CHAPTER ONE
Following the secession of Kerberos, the division of the Church of Echidna and the Zealot based insurgency coalesced into what became known as the Echidna Union. Those that had worn suicide vests in the past became militia 
leaders and local army commanders. The secretive underground became public and vocal. The term Zealot even started to fall out of favour, now being used often just to describe the non-Biomech forces used by the Union.
A Brief History of the Zealots
Spartan checked the suit’s built-in scanners and moved through spectrum modes. There was almost no light underground and he was forced to switch between infrared and thermal imaging to make adequate progress. The other Vanguard 
Marines stood out in his visor from their substantial heat signature. It was a problem when facing guided weapon systems and something the engineers had so far been unable to mask. A large metal pipe hung down low and he was 
forced to stop underneath. The structure looked barely inhabited but he was well aware of the dangers that dwelt deep inside this site and it filled him with dread.
Spartan thought back to the news report he’d watched prior to boarding the assault shuttles to the planet. It was a month after the liberation of Prometheus. The propaganda coup of the video footage and information recovered 
from there had polarised opinion throughout Proxima. The response in the last forty-eight hours was an announcement from Kerberos concerning a new and worrying development. According to their religious spokesman Typhon, the 
colonies that had freed themselves from the yoke of the Confederacy were to form a new partnership. The name of this new foe was the Echidna Union and it comprised all the elements the Confederacy had been fighting to hold off. 
The Zealots, the extreme right wing of the insurgents had officially handed in their weapons and disbanded.
This news concerned Spartan deeply as many of these places, including Kerberos itself, were areas he had already visited. Contact with the seceded colonies had been cut off and any vessels approaching them were now being seized 
or fired upon. Though the war was technically over, Avagana, the only remaining loyal colony on the surface of Prime, was known to be the epicentre of the insurgency. It was potentially the source of the Biomechs that had surged 
out for their assault months earlier. The colony was being constantly reinforced with combat forces from the orbiting taskforce, as supplies and materials were ferried back to the vessels of the Fleet circling above. It was 
obvious to everyone that although there had been no major combat for six months, both sides were gathering their forces for a single showdown. The Confederate military needed as much information on the enemy as possible. They 
could ill afford further surprises.
Spartan had managed just two weeks rest on board the CCS Santa Cruz with Teresa, before their assistance had been requested for a special intel gathering mission on Prime, the most important planet in the Proxima System. This 
mission however wasn’t to the surface, it was underground in a place most combat units dreaded being near, the Bone Mill.
The inside of the now ruined site was inky black, the only source of light being provided by the wide beam search lights fitted to the marines’ suits. In the past, it had been the home of the Metallurgical Research & Mining 
Company on the northern continent of Avagana. It was a massive site that continued hundreds of metres underground with scores of rooms, tunnels and rock faces that hadn’t been seen for months. The interior of the structure had 
been massively damaged in the months of fighting and bombing between the insurgents and the forces of the Confederacy. The added problem of thousands of Biomech warriors surging from the underground facility, had forced the 
marines to use thermite charges and bombs to finally seal the place up. With the phoney war still keeping both sides from open conflict, it was the perfect time to find out exactly what had been going on down there. The heavily 
armoured platoon made slow progress through the debris. Each of the marines stepped cautiously, looking for tripwires, bombs or signs of the enemy. Spartan watched his team carefully, helping guide them though the treacherous 
area. He noticed one marine starting to push too far ahead of the platoon.
“Private! Take it slowly, advance unit watch your scopes for movement, nobody do anything stupid!”
“You think we’re really going to find the source of the Biomechs down here?” asked Corporal Henderson.
“Well, we know the ones on Prometheus were being manufactured. Either they did the same here or they must have shipped them in,” said Spartan as he glanced about the ruined structure.
He stopped for a moment and looked back at his new unit. Spartan had very recently been promoted to Lieutenant, a far cry from his position as a private in the Marines Corps just months before. His platoon of had been selected 
from different units in the 5th Reconnaissance Battalion of the Confederate Marine Corps to form a new special assault unit, known as the Vanguards. The plan was for a new elite company to be formed that was made up of three 
platoons, each led by an experienced officer and ready to be used for the toughest assignments. Armour had been redeployed from ships and barracks across Proxima to give the company enough for them all, with suits to spare for 
repairs or losses.
The name Vanguard was based partially on their duties of operating as the first unit into action and also on the name of their armour. It was all very new, but experiments on Prime during the heavy ground combat had shown the 
need for a more permanent heavy assault unit. This was the first formalised one of its kind. The Vanguard armour was a fancy name for what was formally known as Combat Engineering Suits or CES for short. These suits were the 
thick exo-armoured suits that had been used by sappers for clearing mines, explosives or digging battlefield positions for nearly fifty years.
For now, the unit was based around a complete platoon that operated from the Marine Transport CCS Santa Cruz. The intention was to expand it to a full company and perhaps even a regiment when time, personnel and resources 
allowed. It was the dawn of a new type of fighting and one that suited Spartan’s aggressive style just fine. He was very experienced in hand-to-hand combat and small unit tactics. This had proven invaluable in operations from 
Prime through to Kerberos, Prometheus and even boarding operations.
Though the 1st Vanguard Platoon lacked the numbers for what they were likely to face, each of them was highly experienced in fighting the Zealots and Biomechs. Many of them had served on the surface of Prime during the battles 
months earlier. There were few groups of warriors anywhere in the Confederacy with the same level of skills and knowledge for this kind of warfare.
“Lieutenant Spartan, you’re showing clear. No signs of Biomech activity within your operation area. Your entry to the Bone Mill is authorised,” said the Commander. He was observing the operation from the safety of a ground base 
three kilometres from the perimeter of the Bone Mill.
“Affirmative, Operation Flare is active,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Commanders, always the same!” he said to himself.
The section they were now in had at one point been the loading area for trailers and equipment. In had previously been a mining station and in peacetime, hundreds of tons of raw materials had been brought up from this spot. The 
first two squads lumbered forward, half of the units were armed with retrofitted L48 rifles and the rest with the standard excavator gear. Though the suits had been given a new name they were still engineering gear. In close 
confines, the armour and digging equipment had proven surprisingly useful against the Biomechs, as well as suicide bombers and improvised explosives.
At first glance, the Bone Mill appeared to be simply a mixture of hewn rocks and broken machinery. It was hardly surprising it had taken the Army engineers over a month to dig down far enough to give the marines enough space to 
get inside. The first squad to enter hadn’t been heard from again. It was now time for Spartan and his reconstituted platoon in their Combat Engineer Suits. The heavily armoured suits gave the operators greater safety against 
both the elements and the enemy hidden deep down in the darkness of the place.
“Lieutenant, I’m picking up the objective, electronics are still operating five hundred metres to the east, roughly where the control centre should be,” said Corporal Jackson.
Spartan checked his tactical display, ensuring his group were close together and in position. There was no chance he was going to let anybody be taken.
“Switch to thermal imaging, if you pick up any insurgent or Biomech activity you know what to do,” he said quietly through the suit’s intercom unit.
The group of heavy metal machines clanked and groaned as they picked their way through the debris. Later models would hopefully be improved in both size and sound, but for now they had to manage with what they had. The use of 
some of the excavator gear was essential for clearing some of the more difficult parts of the complex. As they broke past the last large chunks of debris, they reached the ruined landing zone. It had been a large rectangular 
area, suitable for bringing aircraft down to drop off men and equipment. It was over two hundred metres from the surface, with a mechanical access door for a ceiling long ago destroyed and blocked off. Just a few small chinks in 
the debris above them indicated it had once been clear. As they moved, a sensor light on Spartan’s suit flickered, indicating potential trouble.
“I’m picking up a bloom three hundred metres further inside the tunnels to the east. There is no sign of movement, it could just be a blip,” said Corporal Antoniou.
“Maybe. We aren’t taking any chances though,” Spartan said as he checked for further signals. He altered the filters before picking up the same source.
“I have it, they are near the power coils for the elevators. The entrance is just ahead, through the service shaft. Sergeant Morato, take the shaft and clear it of any infestation. 2nd Squad, you’re with me. We’ll scout the 
Control Centre. Sergeant Lovett, get them ready. 3rd Squad, establish a defensive perimeter here on the Landing Pad until we’ve cleared the area. If anything moves towards you, call it in.”
“Then destroy it!” added Sergeant Keller.
“I expect nothing less,” said an amused Spartan.
Sergeant Lovett and Keller acknowledged his orders over the radio before organising their own twelve man squads. Spartan hadn’t seen Lovett in combat, but his sheet said he had been involved in the operation to recapture the 
transit stations during the Siege of Titan. It had been a bloody mission and his platoon had suffered fifty percent casualties taking the complex. He, like Spartan, had been just a private back then. Marcus Keller, on the other 
hand, was his friend from his days training in the Marine Corps. As well as learning to fight, shoot and work as a team on board the Santa Maria, they had also seen their first action in the battle for the Titan Naval Station. 
The two had seen a lot of action together and the big, gruff German had proven a worthy ally in his many adventures.
Marcus took his squad away from the group and started to site his men in defensive positions. As he moved away, he called out to his squad over the intercom. The men continued to work as he spoke.
“Most of you have fought them, so you know how they work. The Biomechs are faster, stronger and more resilient than us. They can see in low light and some are strong enough to literally tears chunks off our armour. They can come 
from the ground, out of the ceiling or from any other direction. Spread out, clear your lines of sight and keep cool.”
Four of the marines started to move debris out of the way to clear their firing arcs, the rest helped heap some of the masonry to give them a degree of cover and protection in case of an attack. It wasn’t pretty, but by the time 
they finished it would resemble a dugout firebase with very basic protection and clear lines of fire.
Spartan nodded to himself, as he watched the group move quickly and efficiently under their Sergeant’s orders. He knew he could trust Marcus to watch his back. Turning to the remaining squad, he signalled for them to follow in 
the direction of the shaft that ran to the Control Centre. According to the plans he’d examined, the Centre was originally connected to the safety and communication systems. Whether that was true now though he had no idea. A lot 
had happened since the Zealots had first overrun the complex. As they moved away, he glanced over to his side to spot the twelve Vanguard Marines moving slowly inside the corridor towards their objective. He looked back towards 
his own objective and starting scanning the area. Taking a few more steps, the intercom buzzed.
“Lieutenant, it is only wide enough for three of us at a time. It’s going to slow us down,” explained Teresa. She looked inside the low ceiling and damaged corridor. Parts of the ceiling had collapsed and there was water running 
down the walls, presumably from a ruptured waterline somewhere else in the base.
“That isn’t a problem. Just take it slow. You need space in there, move in two by two, and give yourselves room to breathe. I don’t want you bunching up.”
“Understood, Sir,” Teresa answered with a hint of familiarity in her voice that she was trying to hide, with little success.
Sergeant Morato and Spartan had become close, very close since they met on the CCS Santa Maria before the war had begun. After a period of being separated, due to fighting and Spartan’s capture, they had pushed hard to be in the 
same unit. They were both hot headed and equally used to getting themselves into trouble with other people and authority. Teresa had recently been promoted following the Prometheus incident. The new rank gave her responsibility 
for a full twelve-man squad, serious responsibility.
“We’re moving on,” she said and pushed ahead to the front of her squad. As she moved the other eleven followed, each looking around them as they walked. The concern of Biomech attacks, from the ground or ceiling, was always a 
present danger to ground units. If they were careful they had a major advantage in combat. Even a small squad like theirs carried enough firepower to take on several companies of conventional infantry. Underground and in the 
enclosed spaces their armour and weapons would make the group almost invulnerable, providing they weren’t overrun or succumbed to friendly fire. This was often a danger in the maelstrom of combat.
“1st Squad, keep watching. I’m still picking up the bloom. This place has already been fumigated, so if anything is left alive it won’t be human!” she said, pushing away.
“Not human equals something we kill!” laughed Private Willis before being flashed a harsh stare by Sergeant Morato. Her stature may have been small, but in or out of the suit she was a real firebrand, and he knew it.
The group stomped forward, the heavy metal suits crushing the broken masonry and metal beneath the powered metal feet. Each movement produced a series of whines and whistles as the gears and pneumatic parts moved in the dusty 
environment.
Spartan waited for a moment at the entrance of the shaft to the Control Room. 1st Squad was already making its way to their objective and he wanted to make one final check before pushing on. Inside the suit was a scan of the 
hand drawn maps he’d made just minutes before the start of their operation. They hadn’t the time to map it onto their tactical mission software, but the image of the complex was still useful. He just had to remember that the 
structure was now so different it made the original maps almost useless for anything other than rough planning.
“Okay, follow me and keep alert, I want every marine to come back from this one!” He stepped inside first.
The shaft was wide and easily big enough for half a dozen marines to stand abreast. He looked back at the warm yellow glow coming from the twelve marines as they bathed the tunnel in the powerful beams. Each was equipped with at 
least two armoured searchlights fitted to their shoulders as well as extra navigation lights. It made them easy to see but that wasn’t an issue in this place. It was better to be able to see than to be discrete and end up 
falling into a pit to your death. They moved at a slow, careful pace, each checking his sensors for potential trouble. The intercom crackled with an emergency signal from the sentry aircraft that was providing intelligence and 
surveillance operations in the area.
“Lieutenant Spartan, we’re picking up a seismic disturbance under your location. Advise caution!”
“Understood.” He switched to the tactical net so he could speak to the entire platoon.
“Incoming seismic disturbance, brace yourselves!”
Each of the marines positioned themselves in a stable location. Those near the wall or debris grabbed onto them with their armoured, but fully articulated hands. No sooner had they moved, than a series of small quakes shook the 
tunnel. Chunks of masonry dropped around them, several knocked one of the marines down. It was over in seconds, but not before clouds of dusts made visibility on all but thermal scanners impossible.
“Report!” called Spartan.
Each of the squad commanders called back to report no injuries. Spartan was please to see the fallen marine lift himself up and shake as the dust dropped off in clouds.
“Good work, keep moving ahead,” he said. They didn’t get far. Just thirty seconds after continuing through the two tunnels, further vibrations started to spread through the structure.
“Lieutenant, part of the Landing Pad has just collapsed, we’ve redeployed to the side walls for cover,” said Marcus over the intercom.
“Understood, all squads watch yourselves. I think we’ve been noticed,” said Spartan. He lifted up his right arm with its twin linked L48 rifles loaded and ready.
“Sensor readings have just gone off the charts. We’re picking up movement ahead, unknown number of heat source and they are coming this way,” said Sergeant Morato.
