she staggered back into the wall. Incredibly, the impact didn’t knock her out. Hobbs pulled the straps around her body, and then bent over to pull out her pistol. As she grabbed it, a dull roar thundered through the ship. It was the sound of the powerplants building up to fire a massive blast of energy to slow the ship for the final part of its journey. The engines would burn for almost a minute at this power level, and the force would be the equivalent of multiple gees. The engines started, but her arm became heavier and heavier as she tried to take aim. Marcus flew across the room and crashed into one of the walls, and a spray of blood blasted from his mouth.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The capture of Prometheus and the discovery of the Biomech facility created a multitude of moral problems. Though mass production of the hellish creatures still required the use of donor humans, the final and definitive Biomech was the dreaded synthetic warrior. These larger, factory produced creatures were the most powerful of the entire race. The only weakness of these monsters was the time it took to construct them and the size of the facilities. The rescue of the final batch of unaltered Biomechs became the first Jötnar, and the birth of a new and powerful race.

Evolution of the Biomechs

The ships of the Anomaly taskforce sped towards the outer levels of the Anomaly. In an awe-inspiring demonstration of skill and planning, the group of fifteen vessels reached a position of just under an hour from the target location. Each ship fired a final powerful blast from their engines, and then performed a full one hundred and eighty degree rotation. In less than a minute, the taskforce were in formation and proceeded at combat speed towards the enemy. At this speed, the acceleration was negligible and those craft fitted with artificial gravity activated it. CCS Santa Cruz, the lead ship in the formation, pushed ahead.

“Sir, the Oceania is still jamming inter-ship communications,” said Commander Malone, the ship’s executive officer.

“What? Captain Hobbs was supposed to maintain communications.”

“This has gone on too far. Get a commando team aboard her immediately. I don’t care about this damned trial right now. We will be at the target zone in less than fifty minutes. I need full control and communications, or they’ll take us apart.”

Commander Malone nodded and moved off to speak with the commanders of the marines on board. Captain Schaffer moved to his chair and sat down. On the main viewscreen was the massive swirling cloud of the Anomaly. From this distance, it was impossible to make out the ships, but several dark lines marked the position of the orbital structures described in the reports.

“IFF?”

The tactical officer finished a quick scan of the vertical display and crosschecked the data with that on the ship’s main computer system.

“I’m picking up valid signals from Achilles class cruisers. I’m detecting Furious, Bellerophon and Patroclus.”

Captain Schaffer checked the display himself.

“What about Perseus? We’re missing a cruiser,” he asked.

“Wait, there is something happening in sector seven.”

The tactical officer ran a full series of short and long-range scans into the Anomaly. The sensors were capable of detecting heat, radar cross-sections as well as electronic signatures.

“I have nine Scimitar class missile cruisers, plus another dozen unidentified ships engaging a damaged cruiser. Yes, it’s the Perseus. They have sustained heavy damage. Multiple signals, they’re abandoning ship.”

“Damn!” muttered Captain Schaffer.

“Wait, there’s more. I detect six more frigates leaving the Spacebridge, and it looks they are close to attacking the last three cruisers.”

“What about our taskforce, are we still in formation?”

“Sir! The jamming has stopped. I’m detecting full status and combat readiness from all vessels in our fleet.”

“About time. Get a message to the XO. I want our marines ready. Cancel the landing party for Oceania.”

The tactical officer nodded and pulled down his intercom. Captain Schaffer double-checked the status of his ships. It wasn’t the most powerful fleet, but his seven light cruisers were state of the art and equipped with a multitude of weapon systems. He hit the ship-wide communications button.

“This is the Captain. We have arrived at our destination. The enemy are already in the middle of an assault on the Furious Battlegroup. All ships are to be ready for combat operations in fifteen minutes. Assault platoons, ready your landing craft, gunners, and prepare your systems. We are outnumbered, but surprise and firepower is on our side. Good hunting.”

He turned to his communications officer.

“Get me through to the Oceania. I want to know what the hell is going on there.”

*

Spartan woke to find himself pushed against the straps. For a moment he thought he was being pulled or dragged away, but then he realised it was the final stages of the ship’s engines being fired. The ship must be slowing down. That meant they were either at, or very close to the Anomaly. He looked around the room and quickly spotted Gun. He was still strapped down, but it looked like he was struggling with the straps. A lurch in his stomach was the first indication that the artificial gravity had been reactivated. It took a few seconds until his entire body adjusted for the short time he must have been weightless. He tried to roll over towards Gun, but the straps were too tight.

“Gun!” he cried. “Are you awake?”

“Spartan?” came back the reply.

“Yeah, you okay?”

Gun struggled, but the sound of him trying to move was much louder than Spartan’s attempts.

“Great, apart from being stuck in here. You hear that?”

Spartan said nothing, but he kept still and listened carefully. At first he heard nothing of note, but then there was the odd crackle of what sounded like gunfire.

“Guns?” he asked.

“Yeah, Spartan, for us?”

“You’re thinking of a rescue party?”

The door burst open and a marine flew through the air at least three metres before crashing to the ground. A Jötnar warrior rushed in followed by two more. Spartan strained to see who it was, but the straps were too restrictive.

“Spartan?” came a familiar voice.

The creature stomped towards him, and with a swishing sound of sharp metal moving quickly through air, he felt his bonds break. With more effort than expected, he lifted himself up to see the full armoured shape of Khan. He was carrying what looked like a metal baseball bat. It was smooth and crudely finished.

“You crazy bastard!” he laughed, overjoyed to see a friendly face for the first time in days. “What the hell is that?”

Khan looked at the metal, and back to Spartan.

“Non-lethal weapon,” he said with a lopsided grin.

Spartan looked down at the body of the traitorous marine. A pool of blood was forming around his head.

“Yeah, good work there.”

Khan moved over to where Gun was strapped and hacked away with his knife. The weapon looked small in his oversized hands, but Spartan was aware it was more the size of a machete or German style messer. When the last strap broke, the Jötnar jumped up and off the table. He roared with pleasure and anger in equal measure.

“Khan

Spartan, it is time!” he growled.

Spartan slid off his own table and onto his feet, a pang of pain running up his still hurt leg. The adrenalin of the situation surged through his body, and his heart pounded. Khan held his arm.

“They still have Teresa.”

Spartan’s face almost exploded in rage.

“Where are they?” he demanded.

Khan handed him a small datapad type device that showed the thermal scans of the sensors positioned by the marines in the last twenty-four hours.

“Sergeant Lovett says they are here, about ninety metres,” he pointed off to his left, “that way.”

Spartan bent down to the dead marine and rolled him over. There was something strange about his face, and it looked like a tattoo or marking on his cheek. He didn’t have time though and grabbed the man’s carbine and ammunition clips.

“Lead the way, Khan. It’s time we explained things to that bitch!”

*

“Did you get all of that?” asked Sergeant Lovett.

Kowalski fiddled with one of the partially disconnected display units. He looked over his shoulder at the software he was running to collate data.

“Yep, got the lot. I’ve already switched the jamming system off, but it won’t be long before the crew realise what’s going on.”

“Okay, can you pull the AI system and give us full access to the ship?”

The monitoring system for the sensors flashed a series of colours and a low tone came from its built-in speaker.

“Yeah, I need about sixty seconds.” He pointed at the device. “How far away are they?”

Sergeant Lovett checked the unit, but the data was far from perfect. It just gave them an idea, nothing specific.

“I’d say a group, not sure of the numbers. They are three sections back from the staircase. Maybe thirty, say forty seconds away.”

“Crap!” muttered Kowalski.

“I’ll keep them busy. You keep working. We need to let the crew and fleet know what is going on here before they arrest us.”

“You mean shoot us?” replied Kowalski in a sarcastic tone. He strained himself as he pulled his body around the AI unit, and to where the main data cables ran into the primary communications unit. He couldn’t simply remove it because the damage to the onboard systems could prove fatal, especially as they were about to enter battle.

Sergeant Lovett moved to the side of the door and checked his firearm. The small device looked pitiful in his hands, and nothing like the regulation firearms they carried as marines.

“Hey, your sidearm!” he called over to Kowalski.

Still trapped in a bizarre, contorted nightmare, Kowalski managed to grab his own pistol and slide it along the floor. The sound of footsteps outside clattered on the staircase.

“Here they come.”

He held both the pistols out in the direction the enemy would have to appear. It should only take seconds, but the sound stopped. He listened carefully until the noise of voices and an argument told him they must have found the unconscious guard. A final shout, and then the noise resumed as the group came charging up the stairs. He took aim and started to squeeze the triggers.

*

“Sir, we’re receiving open video streams from Oceania. It’s from Sergeant Kowalski, one of our commandos. He is sending evidence concerning Captain Hobbs. He says she is an agent working for Union forces and he has been able to take full control over the ship’s systems.”

Before the Captain could respond, he pushed the video feeds up onto the main screen. The first feed was a view of the bridge of the ship. It showed a mechanical unit with pipes, tubes and cables running from it. There seemed to be a gun battle going on at the entrance of the bridge. In the corner of the screen, another marine was firing two pistols out into the corridor.

“It’s him, Sir,” said the XO.

The communications officer boosted the sound levels and did his best to mitigate the gunfire. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.

“This is Sergeant Lovett. We’ve uncovered a conspiracy by Captain Hobbs and a number of key personnel on this vessel.”

He paused for a moment, and at least a dozen rounds and a thud from a grenade echoed throughout the bridge. Kowalski dropped down from the computer equipment and took up position nearby.

“Captain Hobbs murdered the Captain and his crew. We have her testimony on audio. Lieutenant Spartan and the Jötnar were framed for the murder of Bishop and the other marines. Captain Khan of the Jötnar is leading an assault on her command, right now!”

He rolled to the side as something substantial flew past and exploded. Dust and debris littered the room. The crew on the Santa Cruz stood in silence, waiting for the material to move.

“Communications, connect me to every ship in the fleet, now!” roared the Captain.

“Sir, just a few seconds.”

The communications officer struggled with the computer system as he engaged multiple handshake routines to gain direct access to the other vessels. It was one of the benefits of the command ship. It had substantial access to other vessels. He nodded to the Captain.

“You’re on, Sir.”

“This is Captain Schaffer. There has been a mutiny on board Oceania. All vessels are to stay well away from her until the end of this crisis. It would appear the Jötnar had been falsely implicated in a conspiracy to kill Confederate personnel. I call on all forces aboard the Oceania to ceasefire immediately.”

He replaced his handset and looked towards the communications officer.

“Keep that message going. I need full control of this fleet, and fast.”

He looked back to the screen and the fading cloud of dust. Kowalski and Lovett were still in position, but something had changed. Two men walked in with their hands raised. They were marines, and Kowalski seemed to be shouting at them. A crackle came over the speakers and Sergeant Lovett looked around, trying to find the camera in the room.

“Captain, these marines have stopped their attack. Thank you. We have injuries, but I think we avoided any fatalities.”

Captain Schaffer smiled at the news. He leaned in to the screen and the microphone system.

“Good work, son, now keep the place secure. I will be sending a team over to help regain control. Do you have any news of Lieutenant Spartan, Commander Gun and the others?”

“No, Sir, I only have control of the main systems, security and propulsion. Parts of the ship have been disconnected.”

“Very well, stand your ground. I will have a platoon of our finest with you in ten minutes.”

“Sir, more feeds are coming online.”

The image of the bridge was replaced by a view of a darkened room with the partially naked body of Sergeant Morato splayed out for all to see. Next to her was Captain Hobbs shouting into a radio unit. A man lay in a puddle of blood in the corner of the room. Another woman stood nearby, but unlike Hobbs she was busy looking about the room, trying to find something.

“What the hell was going on over there?” said Captain Schaffer to his XO. “Organise a rapid reaction boarding party. I need that ship ready for the fight.”

The woman on the screen pointed into the camera lens and lifted a handgun. Captain Schaffer watched her carefully and was enthralled by both her obvious beauty, and the savage glare she gave to the camera. There were two flashes, and the feed went dark.

Another of the command officers called his attention to a database file for her.

“Sir, that is Misaki SatM. She is supposed to be assisting with technical duties on board the Yorkdale. She transferred with Sergeant Bishop to work on the ship’s systems.”

He nodded as he read the details.

“Interesting. So she knew Spartan, so there is a story there, but not for now. Move the fleet a safe distance from Oceania until this is resolved. Everybody else concentrate on the enemy forces. We have a battle to fight, and it’s going to be tough enough without a rogue passenger liner running through the middle of us. Let Sergeant Lovett and his people know about that room. I suspect they are already searching for Hobbs and her friends.”

*

Khan led the rush, with Spartan and Gun close behind. Another dozen marines and Jötnar were following them. Once into the corridor, the booming voice of Captain Schaffer blasted thorough the hull. Where marines and crewmen had seemed openly hostile, they now moved aside or joined them as the group moved towards the secure compartments deep inside the hull. As the crimes of Hobbs became known, Spartan became more and more angry.

“How much further?” shouted Gun.

Spartan didn’t slow but threw a quick glance back at the warrior.

“Two more turns and we hit the secure wing.”

Khan rounded the next bend and narrowly avoided a burst of rifle fire. He moved to the side of the corridor and took cover behind a mound of cases. Spartan moved up alongside him.

“Who is it?” Spartan asked him.