“Okay, remember your training, people. Listen to your squad commanders and maintain discipline.” Spartan didn’t like giving orders from a distance like this. He was used to small groups where he could see and assist when things 
became difficult. Right now, in this situation, all he could do was help his own small group and hope that the training he’d been working on provided effective.
Teresa double-checked her tactical display, all her weapons showed as functional with a full load out of ammunition and no problems showing up. The suits had been massively improved since their last outing and in training only 
two had failed, due to servicing problems.
“1st Squad, check your weapons and sensors, report any issues immediately,” she said firmly.
Back in his own tunnel it felt to Spartan like he was on another ship, for all the good he could do. Nagging doubts in his mind almost made him turn and move back to provide assistance, but he knew Teresa was strong, well 
trained and easily able to handle herself. He just needed to give her the time and space to prove it to the rest of the team.
“2nd Squad, keep moving, just one hundred metres to go. Anybody picking up hostiles yet?” he asked.
A series of negative responses came back. The last team that had come down into the depths of the Bone Mill had been a mixed Marine and local Army militia unit. They had been well armed and equipped, but were very green and high 
after their success in saving the colony of Avagana. When they were attacked during a significant ambush, the Army recruits had panicked and turned back, running directly into the advancing marines. In the panic of the retreat 
over fifty had been killed. Only three made it to the surface, all with terrible wounds from which they died.
“How far away are they?” he asked.
“Seventy metres and closing fast!” Teresa answered.
“Okay, Sergeant, you know the drill, execute the salve formation. Everyone else stand your ground!”
“Yes, Sir,” she said firmly and then took a breath before continuing.
“Salve formation!” she called out to her squad.
“Private Alsop, kneel beside me. Next two close up behind us and rest your guns above us.”
They moved quickly and in just a few seconds the first two were on their knees. The large armoured suits lowering themselves enough to allow the next two marines to close in and shoot above them. It was a position they had been 
practicing to allow smaller units greater protection and firepower when engaging the Biomechs. According to Spartan, it was an old system used by soldiers with primitive gunpowder weapons. Teresa didn’t care about that. As long 
as it worked, she’d use it.
“Sergeant, there!” shouted Alsop. He moved his main beam to the right. With just a minor change in position, the four marines at the front were able to get a glimpse of the first Biomechs they had seen underground. The bright 
light and hard black shadows it was impossible to judge much detail, but they were smaller than those they had met on Prometheus. The creatures were slightly bigger than a man but with a bestial look about them. Their limbs were 
thicker and most carried improvised weapons. A flash of light came from the end of the tunnel as one of them fired a rifle at the marines.
“What the hell, they have guns?” shouted a private.
“Quiet!” ordered Teresa as she pointed her arms in the direction of the approaching enemy. Sporadic gunfire hit around them but their armour was strong and they stood fast, watching the enemy through their enhanced optics.
“Remember your training, short, controlled bursts and watch for friendlies.”
She turned her head, the reinforced metal head twisting slightly so that she could check on her squad. They were ready and waiting for her orders and unlike the rookies that had been here before, they were disciplined and 
professional.
“Open fire!” she cried.
The quiet of the tunnel vanished as the twin-linked large calibre automatic weapons fitted to the Vanguards opened fire. With each blast the shells pushed back their arms, the recoil proving substantial. Teresa had twin weapons 
on both arms and as she fired the tunnel flashed white and yellow from the muzzle flash. The two marines behind her leaned slightly forward, partially to absorb some of their recoil but mainly to help keep the first two in 
position as they continued shooting. The solid block of metal looked like an immovable bunker with a myriad of weapons bristling across the front of the marines. The second two targeted the surviving Biomechs and added their own 
fire, filling the tunnel with explosive rounds that allowed nothing living to approach them. The only thing that could have survived would have been another group of Vanguard Marines.
“Cease fire!” she called as her sensors indicated all movement had stopped.
The lights on the suits bathed the tunnel, but the smoke and dust from the shooting made it almost impossible for anybody to see. With a quick tap, she switched back to thermal imaging. The visor clicked and it was clear the 
enemy attack was over. There were large numbers of hot bodies across the tunnel floor and the remnants of superheated shells and shrapnel.
“Lieutenant Spartan, the tunnel is clear. Looks like we were hit by about twenty standard size Biomechs, some armed with small arms. They must have taken them from the last team that was down here.”
One of the marines bent down, lifting a smashed Biomech body with his mechanical hand. The creature was bigger than a man and this one was only partially clad in clothing and armour. Its muscles were excessively big and the jaw 
and neck puffed up with enhanced muscles. He pointed to the built-in rifles on its head.
“Stop! I said, cease fire!” roared Teresa as she took three steps towards him. Pushing out her arm she grabbed the dead creature and tossed it aside.
“Get on point and stay awake!” she growled.
Spartan interrupted as the intercom in her suit crackled with updates from the rest of her squad.
“Good work, Sergeant, keep moving and get that tunnel cleared! We can’t afford any access points for the enemy. It’s easy to get overwhelmed down here. My squad is approaching the Control Room. Let’s hope the place is still 
functional.”
“Affirmative, Sir.”
“Jones, you stay up on point and keep moving, everybody else stay in formation. Let’s go,” she said.
They stomped ahead, some of them having to tread directly onto the bodies of the recently fallen. Luckily, the sickening sound of crunching bones could be avoided inside the armour. That didn’t stop them being aware of what was 
going on. In the lead, Teresa had a clear view of the tunnel. Rounding the corner, she almost walked directly into a large chunk of partially collapsed ceiling.
“Damn,” she muttered, bending down to look under the shattered masonry.
From her position, she could only see a few metres before more broken metal and rocks blocked the area.
“What do you think?” she asked Private Alsop, who was next to her.
He shone his powerful beam into the debris, looking for gaps they could push through. It was useless. ”No way, I’d say the collapsed section is at least twenty metres long, it could be a lot longer than that.”
“What about them, could they get through?”
“I doubt it, maybe a small animal like a cat or dog, but the Biomechs? No way!”
Teresa stood up looking left and right. There was no possibility of moving any further.
“Lieutenant, the tunnel is blocked. We’ll leave a sentry back in the tunnel and regroup with 3rd Squad at the Landing Bay.”
“Okay, Sergeant, regroup and await my orders,” he said curtly, evidently busy with his own work.
Back inside his own tunnel, Spartan’s team were now just a short distance from the crossroads on his map. According to the intelligence he had been given, the Control Room was on the left, opposite three small offices formally 
used by the Station Chief and the duty crew. The first fire team moved to the door, the other two spread out to provide cover.
“Private, the door!” he called to the nearest marine.
Lifting his armoured foot the man smashed forwards, knocking it open and to the side. An inexperienced team might rush the room, but not the Vanguards. With the door blasted open, a cloud of dust and dirt flew out to obscure 
their vision. One marine moved closer and bent down to check the floor for signs of explosives or triggers.
“Looks clear, Sir.”
Spartan gave him the nod and with great care he stepped inside. The lights from his suit lit up the room to show ruined desks, smashed equipment and a partially collapsed ceiling. He looked back at Spartan.
“Nothing in there, Sir, the room is destroyed. Looks like it has been down for sometime.”
“Damn,” Spartan said under his breath. They needed intel and an operational computer suite could have provided them with everything they needed. He fired up the intercom.
“Sergeant Morato and Keller, are you in position?”
He was quickly acknowledged by two affirmatives.
“This area is a dead loss. We’re going to have to move inside the complex and search it the old fashioned way. Check the Landing Platform, I need to know if there are any other access points or tunnels that are clear for 
movement. We’re coming back,” he said, switching channels to his own squad.
“Listen up, this is a dead end, according to the maps the tunnel stops here. From what I can see, it’s right. We will join with the rest of the platoon and see if we can find an alternative way in.”
“What about the mining shafts for the tram system?” asked Private Jenkins.
“Yeah, on the map there was supposed to be a series of tracks that go down to the lower levels for ore extraction.” He thought for a moment.
“Interesting. It won’t take us near the computing or communication gear but it could get us near to where the enemy were hiding. I like it. Okay, squad, double-time it back to the Landing Platform.”
He’d pushed hard for his new unit to be given this mission and it wouldn’t look good if the Vanguards found nothing but bodies on their first operation. Plenty of good officers in the battalion were keen to see the Vanguard 
armour dispersed amongst the units to provide additional firepower and engineer capabilities to all platoons. Though Spartan could see some merit in this idea, his personal opinion was that a dedicated assault unit with maximum 
firepower and armour would be able to go places and conduct missions that no other units could do. The defence of New Carlos had already shown what they could do when dropped directly into a combat zone. That battle alone had 
secured him a chance to prove this unit was worth keeping permanently.
Spartan joined the rearguard and made his way back through the corridor. The jumping movement of the lights bouncing from the walls gave him the similar sick feeling he’d experienced in zero-g training. As he emerged from the 
entrance, the two other squads were stood waiting. They all stood to attention.
“The mine entrance is down there, Sir,” said Private Jenkins, pointing at a barely visible ramp that led down to the left.
Spartan checked his mapping information, specifically the length and depth of the tunnels. According to the last reports on the mining operation, the tunnels were up to three kilometres long. Several had been closed down with 
seismic charges and had probably buried a large number of insurgents alive.
“Okay, our plan is changing slightly. We will take two squads into the mineshafts and perform a full sweep of the immediate area. Sergeant Keller, it is imperative that your 3rd Squad stays here and maintains contact with 
headquarters. You are all that stands between us, and the surface. You have to ensure our rearguard is kept clear and ready for evacuation,” he said and then turned to Sergeants Morato and Lovett.
“You two will come with me, two squads will give us enough to cover the ground. We’ll redeploy our strength when we see what the situation in there is. Understood?”
Both sergeants nodded and turned to check on their men. Spartan was starting to feel the pressure of the mission and the need for results. A lot of resources had been expended getting his platoon here, and a body count of a 
couple of dozen Biomechs wouldn’t do it. The mining shafts were risky. They were long and contained a myriad of small rooms and passages cut into their walls. The upside was, that if there was anything to be learned about what 
had been going on here, he was likely to find it there.
“Ready?” he called.
With a nod from his two sergeants, he gave the signal to move. The twenty-four marines moved off two abreast in a snaking column. It was a mighty force. Spartan just hoped they would get to prove their worth as quickly as 
possible. He joined them, making careful progress past the metal and cables that lay strewn about. The Landing Platform soon disappeared to be replaced by a massively wide tunnel entrance with two sets of railways tracks leading 
off into the darkness.
“They used to drag the ore out through here then,” said one of Teresa’s squad.
Spartan said nothing, he just kept going forward and checking his scanner, sensors and thermal imaging for any signs of life. The displays in his suit showed the warm shape inside the Vanguard armour of the marines all around 
him, but everything else was cold and dark. The rest of the marines stayed quiet, it took several minutes before they reached a large open area that looked like a hollowed-out hall.
“What is this place? It isn’t on our plan.”
“Lieutenant, I think this is a rest and passing area. Look,” said Sergeant Lovett as he moved along the rail tracks to where a set of points diverted away to the side.
“Sir, over here!” called out one of the privates.
“What is it?”
The rest of the marines immediately fanned out to watch the front and rear of their position as they checked the area.
“Well, Sir, there are smaller tunnels breaking out from the sides. See, like this one.” He pointed to a dark opening about three metres wide and tall.
Spartan looked inside and moved his remote beams to light it. The tunnel went on as far as the beams could show. The thermal sensors on his suit picked up a number of blooms.
“Anybody else getting this signal? I’m showing seven sources around us, each of them inside the tunnels and about thirty metres in.”
“I’m getting the same, it’s taking the sensors a few minutes to work their way through the soil and moisture,” replied Sergeant Lovett.
“Are they moving?” asked Spartan.
“I don’t think so, but there’s something strange.”
“How so?”
“First of all, we normally get stronger readings from the Biomechs. These looks closer to human.”
“Zealots?” asked Spartan with clenched teeth.
“Maybe, or it could be prisoners. You did say there might be some down here.”
“True, either way we need to be sure,” he said, turning back around to face the rest of the two squads.
“We have potential friendlies in the area. I want one fire team from each squad to stay back and provide a defensive cordon in this open space. The rest will enter the tunnels and investigate. If you hit trouble put down fire 
and withdraw back here. Under no circumstances are you to push ahead if you encounter resistance! Understood?”
They nodded in agreement and started positioning themselves at the entrances to the tunnels.
“Remember, take it slow and avoid trouble. Good luck!”
Spartan wanted to be first in, but as he moved he felt something holding him back. It was Sergeant Morato with her armoured hand clamped to his shoulder.
“Where do you think you’re going, Sir?” she asked.
Even in this darkness he could make out her smile through her thickened glass visor. Only a small part was visible as the glass section was just a ribbon across the front of the metal-domed headpiece.
“Where do you think?”
“I don’t think so, Spartan. You’ve already broken regs. We need you here to organise the team. We’ve all trained for this one, just sit back and wait for the medals,” she said as she blew him a kiss from inside the armour.
Spartan looked about, concerned the other marines would notice her actions. Either they hadn’t seen, or they had chosen to pretend not to. Either way Spartan was annoyed, he was a fighter, not a planner and standing about 
waiting was not the way he liked to fight.
“Let’s go, people! Remember the plan!” Teresa ordered.
Spartan watched as sixteen of the Vanguards stepped inside the narrow tunnel complex, in groups of four. He knew the fire teams were easily able to take care of themselves in the narrow confines underground, but it still left 
him uneasy being unable to help.
“Sir, anything you want us to do?”
Spartan looked back to the eight marines who were stood waiting.
“Form up in a circle and watch your scanners. In my experience, they always strike when our numbers are smallest.”
The marines, some who were already watching the allocated zones, formed up in a loose and widely space formation, with their weapons facing outwards. Spartan stood in the middle and monitored the movement of the four fire teams 
making their way into the tunnels. He had already requested the Vanguards be outfitted with cameras and displays in the suits, so the commanders could monitor the movement and actions of other team members. It wasn’t going to 
happen any time soon, but right now he would have really appreciated it.
“Spartan, we found prisoners!” came the Teresa’s excited voice over the intercom.
Spartan smiled to himself, if anybody was going to find them, he knew she would be the first.
“This area is massive, they must have carved it out with explosives. We are counting thirty people, mostly men and four, maybe five women. We’re leading them out to you now.”
“Excellent, what’s their condition?”
“Not good, their clothes are in rags and they look like they’ve been on rations for a long time...wait...there’s something else...”
Spartan’s heart dropped, in his experience the unknown was rarely good.
“There are bodies here at the end of the room, easily fifty of them. There’s a small amount of stores. They wouldn’t have lasted much longer.”
“Okay, get the survivors back here and bring your team.”
“Roger, we’re coming now.”
Spartan looked at his sensors, tracking the Teresa and her marines as they made their way back. That still left a dozen marines out in the tunnels.
“Sergeant Keller, are you getting this?”
“Yes, Sir. I’ve been relaying your information to the surface. Command is sending in two evac birds for the wounded. Do you need assistance?”
“Negative, we’re clear here.”
“Wait, Sir, there’s something not right. I’m picking up movement from the tunnel parallel to your position.”
“Which tunnel? I’m not showing anything in that area.”
“Underneath you, Sir. I’m picking up massive seismic readings two hundred metres below you, and rising!”
“Seismic? An earthquake?”
“No, it’s alive and moving up, I suggest in tunnels or shafts towards your position. They are moving fast!”
“Okay, Sergeant, stand your ground. Radio it in,” he said, before turning his intercom onto the open channel.
“All units fall back to the central shaft immediately. We are expecting trouble! Move it!”
On his scanner the IFF signals of his marines showed them moving slowly through the narrow shafts. From the side the civilians staggered out, covering their eyes with their hands. There was no light down there, the bright lamps 
of the Vanguards must have been blinding for them.
“Sir, they are one hundred metres away, you need to hurry!” came an urgent transmission from Lovett.
“Go! All units fall back to the Landing Platform! Take the civilians and move!”
Most of the marines were out and moving fast alongside the confused and obviously terrified people. Only two marines remained, Sergeant Morato and Private Alsop.
“Sergeant, where are you!” he roared across the intercom.
“We’re coming, part of the tunnel collapsed, we’re taking a diversion. ETA, two minutes. What’s the problem?”
Spartan felt the ground shake slightly and panned his searchlights throughout the tunnel. The last marines were now over two hundred metres away and moving fast. The ground was now shaking strongly. Then he saw them. Several 
mounds that looked like molehills appeared in the dusty ground, followed by heads and hands. As they lifted themselves out, he knew instantly that they were Biomechs, the artificial creatures used by the Zealots in their unholy 
crusade against the Confederacy.
“Oh...shit!” he shouted. He quickly lowered both of his arms, aiming his weapons at the horde.
“Teresa, get your ass here now!”
CHAPTER TWO
Unmanned Autonomous Vehicles have a long history of service with the military, dating back to their use on Old Earth. Of their many advantages, are their smaller size and removal of components required for human survival. They 
can accelerate faster and can carry more fuel and weapons than a comparative manned craft. The main disadvantages come from the reliance upon computers and technology, both of which can be impaired, damaged or destroyed with 
ship direct fire energy defences.
Robots in Space
Most of the major warships of the Confederate Fleet were circling the gas giant of Khimaira. Until recently the vessels had been split up into small task forces and divisions, so that they could conduct minor operations through 
the sector. The change of strategy, initiated by Admiral Jarvis, had concentrated the bulk of the surviving ships into one place. There were over thirty heavy warships that included cruisers, frigates and carriers, as well as 
more than twenty smaller destroyers and cutters. Each of the massive vessels coasted in orbit, with scores of fighters moving at a distance to guard the ships. A force of this size and power was capable of striking at any single 
target in the Proxima System with overwhelming force and firepower. The additional military transports carried soldiers, marines and heavy equipment suitable for ground attack.
The capital ships had a blunt, sinister look to them, their slab shaped fronts and rotating sections providing artificial gravity. Many companies had worked for years on complex engineering solutions to the problems of gravity 
on ships. In hundreds of years of spaceflight, nothing had evolved enough to be remotely useful in the ever-changing conditions, velocity and acceleration of military vessels. For now, the idea of being able to walk about any 
part of a ship was sheer fantasy. The ships lacked the sleek shapes used by some of the civilian vessels, but these were the workhorses of the Navy and their designs were purely functional.
The great hulk of the recently refitted and repaired battlecruiser, CCS Crusader, was at the heart of the task force. This warship had survived her first encounter with a battleship months before, it was still being repaired in 
orbit. Next to the Crusader was the similarly massive shape of the CCS Wasp, a light carrier and a mighty vessel in its own right. Since the arrival of the 7th Fleet, the force had been increased by the addition of six powerful 
ships. The first was the assault cruiser CCS Royal Oak. This was a specially modified conventional cruiser, with additional space put aside for troops transporters and torpedo launchers. There were also four armoured cruisers 
plus the jewel of the 7th fleet, the CCS Ark Royal. Named after many famous British warships, she was a type of assault carrier. Larger than the CCS Wasp, she combined a bigger flight group with heavier armour and more weapons. 
This gave her the survivability of an armoured cruiser with more fighters and gunboats than a light carrier. A myriad of heavy frigates moved around these mighty vessels. While smaller than cruisers, were easily capable of 
taking on a larger ship when used in groups of two or three. They carried much smaller crews, usually around two hundred per ship. Three massive Army transports and a single Marine transport, the CCS Santa Maria, huddled 
together protected by half a dozen frigates and several wings of fighters. It was a host any Admiral would be proud of.
Khimaira was served by a number of floating bases that straddled the gaseous atmosphere. There were many more stations positioned out in space. The planet was an important refuelling point for the Fleet. Of even more importance, 
it was far enough away from the enemy strongholds in Kerberos, Agora and Orthrus.
The Fleet, under the command of Admiral Jarvis, was almost ready for the enforcement of Confederate rule in the sector. It was the Admiral’s firm belief that the Fleet would be able to force each secessionist colony to return to 
the fold, providing the Fleet was able to flex enough muscle.
In the Combat Information Centre, CiC, stood Admiral Jarvis and her veteran command staff. By now they were all experienced veterans who had faced the enemy, both in space and on the ground. She stood completely still, gazing 
out through the virtual windows. They were projected onto the walls of the armoured compartment, deep inside the ship. The look on her face was of grim determination, that of a woman who had one simple goal. She was poised to 
begin her war of reconquest. The ship had taken back its duties as flagship of the Fleet and now operated as the Confederation’s control centre. From this vessel, the Admiral could control the Fleet as well as the smaller task 
forces based at Kerberos, Prime and Prometheus. The Marine command staff were also able to operate from the vessel, exercising full command and control of the combat troops and garrisons dotted throughout the colonies.
Two new officers entered the room and marched up the Admiral. The first was a captain, though not anyone she recognised. The second, however, was Rear Admiral William Churchill. The officers saluted smartly before speaking.
“Admiral, thank you for seeing us at such short notice. We have information that we thought pertinent to share,” explained the Rear Admiral.
She looked to her right where the Army and Marine officers were going over their own details, and considered calling them over. Though their input was desirable, she also liked to keep information compartmentalised until she was 
confident of its value. She looked directly at the Rear Admiral and smiled.
“Not a problem, Admiral, what it is?”
“As you know, our force has been on the run for a long time now. It is only with luck, and the loss of many lives, that our six ships made it out in one piece.”
“Yes, your escape from the ambush of the 7th Fleet is truly a blessing to our forces here. I take it your crew and vessels are being taken care of?”
“Of course, that isn’t the issue though. With the help of your intelligence teams, we may have found one of the reasons for the successful ambush on the Fleet.”
“Go on.”
“During the escape, we managed to track down a small ring of agents on several of the surviving ships. Although most killed themselves, we were able to track one who was trying to gain access to the CiC on one of our cruisers. 
He was killed in our raid, we assumed he was attempting sabotage.”
“I take it you have found something else?”
“Yes. Your computer security teams performed a system purge on the cruiser and identified several anomalies. Following further investigation, we have found some partially installed automation software tools in our system. We 
also found three hardware devices that were wired into our servers, but the installations were incomplete. In the last hour, we have managed to break their codes and decrypt the data streams. It seems they were designed to allow 
our vessels to be controlled via another ship, or certainly able to receive orders.”
“You think this is what was done to several of your vessels? How many ships were lost to friendly fire?”
“Half were lost in the first hour, most as a result of the firepower from a single traitorous battleship. The captain was completely reliable and we assumed he must have been murdered by the Zealots.”
“If you’re right, then this technology could have been what the Zealots used to gain control of several vessels in this sector,” Admiral Jarvis said, as she rested her chin on her hands and considered the possibilities.
“How effective is the control of a vessel, if an automated system is able to access and control the CiC?” she asked.
“Only in some measure. Engines, course, some atmosphere controls and the computer controlled weapons. Most of our vessels, especially those built since the War, have been heavily compartmentalised. It increases the number of 
crew, but definitely reduces computer problems if any individual parts of the ship are compromised in any way.”
“Are our systems vulnerable to software?”
“No, the software we found simply enabled a gateway to be created between the hardware and our systems. The software wasn’t able to establish any kind of memory hole to operate an intelligent system. It appears both the hardware 
and software are required for it to work. If I may?” he asked.
Admiral Jarvis nodded. With a quick movement, he flipped out his datapad and showed her a tactical display of a large fleet.
“This information makes sense to me. In the ambush a number of our cruisers turned on the Fleet against orders and opened fire. If you look here, you can see them moving in formation then all at once, to the millisecond, they 
slightly alter course and cross the T of the entire Fleet. We assumed they had turned traitor, but it seems the ships themselves may have been overridden by the enemy.”
“How is this possible? The hardware on our ships is heavily protected, and the computer systems have minimal control of our systems,” asked Admiral Jarvis. “All our ships can be operated manually, we do not have the capacity to 
allow remote control of any ships in the Fleet, for just that reason.”
“That is true. It seems the infiltrators were trying to install specific equipment, including advanced artificial intelligence hubs, directly into the combat centres of the warships. We have obtained one partially functional 
unit, and since our arrival here we have managed to break their codes. The device has been receiving prompts from a specific set of coordinates.”
“Where?” asked Admiral Jarvis.
“That is the problem, we have nothing on our charts, and it seems to be about 50AU from Prime. It must have been a ship or relay device of some kind. What you might find even more interesting though, is that the codes we 
extracted show command instructions were sent from this place directly to our ships. Even more worrying, the signals look like they have also been sent in the last twenty-four hours to ground installations, stations and capital 
ships in this sector.”
“Interesting, thank you, Admiral, I will send this to my intelligence staff immediately. These AI hubs, do you have the one you captured?” she asked with a curious look.
The Rear Admiral smiled, “Of course, that is why I came here, to deliver the device for further examination.” He turned to his Captain and spoke quietly. The man then left the room.
The two stood in silence for a moment before the Captain returned with two Marine guards who were carrying a heavy case. They moved closer and lowered it to the floor. As one the marines started to open it, Admiral Jarvis pushed 
her hand in the way.
“Is it safe?” she asked worriedly.
“Yes, it is damaged and not fully functional,” said the Rear Admiral. He gestured to the two marines who flipped open the lid. The first thing that caught her attention was the smell, like that of rotting fish.
“What?” she asked in surprise.
The marines bent forward and lifted a mechanical device about the size of a ball. They placed it down. It was obviously metallic, but dripped some kind of fluid at a point where cables and pipes had been connected.
“It is some kind of bio-mechanical device. If you look here, you can see the remains of a brain, as well as a mechanical pump and circulatory system.”
“This thing was connected to your ship?” she asked.
“No, but others like it were installed in cruisers and able to override the engines, guidance and any of the automated weapon systems.”
“Incredible, and you have no idea of its origins?”
He shook his head.
“Thank you, this is critical intelligence that I’m sure will prove significant. Would you mind discussing this with my intelligence team? We need to find out more on this technology. Are there likely to be more? Where are they 
made, and what are their full capabilities?”
Admiral Churchill nodded in acknowledgement and saluted, before marching smartly away. The two marines reloaded the objected into its crate. They followed one of the bridge officers who escorted them away to the bowels of the 
ship. Admiral Jarvis stood quietly, thinking about the implications of a biomechanical artificial intelligence that could operate machines and equipment. It couldn’t be a co-incidence that in Proxima, they had been hit hard 
first by the religious insurgency and then by the manufactured Biomech creatures. Somewhere was the truth, and she was becoming less and less convinced it was a simple religious uprising. There was something much bigger going on 
here.
She looked about the spacious CiC and the number of officers moving about attending to their duties. Further back was a small group of Army and Marine officers. They were busy examining the unit rosters of the operational combat 
units. Off to their side, the large vertical strategic map showed the entire military situation in the sector. Examining the display was General Rivers, Commander of the Confed ground forces and Lieutenant Colonel Blake, the 
commanding officer of the elite 5th Reconnaissance Battalion. Admiral Jarvis moved towards them, glancing at the board before speaking.
“Gentlemen, I have just received bizarre information on devices placed aboard the 7th Fleet. It seems agents of the enemy were able to place them on board key ships, and then they were able to turn their guns on the rest of the 
Fleet.”
“How are they controlled?” asked the General.
“At the centre of the devices are, what appears to be biological components, possibly even parts of a brain.”
General Rivers raised an eyebrow, along with a whimsical look to his face.
“A brain controlling a ship?” he asked incredulously.
“Why not? It is hardly less convincing that the Biomechs we have already faced. This unit doesn’t need to provide advanced intelligence, just enough to manage a number of systems independently of the vessel’s computer software.”
“I suppose it is possible. Why have we not come across it ourselves, though?”
“This device was found after a thorough investigation by an experienced team. I suggest we order similar searches of all vessels in the Fleet.”
“I agree. What about other systems, like stations and military bases? Could they have done the same?” asked the General.
Before Admiral Jarvis could continue, a junior officer approached.
“Admiral, I have the latest reports from Kerberos.”
She nodded, and with a simple flick of the hand the officer moved the data from his datapad over to the Admiral’s. With a smart salute the man moved away, leaving her in the centre of the room. As the Admiral read the details 
she started to shake her head in disbelief.
“You will want to hear this,” she said ominously.
General Rivers turned to her.
“The message is damaged, but it would appear that Fort Hood on Kerberos was assaulted by militia forces, under the authority of the Kerberon Regime.”
“Casualties?”
“Total, from what we can tell, General. Reconnaissance from an automated cutter in high orbit detected an explosion above the base, followed by an hour-long firefight. We have some of the distress calls, but most were jammed or 
destroyed. The last message was from a Captain Erdeniz. He said something about Biomechs in the base, then he was cut off.”
“Erdeniz? He was based on this ship if I am not mistaken?”
Admiral Jarvis paused. She looked pale, perhaps even a little guilty.
“He was posted to the base, along with many of the other wounded personnel from the Crusader. He was due to return with the next intake of crew in two weeks time,” she said quietly.
“I don’t understand, I thought our bases were being blockaded, but not attacked?” asked the General. “What about the ships in orbit?”
She double-checked the display.
“We should still have four ships in orbit, as well as an Army transport,” she said while pressing several buttons. As she watched, a number of red flagged alerts popped up from Kerberos and one from the Rim.