“Get back or Morato takes a bullet in the head!” cried out a woman.

“Misaki?” shouted Spartan, instantly recognising her voice.

Khan started to stand, but Spartan pulled him back.

“No, she’s insane.”

Spartan stepped out and into the line of fire. The corridor was about two metres wide, and a number of trolleys were strapped in at certain points. Misaki hid behind one, but he could just make out her face and firearm.

“Misaki, it’s me, Spartan.”

At the sound of his voice, she blasted away. Several of the rounds cut past him, almost striking him in the process. He pulled himself closer to the wall.

From the left, Captain Hobbs emerged with the drugged shape of a woman draped into her shoulder. As she stepped out, she turned and looked towards Spartan. The look she gave him was one of pure hatred.

“You Confederate lackey. You and your monsters will all burn.”

He took one step forward, but she placed a blade so close to the woman’s skin, it drew a tiny trickle of blood.

“Any closer, pig, and your woman dies. Right here, and in front of you!”

Spartan lifted his hand, to show he had lowered his weapon, and took a step back.

“That’s good. Now, stay back and leave me a clear route to the landing bay. Get in my way and she dies!”

*

“Tactical, what is your assessment?” asked Captain Schaffer.

The command staff of CCS Santa Cruz stood around the tactical display that showed a map of the vessels present, as well as the Captains of each ship.

“The Furious battlegroup is outnumbered and trapped. The latest Union ships have arrived through the Spacebridge. Either we move directly to our ships and help as best we can, or we block the bridge and then turn back and hit them from the rear.”

The XO scratched his chin, evidently unhappy at the options.

“If we leave them for much longer, we might lose the entire battlegroup.”

“True,” replied Captain Schaffer, “but what if they have more ships waiting? They could bring in a continuous stream of vessels and simply overpower us with superior numbers.”

Almost on cue, the Spacebridge to Alpha Centauri flickered and flashed.

“Sir, four more frigates have arrived. Enemy fleet will be in range in six minutes.”

“That’s it, we hit them in the heart. I want all ships to strike their force in the centre. Boarding parties to the largest ships, and let the Jötnar take the cruisers. Once we’ve struck the first blow, we’ll split up. One group will keep their ships busy, the second will assist the Furious Battlegroup, and the third and final group will take up positions at the mouth of the Spacebridge. We’ll mine it, so nothing else can come through. Understood?”

The officers nodded and moved to their stations. Captain Schaffer returned to his command chair. He pulled on the strap and buckled himself in. The intercom to his right patched him through to his crew.

“Action stations, this is it. Keep your guns firing, and do not stop until every single Union vessel burns!”

“Sir!” cried the tactical officer.

“What?”

“More signals, five more ships have just arrived from somewhere in this System. Four are unidentified, but the fifth is the Leviathan.”

“Typhon’s ship? From Euryale?”

“Yes, Sir.”

The Captain’s throat went dry. He’d already met this vessel once before, and even the heavy ships of the line had been unable to harm her. But what really worried him was that the ship carried the dreaded particle weapon. An invisible killer that could explode ships using its high-energy.

“This changes nothing. Send the signal, all ships, open fire!”

The Santa Cruz rumbled as its many railgun batteries opened fire. The plasma discharges from the gunports were the only indication that something was happening. CCS Santa Cruz pushed ahead with five light cruisers gathered around her like a protective flock. A second line of ships based around CCS Yorkdale followed. The smaller frigates buzzed about the group, looking for missiles or enemy fighters. Streams of projectiles approached the disorganized but more numerous enemy fleet.

“Sir, they reforming and turning to face us. I count twenty-two ships plus the nine reinforcements.”

“Thirty-one ships,” he said under his breath. The fifteen ships under his command were mainly light cruisers, perhaps a match for the older, archaic vessels dating back to the Great War, but not at this range. His ships were designed for a new kind of war, one with more heavily armoured ships equipped with close ranged railguns. The days of long distance missile battles and torpedo bombers was supposed to have died with the Great War. The reinforcements, including the particle weapon armed Leviathan, changed things considerably.

“Battle speed, all ships close to attack. Boarding parties launch landing craft. It is time!”

Dozens of assault shuttles and landing craft moved from the protective armour of CCS Santa Cruz and powered up their engines. He checked the vessels in the fleet and noticed nothing was launching from the Yorkdale. He tapped the ship and connected to her commander, completely bypassing the communications officer. An image of Major Daniels appeared.

“Sir.”

“Why aren’t you launching landing craft? The fleet is moving into battle, and your ship is lingering in the rear with the gear.”

“Captain, the Jötnar will not fight until they know what is going on. Commander Gun, Lieutenant Spartan and many Jötnar warriors and officers are missing, and some dead. They feel betrayed, and your orders are telling them to launch suicide attacks on the enemy capital ships.”

“Major, this isn’t a request. Get them into the landing craft.”

“No, Sir, they are right. Why should they fight?”

The communications officer lifted his hand and called over to the Captain.

“Sir, I am in radio contact with Sergeant Lovett and also Captain Khan. I can repeat the signal and resend it to the Major.”

For a second the Captain looked confused at what the officer was suggesting, and then it dawned on his why it might help. He shook his head in annoyance, mainly at himself.

“Do it and fast. I need the Yorkdale and her troops in action. Without them, the battle will be over before it starts.”

The XO pointed to the shape of the enemy cruiser that was manoeuvring to the front of the fleet.

*

Hobbs and Misaki moved along the shaft as quickly as they could, but the weight of Teresa’s lifeless body slowed them down. Spartan followed as closely as he dared, but every few seconds one of them turned back to check they were safe.

“Stay back!” roared Misaki in her insolent tone. She fired another two shots, but she must have been tiring as this time the bullets were nowhere near her pursuers. She took some of the weight from Hobbs and dragged Teresa out into the open space in the landing bay. Inside, a number of personnel were carrying crates of ammunition and weapons towards a waiting assault shuttle.

“Watch out!” cried Spartan, but it was too late. The officer aimed her pistol and shot two of them in the head. The bullets passed cleanly through the men, and they fell to the ground. The third heard Spartan and managed to jump behind a crate of rifles. He still took a round to the shoulder and cried out in pain. Hobbs spun around and aimed at Spartan.

“Stay back, Spartan, unless you want the two of you to die right now?”

Misaki stepped away, leaving Hobbs with Teresa draped against her shoulder. She ran over to the shuttle, climbed inside and headed to the cramped cockpit. Hobbs stayed still with her pistol aimed directly at Spartan’s face. Khan and Gun appeared and moved around the flanks of the women. Hobbs spotted them and turned the gun to her prisoner.

“I warned you, all of you, back on Euryale. You are all turncoat animals. Why do you fight for him? We made you and you serve us. You are ours to command.”

Khan lifted up his hands as if he didn’t understand. He turned to Spartan.

“Hey, don’t look at me, she doesn’t make any sense to me either.”

Misaki appeared at the doorway to help Hobbs drag their hostage into the craft. Spartan took another step, but Misaki glared at him.

“Spartan, you asshole. You could have had everything. Instead you threw it away on this pathetic little empire. Hobbs and her friends have offered me more than you ever could.”

She dragged Teresa a few more metres and stopped, leaning over and whispering to Hobbs. Spartan took his chance and ran forward towards the three. He covered half the distance before Misaki saw him. She lifted her gun and blasted away at him. Spartan was fast and managed drop behind a drifting container at the last minute. He was only a few metres away, but Hobbs managed to bring out the trump card. From her jacket, she brought out a thermal shock grenade.

“One more step, Spartan, and I’ll blow us all out into space, understood?”

He stopped, immediately recognizing the threat of the weapon. He lifted his hands so that the rest of his unit could see him.

“Now, we’re leaving, and Sergeant Morato is going to come with us. She will be a useful addition to our brothers.”

Hobbs moved back, reaching the main door of the shuttle. Spartan glanced at the hull, making a mental note of the registration code. It was minor, but it might be of use. The three were then inside the craft and the door clamped down behind them. He turned and shouted over to Gun.

“We have to stop them leaving!”

Gun lifted his weapon and aimed it at the engines of the craft.

“No!” shouted Spartan. “You might hit the fuel cells!”

A high pitch whine came from the middle of the shuttle and with no warning the engines fired up. Usually the craft waited until outside before that happened. The alarms for the exterior doors started.

“Everybody back inside, the landing bay doors are opening!” he cried. He rushed back and through one of the three main shield doors. Once inside, he hit the seal button. With a thud the heavy door dropped down and sealed the room from the hangar area.

“What is that?” called out one of the marines.

Spartan couldn’t hear anything, but he could feel a series of vibrations though the floor. They were rapid and becoming more powerful.

“Its automatic canon fire. A frigate must be strafing the hull.”

In answer to his suggestion, a loud thud shook the corridors and ripped several plating sections from the ceiling. Steam poured in from a broken pipe, and the lights cut off.

“Bloody hell!” yelled Spartan, now becoming frustrated at their predicament. Seconds later, the emergency power cells activated and lit the low level red lights. They cast a dull glow to the corridor, but it was better than pitch darkness. Spartan pulled himself along the rails as more blasts shook the vessel and threw them about. Khan spun around so he was upside down and moved towards Spartan.

“Ship is lost, we need to get out,” he growled.

“The crew, we have to warn them,” countered Spartan, still unwilling to leave.

“Spartan!” shouted Gun from further ahead. “They already know. They aren’t stupid.”

*

“Multiple targets, eighty-four missiles, even pattern throughout the fleet.”

“How long until impact?” asked a nervous Captain Schaffer.

“Ninety seconds, Sir. They are tempest class anti-ship missiles, high-speed and invulnerable to countermeasures. Starting defensive pattern now.”

A high pitched rumble indicated the ship’s dozens of point defence turrets had switched to small, high velocity projectiles and were all hurling them out in the hundreds towards the target.

“Three destroyed

and another,” said the officer excitedly.

The Captain shook his head. It was a bewildering assault of powerful missiles that could destroy his smaller fleet. Back in the days of the Great War, these kinds of weapons were common. Many ships in the opposing fleets would have access to missile defence cruisers. These powerful defensive ships carried hundreds of high-speed guided missiles that were specially designed to track and eliminate torpedoes and missiles. With the improvements in high-energy weapons, especially railguns, they had fallen out of use. They were complicated and reliant upon a long supply chain, and therefore vulnerable to defensive measures. None of Schaffer’s ships were designed to stand this kind of attack.

“Sir, they are all targeting us.”

“What?” demanded the Captain.

“All of the missiles are moving towards us in a wide dispersal pattern. I’m picking up an additional wave of thirty-two missiles, and all of them are heading this way.”

“Gods!” he muttered back. He knew that the Santa Cruz, while a powerful marine transport and a well-armed ship, would have next to no chance against that kind of onslaught.

“Coordinate all local defensive fire, and hit them with a wide debris pattern. We cannot let those missiles inside our cone of defence. We have over a thousand marines still on board!”

The tactical officer pressed a button, but then quickly turned back in surprise.

“Sir! More targets incoming. I’m detecting approximately six ships, including one large target, possibly a battleship.”

Captain Schaffer lowered his hand into his face.

“This is it,” he whispered to himself.

He looked up and watched the shapes of the approaching vessels rush past his own ships and into a position immediately between his line of ships and the Union forces. The sensors on board Santa Cruz went wild as IFF signals and data traffic surged towards them. The internal sound system was overridden, something that could only be done by the command or flagships of the fleet.

“This is Admiral Jarvis of CCS Crusader. I am taking command of this fleet. All ships continue your attacks, and drive them back!”

On the main screen the line of small shapes were replaced by the massive hull of the Confederate Battlecruiser. As soon as she slowed into position, a number of powerful blasts from her manoeuvring thrusters spun her around to present her flank to the enemy line of warships. Streaks of shot from the scores of railguns along her hull pounded the approaching ships.

“Sir, Crusader is engaging the missiles!” cried the tactical officer.

Captain Schaffer watched with a mixture of pride and awe as hundreds of streams of light cannon fire ripped through space like lines of string. Each reached out to the myriad of approaching missiles, tracking the paths of the devices and blasting them apart. Only two made it through the fire and exploded impotently against the thick, hardened armour of the mighty ship.

Captain Schaffer felt as though a surge of electricity had been pumped through his body. He grabbed his intercom.

“All remaining assault units are to launch immediately. I want those ships under our control and fast!”

He then turned to the helmsman.

“Full power to the engines, I want us right in the middle of them!”

“Aye, Sir.”

The rumble of the engines could be felt through the vessel. The additional force of acceleration, mixed with the rotating crew sections, put an unusual series of strains on the crew. But it was something they had all trained for, and the straps and harnesses at every station proved their worth.

“Oceania is taking fire, Sir,” called out the tactical officer.

Captain Schaffer checked his own viewscreen to see the luxury liner take two impacts from automatic cannons. As he watched, one of the anti-ship missiles was destroyed just a hundred metres from her hull. The damage from the wrecked missile hurled itself against he flank of the vessel and tore a section the size of an assault shuttle out of the metal.

“Gods, she doesn’t stand a chance. Where the hell is she going?”

“Towards the Union fleet. Captain Hobbs must have been able to override the helm controls, at least until she left with her prisoner,” explained the tactical officer.

“I don’t like it, just a few direct hits and she’s finished. Get me through to who is in charge over there. They need to save whoever they can before it’s too late.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Nobody doubted that after Euryale, the Jötnar would forever be considered a critical part of the Confederate military. As in centuries past, however, there would always be inter-service rivalry that could cause a rift that even the great commanders could not resolve. The first of these occurred at the very beginning of what historians would later call the Battle of the Centauri Spacebridge’. The Biomechs had given the Zealots and their Union the military capability to win their war. There are few that cannot fail to see the irony in their own creation being used in the Jötnar units to fight against them in the closing days of the war.

The 1st Jötnar Battalion

A massive explosion tore through the main habitation module and smashed the rotation hardware. In an instant those on board became weightless, as did any loose parts, tools or weapons. Spartan lost his footing and spun into the nearest wall. Gun and Khan grabbed onto a damaged bulkhead, and the rest did their best to hold on.

The internal emergency alarm triggered.

“This is Sergeant Lovett of the Confederate Marine Corps. Oceania has sustained substantial damage. I have been authorised by Captain Schaffer of CCS Santa Cruz to initiate an immediate evacuation. All crew and personnel are to abandon ship using the nearest available lifeboat

“

The message continued but broke up with excessive static and noise. “Enemy ships inbound, I repeat, all personnel are to evacuate immediately. Auto-pilots will take lifeboats to the Yorkdale.”

“Lieutenant!” called one of the marines further back in the ship. He pulled out a utility belt and threw it towards Spartan. With a lack of gravity, it spun slowly and drifted in a flat line. Spartan reached out and caught it. The belt was nothing substantial, just a variant of the belts used by Confederate crewmen and workers. It did contain a pistol holster and both a micro-size datapad and communications device. He checked the pistol and then grabbed the radio unit.

“Sir, Sergeant Lovett is on the horn.”

Spartan pulled out one of the earpieces fitted to the unit and pushed it into his ear. The sound of a desperate message poured out.

“Lieutenant Spartan here,” he replied, instantly interrupting the message.

“Good to hear from you, Sir. What’s your status?”

“Hobbs and Misaki have escaped. They’ve taken Teresa as a hostage.”

“Yeah, Crusader is tracking the lifeboat. Looks like it is heading for the Leviathan. Several fighters from the Santa Cruz tried to block it, but there’s just too much gunfire out there.”

Their conversation was interrupted as something substantial smashed into the ship’s hull. Powerful vibrations rumbled along the floor and knocked the ship several metres off course. Spartan did his best to hold on, but it still shook him enough to crunch his left hand against his ribs. He cried out from the intense sense of pain in his joints.

“What the hell is going on out there?” demanded Spartan.

“As soon as the lifeboat launched, we came under heavy fire from the frigates. Our engines are out of commission as are the landing bays. They knew how to hit us and fast. Yorkdale is on her way, but the Union ships are trying to hold her off. Half the systems here are fried. She’s not going to hold it together for much longer.”

Spartan looked back to Gun.

“We’re under fire. The ship is lost.”

Gun grimaced, angry either at having to leave or at the idea of leaving a ship they had only just managed to recapture. He took a breath before giving his order.

“Abandon ship, this isn’t a warship.”

Khan turned to the rest of his unit to give them their orders. Gun nodded to Spartan.

“Lovett, issue a mayday then give the order to the crew. Full evacuation, immediately.”

“Sir!” he replied.

A dozen holes, each the size of a man’s fist ripped apart a section of wall fifty metres further along the ship. As the section depressurised, the emergency seals activated, and an internal door that came down with a clunk blocked off the section. There were only so many of them, so they were a temporary measure to assist in damage control or evacuation.

More thuds hit along the hull and it was clear to Spartan and his team that their time was limited.

“Khan, what’s the quickest way out of here?” shouted Spartan.

Khan turned and pointed back into the ship to a narrow looking corridor. Spartan looked confused.

“Are you sure?”

Khan threw him an angry stare. “Trust me!” he growled.

The Jötnar still amazed Spartan with their ability to move efficiently in zero-g environments. Khan grabbed and pulled with his arms against the nearest walls and kicked with his powerful legs. Spartan did his best to keep up, but the large warrior moved at easily double the speed. As he moved, the earpiece crackled.

“Spartan, we’re halfway to the lifeboat. Most of he crew are clear and making their way to the fleet. Last scan showed the Leviathan making her way here. Her boarding parties will be in range in less than four minutes. You have to be off by then. If you stay on the ship, you will be captured or killed when they finish her off.”

Spartan kept pulling and saw Khan move up in a direction that would normally have been to the left if there had been gravity. He was already becoming disorientated and was having a hard time telling what was floor, wall or ceiling.

“Yeah, don’t worry. We’re not waiting to see what happens. We’re on the way to the lifeboats. What about Yorkdale? When will she get here?”

There was a short pause and Spartan used it to alter his rhythm. He used his left arm more for pulling himself along. The radio crackled with a response.

“Kowalski reckons she’s going to be here about the same time, assuming there is anything left.”

Spartan pulled himself out of the narrow corridor into what looked like a small hall. He tried to work out what it was when Gun ripped open a hexagonal door. Spartan twisted his head and realised he was upside down and in the lower evacuation zones. A colour line of green dots ran along the ceiling, but in reality it was the floor. Khan reached out and pulled him towards the door. He crashed inside the lifeboat and hit the back of one of the seats.

“Strap in!” snapped Khan in a gruff voice.

The lifeboat had little in common with the traditional design and was simply a small hexagonal pod that could carry up to a dozen people. There were six similar pods all lined up in the hall. Spartan could see movement as the rest of the rescue part clambered into the adjacent craft.

“Ready?” Gun asked. He stood near a lever with his hand on the rubberised handle. Spartan glanced around the craft, it was full and everyone except Gun was now strapped in.

“Yeah, come on Gun, do it!”

He yanked down on the lever and swung over the remaining seat, pulling the straps over his body. A series of lights flashed on the door for five seconds and the door slid shut. The craft had no main engine and was instead forced out by the change in air pressure inside the sealed launch tube. The outer hatch opened, and in the blink of an eye they were out into the vacuum of space.

“Look at her,” whispered one of the marines, a young woman in her twenties. She pointed out through the tiny porthole on the bow of the craft. Retro thrusters twisted the pod until they were placed on a direct course with the Yorkdale. Spartan and Gun looked through the window the exterior of the Oceania.

“Lovett wasn’t joking,” said Spartan. He was surprised at the substantial amount of hull damage and weapons fire the ship had taken. Dozens of similar lifeboats were still ejecting from the hull, but the vast majority were already almost in contact with the Yorkdale.

A bright flash lit up the window and Spartan was forced to shield his eyes. It wasn’t strictly necessary as the material automatically darkened when faced with excessive light. As it adjusted, he saw the rear section of the Oceania had just broken off from the main ship. Streaks of tracer fire from an approaching vessel ripped chunks a metre wide from her bow, yet the ship continued on its way.

“Say what you want about civilian ships, that is one tough craft.”

Further off to the right was the vast bulk of the Crusader, the flagship of the Confederate Navy. She was taking fire from nearly thirty ships and taking it like only a heavyweight like her could. Flashes and sparks ran along her hull and superstructure. For every hit she took, the battlecruiser dished out twice as much in return. Spartan turned around in his seat to face Gun.

“I have to get her back. I can’t lose her, not after all of this.”

Gun nodded but said nothing. Khan struck Spartan in the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Teresa, she is tough. You have her back, very soon,” he said in rough, slightly broken English.

Though the pod was sparsely equipped, it was fitted with an encoded communications unit. Spartan flipped through the frequencies he could remember from his training. Then the details for the Yorkdale flooded back, at least the unencoded open channel did. He entered the ID code and hit the connect option.

“Lieutenant Spartan here, are you receiving me?”

There was no response. Rather than wait, Spartan flicked directly onto the next channel and sent the same message. After three more attempts, a short message came back.

“Lieutenant, you are an on an open frequency. Enter you personal encryption code now.”

Spartan didn’t recognise the woman’s voice but hit his code in anyway. There was a faint possibility it could be an enemy ship, but he had to chance it.

“Lieutenant Spartan, this is CCS Crusader. I understand you are evacuating CCS Oceania, what can I do for you?”

“Crusader? I

I need to speak to whoever is in charge. Captain Hobbs, the traitor from Oceania, is escaping to the Leviathan. She also has Sergeant Teresa, my…my”

“I understand, Lieutenant. I’ve passed this on to the Admiral, one moment.”

The pause continued for more than a few seconds before a familiar voice appeared.

“Lieutenant, you don’t seem to die, do you? I don’t have long. I’m somewhat busy. You say Hobbs and your partner are heading for the Leviathan, do you not?”

“Yes, Admiral, they are on a captured shuttle.”

“I see. My tactical officer says the craft has already landed on the ship. We are in the process of engaging the warship. Is Commander Gun there?”

“Admiral!” shouted the Jötnar warrior.

“Good,” replied Admiral Jarvis. “Do you think your forces could secure that ship?”

Gun almost jumped from his cramped seat at the opportunity.

“We will take or destroy!” he exclaimed.

“Excellent. I will get my people to liaise with Major Daniels who should still be aboard. In the meantime, get Spartan and the rest back to Yorkdale ASAP. Prepare your troops for a major boarding party. Once we have crippled her, I want the Assault Battalion to be at the front of a massive attack that will finish her for good. If Typhon is on board, we will stop him, finally. Understood?”

“Yes,” replied Gun.

Spartan interrupted them both. “Admiral, what about Teresa?”

“Lieutenant, if you and your team are successful, we will be able to stop this fleet, remove their leader and rescue your friend. Now get to the Yorkdale and prepare yourselves, you don’t have long. Good hunting.”

The voice of the communications officer returned.

“The Admiral has gone, is that all?”

Spartan paused, trying to decide what to say, but Gun reached out and grabbed him before he could think any further, other than wanting to get onto the ship and shoot or cut down anybody that he could find.

“Spartan, you know what we have to do,” he said in a surprising moment of compassion. At least that was how it seemed to Spartan.

“We assemble Khan’s company and attack Leviathan with our best. Vanguards and Jötnar,” said Gun.

Spartan nodded with a partial grin in his face. Khan shouted over to the two.

“1st Company is ready, four Jötnar companies ready in ten minutes.”

“Commander Gun, are you there?” came a voice over the internal communications system. It was almost impossible to tell who was speaking as the signal was heavily damaged and full of noise and roughly corrected dropouts. Gun replied with little more than a grunt through the communications system.

“Excellent, Sergeant Lovett here. The ship has been fully evacuated. Estimated losses are approximately thirty on the ship and another dozen in a lifepod that one of the frigates destroyed. Did your team get out?”

Spartan hit the connection button and replied before Gun could speak.

“We all made it out of there. Admiral Jarvis wants the Yorkdale to prepare for a major assault operation against the Leviathan.”

“What, their main cruiser? Can we do it?”

Spartan looked at the warriors in the lifeboat. They were all tired, and there were a number of minor wounds. Every one of them sat with a look of grim determination on their faces.

“If we can’t do it, nobody can. Meet me in the landing bay as soon as you arrive, we don’t have much time.”

“Sir.”

A massive flash from the right almost blinded the passengers of the lifeboat as one of the Confederate frigates ripped apart by an unseen weapon. There were no exterior fires, but they could see flashes and sparks throughout the inside of the vessel as she slowly broke into chunks.

“Did you see that?” asked Sergeant Lovett over the audio channel.

“Yeah,” replied a muted Spartan. “That looks like the particle weapon we saw at Euryale. The reports said it could explode ships with an invisible bean of particles. We have to disable her before she is able to turn on the rest of the fleet.”

*

Admiral Jarvis watched in anger as the escort frigate with hundreds of crew on board exploded into small fragments. There was nothing she could do but watch as so many people were literally cut to shreds and then hurled into the coldness of space. The CiC was packed with desperate officers as they helped coordinate the smaller Confederate fleet against the superior numbers of the Union. She glanced at her tactical display to check on the disposition of both sides. It was clear the enemy was in no immediate rush and were content to sit back and pound her ships into submission. Captain Tobler managed his crew with ruthless efficiency, maintaining high energy levels and coordinating weapons batteries against one enemy ship at a time.

“Concentrate all weapons fire on the lead cruisers. Target their missile batteries and engines.”

His XO shouted down the intercom to the gun decks to keep up the fire. A low rumble continued through the hull as the great warship did exactly what she had been built for. The loose formation of Confederate ships was facing off against a far superior force, and she needed quick and decisive action.

“Captain, bring us around and take us to the centre of their line, maximum power.”

“But, Admiral, with that much firepower against us, we won’t even hit their first line.”

She glared at him, and without adding another word the Captain gave the orders. She hit the fleet communications channel that would put her in contact with all the ships in her fleet.

“All Captains, form up inside the protective gun arcs of Crusader. Alter your targeting patterns for close ranged dispersal fire. Railguns switch to Sanlav rounds. I want a cloud of metal around us as we advance.”

Captain Tobler understood immediately what she was planning. The enemy was well matched for long-range combat with their powerful missiles but could be stopped with careful and controlled close ranged gunfire. If they could get close enough, the fleet could then break out and use their superior railguns to devastating effect in a close ranged gunnery duel.