“This isn’t good. The news from Kerberos is that a number of civilian ships have approached the taskforce, demanding they leave. Our ships have pulled back to a higher position but are refusing to move,” she explained as she 
examined the screen.
“They don’t have much in the way of naval vessels, other than half a dozen defected ships plus any civilian ships they have pressed into service. Can they force our vessels to leave?” asked General Rivers.
“At the moment, no. At least, not without suffering significant losses against our ships. But with substantial air cover over our bases, they can make it almost impossible for us to land forces safely without a major offensive 
being initiated. We would need missile strikes against their command centres and defence facilities, before a landing could be attempted. Even then, the potential losses could be significant.”
Lieutenant Colonel Blake looked to the General and back to Admiral Jarvis.
“What about the rest of our ground bases through the sector? Is it specifically this one base or can we expect the same through the entire Proxima System?” he asked.
Admiral Jarvis zoomed out on the strategic display so that all the planets in the System, as well as the Rim, were shown on the same screen. Green dots lit up to indicate the location of friendly bases. Most of them showed up on 
the major planets but over twenty lit up on the stations and platforms dotted about.
“A good question, we need an immediate reassessment of our bases and fortresses. If this is a prelude to an offensive, we will have to hit them hard and fast before they are organised,” said the Admiral, who then turned and 
walked to the communication desk where Lieutenant Nilsson sat.
“Lieutenant,” she barked.
Nilsson turned around quickly, her headset almost falling off.
“Admiral?”
“Send out a Priority One signal to all Confed bases in the Proxima Sector. They are to move to Code Alpha status, they can expect attacks at any moment. I want a full report on their status within the hour!”
Lieutenant Nilsson nodded and moved back to her console.
“If this is the prelude to an all out attack on our bases, we may have a problem,” Admiral Jarvis said to General Rivers.
“Don’t we already have an evacuation plan in operation for just this kind of situation?” asked Blake.
“Indeed we do. Every base, where possible, has been outfitted with enough aircraft to launch an immediate evacuation. Code Alpha is the signal to expect overwhelming force where an evacuation will prove likely. Kerberos has a 
small number of ships still in orbit and can send shuttles if needed. The problem is the air defences. If they want to deny us the ability to land on the surface, they can. Our only option to shoot our way in and that will kick 
this thing off again,” explained General Rivers.
“If you ask me, Sir, I’d say it’s started again, already.”
“True,” replied General Rivers, before turning his attention back to the Admiral.
“What about the Anomaly?”
“The Furious Battlegroup, based around Furious and her cruiser group, should arrive there in less than three days,” said the Admiral, checking the display. “According to the probe we sent, the route seems stable, though how we 
have not detected it before I will never know. It is surrounded by clouds which our sensors have a very difficult time penetrating. It is either natural, which I would be very surprised about, or it has been constructed somehow. 
Either way, it is the single most important piece of real estate in the sector. The Battlegroup hasn’t been detected yet, but when it does you can guarantee the enemy will not be happy!” she said in a sombre tone.
“Wait a minute, isn’t it true that their own vessels have been using the route for some time?” asked Blake.
General Rivers nodded in agreement. “It’s true, we detected several vessels making their way to the Anomaly after the liberation of the prison on Prometheus. What they have been doing though, is anybody’s guess.”
“Admiral, when they spot those ships, I would be surprised if they didn’t recommence combat operations. Is the Fleet ready?” he asked.
“We are equipped, trained and ready to conduct full scale operations in the sector, finally,” she said with a forced smile. “Our forces might appear thin throughout the sector, but this time we have a full Confed Fleet, with 
fighter and frigate cover waiting right here, Colonel!” She pointed to the metal floor beneath her feet.
“On top of this, we have three reconstituted reserve transports at Prometheus that can carry two battalions of infantry each. They are massive ships and will allow us to move large numbers of combat troops to wherever they are 
needed. Even better, the War Barge Vengeance has been repaired sufficiently for her to sail with the transports.”
She moved the map out to show the entire sector, then in to a closer view of the two most important planets in Proxima.
“We have two taskforces of four ships each at Kerberos and Prime, both are involved in resupply operations. They are well supported by frigates and are supplying us with a constant stream of intelligence. Prime has the Santa 
Cruz in orbit along with a good number of marines. Kerberos has an Army transport plus escorts doing the same, but with the problems on the ground, they are obviously pulling back.”
The three stood quietly, examining the map and the disposition of their space and ground forces through the sector. Most of the ground troops were either on board ships or waiting on the stations orbiting the planet Prometheus 
for their orders. It was clear that the Fleet was ready and that the great struggle for the System would be taking place very soon.
“Gentleman, whatever is happening on the ground, I think it is safe to say that the start of our reconquest will be taking place in a matter of days. Please check back with your units and ensure they are on standby and ready for 
full-scale combat operations.”
Both the General and Colonel Blake saluted and moved to attend their duties. Admiral Jarvis turned, looking out through the virtual windows at her Fleet.
“Enslavement of our worlds and biomechanical devices on our ships. This cannot continue, I will not allow a single further colony to fall, no matter the cost,” she said quietly, but firmly to herself.
* * *
Spartan stood patiently as the ground continued to shake, yet more of the creatures dragged themselves up, from what must have been scores of tiny tunnels buried deep underground.
“No wonder the sensors couldn’t find the bastards!” he snarled to himself. His arms were pushed forward with his L48 rifles armed and ready.
“Teresa, where the hell are you?” he shouted through the intercom.
There wasn’t time to wait for a reply. The first of the Biomechs had already spotted him and were surging forward.
“All units, we have hostiles in the main shaft and moving to your position. Prepare for an assault!” he called as he pulled the triggers.
The flashes from the guns created dark shadows on the walls as the enemy exploded and scattered at the gunfire. With four weapons firing in short bursts, he was able to lay down substantial fire. Yet even more Biomechs appeared 
from the ground. Something moved to the side and his instincts told him to move. It was in the nick of time, as two of the creatures erupted from the loose soil and jumped at him. Staggering to the side he swung his right arm 
out and poured a long burst into the two Biomechs. He swung the arms in front again and was stunned by the number of the enemy, they must now number over fifty, and still more were climbing from the ground.
“Teresa!” he shouted through the intercom while taking aim. He almost pulled the trigger when he saw a dull yellow glow. A number of the creatures turned to face the direction of the light as a great deluge of gunfire shredded 
them. From one of the side entrances burst two Vanguards. As they stepped into the open, they continued firing, both of them putting burst after burst in the horde.
Spartan moved forward, taking one careful step at a time and continuing to shoot with both arms. According to his ammunition display he was already halfway through his ammunition. From experience, he knew he could do with at 
least double the ammunition he was carrying. Teresa stomped towards him, two of the Biomechs hanging from her armour as Private Alsop tried to keep up. The weight of the two creatures managed to pull Teresa off to the side where 
she crashed into the soil along the wall. Spartan managed to reach her and helped straighten her up, but more creatures jumped onto their armour.
“You okay?” asked Spartan.
“Yeah, come on, let’s get out of this dump!” she said laughing.
They pushed back swinging their mechanical arms, quickly slicing or crushing the enemy before turning their guns on the closest. Alsop dropped down onto his face as several more creatures leapt onto him. They were ripping cables 
and fittings from his suit. He started to shout, panicking as his suit was being shredded.
Spartan and Teresa jumped down next to him and struck the creatures. One was cut cleanly in half, Teresa continued shooting at the rest. Spartan reached forward and tugged at his damaged armoured suit.
“Alsop, you okay?”
“No, Sir, most of my systems are down and I’m losing power.”
“Can you move?” Teresa shouted as she continued to fire.
“Just my arms, they must have cut the links to my legs,” he said, the tone of panic in his voice starting to become more serious.
“Teresa, cover us, I’ll get him back!”
Spartan leaned in and grabbed the armoured suit in both arms. With a tug he freed the metal from the dirt and started to drag him back through the tunnel. They made slow progress. Teresa stayed a short distance behind them, 
trying to hold back the tide.
“Spartan, I’m down to one fifty rounds,” she said, trying to keep calm.
“Shit!”
“Lieutenant, just go, if you stay we’ll all die!” cried Alsop.
“Shut your mouth, marine, and start shooting!”
He clearly had no interest in leaving any of his marines behind. With a quick twist, he was able to turn Alsop around so that he faced backwards. His legs were out of commission, but his arms and weapons were still functional. 
As Spartan dragged him back, the Private turned his guns on the horde who were trying desperately to overwhelm them. Spartan glanced back, noting they were now halfway to the bottom of the ramp leading to the Landing Platform.
“Sergeant Lovett, what is your status?” he asked, panting from the exertions of dragging the man and fighting.
“Lieutenant, we’ve repelled a significant assault on our position. We’re holding but our ammunition won’t last forever!”
“Understood. Send one fire team here to assist. I have a Vanguard damaged. Call HQ and get a resupply bird and sentry units down here. We aren’t leaving until we’ve completed our mission.”
“Already done, Sir, a rescue bird and evac team for the civvies is already en route. ETA sixteen minutes.”
“Good work, Sergeant. Out.”
Spartan continued pulling. Teresa managed to stagger back and placed one arm on the Private’s suit to help drag him.
“Your guns?” asked Spartan.
“They’re both dry.”
“Typical, you’re almost wearing yourself out too fast!” he laughed as he fired several more bursts.
“Funny, I was going to say the same!” He couldn’t quite see her face, but could feel the laughter in her tone.
As they moved, Spartan noted on his tactical display that one of the fire teams was closing. They could be no further than twenty metres away. He started to turn to check, just as a group of five Biomechs dropped from the 
ceiling directly in front of him. The first he shredded with his rifles, but the other four leapt directly onto his suit and started stabbing and hacking with crude metal weapons.
“Bloody hell!” shouted Spartan. He waved his arms and managed to hit one of them. It knocked the creature to the ground, where it was finished off by a savage kick from Teresa’s armoured metal foot.
The remaining three managed to hang on tightly and continued striking his visor, even managing to crack the side. More blows rained down and Spartan started to flail about. As he struggled, one of them lifted up and was thrown 
several metres, followed by a cloud of flesh from the other two. Marcus and three of his marines fanned out around the group, proceeding to pour a devastating avalanche of shells into the remaining enemy. Either their numbers 
were dropping, or they’d decided to retreat. The end result was the same as and the shaft became quiet. It was as if nothing had ever actually happened down there.
“Spartan, I know we say we never leave a marine behind, but this is ridiculous. You could at least try and get out next time!” laughed Marcus, helping Spartan to stand up.
“Nice, give us a hand, we need to get Alsop back to the surface. Get your team to return him and escort the survivors to the LZ.”
“What about the rest of us?”
“We have a job to do. They are still down here and, apart from the civvies, we’ve obtained no useful intelligence on what was actually going on in this place. For starters, I want to know who the hell is in charge!”
They started to make their way back along the tunnel. In less than two minutes, they reached the bottom of the circular ramp leading back to the Platform. Two more Vanguards came down to assist, one of them carried a small 
trailer with several metal units on top.
“Sir, the first landing craft has arrived. They’ve brought a rescue party from Charlie Company. Their CO, Captain Miranda Hobbs, wants to see you.”
“Hobbs?” asked Spartan, looking at Marcus and Teresa.
“Yeah, I’ve seen her on the ship. She missed the fighting on Prime and seems pretty pissed about it,” said Teresa, who then clunked her metal fist against his armour.
“Marcus, there’s something down there I think we should take a look at. When we took our diversion to escape, Alsop found a fibre optic loom. It continued down the shaft and out to the side into a narrow tunnel.”
“How narrow?”
“Too narrow for a Vanguard suit, even a marine. One of the sentry drones could do it,” Teresa answered.
“What’s so special about this loom?”
“I don’t know. It is relatively new and that means it wasn’t part of the original mining station. It must be something to do with the Zealots.”
“Okay, I’m sold. Here’s the plan. Take one squad back into the shaft and set up more sentry units to scan for movement. Send a drone down the tunnel and see what you find. I’ll get back up from the battalion down here to assist. 
We aren’t leaving till will have something solid,” Spartan said firmly.
Teresa nodded and turned to the two marines stood waiting. With a simple hand gesture, she beckoned for them to follow. Spartan moved past and continued up the ramp until he reached the Landing Platform. The marines had done 
good work and based on the number of bodies, they had repelled quite an assault themselves. As he moved closer, Sergeant Lovett, leader of 2nd Squad, closed the distance.
“Sir, the area is secure. The civilians are already boarding the landing craft, you heard about Hobbs?”
“What about Hobbs?” came a voice to the side of them.
Spartan looked to his left and then down slightly. He spotted the form of Captain Hobbs in her standard issue Marine Corps Personal Defence Suit. Unlike the Vanguard armour being used by Spartan’s troops, hers was close fitting 
and more like an armoured wetsuit. It was much lighter and less resilient than the heavy exo-armour, but it was sealed for use in all environments and also proof against small arms fire. She wore a helmet, though the visor was 
slid open to reveal the glass beneath.
“Captain, the Sergeant was just letting me know of your arrival. Good to see you here, Sir.”
“Of course,” answered the Captain, her tone was anything but sincere.
“I see your unit has sustained casualties, I’m here to clear up the mess.”
“Mess? We’ve sustained no casualties, Sir, and our operation is ongoing. We have a lead on Zealot technology deep inside the site. Sergeant Morato is in the process of moving drones into the area to investigate.”
“Sergeant Morato? Weren’t you both privates less than a year ago?” she asked, with a barely hidden sneer of contempt. “I recall you were implicated in the murder of the President of Kerberos. Who gave you a combat unit? You 
should be in the brig!”
“I’m sure General Rivers would be interested in your thoughts regarding our mission to Kerberos,” said Spartan, ever happy to rise to the challenge.
The Captain looked at him carefully, trying to size up the man that had risen so quickly through the ranks. From a private, to sergeant and beyond.
“The civilians are being returned to a safe holding area in New Carlos for debriefing. I will assist in the remainder of the operation. What is your tactical situation?” she asked, doing her best to keep the previous 
conversation out of her mind.
Spartan shook his head inside his suit. It wasn’t that the officer was a woman, far from it. He’d already served under women, finding them no better or worse than the men. No, this one was the classic officer with something to 
prove. Spartan may not have been a marine for very long, but he’d seen more action than most and also his fair share of self-serving officers out to make a name for themselves.
“The Landing Platform, as you can see, is clear. The tunnels, up to two hundred metres out, are secure and we have sentry sensors placed at all the access points. Sergeant Morato and one fire team are working in the mine shaft 
to investigate a narrow shaft, where we think we may be able to isolate insurgent equipment or intelligence.”