“Admiral, Lieutenant Jane Matterson of CCS Furious is on the audio channel.”

“Good, I need the Furious.”

There was a short pause and more than a few crackles before the audio level lowered and became audible. A few more seconds after that and the video feed connected to show the acting commander of the Furious.

“Admiral, good to see you, we’re in a bad way.”

“No time for pleasantries right now, Lieutenant, you’ve done well. Now it is time to strike back. The Union fleet has formed up into two parallel lines in front of the entrance to the Spacebridge. They are facing us down with their broadsides pointing at Crusader. Take your cruisers and hit them from above and at the tip of the two lines. Push past the first vessels and run between the lines.”

“Admiral? They have almost thirty ships in that formation.”

“I am quite aware of that, but they are more concerned at our reinforcements. Crusader is more than a match for half of their cruisers.”

“What about Typhon’s ship?”

Admiral Jarvis glanced at her tactical screen to assess the situation.

“As expected, the Leviathan and her escorts are withdrawing back to their main line. She might be powerful, but a close ranged battle against us is too risky, at least not until they’ve reduced our numbers.”

“More ships on scanners, it’s Wasp!” cried the tactical officer.

The main screen shifted in focus from the battle to a line of glowing shapes. It was the rest of the fleet moving in reverse, and with their engines on full burn. In seconds they were just to the left of Crusader and the rest of the ships. One by one the IFF signals from each ship showed on the display, each one increasing the size of the Confederate fleet.

“I don’t know how they got here so quickly, and right now I don’t care. Twenty-three ships to thirty-one is more like it,” she mused to herself.

“Admiral, thought you might need a hand,” said the friendly and familiar tone of Captain Hardy, the commander of CCS Wasp, the powerful escort carrier and flagship of the newly arrived group of warships.

“Glad to see you, Captain. My tactical officer is sending over the full battle plan and details. I need your squadrons to provide a missile screen. This is the final battle, and I need everything you have in space hitting them.”

“Understood, Admiral. They are all ready. I will have birds in the air in less than three minutes.”

Admiral Jarvis nodded to herself. There was a chance, even a good one, that the Confederacy might win a resounding victory here. She looked back to her tactical board and watched the pieces move slowly into position. Off to the right the shapes of what remained of the mauled, but still functional, Furious Battlegroup. They were weakened, but the vessels were strong, and the Furious herself was one of the most advanced heavy cruisers in the fleet. Many parts of her design were similar to CCS Crusader. She was just slightly smaller and carried less weapon batteries. She ran her hand along the shapes of the ships, whispering their names as she recognised each and every one of them. CCS Crusader was of course the most prominent. To her flank was the still majestic CCS Santa Cruz, a massive ship, capable as both a heavy warship and as an amphibious marine transport. Two wings of cruisers spread around them, each blasting away to the front with dozens of railguns. CCS Yorkdale and her escort of four frigates brought up the rear.

She turned to her left to see the tell tale IFF icons. Each represented a single Confederate fighter squadron. She counted three already leaving Wasp, and yet more were preparing to launch. Between the two main groups of ships another batch of eight destroyers rushed about, each doing their best to cut down missiles and torpedoes as the Union fleet did its utmost to cripple as many ships as possible.

*

Wing Commander Anders checked the exterior of his Thunderbolt MK II fighter one last time. The fleet was running short of fighters, and this one was cobbled together from a damaged fuselage and a number of parts salvaged from the training module used as a simulator. In peacetime this would never happen, but after the losses sustained at Euryale, CCS Wasp had to manage with whatever parts were available. Finally satisfied it was as good as could be expected, he climbed the ladder and pulled himself down into the cockpit. As the two deck crewmen strapped him in, he remembered his last mission. The drifting in space, waiting and praying a friendly ship would find him before his oxygen ran out. It was a terrifying thing to have to do, and going back out there seemed to be getting harder with each mission.

“You okay, Sir?” asked the Chief.

“Yeah, just the usual nerves.”

The Chief nodded in agreement, “I know what you mean, Sir. Each battle leaves us with fewer birds and pilots. Just watch yourself and bring her home in one piece. A lot of love went into her.”

Anders smiled, doing his best to reassure the over-worked deck chief. He tapped the lock mechanism, and the canopy lowered itself down and locked into place. Without even thinking, he started running through his pre-flight checks. To both his left and right the rest of his squadron was doing the same. He was down to six fighters, rather than the eight he would normally take into battle. Combat losses and fighter attrition had whittled them down to the bare bones.

“Angel Squadron, report in,” he spoke firmly into his headset.

As the pilots of each fighter reported back, he did a final diagnostic check on his weapons. Wilks, his navigator and weapons officer, spoke to him via the internal communications unit.

“Anders, I’m reading an error on the missile rangefinder. Other than that, we’re good to go.”

Anders shook his head, annoyed at the fact he would have to enter combat with a less than perfectly maintained fighter. Still, it was better than being stuck aboard Wasp while everybody else rushed out to fight. Satisfied the fighters were ready, and that there were no serious issues, he gave the signal to the leader of the air group who watched from a highpoint in the landing bay.

“Okay, Angels, you know the mission. Stay tight and watch for enemy torps and missiles. Let’s do this. Launch!”

The crew of the Wasp opened the exterior hatches of the landing bay and exposed the fighters to the harsh reality of space. There was no fancy catapult launch or massive thrust. The launch mechanism was tied in with the rotating section of the ship. The electromagnetic clamps decoupled and centrifugal force simply threw them off, just like a child being thrown from a merry-go-round if it went too fast. As Anders’ fighter moved away from CCS Wasp, he hit the power and pushed away from the warship. His five companions did the same and formed up in a tight wedge formation. From their position, they had a perfect view of the unfolding battle. To their left was the uniform line of the Union fleet. At this distance most of the ships were too small to make out details, but the cruisers were easy to spot. Flickers of light along the ships indicated the firing of automatic cannons or impacts from railguns. The largest ship by far was the Leviathan, a ship that really was too substantial to be classified as a mere cruiser. Anders glanced quickly to the right to see his own fleet of vessels moving in a large wedge of their own, spearheaded by the Battlecruiser, CCS Crusader. The voice of his commander interrupted his view of the fleets. It was Colonel Gil-dong, the new leader of the fighter squadrons on board CCS Wasp.

“Gunboats are being launched to deal with the heavy warships. In the meantime, our job is to run diversionary attacks on the Union battle lines so that Crusader can get into position. The missile cruisers are the primary targets. We don’t need to destroy them, just get their missiles on us and off the heavies. All squadrons form up into formation Alpha, follow me in.”

Anders acknowledged the order and passed it on to his own group. The six fighters moved into position on the left flank of the group of twenty-two fighters. Most of the craft were the usual Lightning MK II fighters, but Anders spotted six Thunderbolt fighter-bombers lurking at the rear. These venerable craft were four-engine torpedo bombers with enough firepower to cripple a frigate. They dropped behind the more agile Lightning fighters.

“Like that’s going to help you,” snapped Anders as streaks of incoming fire clawed at their small group of fighters.

“Alpha Squadron, move in and attack the designated cruisers. Draw their fire, drop below then hit targets of opportunity.”

Anders checked over his shoulder to ensure his squadron was still intact. All six fighters were in position and ready for combat. He looked back in the direction of the nose of his fighter and at the line of heavy warships. To his right, the other squadrons accelerated ahead and to their own targets. Colonel Gil-dong had already chosen their targets, and each one was highlighted on the head-up display built into his helmet.

“Follow me, we’re going in!” Anders called out. At the same time, he pulled the boost lever that pumped substantial amounts of extra fuel into his already burning hot engine. The additional thrust accelerated his fighter and the rest of the squadron to their first target, a pockmarked and heavily scarred looking missile cruiser. They approached its flank at high speed. Dozens of small turrets blasted away, each gun sending hundreds of small flechette rounds that could destroy an engine or tear off a wing.

“Watch out!” shouted one of his wingmen as a dual stream of cannon rounds smashed around his fighter. Two clipped his left wing and ripped a metre-long section from it. No alarms flashed in the cockpit, so he hoped it was just superficial damage. The enemy cruiser was now within short-ranged weapons and vulnerable to the fighters.

“Now!” he shouted.

All six fighters released a pair of missiles each. It wasn’t enough to destroy even a frigate, but it was more than enough to cause irritation and minor problems for the ship. The fighters split apart in a cascading effect and blasted past the ship as the missiles struck home. A series of flashes along the hull showed they were all good hits.

“Level off and move to the second target. This time I want a cannon strafing run on their missile mounts and sensors.”

The fighters moved even closer to the enemy ships, each fighter swerving just metres from their hulls to make defensive fire as difficult as possible. One of the cruisers in the second defensive line must have either made a mistake or been crewed by rookies, as they opened fire with heavy cannons only to hit one of the missile cruisers. Massive chunks of metal tore from the ship, and at least one shell must have penetrated the hull as the cruiser split in half from a colossal blast.

“Great work, Angels,” said Colonel Gil-dong. “Keep up your run then redirect to provide cover for the Furious Battlegroup. They are moving in to start their own attack run.”

Anders altered his course slightly and checked his guns.

“Wilks, I’m getting alerts on the guns, have we got a problem?”

“Negative, the ammunition sensors are offline. She’ll work, but watch the tracer. They’ll run dry without warning.”

“Understood.”

A squadron of Lighting fighter-bombers rushed past from right to left, and unleashed at least a dozen skua anti-ship missiles. One bomber exploded, and a second one lost an engine from gunfire unleashed from the enemy flagship, Leviathan. With a quick tap on the stick, he connected to the Colonel.

“Sir, what about the Leviathan? She’s dominating the battle.”

“Negative, do not move anywhere near her. Crusader and the capital ships will deal with her. Our job is to keep the cruisers busy, understood?”

“Sir.”

Anders flicked the stick to avoid an approaching missile and locked onto his next target, another missile cruiser that was already taking heavy fire from CCS Furious, a damaged but powerful Confederate heavy cruiser.

“Angel Squadron, follow me in!”

As streams of fire poured in from the cruiser, the six fighters blasted towards the capital ship. Each of them fired their cannon in long, deadly bursts. At the same time, volleys of railguns blasted bulkheads and armoured plating off. For a second, Anders thought it was progressing well, that was until he glanced back and saw the size of the Union fleet compared to the two small groups of Confederate ships. A moment of doubt gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. A warning light from his missile detection panel lit up and sent a surge of adrenalin through his body.

“ECM active, I’ve got it locked down!” called out Wilks from his position at the front of the fighter.

*

CCS Crusader and CCS Santa Cruz were well in range now and sustaining an incredible barrage of missiles and cannon fire. The defensive screen put up by the small force was impressive, but for every ten missiles or shells they destroyed, one got through. A section over thirty metres long was twisted and bent from the starboard flank of the marine transport, and a number of lifeboats were drifting in the area of the breaches.

“All ships, switch to close range gunfire, bring down those cruisers!” shouted Admiral Jarvis onto the fleet open channel.

In a matter of seconds, the close ranged sanlav rounds switched to conventional solid shot. Streaks of plasma gushed from the gunports as hundreds of heavy metal projectiles smashed into the cruiser, each one causing devastating damage. With manual defensive fire now being used to protect the fleet, the Crusader started to take continuous hits from gunfire. The XO shouted over the din of the impacts.

“Captain, heavy damage to the bow. We can’t take much more of this.”

Captain Tobler shook his head and pointed at the enemy ships on the viewscreen.

“No time for damage reports, just get us in the heart of the fight. Nobody stops firing until we have destroyed every single ship in their fleet.”

The XO stared at him for a second and then turned back, issuing orders. On the main screen the hulk of the enemy flagship, Leviathan, loomed large. Scores of gun mounts blasted away at Crusader, but she gave back as good as she took. Admiral Jarvis cracked her head on the display unit as a massive blast shook the CiC. The impact stunned her, but she was still conscious.

“What the hell was that?” she snapped, though unsure as to whom she was speaking to.

“It’s the Leviathan. She’s turning from the line. We took a single hit from her particle beam weapon as she moved.”

“What is her course?”

There was confusion for a few seconds as the crew tried to establish what was going on. The battle had degenerated into a series of duels between small numbers of ships. The tactical officer finally turned back and shouted over the noise.

“She’s withdrawing to the Spacebridge, Admiral.”

“What?” she demanded. “Why?”

She watched the screen as two cruisers covered the withdrawal of the deadly enemy vessel. A number of Lightning fighters pursued but two were quickly destroyed by gunfire before they turned back.

“What is the status of the fleet?” she said, trying to decide whether to stand or pursue.

“Only half our ships are still able to keep up the fight. The Union fleet has suffered the same casualties. We’re still outnumbered, but at this rate the battle will be a stalemate. With the withdrawal of Leviathan, we might be able to force a tactical victory here,” said the tactical officer, doing his best to put some kind of positive spin on the battle.

“No, it can’t be!” cried Captain Tobler.

Admiral Jarvis looked over to the viewscreen to see what he was pointing at.

“What is it?” she asked, a feeling of dread building in her stomach. He said nothing in reply. He simply pointed at the screen at the shape of Leviathan vanishing in the Spacebridge only to be replaced by a formation of a dozen cruisers and what appeared to be a carrier.”

“What?” she said in a defeated tone.

“They aren’t ours, but the designs are loosely based on Confed patterns,” said the tactical officer as he checked the system databases.