“Intelligence? Good, that’s what we need. My company is well equipped to control the situation, I suggest we use your...heavies to continue their search. My 1st Squad is already on its way down. We will set up a command post on 
the Platform, along with a supply station. You will move back into the tunnel and continue your investigation. I will send an additional squad to liaise with you under my platoon sergeant.”
“Sir? We do not need additional manpower, our full platoon is more than enough.”
“Nonsense, your armour might make you feel invincible, Spartan, but it is just going to restrict your movement and slow you down,” she said in a tone that told Spartan the discussion was over.
No sooner had she finished speaking, when the first of the squad arrived. They were all equipped in the same PDS armoured suits as the Captain, though each was painted with a grey and tiger stripe pattern.
“Nice colours,” said Spartan, forgetting for a moment that his intercom was still on, so they could all hear.
“Lieutenant, I will send some mules to your position, it will allow you to stay down there for a little longer,” she said in a tone that suggested he shouldn’t return for some time.
“Affirmative,” he said and turned back to his own unit.
The Captain’s 1st squad spread out around the defensive cordon established by the Vanguards. Some were carrying cases with more sentry sensors and automated turrets.
“Vanguard Platoon, we’ve been relieved. All units regroup back in the tunnel, we will continue our operation,” he said into the unit’s private intercom channel.
The Vanguard units guarding the Platform stood up and moved away from their positions, making their way to the ramp. They were easily twice the size of the other marines with their large torsos, multitude of weapons and heavy 
industrial equipment welded directly to the frames. As the last three moved past, he looked back to the Captain who was busy marching about giving orders to her unit. Dozens of her marines, with a variety of equipment and 
sensors, were already getting ready. He wasn’t impressed with her attitude, but at least she appeared efficient. He turned to the ramp and followed the rest of the unit further underground.
“Lieutenant, we’ve got something down here,” Sergeant Morato said over the intercom.
“What is it?” asked Spartan.
“You’re not gonna believe this, you’ll need to see it for yourself.”
“Understood, I’m on my way. Can you get a repeater installed, so we can bounce the signal back to Captain Hobbs?”
“Yeah, I’ll see what I can do. Get here fast though, we need to do something about this!” she said sternly.
CHAPTER THREE
In the latter campaigns of the Emergency, the emergence of the heavily armoured and equipped Vanguard units completely changed ground combat. These hybrid machines and suits eventually allowed the individual marine to be able to 
take on full size Biomechs in close combat, with their excavator tools and blades. At the same time, the units could sustain damage from heavy weapons fire. As with all military advances though, the real question was, what would 
come next and how would the enemy evolve to fight these new weapons?
Edged weapons in the Emergency
“What am I looking at?” asked Spartan, as he examined the grainy picture carefully. The image was packed full of black and grey dots, with dark silhouetted shapes twisting and crackling on the screen. A number of the other 
Vanguard Marines stood around the display fitted onto the control unit. Each of them with their weapon arms in position as they checked for signs of danger. To the untrained eye, the entire panoply looked like a piece of 
industrial machinery with two displays fitted. In reality, the unit could operate up to a dozen drones and scout devices up to a kilometre away underground.
“Are you kidding?” asked Teresa, as she pointed at the dark image.
“Through this gap in the shaft wall, look. There’s a room full of equipment. See it?”
Spartan pressed two buttons and transferred the feed directly to his own monitors. The image enlarged on his left display and with a couple of colour corrections the image cleared up slightly. It was still very noisy, due to the 
lack of light, but he could make out the shapes of machines, as well as cabling running to a central point.
“Okay, I see it, lots of tech. What is so important about it then? Please tell me you have something more than this!”
“Watch,” she said, nodding to the marine controlling the drone management package. The unit was equipped with a joystick and a touch-operated datapad for control. The marine had the front of his suit open, so he could reach out 
and control the hardware. Due to the nature of the armoured suits, and their quick entry into operation, there was no way for him to directly control the drone system from inside the Vanguard armour. In the future this would be 
resolved, but for now the exposed armour was a nuisance and a serious risk to the marine.
The video image shook for a moment before settling on what appeared to be a better-lit doorway. There were three shapes in the light area, almost certainly humanoid.
“Guards?” he asked.
“Not just guards, you can see their robes.”
“Zealots!” muttered Spartan under his breath.
“Exactly, it looks like there are six of them in the room.”
Spartan examined the feed even closer, trying to work out what it was that was confusing him. Then he saw it, the shape in the room.
“What is that?” he asked.
“I know, we can’t tell from here, but it looks like they are using it to communicate with something.”
“It could be their commander or another unit. Either way, if we can get some working Zealot technology, we might start to work out who is behind the insurgency. Maybe even work out a way to disrupt their plans and start turning 
this war in our favour.”
Spartan looked up, something had caught his eye. It could have been nothing, but with the stakes this high he didn’t have the luxury of ignoring it. With a quick tap on the control in the suit, he amplified the lights on his 
shoulders. As the brightness increased, the darkness in the tunnel receded. From his position, he could easily see more of the Vanguards were pushing out. They were checking the entrances to the small tunnels. He saw the 
movement again. It was coming from the direction of Hobbs and her team.
“What is that?”
“Uh, Sir, that’s one of the mules,” answered a private.
“You sure? It looks like it has legs?”
“Yeah, some of the platoons have started using the new cross-country mules.”
Spartan turned to Teresa. “One minute, keep an eye on the feed.”
He turned and marched back through the tunnel towards the approaching object. As he moved away, the built-in sensors identified the friendly IFF signal from the device. Two privates went with him until they were close enough to 
see it.
“Well, I’ll be damned! Have you guys ever seen anything like it?” Spartan asked.
Moving past them was a four-legged autonomous robotic mule. It was about three metres long and moved like an uncertain antelope with it long, slender looking legs. The bulk of it was made up of the cage-like structure that 
carried water, ammunition and power. It continued past them towards its rendezvous with the rest of the unit in the tunnel. Satisfied that the device was as it should be, he turned and walked back the short distance to where 
Teresa was busy watching the display.
“Are you happy now?” she asked.
Spartan said nothing. He just concentrated on the display.
“Most of the computers were still operational on Prometheus, right? Didn’t we get anything from there that can help?” asked Teresa.
Spartan shook his head.
“From what Commander Anderson told me, the enemy were able to wipe their communication logs and software before we were able to take control of the place. Still, we now know they are much more organised than we had realised. 
They have been working on constructing ships in at least one location for months. The Biomech factories are the other surprise. Anderson estimated they could construct over a thousand a month at full capacity, and that’s just 
one site.”
“You think there will be one down here?” asked Marcus.
“Definitely. If not, then how the hell did they manage to almost seize New Carlos? From the bodies recovered, they must have started their offensive with over five thousand Biomechs as well as thousands of Zealots and 
volunteers.”
“Have you heard what is happening with the Biomech farms on Prometheus?” Teresa asked.
“Last I heard back on the Cruz was at the debriefing. The intel guy said the farms were being closed down and the indoctrination program had already been terminated.”
“What about the ones still in the capsules? Surely they wouldn’t just switch them off?”
“No, Teresa, Commander Anderson was clear about that. Gun, the rebel Biomech, has been liaising with our teams to help them mature naturally. Well, as naturally as is possible for creatures born inside capsules. I promised Gun 
they would be taken care of and Anderson said he would ensure that is exactly what will happen. The first ones are already being woken, I think they are all due to be released in a matter of days.”
“Good. They helped us, it’s only fair we return the favour.”
“True, but do you think the civilians on the surface would feel the same?” he asked as he pointed his hand up to the ceiling.
Teresa looked up at the dark soil and rock, before moving back to the video stream from the drone. Nothing had changed and the guards were still standing in the same position.
“Back to this place though, how can we get down there and in numbers sufficient to hold it?” asked Spartan.
“Glad you asked that,” replied Teresa with a grin. “If you check your tactical display, you will see there is a ventilation shaft ten metres below us that intersects with this access tunnel. If we can reach it, we will be able 
to cross directly into this area next to where the Zealots are.”
“Interesting, I take it you also have an idea on how we can get down ten metres?”
“Of course. This is the bit I’m sure you will like. We use the mining charges we carry for demolition work. The shaped charges can be used in sequence to tunnel our way down. If we time it right, all that we’ll need to do is use 
our excavators to cut through about two metres of soil wall into the tunnel.”
She lifted up one of her armoured arms, waving her cutting blade in front of the two men. “Kinda handy we have these fitted right?”
“Good work. Get on it, I want to be down there fast!” said Spartan
He clicked the button that gave him command clearance.
“Captain Hobbs. We are in position and proceeding to investigate a possible Zealot hideout. Will keep you appraised of the situation.”
“Good, I am sending more mules down to you with additional supplies, as well as two squads of marines. Keep in touch,” came the curt response.
“Marines? Do you get the impression she is worried we’re going to claim all the glory before she can get stuck in?” Teresa asked.
Spartan shook his head. “I don’t get it, there’s more than enough blood to go around. It’s not if you’ll see the enemy down here, it’s just a case of when.”
Marcus approached and stopped in front of them.
“Sir, we’ve positioned the explosives and the sequence is ready to go. It’s a six staged charge and should create a shaft deep and wide enough for two Vanguards to access at a time.”
“Good. Have you double-checked the thickness of the wall we’ll need to break through?”
“Yeah, from the samples it looks like about fifteen seconds of digging before we breach the shaft wall, then it’s a straight line right to the bad guys.”
“You ready?” Spartan asked as he looked at Teresa, she nodded back.
With a light tap, he connected to the Vanguard closed communication channel.
“Marines, you know the plan. We have hostiles in position and guarding a tech asset. It looks like they are small in number and lightly armed. Intel is the primary objective here, so I want no weapons fire, this is all knife 
work. Your armour is easily sufficient. I will lead 2nd Squad, 3rdSquad will follow directly behind. As soon as the room is secure, we will spread out and control as much of the complex as possible. The layout is unknown, so we 
will have to improvise and adapt.”
He turned to his right where Teresa stood patiently.
“Sergeant, you and 1st Squad will stay and guard this area and act as a mobile reserve. You will have marines as backup, so if you’re needed they can stay behind for protection. I need you to provide overwatch and to monitor the 
drone. Can you get any more eyes down there?”
Teresa was evidently unimpressed at being left behind. “I have two more, I’ll see what I can do.”
Spartan looked back at the assembled Vanguard Marines. They stood in silence, awaiting their orders.
“Remember, once we are inside you will keep your weapons on safe, unless we are attacked. Killing a few more Zealots might make you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside, but it won’t help the war. We need hard intel, and we need it 
fast! Got that?”
A chorus of acknowledgements reverberated across the audio channel.
“Good, get into position and do a final check on your gear.”
The first squad moved a short distance away from where the charges had been set. The next stayed further back. Spartan looked over to Teresa, she was making a few adjustments to the drone. She turned and waved.
“Go, go, go!” he cried.
Sergeant Lovett hit the trigger and a single flash filled the corridor with smoke. Spartan felt the ground shake beneath him, but before he could adjust his footing, the additional blasts continued as the mining charges burnt 
their way through the floor. In seconds the hole was cut and the shaft itself was packed full of thick dust.
“Switch to infrared and thermals and get cutting. Fire team One, go!” shouted Spartan.
The first two jumped the relatively long distance into the newly created pit. It was much too far for a normal man to make safely, but the shock absorption of the Vanguard armour easily cushioned the blow. No sooner had they hit 
the floor than they were already hacking into the dirt.
“Sergeant Morato, the guards?” asked Spartan.
“One of them has left, the others are waiting. I don’t think they suspect direct action against them.”
“Lieutenant, we’re nearly through!” called Sergeant Lovett.
In the pit he tore out great chunks of dirt and rock. Before they knew it, the first two Vanguards were through the wall and pushing into the gap. The hole was a metre short of the tunnel, so they needed to duck before they 
dropped down into the main shaft.
“We’re in!” said Lovett.
“Take up positions and wait, I want four more before we attack.”
Spartan jumped in along with another Vanguard. As he hit the soil, he struggled to establish his orientation in the lighting conditions.
“Keep your lights off, move forward,” he said, this time more quietly.
They moved into the access tunnel, Lovett and Spartan took the lead position. Immediately behind them followed four more Vanguards, each of them covered in the dark grime and dirt of the tunnel. Spartan looked through his visor, 
spotting the flagged marker that showed the position of the room where the Zealots were stationed. It looked like the access shaft alongside the room. He pointed to the three nearest Vanguards, who portioned themselves along the 
wall, each facing it as though the wall itself was the enemy.
“They are behind this wall. It isn’t thick, one or two strikes should clear it. The rest of you will move out and secure the flanks. Stay with your buddies and watch for Biomechs. Ready?”
The nearest Vanguard nodded in agreement. Spartan pushed his armoured fists up to the wall and turned to check on the rest, they were ready.
“Sergeant Morato, any change?”
“Sir, one is missing, the rest are looking about. I think they’ve heard you.”
Spartan knew he had to make a decision, either they attacked or they aborted the mission. A delay would leave them exposed with limited movement underground.
“Go!” he shouted.
Pushing his fist forwards, he easily penetrated the wall and tore open a hole, almost a metre wide. No sooner had he created the gap, his thermal sensors showed movement inside. Two more strikes and he had weakened the structure 
sufficiently to smash through. Lumbering inside, he caught his foot and stumbled, his left knee dropping to the ground. Tapping the lighting switch on his shoulder, the lights flicked on. The Zealots, though blinded and 
surprised, drew their firearms and started shooting. They were ineffective and with a quick swipe, he was able to cut through the chest of the nearest before he had even stood up.
To the left, two of the Vanguards broke inside and started cutting and smashing any Zealots they could reach. At the end of the room two men entered, both swinging razor sharp halberds and rushing towards the Vanguards. One was 
cut down as an excavator blade smashed into his chest, but the second actually reached one of the marines. Lifting the weapon he swung it hard, the blade smashing into the hardened metal armour. It was a futile gesture and 
simply shattered upon impact. The Vanguard responded by removing the man’s head clean from his body with a quick horizontal slashing movement. It was violent and bloody, but in less than ten seconds only the Vanguards were 
standing, each of the Zealots now a bloody mess on the floor or walls.
“Good work people! Clear the area and watch for enemy reinforcements!”
“Sergeant Morato, we’re in. Move the drone ahead and scout for activity. 3rd Squad, move up and link up with 2nd Squad. I want a cordon of two hundred metres established in all directions.”
“Sir, the next room has an active data link running!” said Sergeant Lovett across the open communication line.