“Sir, there is a message from the carrier.”

“Put it on,” said Admiral Jarvis slowly.

“This is Admiral Alexander Luczenko of the Confederate Navy. I an authorised by the President of the Centauri Confederacy to reclaim this territory as part of our sovereign space.”

Admiral Jarvis hit back immediately.

“This is Admiral Jarvis, Supreme Commander of all Centauri Confederate forces in Proxima. I have never heard of you, Admiral,” she replied with a tone of contempt in her voice. Captain Tobler called out to her.

“Admiral, what if this is a legitimate taskforce? It could be just what we’ve been looking for.”

“Don’t be a fool, Captain. Where is the Leviathan? Give me full power and put us in the Spacebridge, now!”

“But, Admiral, we can’t turn on

“

Admiral Jarvis stood up from her seat and withdrew her sidearm. She aimed it directly at the Captain’s head.

“Thirty seconds ago you’d never heard of this man. He does not show his face and commands a ship we have never seen. Now get us through the Spacebridge before it’s too late. We have to stop Typhon before he can escape. This ends today!”

Captain Tobler shook his head, a moment of indecision taking control of him. The Admiral also shook her head though the crew couldn’t tell if it was anger, frustration or just simple annoyance. She fired a single shot that struck the Captain in the shoulder and knocked him the ground. She then shouted out to the rest of the ship’s crew.

“I am taking immediate command of Crusader. Helm, take us through, now!”

Without hesitation, the officer pulled the main drive lever and with a rumble the battlecruiser lurched ahead and towards the newly arrived ships.

*

Spartan stood in the landing bay as scores of Vanguards and Jötnar climbed aboard the waiting assault ships. CCS Yorkdale was a massive ship and easily capable of carrying more troops and assault craft than any other ship in the fleet, including the marine transports. Khan and the 1st Company were already in position in their craft, but the rest were still dragging extra ammunition and weapons aboard.

“This is Major Daniels. I have just received word from Admiral Jarvis. The Leviathan and four other ships are withdrawing to the Spacebridge. We can only assume they are trying to escape through to Terra Nova. The Admiral is in pursuit and the battle here is on a knife-edge. I have decided we will join her through the Spacebridge. It is a gamble, but if there is even a chance of victory, we must take it. No craft are to launch until I authorise it. I repeat. All assault troops are to hold. Stay ready, you will be needed very soon.”

Khan punched Spartan on the shoulder, and the impact almost floored him.

“What the hell?” he demanded.

“Hey, what do I know?” replied Spartan in surprise.

The main doorway opened that led inside the hull of the ship to reveal Commander Gun and his personal bodyguard unit. Each of the Jötnar wore blood red armour, crafted and improved by Marine engineers to a high standard. He moved up to Spartan and Khan.

“There is trouble, more ships coming through. We will chase and hunt Leviathan. If we stay, we will slowly die. Agreed?” he asked.

Khan nodded without even considering the question.

“What about the rest of the fleet? If we leave, they’ll eventually be destroyed.”

Gun shrugged.

“Maybe, but this could end war. If Typhon escapes, he can fight for more years. Admiral Jarvis has already gone, can we leave her on her own?”

“Don’t forget your woman,” added Khan, doing his best to help.

“Looks like we’re finally going to see what’s on the other side of that thing then, doesn’t it?”

The internal alarms sounded, the same sound used when the ship was about to accelerate to a new destination.

“Major Daniels again, we are approaching the Spacebridge. Strap in. We have no idea how rough this is going to be.”

Spartan, Gun and Khan looked at the speaker and then quickly grabbed the nearest straps they could find. The rest of the Vanguards and Jötnar did the same. Although not all made it, as the Yorkdale started to shake as if being struck by a massive hammer.

“Here we go again,” laughed Gun as he swung up, barely holding on to the thick straps and bars.

The ship shook and rattled as it built up speed towards the Spacebridge. It quickly hit its maximum acceleration, but the engines kept on pushing. The sirens maintained their din, and the ship ploughed on to its destination.

“Twenty seconds until Spacebridge!” said the voice of the Yorkdale’s Captain on the speakers.

“Hey, Spartan,” said Gun.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think is there?”

“What, on the other side you mean?”

Gun nodded.

“Well, based on past experience, it will probably be just the same as here, but just a lot worse!”

Gun laughed and Khan soon joined in, their low tones echoing through the cavernous landing bay. Other Jötnar must have heard what he had to say as they also joined in with the chorus of shouting and laughter. Then with a sickening feeling, the ship blasted through the Spacebridge. Spartan felt as if he had just been dropped from a great height, and it took all his control to not vomit immediately. Several of the other marines failed, but the Jötnar seemed to almost enjoy the sensation. Almost as soon as it had started the vibration stopped, and the ship reverted to its usual motionless state.

“This is the Major Daniels, we’re through, get ready!”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Boarding parties have a long history in the Navy and offer many advantages to a wily commander. As well as providing a strong defensive deterrent, that can assist in anti-narcotics operations and hostage rescue operations. When required these small units can conduct ship-boarding actions, though it is no longer their focus. It is imperative that these troops are well trained and equipped, as they will be often fighting alone and without the support of other troops.

Naval Cadet’s Handbook

The sight of Terra Nova was something none of the officers in the CiC had ever expected to see. Admiral Jarvis stood up and moved directly in front of the main viewscreen to examine the glowing orb in all its glory. The planet was the main reason humanity had travelled to Alpha Centauri in the first place. It was an almost perfect mirror of old Earth, with its deep oceans and favourable climate. Though centuries of building had turned it into an overpopulated metropolis, it was still the beating heart of the Confederacy. She looked back to see her crew stood with a mixture of awe and anguish on their faces. A bloody stain on the wall showed where the Captain had been shot. He had been taken away to the medical bay. There didn’t seem to be any sign of a mutiny as clearly the Admiral’s action had sent a ripple through the ship.

“I need a full report on this sector, fast!” she said finally.

Lieutenant Nilsson was the first to speak.

“Sir, this is strange. I’m picking up a variety of military band signals but no civilian traffic of any kind. Not even civilian traffic, marker beacons or anything else.”

“What about from the surface?”

“Again, nothing but military frequencies. Wait, there is something else

“

One of the computer displays flickered and then exploded, sending shards of metal and plastic through the CiC. Several sections struck Lieutenant Nilsson and knocked her from her seat. One of the marine guards moved to help her up.

“What was that?” asked the XO.

The young lieutenant held onto one of the many grab rails and turned to face the Admiral.

“It came from Terra Nova, a signal like I’ve never seen before. It is being sent out on all frequencies, but most of the power is being used to send it to one point.”

“The Anomaly?” suggested Admiral Jarvis.

Lieutenant Nilsson nodded and then dropped slightly before being caught by the marine.

More sparks flashed around the system and the displays went black as computer systems powered down or were damaged.

“She’s alright, Admiral. Minor flesh wound and concussion, I’ll take her to sickbay.”

Admiral Jarvis simply nodded. She was far more concerned with what was happening to her ship. The crew did their best, but systems kept cutting out.

“Get us away from the Spacebridge and fast!”

The helmsman hit full power without even sending a warning. Those that were unstrapped flew through the ship and struck bulkheads, computer displays and equipment. CCS Crusader twisted along her length as the unplanned boost of power pushed her away from the distortion in space. In seconds a number of displays flickered back to life.

“That’s it. Put us on course for the planet. Continue scanning the sector.”

The door opened with a swish and in rushed a group of medics as well as more marines. There were a number of casualties, and at least one that had to be taken away on a stretcher.

“Leviathan is docking with the primary transit station in orbit around Terra Nova. Wait, there are more ships in orbit,” said the tactical officer. He checked the details on his computer system, turning in his chair to speak to the Admiral.

“There are three more vessels, same configuration as Leviathan, and they are all docked on the gantries of the transit station.”

Admiral Jarvis examined the ships in detail on her screen. The cruisers were powerful, and four of them would be easily capable of taking on and destroying her single warship. The transit station was a small space station, not much bigger than two or three battleships put together. She was wary of getting too close as most naval and transit stations were armoured and equipped with a small garrison.

“Sir, we’re getting unusual readings from the surface. Low level radiation and a number of distress beacons,” announced the science officer. The man continued checking his screen to confirm his readings.

“Yes, it looks like a number of nuclear warheads have been detonated in low orbit.”

“The bastards, so they’ve already hit the planet. Are there any signs of life? Don’t tell me they’ve sterilised the planet? That’s billions of citizens.”

Before he could reply a number of signal alerts appeared.

“Signal from the station. It’s Typhon, and he wishes to speak with you, Admiral,” said the XO as he took over the communications desk, recently vacated by Lieutenant Nilsson.

Admiral Jarvis said nothing but indicated with her hand to put it on the main screen.

The image of the most hated man in the Confederacy appeared in the middle of the display. He was stood in what looked like a well-decorated lounge and flanked by two fully armoured Zealot bodyguards.

“Admiral Jarvis, I commend your tenacity in coming through to our home. As you are no doubt aware, Terra Nova is ours. Alpha Centauri has fallen to our host, and Proxima will soon follow. I offer you a final opportunity to surrender and serve us.”

Admiral Jarvis stood up tall, her imposing figure filling the camera feed. She took two steps forward and looked hard at her adversary.

“What have you done here?”

“Here? On Terra Nova? Oh, the planet fell over a year ago.”

“Why are we detecting levels of radiation?” she asked, desperate to know more of what happened.

“What does it matter? The Sons of the League are ready to show their faces, and we are prepared to be kind, but only to those who submit, of course.”

The XO approached Admiral Jarvis and handed her a datapad. She glanced down at the data. It showed a number of craters on the surface. There had evidently been heavy fighting, but the capital appeared undamaged.

“I assume you’re scanning the surface. Let me save you the trouble, if it will help you come to a decision. My Zealot brothers took control of the capital before the uprising in Proxima even began. The damage done here was by Confederate forces trying to seize our home. They are now dead, but their ships have proved useful,” he said with a sick smile.

“I do not believe you. There are garrisons on the planet. What about the Terra Nova Guards Brigade? They have thousands of soldiers.”

“Oh, our Biomech friends took good care of them. Their name still exists though.”

To the right of Typhon an image of the surface of the planet appeared. It showed the Palace of Terra Nova, the home of the President and the senior staff of the Confederacy. Outside the building flew the flag of the Union. On the parade ground stood hundreds of soldiers, all lined up and drilling. At first Admiral Jarvis thought they were the Brigade, until she spotted the way they moved.

“Biomechs? You replaced the Guard with them?”

“Of course, it is same on Carthago and the rest of the colonies. It is hopeless to resist. Your single, pitiful ship can do nothing here. Now, I have done my part. It is time for you to do yours.”

“Admiral,” called the science officer.

Admiral Jarvis signalled for the video feed to be paused, and she turned to the science desk.

“What is it?”

“The signal, I’ve managed to track it. There is a massive energy surge coming directly from the Palace itself. It is being diffracted at the transit station and from there to the Anomaly, as well as every colony in this sector. I think I’ve found the Core.”

The Admiral thought for a moment. The Core was something her intelligence operatives had uncovered months before. It was the assumed central point from which orders to the Biomechs, ships and automated systems was broadcast.

“You’re telling me the command and control system for the Union is based in the capital buildings of Terra Nova?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tactical, can we bombard the site from orbit?”

“Negative, outside of the atmosphere, we can do nothing. That’s assuming the signal is coming from the surface.”

“It isn’t, the power readings are off the charts. It looks like most of the Palace is being used to power it. The main power core is nearly two hundred metres underground.”

Typhon shouted out from the viewscreen.

“I assume from your silence that you are thinking of doing something hostile. Very well, prepare to join your lost comrades.”

“Sir, the station is launching fighters, four squadrons, and they’re armed with anti-ship missiles. One of the cruisers is detaching from the station and they’re arming their primary weapon,” called out the tactical officer. He checked one more detail. “We can’t take many more hits from the particle beams, Sir.”

“No, we can’t end this war like this. We need to do something,” she said quietly, desperately trying to think of a plan. Try as she could, there was no way to avoid the simple mathematics. Four powerful cruisers, squadrons of fighters and the station were more than enough to finally destroy the only battlecruiser in the fleet.

“Contact! It’s the Yorkdale!” called out one of the crew.

“What?” snapped the Admiral.

“It’s definitely her, Sir. They’ve taken damage, but it appears her hull is intact and she’s moving into position alongside us.”

The XO turned in excitement to the Admiral.

“We have contact from Major Daniels.”

“Put him on.”

The figure of the young Major filled the viewscreen. It was clear that the crew of the Yorkdale had sustained similar casualties during their trip through the Anomaly. Small fires burned in the background and crewmembers were busy putting out the flames.

“Major, what are you doing here?”

“We saw you leave the fight in pursuit of the Leviathan. We’re here to assist.”

“What is your status?”

“Full complement of Vanguards and Jötnar, less a small number of casualties. I have Commander Gun on board, as well as Lieutenant Spartan and Sergeant Lovett who made it off the Oceania.”

“The transit station is being used as a diffraction site for the Union communications system. If we can cripple it, we might be able to create confusion in their forces, especially those receiving orders back home.”

“Understood. What stops them using a ship to bounce the signal though?”