“Excellent, put one fire team in the room, get the rest of your units out and clear the corridors. If there’s intel down here, I want it!” he said, before connecting to the units back in the corridor.
“Sergeant, let Hobbs know what we’ve found. We need a tech team with full gear in the next five minutes. If this connection is live, it could be the first one we have found since the start of the war.”
“Already passed it on, the Captain says she is coming down with a security team and tech squad. ETA ten minutes.”
Spartan turned to Marcus, who was busy pushing one of the Zealots off his serrated digging blade.
“Great, she’s coming in,” said Spartan with a sardonic grin.
* * *
Admiral Jarvis marched into the small briefing room, flanked by two guards. As she moved inside, a group of officers stood smartly to attention. Most were dressed in the long dark coats of the Naval Intelligence staff, only 
General Rivers stood out as being different. Once she was inside the room, the guards left and closed the door behind her.
“Gentlemen, I take it you have news?” she asked, barely able to hide her anticipation.
One of the men in the long coats drew her attention. He wore no insignia, as was standard for the department, Even the Admiral was wary when around them. The world of intelligence and espionage was one of intrigue, spying and 
betrayal, areas she preferred to leave to them.
“We believe we have enough evidence to suggest the Victorious wasn’t simply captured by the enemy. From the data we have managed to extract from the AI hub, recovered by Admiral Churchill’s team, we obtained several Ident codes.”
“Ident codes?” asked General Rivers.
“They are unique codes for the command and control systems on our warships. They’re used to uniquely identify systems and ships in the Fleet, for communications and data transfer,” explained the Admiral.
“Indeed,” added the Intelligence Officer. “What is most interesting, is that all the codes we have decrypted correlate directly with traitor vessels or installations that turned against our forces during the initial uprising.”
“You’re suggesting a central source for controlling them?” asked the Admiral.
The officer shook his head in disagreement.
“Not quite. The communication is encrypted, but appears to be a sequence of triggers. It appears likely this information was more a timer for the actions of various groups and equipment.”
“A computerised starting pistol then?” asked the General.
“Essentially, yes, that is right. A series of data packets were sent to a large number of destinations, with timed sequences of orders to be carried out.”
“Interesting, I’m not entirely sure how this helps us though. I assume there is more?” she added.
The officer turned to one of his comrades and nodded. As he moved back, a woman in almost identical clothing stepped forward to speak.
“Admiral, what we have found is based upon the information retrieved from the damaged systems by Commander Anderson and his team on Prometheus. We used the data retrieved from the computer systems to establish a temporary link 
with the master signal. It didn’t last long, less than ten seconds, before it was re-sequenced and then cut off.”
“What did you find?” she asked suspiciously.
“The factories and research laboratories are being sent control orders directly from a single source. If we are correct, it is also being used to send signals to a very interesting set of ground installations through this 
System.”
“Let me guess, Prometheus and Kerberos?” asked General Rivers.
“Yes, specifically the Ministry of Defence on Yama City, the post now controlled by the Church of Echidna.”
“I thought the Church was part of the command structure, possibly the political wing of the insurgents.”
“That may well be, but the technology, the financing and strategy are being controlled from a remote source. If our findings are accurate, the Church is just one of the groups working for, or in, collaboration with this source.”
“Your team on Prometheus discovered something similar, did it not, General?”
“Yes, Admiral, according to Sergeant Spartan, the technicians told him the Prometheus compound received its control orders and direction from a source known simply as the Core. We assumed it was a ship or base somewhere in the 
Proxima System.”
“Not here,” interrupted the Intelligence Officer. “Our data shows the signal streams are coming directly from the Anomaly,” she said seriously.
The room was silent for a moment, as General Rivers and Admiral Jarvis considered the gravity of this important piece of information.
“If you are right, this means the entire Proxima uprising is being monitored, funded and controlled by parties in Alpha Centauri. How can they respond quickly enough with the time difference?” asked the General.
“It isn’t like that. The probe we sent was able to send a signal back through the Anomaly, before it was destroyed. If a signal can be sent though that point, then the enemy would have a delay of only eight hours between the 
Anomaly and Prime. That is easily enough time to organise major operations or to start new manufacturing tasks.”
“This would explain why they need the AI hubs in the System. A delay of roughly eight hours would make it impossible to remotely manage complicated systems such as warships.”
“That is our interpretation also. From the intelligence obtained by Commander Anderson on Prometheus, Agent Johnson on Kerberos and the data recovered by the 7th Fleet, it seems clear that the enemy forces in this System are 
under the direct command of forces in Alpha Centauri. The actual running of the conflict requires a faster response and a more central form of leadership, that can rally citizens and organise violence on a city-based level.”
“Like the Church of Echidna and the Zealots?” asked General Rivers.
“Yes, it would appear so. If I am to understand that the Church and its resources are under the control of parties outside this System, then that will be both a problem and an opportunity. If we can cut off the forces from their 
high command, we may find these forces will become less well organised and vulnerable to being attacked piecemeal,” suggested Admiral Jarvis.
General Rivers shook his head in disagreement.
“No, I don’t think so, Admiral. It is understandable that the enemy would be receiving intelligence and strategy from Alpha Centauri. But I cannot believe for a moment that the forces in this sector are incapable of mounting an 
effective operation without their assistance.”
The female Intelligence Officer lifted her hand, indicating she had something to say.
“The communication from the Anomaly is not continuous, so we can conclude that their facilities, ships and forces in this System are to function independently of their command structure.”
Admiral Jarvis considered their comments, before moving to the computer system in the middle of the room. With a few hand gestures, she accessed the strategic map of the Proxima Centauri Star System and its eleven planets. She 
examined the dispositions of the colonies and the known enemy forces, before turning to her audience.
“Assuming this information is correct, then we have three simple choices if we want to end this war, and quickly. Believe me, a quick end is my top priority. My suggestions are as follows.”
She brought up the location of the Anomaly. A short distance away was a blue icon, indicating the small task force already on its way to the location. Admiral Jarvis pointed at the location.
“Option one, we move directly to the Anomaly and take the fight to whoever is responsible. We take the bulk of the Fleet and hope that once through, we can isolate the headquarters of the enemy and completely destroy it. This, 
of course, still leaves us with the enemy forces here to contend with. We could then bring reinforcements back with us for a general offensive. Option number two, we concentrate our efforts on the enemy forces here and cut them 
off from their base of support in Alpha Centauri, by blockading the Anomaly. The last option is to ignore the Anomaly, using every ship at our disposal to destroy them once and for all. What do you think, General?”
General Rivers shook his head and turned away from the display.
“Well?” asked the Admiral impatiently.
“I appreciate you want to get this offensive over, trust me, so do I. I’m concerned at the level of intelligence we currently have. We know a little about their command and control, but nothing about the leadership, their 
motives and strategy and most importantly of all, their disposition. How many ships do they actually have? What about factories, like the one we now control on Prometheus?”
“You surprise me, General, I thought you would have been the first to want to strike the enemy,” she said.
“Of course, but not without knowing what we face. With the planetary militias calling in their army units, our remaining forces are heavily depleted. My ground forces currently consist of just three Marine battalions and nine 
fully operational, equipped and mobile Army battalions. I’ve got another fifteen spread throughout garrisons, most on Prime, of course. That isn’t enough to occupy one minor planet or even a major colony, let alone to conduct a 
continuous war. We might have the ships, but do we have the manpower to actually take and hold ground?”
“I’m assuming you have a suggestion?”
General Rivers straightened up and gave a wry smile.
“You sensed that? Well, a slight modification to your last option might give you the fast offensive that you want, as well as providing the troops and intel that I think we need to continue the war effort.”
“Go on,” she said enthusiastically.
“We blockade the Anomaly and send in scouts to investigate the route. They can make contact with Terra Nova and establish the situation there. Ideally, we can open up a resupply route. If not, we can block or mine the area to 
stop ships using it. As you know, I can get most of the infantry off world and on ships in less than forty-eight hours. I recommend we adopt a planet hopping strategy. We hit a populated planet first, clear the enemy and set up 
forward bases and recruitment centres. We leave behind a small number of troops to train the locals and draft new battalions from the local population.”
“Then we load up and move the Fleet to the next location, land the troops and do the same?” she replied as she considered his ideas.
“It will be slower than I had hoped, but it does have benefits. By keeping the Fleet and the ground forces close together, we can maximise our effectiveness. The only real problem with this is, that it will allow the enemy free 
reign to move through the sector and attack at will.”
“That is true, Admiral. I therefore propose we select targets we can secure quickly at the beginning. We need maximum results in the shortest possible time. I would suggest either Agora or Orthrus. Both have seceded, and I can 
guarantee the population will already be reeling under the occupation.”
“Yes, this is more like it,” said the Admiral, with what looked like a happy expression. She turned to the intelligence staff that had been stood quietly.
“Do you have any intelligence that could be of assistance with this strategy?” she asked.
“Analysis of the limited data, from the probe sent into the Anomaly, confirms that the link to Alpha Centauri through the Anomaly appears stable. We were unable to ascertain the situation on the other side, other than two 
points. The first is that the final image, after substantial enhancements, shows the planet appears as it should. There are no major landmass changes or atmospheric alterations.”
“Why the landmass changes?” asked General Rivers.
“There is always the possibility that the rift may affect both time and distance. It may be that objects crossing could find themselves at a radically different time period. Our science teams stated it was unlikely, but we had 
to check.”
“Is that even possible?” he asked.
“Our theoretical physicists argue between themselves about it. Ultimately our evidence says no, so it isn’t an issue. The second point is that on the extreme periphery of the image, we found this.” She handed over her datapad.
General Rivers and Admiral Jarvis stared carefully at the blurred and heavily damaged image. It wasn’t immediately clear, until the Intelligence Officer pointed out the faint blue tint in the corner, showing the edge of the 
planet’s atmosphere.
“A ship? What is the problem with that?” asked the Admiral.
“We have analysed this image for more than three days and have produced this approximate design. We estimate our figures are about seventy percent accurate.”
She brought up a three-dimensional model of a vessel. It was about the size of a Confed frigate, but much rougher in shape and unlike anything the Admiral had seen before. The two most distinctive parts were the engines and the 
weapons arrays, both were more substantial than anything the Confederacy used.
“What the hell is that?” demanded the Admiral, her tone suggested both anger and surprise.
“We’ve checked out records and so far, the only matches that we have are for the drive system here,” she pointed towards the rear of the ships. “We found designs using the same parts in the factories on Prometheus, though they 
are much more powerful than would be required for a craft of that size. The data sent to us by Commander Anderson’s research team, suggests the site has been running for over a year and they have the means to produce a vessel 
roughly every six to eight weeks.”
“I saw the report, I assumed the craft were small transports for their infantry. Are you suggesting they have been building warships? Why haven’t we seen them?”
“That was our first assessment, Admiral. Following the reconstruction created, based on the images from the probe, our assessment has been revised.”
The Admiral looked over to the General before looking back to the Intelligence Officer.
“With these characteristics, it is highly probable that they have built different classes of ship, though none bigger than the projected design here. Records from Prometheus customs databases show two privately registered 
passenger liners that roughly match the engine configuration. It is therefore our assessment that an unknown number of these vessels may be throughout the sector. There is a very strong possibility that some of them may have 
been travelling through the Anomaly. If the enemy has other factories, it is possible more vessels could have been built.”
Admiral Jarvis sighed as she examined the data. She checked through the records and looked at the file on the two passenger liners. There were clear similarities between the grainy images and the projected design created by the 
Intelligence staff.
“In our last report, we highlighted the reconnaissance runs that confirmed no activity on the colonies. The only locations lacking in reliable reconnaissance are Agora or Orthrus,” said the officer.
“Agora? Unlikely, the planetary resources are minimal and the population smaller than Kerberos. They would have to shift substantial resources to the surface and that would have been noticed. The only reason Prometheus went 
hidden for so long was because it was well below the surface and on a planet, with an abundance of raw materials and a large supply of slave labour. Orthrus is a possibility, though only in the last few months. Prior to that our 
Marine garrison would have reported unknown activity,” explained General Rivers.
The last officer, who until now had been silent, stepped forward and pointed to the map.
“It has been my opinion for some time, that the most likely place to construct vessels would be in relative secrecy out on the Rim. Until the uprising this was the only place, other than Prometheus, where the ships could have 
been built. I have been examining data from the Tamarisk mission months ago and there appears to be something very interesting going on there,” he said almost excitedly. He pushed the sequence of images onto the main display. It 
showed a series of heavy transports, along with one of the unknown ships.
“You will notice that this vessel seems to have the same engine and weapon configuration as the vessel at the Anomaly.”
“You’re suggesting we have seen these ships over the last year, without even realising it?” asked the Admiral.
“We are not in agreement on this issue. Though my comrade is correct, with regards to the ship, there is no guarantee it was made out on the Rim. It is fair to add that the area contains limitless source of asteroids, stations 
and ships. Construction of civilian vessels, as well as maintenance and repair work, is conducted there all the time and would easily mask this kind of operation,” added the female Intelligence Officer.
The Intelligence staff waited while the two senior commanders examined the information carefully. On the display, the Rim and Prometheus were a large distance apart. The planetary colonies dotted throughout the large star System 
had all, until recently, been part of the Confederacy. It seemed ridiculous that until only a month ago, an entire factory and research site had been discovered buried inside one of the planets itself. Admiral Jarvis checked the 
details on the ships, specifically the projected specification and potential for combat.
“These warships. What can you tell from the power and weapon configuration? I don’t recognise these weapon ports.”
“That, Admiral, we do not know. We will need to see one in action before that can be ascertained,” she answered.
“I don’t like this, not at all. If this is correct, we may well have a problem. What if they have managed to get warships to Alpha Centauri? That image clearly shows a potential threat waiting on the other side. Maybe the reason 
we’ve heard nothing for months is because the entire System has been overrun?” said General Rivers.
Admiral Jarvis nodded in agreement.
“I will send out a signal to our commander in the field. I want full reconnaissance conducted on every colony, planet and station in Proxima. I don’t care what the consequences or the risks are, we need information and fast! I 
anticipate a start to our operation in a matter of days. If they have the ability to build ships, it means we could be fighting a losing war if we wait any longer. Each day they get stronger, while our forces become smaller and 
more tired. I want reports on my desk within twenty-four hours!” she said to the Intelligence team, before turning to General Rivers.
“General. I need forces at full readiness for combat. If there are attempts being made to establish factories on seceded worlds, we will need to stop them fast. Your three Marine battalions and twenty-four Army battalions need 
to be embarked on ships and ready for combat operation in one week! Is that possible?”
“It won’t be easy, I’ll need to requisition civilian vessels, but it can be done. If we are planning on assaulting ground forces, I could do with more heavy infantry,” he said, also turning to the Intelligence team.