She turned to her science officer who was busy running the data through the computer. He fumbled, nervous under pressure but managed to get a workable result.

“The Major is correct, Sir. If they reposition a large enough vessel, they can bounce it through to the Anomaly. It will be less effective, but it will still work.”

“So…we need to hit both targets, and quickly.”

“Both?” asked Major Daniels.

“Yes, the station and the Core that is buried deep inside the Palace below.”

“The Palace of Terra Nova is where the Core is based?”

“Correct,” she replied.

“Admiral, here they come!” called out the XO as he brought up the forward display. The groups of fighters approached at high speed. Each of the craft jinked to avoid the automated defensive turrets. The Admiral turned back to the Major.

“Move into formation behind us. We will escort you to the station. When we are close enough, I want you to unleash all of your troops. Hit the station and the cruisers. I will give you all the fire I can.”

“Understood, Admiral,” he replied and saluted quickly.

Admiral Jarvis did the same and then turned to the XO.

“Give me full power, put us in position one kilometre from the station. All crew to battle stations, we need to hit them before they can launch.”

He nodded and got straight to work organising the ship for the attack. On the viewscreen, the fighters were now in range and firing volleys of missiles towards the warship. Streaks of fire from the turrets brought down most, but two managed to penetrate the defensive fire and struck one of the engine housings.

“The first cruiser is pulling away from the station, shall we alter course?” asked the XO.

“Negative, keep on course, the station must be neutralised.”

*

Spartan and the rest of the 1st Company watched the approach to the station with a mixture of pride and fear. CCS Crusader was taking a beating from the concentrated fire of four cruisers and the station. Only one cruiser had managed to pull free, but the other three were still able to make use of their lateral gun turrets. The cloud of weapons fire around the battlecruiser gave the impression she was pushing through a cloud of smoke rather than the hail of metal and explosives. The marines stood tall and powerful in their armoured Vanguard suits, but even with the extra plating they were nowhere near the size of the Jötnar.

Major Daniels entered the landing bay along with a squad of marines. He stopped in front of Commander Gun, Spartan and Captain Khan.

“What are you doing here, Sir?”

“This is going to be a ground battle, maybe the last of the war for us. I’m not sitting in the CiC with nothing to do. I’m coming with you.”

Sergeant Lovett was about to speak but Spartan lifted his hand, letting him know it was okay.

“I understand, Sir. You joining our company?” asked Spartan.

“I would be honoured to do so. Do you have any additional Vanguard gear?”

Sergeant Lovett indicated towards the weapons and armour store behind one of the strapped down shuttles.

“Come with me, Sir.”

The small group moved off leaving Spartan, Khan and Gun waiting on the landing bay floor. By now, the three were well used to the clatter of gunfire as it struck the thickly plated hull of the ship. Unlike many of the other transports in the fleet, she was reinforced and fitted out with extra armour plating, more powerful engines and a small number of defensive weapon turrets.

“You ready?” asked Gun.

The others nodded, each feeling the adrenalin surging through their bodies at the prospect of a momentous battle. They all carried an impressive arsenal of ranged and close quarter weapons. A loud clanking noise to the side caught their attention. It was the return of the Major, along with his bodyguard, and both were wearing the vaunted Vanguard Armour.

“Come on then, it’s time,” he said.

Without hesitating, the small party boarded their landing craft and took their positions inside. Spartan glanced at the many warriors checking their weapons for the hundredth time. The 1st Company was the most experienced unit on the ship, but even they had their own routines they went through prior to a fight. Commander Gun checked his modified datapad on his arm. According to the information displayed, his forces were forty percent ready. The gunships, landing craft and shuttles were filled to capacity. The remaining sixty percent would have to wait for the craft to return before they could join the fight. The Major was busy speaking to somebody on the communications system in his suit. The rest of those inside waited to hear what he had to say. After what appeared to be an eternity, he looked to them with a look of grim determination.

“It’s not looking good. Crusader is being hit hard.”

*

“What do you mean our weapons are offline?” demanded Admiral Jarvis.

The ship vibrated violently as hundreds of projectiles smashed into the now defenceless warship. With no point defence turrets functioning, it meant even the lowliest missile was able to strike, and the ship was paying the price.

“Damage on all decks, leaks in the main powerplant, engines only partially operational,” said the chief engineer.

One of the bulkheads near the XO ripped in half sending shards of metal flying through the CiC. A marine guard was struck in the face and another knocked to the ground. The tactical officer called out to her.

“Admiral, the station is powering up a weapons system. The signature looks the same as the weapons on the cruisers.”

“A particle weapon?”

“Yes, Sir. Another hit and we’ll be dead in space.”

Admiral Jarvis sunk back into her seat with her head in her hands. She never imagined the war would end this way, with her on her own in hostile space and picked apart by high-energy weapons.

“What about Yorkdale?”

“She’s taking fire, but we’ve absorbed the worst of it so far. If they manage to stop us, the Yorkdale won’t stand a chance against their forces.”

She looked at the tactical display showing the enemy ships, station and the planet. She gazed at it for several more seconds before spinning around.

“What about the Core? Can the Yorkdale enter an atmosphere?”

The XO moved over to intercede.

“Yorkdale is one of the early heavy transports. She can make it, one way at the very least.”

The Admiral nodded, a grim expression on her face. More shells slammed into Crusader as she continued to weather the storm of firepower. Lights and alarms flashed through the CiC, and it was clear to all of them that the time for her final battle had come.

“Get me Major Daniels!”

*

The Yorkdale was starting to take fire from the groups of enemy fighters that were now swarming past the defenceless CCS Crusader. The klaxons had been sounding for almost ten minutes now as impacts struck along the length of the ship. Major Daniels was still arguing with the Admiral on his communications unit. He finally stopped and took a deep breath.

“We’re never going to make it to the station. Crusader is being smashed and her weapons are out. The Admiral wants us to redirect to the surface.”

“Surface, why?” asked Gun.

“The Palace is being used as the site of Core and its transmitters. We’re to land and storm the site.”

“That’s insane,” laughed Sergeant Lovett. “We won’t even make it through the atmosphere.”

“Not true,” interrupted the Major. “The Captain says she’s capable of the trip. It will be rough, but doable.”

“You’re seriously thinking of doing this?” asked Spartan.

“We’re already changing course. If we continue to the station, we’ll be a burning wreck, and that’s not going to help anybody.”

“What about the Admiral?” Gun asked.

The group looked to the main display in the landing craft. It showed the burnings and wrecked shape of CCS Crusader driving towards the enemy station.

“I don’t think she’s coming back from this one,” said Major Daniels with a tone of regret to his voice.

*

“Weapons?” demanded Admiral Jarvis.

“Still offline,” answered the tactical Officer.

“Dammit,” she replied quietly.

“There are shuttles leaving Leviathan, and they’re breaking for the planet. Projected landing zones are in the capital.”

“Cowards, Typhon thinks he can escape his doom,” she said bitterly.

“The other ships are about to move from the station, and all three have powered up their main engines.” The Admiral nodded her head satisfied she had done all that she could. She stood up and turned to the remaining crew in the CiC.

“This is it. Order the evacuation. We must save as many as we can. Helm! Give me ramming speed. If we can’t destroy them with gunnery, then by the Gods we’ll smash them with steel before they can escape.”

The XO pulled out the intercom and started the evacuation procedure. The dulcet tones of the automated distress system activated in seconds. Every part of the ship would switch to emergency lighting to help the hundreds of crew to their lifeboats. One of the main engines tore off from the impact of a heavy missile, and the junk of twisted metal broke sway and drifted alongside the pockmarked hull. The XO spotted Admiral Jarvis making no preparation to leave.

“Sir, we need to go. Going down with the ship isn’t going to help anybody.”

She turned and smiled at him.

“I’m coming, let’s go, we’ve done all we can do here.”

The XO moved to the back of the room and helped with the wounded. There were lifeboats one level along from the CiC, positioned for just this scenario. Half of them had already blasted away into space, but they only needed one more. Admiral Jarvis moved away from her seat and immediately behind the XO. A rippled of weapons fire must have struck the ship as she lost her balance and only managed to grab at a damaged computer mounting unit before hitting the wall.

“Come on, Admiral!” shouted the XO as he waited at the door.

She stood and looked back at the CiC one last time. The room was in ruins, computers smashed and a dozen small fires raging. They were close to the enemy now. She moved to the door, just metres behind the XO and did her best to look calm. He spotted her following and turned to help. She saw fear in his eyes and spun around to see the approaching enemy warship spinning out of control towards the ship. Weapons fire from Crusader must have damaged her manoeuvring thrusters and forced her away from the station on this course.

“Too late!” muttered the Admiral as the two vessels collided in a catastrophic explosion. The shattered bow of the Crusader cut cleanly through the enemy ship but the damage was done. Explosions ripped through the Battlecruiser killing anybody still unfortunate to be on board. By the time the hulk of the Battlecruiser slid past the wreckage towards the station it was torn and smashed from bow to stern. Thousands of tonnes of metal, explosives, fuel and ammunition hurtled to the enemy for one final attack.

*

From their position, it was impossible to gauge what was happening up in orbit. CCS Yorkdale surged through the atmosphere likes a burning meteor. Antenna and loose sections of the ship had already torn off from the massive heat of re-entry. The last any of them had seen was a great orange fireball in the sky as the enemy transit station exploded. As to whether Crusader or the enemy cruisers had survived, they had no idea.

Major Daniels and Commander Gun were both busy checking the details of the capital city. The Palace was much larger than expected, and the only landing zone large enough for Yorkdale was just outside the walled perimeter. Khan and Spartan were left to wait, and their patience was starting to wear thin.

“Come on, how much longer?” barked Khan.

“Hey, not long. Patience,” replied Spartan, but he felt just the same.

The streaks of flame showing on the displays vanished as quickly as they had appeared to show a crystal clear sky. It was Spartan’s first look at Terra Nova, and it was as perfect as he had always imagined. Clear skies, plentiful countryside and idyllic cities. It was the kind of place that made you wonder why any of them was fighting at all. A light flashed inside Spartan’s suit. It was a general broadcast from the Major.

“This is Major Daniels, I will be leading the ground assault on the Palace perimeter. Commander Gun and the 1st Company will lead the air attack against the Palace itself. All unit Captains have been given their orders. This is the highpoint of the war. If we fail, we leave Proxima undefended with no ground forces or ships to protect it. Fight to the last man to secure or destroy your objectives.”

Major Daniels stepped out of the shuttle and turned back to face Spartan and the rest of the marines.

“I’ll be leading our forces when we land. It is up to you to secure the site and disable the Core. I will bring the cavalry, and by God we’ll crush the bastards!”

Commander Gun and Captain Khan raised their fists in the air, evidently excited at the prospect of major action. Spartan watched them, but was less than exited at the prospect of what was looking more and more like a suicide mission.

“Good hunting,” were the last words he heard from the Major as the door to the shuttle clamped down shut. The internal doors closed down to seal the landing bay from the rest of the ship. It was a quick process, and in less than thirty seconds the ship was ready to start launching craft.

“Make sure you’re buckled in, we land in sixty seconds,” said the pilot of the landing craft.

Technically, none of them would be using buckles as the craft made extensive use of magnetic seals to clamp them all into position. Nonetheless, Spartan checked his was locked and secure before running a final diagnostic check on his suit.

With a violent shake, the craft pulled out of the landing bay and directly into the planet’s atmosphere. The sound inside the craft would have been deafening if it were not for the acoustic seals on his suit. Spartan watched his internal display that connected directly to the external camera feeds on the landing craft. A massive surge of power pushed his stomach back, and he gulped at the acceleration.

“Lieutenant, message from Major Daniels. He says the shuttles from the Leviathan have been tracked to the Palace. He has received a signal that Captain Hobbs and Sergeant Morato are on board, but they are too far away to be intercepted.”

“Thank you,” replied Spartan. He tried to sound calm, but his heart was pounding at the possibility of Typhon and Teresa being aboard the craft.

They blasted towards the centre of the capital city, closely followed by more landing craft and shuttles as two full companies of Vanguards and Jötnar rushed to the Palace. The landing craft were by far the larger of the craft, and they took most of the ground fire that fired up like a deadly storm of metal. Line after line of tracer fire showed the hundreds of guns that peppered the small group.

“What the hell!” cried Sergeant Lovett as scores of rounds clattered against the thickly armoured hull.

“Don’t worry, she’s a tough old bird,” said Spartan, doing his best to reassure him.

The door gunners opened fire at any targets of opportunity that arose. Spartan watched them firing, unimpressed by the futile gesture against targets they probably couldn’t see, let alone hit. At least it gave the crew something positive to do, rather than just waiting.

“Ten seconds!” cried the pilot over the speakers.

Spartan glanced down at his suit, one final check before they landed. In his experience, this was when something truly bad would happen. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if he had ever actually been involved in a successful landing under fire. With a squeal, the landing craft hit the ground and slid almost eighty metres before they came to a stop. All the ramps and door swung open to reveal the bright light and cool air of Terra Nova.

“This is it, now move it!” shouted Commander Gun.