“Thank you, that will be all.”
After a series of sharp salutes the team marched out, leaving the two commanders in the room on their own. Admiral Jarvis looked at him curiously.
“Well?”
“Have you given more thought to Lieutenant Spartan and Commander Anderson’s suggestion, regarding the Biomechs?”
“Ah, I was wondering when that would come up. The last report from Anderson says the first of them had already been awoken. I have read your report about those that helped you. I’m concerned some of you may be going a little 
soft on them,” she said, almost playfully.
“Soft?” answered the General, not seeing the funny side. “Trust me, I have seen enough of them and watched too many men and women die at their hands. I honestly believe the creatures we have fought have been programmed more 
thoroughly than even religious indoctrination. They barely think, they simply follow out their orders with ruthless efficiency.”
“Perhaps, but how is that different to us using them to fight their own?” she asked.
“I wasn’t suggesting we did that. Before Spartan left, he gave me a few ideas to think about. I’m not certain it is an ideal solution, but it does have merit.”
“Let me guess, he wanted to give the them the chance to join Confed Marine units as privates?” she asked laughing.
“You might be closer than you think. Back in the nineteenth century on Earth, several countries made use of mercenaries to supplement their armed forces. The British, in particular, made use of an actual region called Nepal 
where they recruited for hundreds of years. The soldiers, known as Ghurkhas, provided thousands of men over the years. It was a simple agreement, whereby the locals received greater benefits than they would ever earn living in 
their homeland. In return, they would fight for the British. As a reward, after their service, they were ultimately granted permission to live in Britain.”
“I’ve not heard of them. Did it work?”
“Admiral, they were cheaper than British soldiers and the equal, sometimes the better, of the local troops. Until the great colonisation of the new worlds, the European Army still contained a Ghurkha unit as part of the British 
Corps.”
“Thank you for the history lesson, perhaps you could tell me what your plan is then?”
“We will have several thousand strong, aggressive and homeless Biomechs with no hatred for us or the Confederacy. If we were to offer them a simple deal, a trade if you like, they agree to join the Confed military. This would be 
under human officers, but as a Biomech battalion. They could be armed with spare heavy weapons and close quarters gear. We have plenty in stores.”
“A Biomech army? You’re serious?”
“I know it sounds a little off, but they have the potential to provide us with a powerful shock force. Combined with our new Vanguards and the Fleet, they could give us the edge in ground combat.”
“Assuming I agreed to this, how long would it take? Surely we would need months to prepare them?” she asked suspiciously.
“Commander Anderson tells me their basic programming includes speech, simple problem solving and the use of tools. They can learn to use edged weapons in hours. Firearms will take longer, but if we give them the heavier guns, 
they can make up in firepower what they lack in aim. Anderson suggests a week could be enough for a rough, but workable force. Over time, we could improve their training and tactical prowess.”
Admiral Jarvis stood silent, contemplating the opportunity. She was well informed of their lack of heavy infantry. The Army personnel were competent, but many were Territorial Soldiers and not used to being stationed away from 
home. They lacked much of the modern equipment used by the marines, also the ability to land directly into battle. Of the twenty-four Army Battalions, only the five that formed the 12th Airborne Division, were trained and 
sufficiently equipped for assault operations. They were already in position on Prime, where they were assisting in training the local militias in combat tactics. This was under the supervision of General Shears, the colony’s 
military commander.
“Why would they do this? What can we offer them?”
“That’s simple, just two things. Firstly, we can offer them a home. Secondly, and of more importance to them, revenge. They are fully aware of what has happened, due to talks between their representative and Commander Anderson. 
A number have already toured the facility on Prometheus, under the supervision of Gun.”
“The Biomech that assisted your little revolt?”
“Little?” replied the General with disdain.
“Okay. I understand what you are saying. You will liaise with Anderson and set up a safe protocol. We have to ensure this doesn’t come back and bite us in the ass. The Biomechs of Prometheus will be given the chance to form 
battalions under our command. They will receive benefits from the Confederacy, including a place to live following the conclusion of the war, and inclusion within the Confederate family.”
“What about after the war, Admiral? Where will they live?”
“We’ll deal with that when we get to it. For now all they need to know is that the Confederacy is their friend. If they fight with us, they will be rewarded with a place in our new society.”
“Understood, I will contact Anderson immediately.”
“Good luck, General. We will need a trustworthy set of officers to command them, make sure they can keep them under control,” she said seriously.
He saluted and left the Admiral alone in the room, as she considered the gravity of what she had just done.
“Biomechs on our side? What the hell is the Council going to think about this?” she muttered to herself. Though deep inside, she doubted whether the Council even still existed. For now, the conclusion of the war was all that 
mattered. The politics would be left for others to worry about.
CHAPTER FOUR
The mind of the Biomech is a wondrous thing. At the heart of every one is the brain of a human subject, some taken from the recently deceased where they are put into immediate cryogenic storage and others removed from live 
hosts. The bodies appear a curious mixture of freshly grown tissue and organs, with the use of donor parts from others bodies. This is undoubtedly why there has been so much variation in the types of Biomechs seen on Proxima. 
Some being no more than animals, others more like massively oversized men. The real fear for Confed scientists is that they will be able to procreate. This possibility could result in the rise of a new, potentially more 
successful species than Homo sapiens.
Evolution of the Biomechs
Blue sparks of electricity flashed across the bulkheads, sending a number of workers and marines scurrying for cover. Water still dripped from the many ruptured pipes and the risk to those on the ground was great. The combat 
damage from the uprising in the prison facility had taken its toll on the internal infrastructure. At least one tunnel had already collapsed.
Commander Anderson watched in dismay from the high observation point in the harvesting area. He was overseeing the removal and disconnection of the equipment as it was taken away for examination. Next to him stood Sergeant 
Kowalski, who sent mapping and route data to the men on the likely cause of the problem. He turned to the Commander and pointed at a point on his map of the site. Anderson looked at it briefly, establishing the critical 
component and its site in the base. He pulled the intercom from the mount on the wall.
“The second level relay. Level three, section two. Shut it down, shut it down now!”
“We’re on it!” came the reply, as a small team of engineers scurried about, jumping over cables and doing their best to avoid the sparks. One was on the ground and being taken care of by a number of workers. Sergeant Kowalski 
sent additional details, so they could work their way through the labyrinthine underground site. From their vantage point, Anderson could just make out one of the men tearing open a maintenance hatch and then diving in with a 
number of tools. There was a final blue flash, then it was over.
“We’re clear, there was a short on the main capacitor. I’ve taken it offline,” explained one of the men over the intercom unit.
Anderson breathed a sigh of relief as he watched them make a few more subtle fixes to the unit, before sealing the hatch back down. It was dangerous and time and, as ever, was against them. He’d already lost two men because of 
an overloaded capacitor storage unit blowing, and he expected more to follow.
The massive underground complex was buried deep inside the planet. Tunnels and corridors ran for kilometres underground. Great rooms had been built into the hollowed out rock. It had been used until recently as a secret factory 
run by the Zealots, powered by the sweat and blood of slave labour. The real shock had not been the shipyards that were churning out small frigate sizes ships, but rather the harvesting areas where humans were stripped of body 
parts and organs to be used in the production of the Biomechs. The officer looked at the reports in his datapad, the latest information only just arriving from the sensors connected directly into the computer system. On his own 
datapad, Kowalski checked the figures. His expertise in computer security and networking proving especially useful in keeping the system functioning, at the same time stopping any data loss.
His latest assignment was to work his way through the masses of accumulated data on the site, the facilities, technology and specimens to get a better understanding of the Biomechs. Until now, everything had been based upon 
analysing the bodies. The intelligence collected so far had not been useful. He looked once more at the numbers from the harvest room, before handing the datapad to Anderson.
“You were right, Commander. The latest generation of the Biomechs seems to be using less and less of the component parts. The last iteration just used the brain, organs and nervous system of the host humans. From the analysis on 
those still in the cylinders, it looks like the newest models are almost fully synthetic, right down to the nervous system. The machines in the factory behind the harvesting rooms were growing bone, tissue and flesh for the 
creatures over a period of months. We have similar technology in Confed labs for growing replacement organs, but nothing this advanced or extreme. These Biomechs are a radical advance over the first generation we met on Prime. 
They are not far from being able to produce an almost fully synthetic creature. All they have left to do, is to perfect the construction of synthetic brain cells.”
Commander Anderson examined the data, his expression changing slightly as he read his findings.
“Incredible, truly incredible! The Union have the technology to ultimately create an unlimited number of synthetic creatures to carry out all kinds of tasks. They must have been working on this technology for years.”
“Longer than that, Sir. From the reports I have sent back to Naval Intelligence, the most recent operations being carried out on official Confed Labs, was for replacement organs and bones. Fusing the nervous system with 
artificially grown material is something that so far hasn’t been perfected, at least not officially.”
“Apart from the Biomechs of course.”
“True. I still don’t understand the whole brain and programming part. That kind of technology could transform the entire medical profession. Not forgetting that, we could engineer workers or warriors when required,” suggested 
Kowalski.
Commander Anderson looked at the data on his screen for a moment, specifically the numerical data on the organs and fully completed Biomechs in the tubes. He looked back to Kowalski.
“You don’t think that is what they were trying to do all along? To construct facilities that will allow the building of a new caste of human, one that is programed and malleable to suggestion? They can already make soldiers that 
are stronger and easier to control than our own men. From the research I’ve seen, they come out of the tubes fully capable of movement, basic orders and physical combat. If you built that facility into a large vessel, you would 
have the ability to replenish your ground troops in a matter of months, without having to return home.”
Kowalski said nothing, as he tried to digest what the Commander was saying.
“You’re suggesting a slave factory ship that could travel from colony to colony, where it would harvest the conquered population. For every, let’s say six people, it could create new warriors to continue the process. You 
honestly think they would do something like that? I know the Zealots are, well, psychotic, but this would be too much even for them.”
“Perhaps, it does seem a little farfetched. Just remember though, if we can think of it, so can they. You say they are becoming less and less reliant upon host humans. What about the brain?”
“You’re correct, Sir. Even though they can create a fully functioning nervous system, they will still need an original donor brain to connect to the system. Wiping the cells and reconfiguring them to a default state, doesn’t 
appear to be an issue though. There is something else, Sir, something truly worrying to me.”
“Go on, Sergeant.”
“If they can wipe and reprogram the salvaged brains from slaves, what would stop them doing the same to a non-Biomech? They could take a normal, living man like you or me and wipe our minds. Potentially even reprograming us.”
“You’re serious? If that were possible, it would allow them to infiltrate all levels of military or political structures. Good work, Kowalski, I’ll get this information over to Naval Intelligence immediately. This is some pretty 
heavy analysis.”
Kowalski nodded in agreement and took his datapad back from the Commander. He accessed the data files he had been working on and started encoding them with high level ciphers ready for transmission. Anderson leaned over the 
railing to where a large Biomech stood, looking like some kind of troll. He was armoured and still carrying the large multi-barrelled Gatling gun fitted to its arm. Though he was a Biomech, he was larger than the first models 
they had encountered. He appeared to be either the latest incarnation, or possibly a variant optimised for heavy combat. Gun was his name, one that Spartan and the others had bestowed upon him after he had helped their uprising. 
He was amongst the first two free thinking Biomechs they had met. This was apparently because of the sabotage, conducted by the turncoat Tigris, rewiring their programming to turn them against the Zealots and their allies. The 
programming didn’t appear to have worked too well though. Gun wouldn’t take orders, unless they suited him and he was extremely protective of his own kind. It was this that had made him the unelected, and unofficial, spokesman 
for the newly hatched Biomechs.
“Gun!” he shouted down to him.
The Biomech looked up in the direction of the sound, quickly spotting the Commander. His face was always stern. But those that had spent time with him were quickly learning to note the subtle changes when he seemed less serious. 
He raised his gun arm and grunted.
“I need to talk to you about something important. Are you busy?” he asked, expecting a cryptic and simplistic response.
“Busy? More than you!” he said and then started to laugh with a throaty roar.
Kowalski looked to the Commander.
“Is it just me, or is he getting smarter and more sarcastic?”
Commander Anderson smiled. “Yeah, I get the impression he knows far more than he lets on.” He paused for a moment, the implication being that he had something serious to say. “You’ve seen the proposal from the Admiral for the 
Biomechs?”
“I have, it’s pretty serious. I really can’t believe for a moment the general population will go for it. Biomechs being given a place in the Confederacy! What about the Zealots?”
“It’s not going to be easy. We are going to have to try and explain that these Biomechs are as different to those we’ve been fighting, as they are to Zealots or suicide bombers.”
“Yeah, good luck with that!” laughed Kowalski uncomfortably.
“I’ve arranged for a small group of us to meet, so that we can discuss these options with Gun. I want you and Bishop to join me to get a feel for the talks. I need as many eyes on him as possible. We can’t afford any 
misinterpretation. Where is Bishop anyway? I thought he was helping Gun with clearing out one of the tech labs?”
“He’s supposed to be. I think he’s doing something with Misaki,” replied Kowalski, trying to hide a smirk.
“Misaki, the woman who was in the prison with the rest of you? I thought she had something going on with Spartan?”
“No, Sir. From what I saw the two of them seem pretty cool. Spartan wouldn’t talk about it though, since then she has been helping with the clear up. Her technical skills are quite advanced, it seems she studied higher level 
maths in the past.”
“Really, my reports suggested her skills were in other, less intellectual areas? Well, find where they are and tell them to both meet me in the ready room in fifteen minutes. Get Gun there as well, he’s needed the most.”
Kowalski saluted and moved off down the stairs, joining the dozens of people moving back and forth carrying crates and equipment. He stopped to speak with Gun, who appeared to say nothing. The great Biomech stood like a statue 
and if he hadn’t moved every few minutes, he could have been easily avoided or ignored as a lump of stone.
Anderson turned back to the datapad, the small electronic device carried by most Confed personnel for communication and data access. As the images flicked past, he could check the latest information on the compound. There was 
little left of the final harvesting hall and most of the equipment was being loaded carefully onto pallets. It was the last area of its kind in the facility, but Gun has insisted on its closure or destruction, and Commander 
Anderson had no intention of alienating their newest ally. According to the figures, there were now just over two hundred fully hatched Biomechs being cared for in the improvised medical bay.
The area had been re-appropriated from the largest but empty shipyard. It was spacious and armoured, making it easily sealed from the rest of the site. Inside were the many Biomechs, along with almost a full company of medical 
staff and technicians ensuring they were stable and cared for. Some were already talking. Gun had explained in his own way, that he was in charge and that they were safe in that area. It was okay for now, but it wouldn’t last, 
especially with so many more on the way.