He was first out onto the hard surface of the Palace floor. Spartan hit the release button and jumped forward. In just three steps, he was on the ramp and saw for the first time the Palace with his own eyes. It was massive, the outer structure shaped like a giant star with multiple levels building up to a series of two towers. They were supposed to symbolise the old world and the new world, or something like that. Spartan couldn’t remember exactly what it was all about, but he did know the layout. They were on the middle ring where there was enough space to bring down landing craft and shuttles. The second landing craft came in fast and crashed into place fifty metres from the first. As its door swung open, more troops ran out.

Gun and Khan pushed out and along a wide colonnade that led to an arched section. It was the main entrance to the Palace and beautifully detailed with statues and water features. As they moved ahead, an array of alarms blasted out informing whoever occupied the site that intruders had arrived. A roar like nothing Spartan had ever heard drew his attention from behind. He spun around and lifted his arms, pointing the large metal limbs in the direction of the sound. He was both relieved and in awe to see the massive hulk of CCS Yorkdale. The great ship was still smoking from the heat of re-entry. It moved towards the outer limits of the Palace, a distance of about a kilometre from where Spartan and his party stood. A dozen fighters circled the ship, but their fire was incapable of bringing down such a mighty vessel. The Yorkdale’s batteries of turrets blazed away, and they even managed to bring down two of the irksome aircraft.

“Spartan!” shouted Gun. “To the door!”

He turned back and spotted the Commander with his entourage rushing ahead and beneath the archway. Behind him surged scores of Vanguards and Jötnar. It was the first major ground battle for the unit as a fighting force, and Spartan had no doubt it would be one of their most important. He chased after them, and the rest of his squad followed close behind. Three metres to his right ran Sergeant Lovett, and behind them another two units led by Khan. Heavy gunfire erupted along the roof of the Palace as infantry tried to halt their progress. It was light and no match for the heavy armour of the Assault Battalion.

“Sergeant, clear the roof!” he ordered.

A dozen of the Vanguards slowed their advance to a walk and aimed carefully at the enemy positions. Rapid fire from their large calibre L48 rifles easily picked them from their hidden locations. Even those taking cover were taken out of the fight by the explosive proximity rounds. Some managed to get out of the way in time, but it was enough to reduce the hail of bullets to a trickle.

“Everybody else, follow the Commander!” shouted Spartan. With a wave of his arm, he pushed on forward. Two rockets whistled down from the roof and smashed into a Vanguard. The blast tore off a leg and threw the mangled remains of the armour into one of the columns. Spartan grimaced as he ran past the body, but he would have time to mourn the casualties later. Right now, he had a battle to win and a woman to save.

As if to answer them, the great doors of the Palace swung open. It took time and Commander Gun reached fifty metres from the entrance before it was even half opened. From its dark mouth charged at least a hundred Biomechs, a great wave of every kind. The smaller ones, more like animals, surged at the front while the larger synthetic models, the cousins of the Jötnar, brought up the rear.

“Charge!” shouted Gun, and then he vanished into the middle of the horde along with his personal guard. Khan, upon seeing his commander in action also cried out and surged ahead, and the entire company chased after him. Spartan flicked the bayonet toggle in his suit, and two large blades extended from his mechanical arms.

“Vanguards, create a breach!” he shouted and stomped forward. The entrance to the Palace was already a mass of warriors, each shooting or hacking away with an assortment of butcher’s weapons. For every dead Jötnar or Vanguard, he found five dead Biomechs. He pushed on, reaching the back of Gun’s bodyguard unit as they hacked a trail of destruction through the enemy. Two large Biomechs jumped towards him, and a dozen more of the small ones rushed past to attack his comrades. In the close confines of battle, and with friends all around, he was forced to control his gunfire for fear of hitting the Jötnar. The first Biomech swung a heavy mace-type weapon. Spartan dropped down to avoid the strike and stepped in to grab the creature’s extending arm. With his right arm held low, he delivered a savage uppercut that pushed his blade up through its throat and into its brain.

“To me!” he shouted, sensing he might be quickly overwhelmed. It wasn’t a moment too soon, as the second Biomech threw itself on him only to be smashed aside by Sergeant Lovett. The creature fell to the floor and was shot to pieces by three following Vanguards. Spartan threw his enemy to the ground and stepped on towards the doorway. More Biomechs rushed in from two smaller doors to the right, but this time they moved right into the path of Spartan and a dozen Vanguards. With a terrible cry, the unit unleashed hundreds of rounds that shattered their bodies and left blood and flesh across the marbled floor. Spartan looked back to see Commander Gun and his group disappear inside the structure. The battle still raged on outside.

“Khan, bring a squad with me. Gun’s gonna get cut off!” he called out on his radio.

A small Biomech was thrown in the air, and Spartan quickly spotted Khan as he swung his weapons into the surviving Biomechs. If he wasn’t mistaken, it looked like the Jötnar warrior was enjoying himself. Spartan moved on, shooting or slashing at any stray Biomech that approached him until reached the side of the warrior.

“Khan, did you hear me?” he snapped.

Khan broke the neck of the small Biomech he was holding in both arms and turned to Spartan. Blood dripped from his armour and at his feet lay the corpses of five or six Biomechs.

“What?” he grunted.

Spartan struck him in the shoulder and pointed to the doorway. It looked like a scene from hell as dozens of warriors hacked and stabbed. The Assault Battalion were winning, but the casualties were starting to tell.

“Gun is inside, and we need to stay with him.”

Khan nodded and roared to his comrades to follow. Spartan sent the signal to the rest of the Vanguards, and with a final push they surged to the door. At least half became bogged down in the fighting, but Spartan and Khan managed to hack through the line of Biomechs and into the darkness of the Palace. As Spartan staggered into the large open space, it felt empty and cold, as if it had been deserted. He spun about to see only a handful of Jötnar had made it through as well as Sergeant Lovett.

“Is this it?” he asked in dismay.

Sergeant Lovett nodded.

“Yeah, they’ll break through but not yet. We can go back and help?” he asked.

“No, we have a job to do. The Major will be here with the rest of the battalion to help with mopping up. We need to shut this place down.”

He checked his schematic of the Palace and the data on the energy levels.

“We need to get down to the second sub-level. Let’s go!”

The eight warriors moved off along the grand entrance and towards a split-level staircase. A body of a large Biomech was split in half and bleeding out on the floor. Khan laughed as he passed it.

“Gun’s work!”

Spartan allowed himself a brief smile, but he was interrupted by noise ahead. Khan must have heard the same as he stopped and looked over to Spartan.

“You hear that?” he asked.

Khan nodded.

“Come on!”

Spartan moved ahead first, and the rest followed as quickly as they could. The lower staircase was far less grand than the main one. As they travelled further down, the sound of battle became louder. Spartan’s audio system crackled with the muffled sound of fighting.

“Spartan, Daniels here. Yorkdale is on the ground. We’re through the outer wall and pushing in to the main Palace ground…”

Massed gunfire obliterated most of the audio before the officer’s voice returned.

“I’ve sent two shuttles of reinforcements to your position to assist. Recon indicated a guards unit moving from a barracks to your north, so expect trouble.”

“Understood. We have broken inside and are working down to the location pinpointed by the engineers.”

“Excellent, keep moving. Time isn’t on our side.”

“Sir.”

They took the last few steps and dropped down into a huge hall that was decked out with massive floor to ceiling stone columns. They must have been easily thirty metres tall. A number of large alcoves ran down both sides with bodies of numerous warriors littering the floor. In the middle of the fight a small group of Jötnar were surrounded and trapped. They were blasting away with their guns and cutting down any Biomechs that strayed too close.

Flashes of light glinted in the distance, but it was too dark to see properly. Spartan switched to thermal imaging. The display changed to a kaleidoscope of colour. There were at least thirty people and all wore exotic armour. They were formed up into two long lines and seemed to be protecting the entrance at the end of the hall.

“Zealots,” he muttered.

“This way!” he cried and surged forward. His group soon reached the maelstrom of the battle and were forced to shoot a path ahead. Khan broke through first and reached Gun. More enemy forces surged in from the left, so Spartan was forced to stop moving and turn his guns on them. He held down his trigger until all four guns were empty. He must have killed forty or more, yet they kept coming. Sergeant Lovett did the same, and the Jötnar carrying Gatling guns added their own fire. It was a deadly storm of metal, and in just over a minute of gunfire the Biomechs started to waver. Spartan stepped over to Gun who had dropped to one knee.

“You okay?” he asked.

Gun smiled at him, but there was something about his face that suggested otherwise. He looked down to see three deep slashes across his side and his left leg. The armour had been ripped away and he was bleeding profusely.

“You crazy bastard, you had to go on alone, didn’t you?”

Khan moved up and threw down one of his axes to help support Gun’s weight. With great effort, Gun managed to lift himself up onto one leg and lean onto Khan.

“We need to get to the end. Look,” said Spartan. He pointed towards the line of Zealots. Even though the battle had been raging for some time, the Zealots hadn’t moved a millimetre. They stood with precision and discipline, each upright as though on parade.

“Spartan!” called Sergeant Lovett.

Spartan followed the direction he pointed to and saw a group moving from the right towards the Zealots. With a quick tap, the visor zoomed in to the tallest of the group.

“Typhon, you bastard!”

“That’s him?” asked Sergeant Lovett.

“Yeah, and it looks like he has people with him.”

“Teresa?”

Spartan shrugged, but he was unable to identify individuals as the group had moved past the lines of warriors. He looked back to the three and was almost distracted by the continuing battle around them. Khan kept firing even though Gun’s weight was slowing him down.

“Whatever we are looking for, it’s in there. Let’s go!” he said.

The centre of the hall contained just a few dozen Biomechs who were locked in a violent hand-to-hand battle with the remaining Jötnar. One broke through and charged towards their little group. Sergeant Lovett lifted his arms but nothing happened, either his guns were empty or they had malfunctioned. Sensing danger, Spartan pushed in front and took the impact head on. He flexed back and slid across the floor with the thing on his front. Lights flashed in the suit as the creature struck wildly at any exposed parts.

“Stay down!” Khan called out.

Trusting in his comrade, Spartan dropped back and kept as low as his suit would allow. With a howling roar, a stream of bullets from Khan’s Gatling gun tore the thing into pieces. Sergeant Lovett jumped next to him and helped the blood-splattered Spartan to his feet. Only a handful of Biomechs remained. One turned and withdrew to the cover of the broken columns, and the others soon followed. Seeing this was their chance, Spartan moved along the hall with the others closely behind him. Khan started to lag behind, but two of the other Jötnar helped with Gun, freeing him up to join Spartan in the rush.

As the group reached end of the hall, the target became clear, resplendent in all its glory. They were now at the base of a tower and a large object, much like a series of cylindrical tubes. Each was full of a metallic looking liquid. Light burst through from above and penetrated the top of the cylinders. It gave a glistening and brilliant look to the whole thing. The twin lines of Zealot warriors stood in silence at the bottom of the short flight of steps, blocking the path. It was a good ten metres wide, as was each of the steps, but there was no way to the object without passing the Zealots.

Five men, all dressed in ceremonial robes and armour, stepped out into the light at the top of the steps. The light bounced from the gold colouring of their robes, so they almost stunned Spartan with the glow. The man at the centre raised his arms into the air and shouted. As one, the lines of Zealots brought their rifles up to their shoulders and aimed them directly at Spartan, Khan and the rest of the small band of warriors.

“Welcome to the heart of the Union. These are my brothers, all Sons of the League,” said the man.

Spartan instantly knew it was Typhon, but the others meant nothing to him.

“You!” he shouted and took another step closer to the Zealots.

“Stand your ground, Lieutenant Spartan, unless you want to see your woman butchered at this altar.”

It was the only thing he could have said to stay Spartan’s hand. He halted as quickly as if he had run directly into a wall.

“Your Admiral made a brave sacrifice, but it was in vain. She may have destroyed the station, even my ships, but I still have my fleet and the Legions of the Union. You have come here to destroy the Core, have you not?”

Spartan said nothing, but Commander Gun had just arrived and with help managed to stand next to Spartan and face his enemy for the first time.

“Ah, the leader of the Confederate Biomechs. It is interesting that here, at the end, you meet your maker.”

“What?” Gun snapped.

Typhon turned and pointed at the structure behind him.

“The Core. It is responsible for everything. I could never have started this little war without its help. It is odd, but without the defeat of the League, I could never have achieved what I have.”

He looked down with disappointment at the confused expressions.

“The League?” asked Gun as he looked at Spartan.

“This is the best you have to offer, two humans and half-breed synthetics? The League was the defeated faction in the Great War. This structure was created in secret to protect the knowledge, ideas and intellects of their greatest heroes.”

Spartan pressed a button that released a small thermal explosive charge. He removed it with his left arm and held it out in front of him. Six of the Zealots towards the rear of the group stepped back and formed a protective line in front of Typhon. They shielded him with their bodies.

“Why don’t you cut the history lesson? I can just blow this place to hell, then what happens to your victory?”

Typhon shrugged and lifted up his hands.

“Go ahead, I have already achieved far more than my father ever could,” he said as he turned and looked back at the tanks. He put his hand on one of the glass tanks and looked back to Spartan.

“They fought and lost generations ago. I have inflicted more damage and created more stability than they could have dreamt possible.”

He then pointed at the Core.

“Destroy me, or them, it will make no difference. The ships and the Biomechs are programmed to fight. The Zealots on board are loyal, and you will still lose.”

“So we have nothing to lose then?” said Sergeant Lovett in despair.

“Oh, hardly, my young marine,” Typhon laughed.

“Your bravery is unquestioned, and you have made it this far. Yield to me, and you can join our crusade at the head of our armies.”

As they continued speaking, Spartan flicked several switches to activate his distress flare system. It was used for rescue or target acquisition and could be used just once. It was his only remaining ranged weapon.

“Typhon,” he said quietly.

“Yes?” he replied optimistically.

“Why don’t you just die?” replied Spartan with a growl. He dropped to one knee and twisted his shoulder so that the release mechanism pointed directly at the hated man’s face. Without hesitating, he tapped the launch button and ignited the flare. It blasted away with a whooshing sound. The shot was perfectly aimed and flew straight. Two of the Zealots pushed into its path and with a blinding flashed were struck. Screaming in pain, the two dropped to the ground, each writhing in agony. Typhon pulled a long, curved sword from his belt and stared with cold eyes at Spartan. Two slashes and the men were put out of their misery. He held the sword out and towards Spartan, the blade still dripping with blood.

“That was a mistake, Spartan. What will you do now?”

Khan lifted his Gatling gun up towards Typhon and sneered at him.

“Why don’t I just kill you and your machine?” he said simply.

“Do it? We don’t need it anymore. You can kill us all. Do you think we’re the only Sons of the League left? The Biomechs have been created thanks to their hard work and the knowledge and ideas learnt from the Core,” he pointed behind him again.

“The orders for the war have already been given, so there is nothing you can do about that now. Even as we stand here, my Brothers have ten legions of Biomechs waiting to move through the Spacebridge, and your fleet is non-existent. You have worn yourselves out to fight this struggle, and now it is time for you to stop.”

Part of the wall ripped apart and the burning wreckage of a Confederate assault shuttle smashed to the ground. It spun wildly and then slammed into the three columns. Chunks of stone and masonry dropped down and crushed its wing. A group of eight Zealots stepped away and marched forward to examine it. Typhon turned from the steps and looked towards the Core as if to speak to it, or examine it more closely. A high-pitched scream erupted from the shuttle, and one of the side doors blew apart in a display of dust and broken metal. From the gap game a dozen Vanguards, blasting away with their arm-mounted weapons. A number of the Zealots fell from the gunfire before they realised what was happening.

“Stop them!” shouted Typhon. He vanished out of sight at the top of the steps. Four Biomechs, each at least the size of the Jötnar, waited patiently with their weapons held high.

The Zealots were unlike any of the warriors Spartan had seen before. They moved quickly and spun their glaive-type weapons with speed and precision. They were each the match of a Vanguard. Spartan pushed to the step and Khan followed with him. Sergeant Lovett tried to help, but two Zealots jumped in front of him and blocked his path. The first cut down and managed to disable the servomotors on his left arm, but he was able to force the second to the floor. He stamped down on the man’s head with the heavy metal foot of the Vanguard armour.

Spartan reached the top first and threw himself at the four Biomechs. Two fell down along with him. Khan, in the meantime, jumped up and swung his axes. One embedded in the first Biomech’s head and smashed it to the floor.

“Spartan, Major Daniels here. You’re on your own, old friend. More troops have arrived. We’re pinned down in the courtyards, you must…” he was cut off by the sound of automatic cannon fire.

“Khan, destroy the Core!” Spartan shouted as one of the Biomechs tried to crush him. Alarms triggered inside as systems in the suit started to fail. Another of Gun’s bodyguards made it to the top, but the waiting Biomechs cut him down and then turned on the fallen Spartan. He struggled under the weight, but the sight of Typhon running for one of the side doors with several others, enraged him. With all his remaining effort, he threw off the one Biomech and then slammed his armoured fist into the second one’s head. It staggered back bleeding. He lifted himself to his feet, and he saw Teresa. She was being dragged along by three cloaked figures.

“Stop you cowards!” he snapped at them as they tried to escape.

The figure at the rear turned around and Spartan could see it was Captain Hobbs, the traitor and person responsible for Teresa’s fate. Beside her were Misaki and two other Zealots who were dragging the dulled and probably drugged woman. More alarms flashed inside the suit, and the left knee crunched as he dropped down to the floor.

“Typhon!” he roared.

The man stopped and turned back, making sure Hobbs and Misaki were in front. Spartan was down on one knee and sparks flashed along the suit as it started to fail. Typhon laughed at him, enjoying the moment of satisfaction as his enemy’s armour failed and risked potentially killing him inside it. The surviving Biomechs both grabbed Khan and pinned him to the wall, but he struggled fiercely. At the bottom of the steps, the Zealots, Vanguards, Biomechs and Jötnar fought their last bloody battle. None were able to come to the rescue of the fallen Spartan. Typhon looked about the area carefully, ever wary of a trap. His four brothers, as he called them, approached and stood nearby. Their robes and golden armour looked exquisite compared to the functional metal of the Jötnar and Vanguards.

“Damned suit!” spluttered Spartan as the main power in the suit finally gave way. He pulled the release lever, and the front of the suit split open. He stumbled out and dropped to the floor. Now pilotless, the smashed armour tipped over and lay motionless on the ground.

“Lieutenant, I might have known that your war would end this way, on your knees and on your own.” He indicated to his brothers and two of them moved forward. Both had curved swords drawn to face Spartan. They positioned themselves on either side of him, ready to deliver the coup de grâce.

“Wait!” shouted Hobbs, her face twisted with pleasure. “Let me deal with him.”

Typhon looked disappointed but indicated with his arm for her to step forward.

“Be quick, we have things to do,” he said seriously.

Hobbs moved before Spartan and threw off her cloak to reveal her Zealot armour. Like the others, it was golden in colour and made of intricate segments, all joined beautifully together. She withdrew a slender looking blade from her belt and held it low.

“Come on, Spartan, let’s finish this,” she said with a grin.

Without further warning, she leapt forward to stab at him. She was fast but also arrogant. The attack was straight and true but obvious. Spartan stayed down and waited until the last moment. A quick slip to the right and he kicked out her legs. She tipped over and tumbled down the steps. She reached the bottom where the injured Gun and the others were fighting. Gun spotted her and without even considering who she might be, slammed his blade into her chest. Spartan turned back and flashed Typhon a smile.

“Next?” he asked.

Typhon turned to his brothers. “Destroy the machine, we have no more use for it. The orders have been given and our troops are ready.”

“What about him?” asked the youngest of the men.

“Finish him off, this has gone on too long.”

The nearest of them indicated towards two of the Biomechs who stepped forward and grabbed Spartan. They pinned him to the ground so that he was forced to his knees. The Zealot lifted his sword ready to deliver the strike.

“Typhon,” came a low, rumbling voice.

Spartan looked around the room, unable to see who was speaking.

“What?” Typhon snapped back.

The strange metallic voice from the Core continued.

“You promised the League its final victory, so what are you doing? This is madness. The Biomechs are tools.”

Typhon stepped closer to the Core, speaking in angry tones.

“The League is nothing. We are the true Sons, and we will rebuild the Empire, as it should have been. Our new generation of Biomechs do not need your input. They are the new citizens of the Empire.”

Typhon turned and walked away, showing his back to the Core.

“What of the people?” it asked.

Typhon turned his head, glanced at Spartan then back to the Core.

“They can all burn.”

“You would commit genocide in our name? We can stop the Biomechs with a single signal,” roared the voice.

Typhon pulled a pistol from his belt and aimed it at the closest tank.

“Do it, and I’ll destroy this entire place. The accumulated knowledge of the greatest minds of the League will vanish, forever. All this work will be wasted.”

The Core went silent, and Typhon stood and gloated at the machine. The battle in the hall had stopped. He walked to the edge of the steps and looked down. There were just a handful of the warriors left, each of them stood close to the wounded, but still conscious Commander Gun. A large door from one of the distant alcoves opened with a groan to reveal at least fifty more Biomechs. They were all armed with firearms. They surged forward and towards the steps. Typhon turned back to the Core.

“As you can see, we have all we need.” He gave a nod to his men who stepped towards the myriad of controls on the wall.

“As you wish, we have made our decision,” said the booming voice.

Lights flashed on the computers and the tanks started to bubble furiously. A high-pitched scream pulsed from the centre as though a massive energy blast was building.

“What?” Typhon shouted.

Spartan looked up at him, but he couldn’t move. He was still held down by the two Zealots. He could see Teresa now. Misaki held her with a snub nosed pistol pushed up into her flank. A Biomech stood guard over them with its wicked looking glaive held high.

“Typhon, this all ends, today!” screamed the voice from the Core.

Then it happened. A bright ring of blue energy flashed up the tower with a crackle of static and power. As it reached the top, the water stopped bubbling and the lights on every computer system died. Cracks appeared in the glass and all around them the structure of the Core seemed to implode or fall apart as though some invisible hand had crushed the entire structure. Spartan felt the grip of the two Biomechs loosen. The nearest dropped its weapons as if something had just ordered it to stop.

The Core, it must have disabled the Biomechs,’ thought Spartan.

He took his chance.

“Typhon!” he screamed and lurched forward. He grabbed the dropped glaive and threw himself at the Zealot leader. Before Typhon could move, the razor sharp steel tip penetrated his chest and pushed out through his spine. The two staggered back and smashed into the water filled cylinders. The tip of the weapon must have cracked or pierced the side, as part of it broke inwards. Broken glass and water gushed out to cover them both. Spartan rolled back under the impact of the water and shook his head, trying to clear his eyes.

Screams grabbed his attention. It was the remaining Zealots. The Biomech guards turned to their masters, and each of them were stabbing or cutting them. Spartan saw one’s head cut off with a single blow. Another tried to run, but was speared in the back and fell to the ground, the weapon still stuck in his body.

“What the hell?” muttered Misaki as she watched everything falling apart around her. Teresa must have seen what was happening as she kicked the woman in the shin, and then tried to run. She lost her grip and slipped, falling awkwardly. Misaki lifted her pistol and aimed carefully at her. Spartan tried to stand, but he was unable to get a purchase on the slippery floor. He cried out, but the great hulk of Khan blocked his view. Freed by his captors, he surged forward. Two shots rang out and he smashed into her, pinning her fragile body to the wall. He slumped down to reveal the crushed and limp body of the turncoat.

Spartan slid over to the fallen Teresa and lifted her to her knees.

“Teresa!” he called out, fearful she might be hurt, or worse.

She didn’t move and all Spartan could think to do was to pull her towards him. He was dripping with water and a wound on his shoulder poured copious amount of blood onto the two of them.

“Spartan,” she whispered.

He leaned back slightly to look at her.

“I knew you’d come for me.”

*

The balcony at the top of the twin towers of the Palace provided an impressive view of the courtyards and of the great capital city. Dozens of fires burned around the structure as well as the heavily damaged hull of the Yorkdale.

“I thought you said you landed?” laughed Spartan.

His overalls were bloodied and soaked, but Teresa still clung to him as if she would be dragged away, if she let him go for just a second.

“Well, land is more a figure of speech,” replied Major Daniels with a smile. “Hey, at least we got her on the ground.”

From the doorway two shapes emerged, it was the battered and bloody Gun and Khan. They approached Spartan slowly, Khan taking most of the weight from Gun. They both carried patches and bandages from the dozens of wounds.

“Spartan!” Gun called out as he reached a position close enough to Spartan to grab him. Khan helped him forward and he struck Spartan in the shoulder. He nearly dropped to the ground in pain as the existing wound’s stitches split, causing more blood to rush out.

Khan stood still and Spartan couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking. Then the Jötnar grinned.

“Good fight, Spartan.”

The group moved to the edge where they were afforded a perfect view of the city.

“It’s true then, Sir, about the Core?” asked Spartan.

“Yes, Santa Cruz came through the Spacebridge ten minutes ago. The Core has shut down every single Union ship that we know of.”

“What about the Biomechs?”

“They just stopped. Look at them,” he said and pointed out to the columns of Biomechs out in the courtyards. Jötnar were escorting them to designated areas where they dumped their weapons and armour.

“What will happen to them?” asked Spartan.

Gun placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help find a use for them.”

A roar from above them signalled the arrival of the first shuttles. A group of four flew towards the courtyard. Two Lightning Fighters escorted each. Another group blasted by and performed a lazy victory role over the Palace. Spartan spotted the Angel symbol on their wings, presumably the mark of their squadron.

“So what happens now?” he asked.

Major Daniels turned to him and extended his hand.

“Well, I think you both have earned a reprieve on that conscription contract. Unless you both want to stay on?”

Spartan turned to Teresa who threw him a curious smile.

“We’ll think about it.”

Major Daniels put his arms around them both.

“Well, right now I have to get birds sent out to pickup any survivors from the Crusader. There’s never a moment’s peace. I suggest in the meantime the four of you get some rest.”

He turned from the balcony and left the two humans and two Jötnar to watch the arrival of yet more marines. Spartan turned to the three of them.

“You know something? This is the first time I’ve not heard gunfire in the last twenty-four hours. I must have concussion. Come on, let’s go.”

Teresa and Spartan moved to the left of Gun and helped Khan move him from the balcony and into the dark archway. They moved inside and back into the Palace. Spartan turned back for the last time to see the lifeboats from the battle in orbit dropping through the atmosphere likes meteors.

“This is it, then?” he said quietly to himself.

THE END