From his position, he saw Kowalski move off into one of the corridors, presumably on the hunt for Bishop. Anderson double-checked the wording of the agreement put out between the military high command in this sector. Admiral 
Jarvis was technically the Supreme Commander in this region, until contact was re-established with the President and the Council on Terra Nova.
“They had better not renege on this or Gun and his mob will make us regret it,” he said to himself, as he proceeded down the stairs.
* * *
The room was secure and the small group of heavily armoured Vanguards were already pushing further away to increase the perimeter. One fire team, including Spartan and Marcus, stayed in the room to check on the captured 
equipment and computer hardware. With his visor and suit partially open, Spartan was able to reach out and operate the computer system that was still connected to the data link. On one screen a stream of data scrolled by 
continually, as well as a number of images and machine reports from industrial equipment, presumably buried deep inside the site. He looked over his shoulder to Marcus, who was staring intently at the displays.
“Have you seen this kind of system before?”
Marcus shook his head, “Nope, this isn’t like anything we’ve seen in our training. If you ask me, this looks like industrial equipment, look!”
Marcus leaned forward and tapped his armoured fist gently on the MRM company logo. Spartan looked at it, its significance not registering at first.
“Ah, MRM. They ran the mining operation, right?”
Marcus nodded in agreement and moved back to the computer. He continued talking. “When they sent in the marines the first time, a lot of the security system was shutdown so that we couldn’t gain access to their systems. I’m 
surprised there are any still connected to the outside world.”
The two looked back at the main display unit. It was almost a metre wide and contained several separate windows that were running security and maintenance processes.
“This one?” asked Marcus, as he pointed at a satellite dish icon.
Spartan shrugged. With a quick tap, the icon expanded into a full size window showing multiple data streams. Pages of code including locations, machine identity data and control codes, whizzed by. One window, showing over a 
dozen Biomechs stood waiting in a room, flashed up and then disappeared.
“What the hell?” cried Marcus. He tried to get the video back.
“Tell me you’re getting this?” asked Spartan excitedly.
“Bet your ass I am.”
Marcus placed his datapad on the desk and watched as the information mirrored itself onto his unit. Looking back at the screen, a number of words kept popping up.
“Did you see that?”
“The dates?”
“No, the bit about Operation Blindfire?” added Marcus.
Spartan shook his head.
“It’s mentioned here a few times. Something about Euryale and Operation Blindfire. Is that one of our codewords, or is it something to do with the Zealots?”
Spartan was about to reply, when Marcus moved back slightly in confusion.
“Hey, that’s weird.”
“What?”
“Well, this site looks like it’s receiving a lot of high level traffic for the enemy, and one name keeps popping up. I’ve seen at least ten secure data packets to Typhon. They’re encrypted with a polymorphic cipher that will be 
a bitch to crack. I can’t do it myself. We’ll need some decent gear and guys that know how to use it.”
“So, Marcus? We know Typhon is behind this. Is it much of a surprise to find coded data being sent to him? I don’t see what tactical advantage that will give us, other than its propaganda value.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t a message, this is a series of orders to a group of people, and Typhon is one of those receiving it. If you ask me, it looks like Typhon himself is being sent order just like the others. One is to Typhon, 
the others all go to seceded colonies, all apart from one,” Marcus said as he pointed at a single message on the right side of the screen.
“What does it say?”
Marcus tried to open the file, but was stopped by a number of security warnings.
“No way, the tech teams will have to work on this. Do you recognise the Ident code?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it before, it’s the ship code for CCS Wasp. They must have somebody on the inside.”
The door to the room opened, as a matter of training and reactions, both men raised their armoured arms towards it. The group of mask-wearing technicians lifted their hands in horror. Spartan smiled to himself, before lowering 
his guns.
“My apologies. Knock next time!”
The most confident of the group stepped forward.
“Security Chief O’Connor, I’m here to start data capture,” he said, looking past Spartan and to the computers.
“Shit, you’ve got a live stream!” he said excitedly, pushing past the armoured torso of the two Vanguards to connect up his own computer equipment.
“Come on, let’s check the rest of this place,” said Spartan.
He left from the door at the far end of the room that led into the rest of the underground facility. Spartan went along the narrow corridor until he reached an opening that was guarded by three Vanguard Marines. The space opened 
up into a thick, strong archway that pushed on into a great hall. Taking a few steps forward, the twin beams from his armour could barely penetrate the dusty environment. A dozen flares burned along the sides, each provided a 
smouldering glow that lit only the lower parts of the corridor.
“Any idea where the signals were coming from? I mean the ones with orders and machine codes? Was there more than one source?”
“I didn’t have time to check, but I do have the co-ordinates on my datapad.”
“Good,” said Spartan with a smile, “can you pass the data over to my display?”
They kept moving as Marcus moved the data remotely to the other Vanguard suit, directly onto its computer system.
Inside the suit, Spartan added the data to his navigation unit, so that it could calculate positions for the data source. It took just a few seconds before a three dimensional map of the sector showed the source.
“That’s weird, according to the computer, the signal came from nowhere.”
“Nowhere?” Marcus asked.
“Just an empty piece of space about forty to fifty AU away. Nothing charted and it’s way too far to be a planet or moon.”
“Maybe it’s a ship. They could have planted a command vessel a long way out of the System, to keep it out of sight of Confed forces.”
“It’s possible, they are certainly days, probably weeks away from the reach of most ships. I’ll pass this on to Command when we get back.”
“What about Hobbs? She won’t like it if you go over her head.”
“Hobbs, who cares about her? She can play hero all she likes, this is important.”
They reached the end of the corridor and stopped, looking out into the newly secured location. It was dark, like most of the base, and just a single flare could be seen burning up ahead.
He tapped his intercom. “Sergeant Morato, any news on the power?”
“Almost ready, Sir, we’re connecting the power system through our own extension coils back to the surface. Any moment...now!”
Spartan looked left then right, from his vantage point he couldn’t see anything of note. His lamps simply faded in the vastness of the open space. On his internal monitors he could follow the rest of the marines moving about. 
Then a yellow flicker came from the corner and one by one a series of strip lights flickered, then turned to continuous amplification. Not all the lights worked, but enough powered up to show the shape of the area, as well as 
the myriad of tunnels leading from it. Sergeant Lovett stepped next to him, examining the open space in awe.
“Wow, this must have taken some work to carve out!”
“You’d be surprised what a few thousand slaves and hand tools can do, when properly motivated,” replied Spartan grimly.
The Sergeant turned back as he spotted movement in the shadows. A group of PDS armoured marines emerged from the darkness. The four-man team inched ahead nervously, closely followed by the upright and stern shape of Captain 
Hobbs.
“Uh, LT, behind you!” said the Sergeant, as discreetly as he could manage.
Spartan rotated his upper body slightly, keeping his feet planted. The Captain approached and stood before him, the four marines spread out to form a loose screen around them.
“Lieutenant, I see you’ve secured the area. Have you located useful intel yet?”
Spartan looked back into the cavernous open space behind her, the dust was already starting to settle. A dozen Vanguard Marines were moving about as they checked objects, abandoned machines and cabling.
“Not yet, well, not in this part of the base. The techs are busy getting all they can from the captured data stream. Have you heard anything about Operation Blindfire?”
“Blindfire? No, why?” she asked.
“It was one of the pieces of data I saw on the system before the techs arrived.”
Captain Hobbs thrust her hand forward accusingly. “You messed with the system?”
“No, I viewed some of the information being streamed. Contrary to your reports, I do have a basic background in computer systems and data handling,” said an irritable Spartan.
“Computer systems? Are you kidding me? This is highly important classified intel that could change the course of the war. I suggest you, and your team of roughriders, leave this place to my people. You can continue your sweep of 
the base, report back your findings in a timely manner!”
“Yes, Sir,” Spartan said with a half-hearted salute. It didn’t matter. The officer had already moved away to join her tech team and marines back in the control room.
Spartan moved away, a small group of his Vanguards joined him. They walked slowly, each of them checking the area for any signs that could be of use. He could see the disposition of his platoon on his tactical display and 
everyone was accounted for.
“Sergeant Morato, any news from the drones?” he asked.
“No. I lost one in the small shaft eighty metres to the west. There’s a breach in the wall and running water, the soil must have worn away and trapped the unit. I have another following one of the most recent tunnels to the 
north. Sergeant Lovett and his squad are already down there investigating.”
“Good work, Sergeant, how is it looking up there?”
“All good, Sir. My unit has double-checked the tunnels and set up a perimeter with mines and sentry monitors. Nothing is getting near us, without us hearing or seeing it first.”
“Watch yourselves, you know what the Biomechs are like. I don’t want to come back to find you buried under a dozen of them!”
“Understood, Sir,” she replied, trying to hide her laughter.
Spartan continued moving ahead, but altered his direction slightly to follow Sergeant Lovett and 2nd Squad. He could just make out the lights on their armour as he moved closer to them. From behind, the marines looked almost 
like machines. The armour was less refined on the back and parts of the power plant and ammunition stores were visible. The most vulnerable part of the armour was the external power plant unit and its exposed pipes and coolant 
unit. Spartan had pointed this out as a potential risk, during the latest round of armour modifications, but there wasn’t time to produce the perfect equipment. It was simply a case, of making the armour as good as it could be, 
with the time and resources they had available. Spartan has submitted his suggestions for a custom built model, buts it development and construction would have to wait until after the crisis was over.
He moved closer until to the rear of the group. As he reached within ten metres, two of them turned. For a brief moment, the bright light from their lamps partially blinded him. The internal warnings fired up as the built-in 
defence package detected armed weapons in his vicinity. For a second, he nearly grabbed for his own weapon controls but he knew what was happening, even if the others didn’t.
“Lower your weapons, it’s me!” he snarled.
The lamps dropped down on their motorised pintle mounts and his eyesight quickly started to adjust.
“Sorry, Sir, didn’t expect to see you,” said an apologetic Private Jones.
Spartan shook his head as he regained his bearings. Working underground certainly had its problems. Luckily the suits built-in blackout visor had eliminated the worst of the effect, his eyesight was already returning to normal.
“Spartan, I can’t reach Sergeant Lovett, they need to stop, now!” said a crackling message from Teresa.
Spartan didn’t even hesitate, he pushed forward to where he could see Sergeant Lovett and grabbed him.
“Stop,” he whispered.
“Sergeant Morato? Sergeant...respond?”
The intercom unit crackled and hissed, but in this position the audio was indecipherable. He tried again but to no avail. Giving a simple hand gesture, the squad and Spartan, plus the small group that had followed him, exited 
the tunnel and moved back to the periphery of the open hall. No sooner had they exited the tunnel, the audio returned.
“What the hell?” said Sergeant Lovett, his voice loud and overbearing inside the suits.
“Quiet. This is Lieutenant Spartan, can anybody hear me?”
“Spartan...is that you? I thought we’d lost you down there.”
“Yeah, I’ve got you, Morato. We lost contact in the tunnel, what’s going on with the comms?”
“There’s something down there, near the shaft. The drone got close, but all I managed to get was a sealed door and then lots of noises. The drone lost contact before I could withdraw it safely. Now I’m not even receiving the 
status signal.”
Spartan looked over to Marcus, expecting a suggestion. He nodded before speaking.
“I’ve heard about this kind of gear before. They use them to secure conference rooms and facilities. It must be a high power form of damping generator or unit. They must be protecting something in there.”
Spartan looked at his men, then back into the tunnel.
“Lovett, Keller, get your men ready. We will have to rely on hand signals and good old-fashioned violence. We’ll take both squads in. Something tells me we are going to need the numbers. You all ready?”
The Vanguards Marines nodded, each waiting for the order to commence the operation.
“Sergeant Morato, we are going in. I will leave two marines here for you to stay in contact with. Let Hobbs know what’s happening. If we don’t return in ten minutes you know what to do.”
“Evacuate the site?” she said with a subtle hint of sarcasm.
“No, you mount up and get the rest of the marines down here to save our asses!” he replied seriously.
“Understood, Sir! Good hunting!”
Spartan looked to the rest of the Vanguards, each was covered in the grime, oil and filth from working underground. It was hard to tell exactly who was who. He could normally reply upon the tactical network fitted to each suit, 
but with the dampening field out there, they would just be a group of men in armour. Even so, they were all fully operational, well armed and raring to go. With his single hand gesture they split up into two files, Spartan and 
Marcus at the front, the rest following. One more signal and they moved off. Each was carefully checking for signs of danger.
The two full squads gave Spartan ample numbers for almost any scenario, but the lack of working communication gear or data networking, meant he had to reply on his own eyes and sensors as he moved forward. After fifty metres, 
the tunnel became wider until they were walking on recently placed concrete.
“Strange,” he muttered quietly and stepped further ahead. The walls were reinforced and ribbed, where metal reinforcement beams must have been crossed to secure the tunnel. On the thermal imaging unit, a number of slightly 
different colours showed about twenty metres further on. They were much too small to be people. Spartan lifted his hand for them to stop, lowering his weapon arms while he double-checked.
The thermal imager showed almost no discernable details and the dust in the area making the lamps almost useless. The more power he redirected, the brighter the cloud of dirt. He changed the settings until one, the electronic 
warfare sensor, flagged something ahead as a possible power source.
“Must be the dampening field,” he whispered quietly and then stepped forward. Right behind him the rest of the Vanguard Marines followed, each scanning left to right. The two at the rear moved backwards, checking for potential 
enemies.
Inside the confines of the armoured suit, Spartan was starting to feel a little stiff. Stretching his left arm, he twisted his neck slightly. As he moved, he spotted something, a flick of light. Then his right arm knocked back 
as if he had punched a metal barrier.
“Shit!”
More metal projectiles hurled through the tunnel, each one tearing chunks from the walls or clanging against the thick, hardened armour of the Vanguards. More rounds smashed into Spartan’s chest, one even cracked the glass 
visor. He protected his face with his left arm and looked about at his men. One Vanguard was down on his knee, sparks and flames running down the torso. Spartan turned back, spotting the thermal signature of heavy weapons fire. 
It looked like a single target with multiple barrels, probably a sentry turret. Three more struck his shoulder, one tearing off a piece of armour plating and sending the internal alarms off into a panic.
“Screw this!” he muttered and pointed both arms forward. He pushed his torso forward, anticipating the recoil and then opened fire. The noise, shock and recoil from the weapons were immense. The flash obscured his vision 
completely, but his sensors still showed the heat and electronic signature. Three more Vanguards joined in, each of them sending hundreds of large calibre explosive rounds into the enemy.
The return fire stopped and Spartan immediately lurched forward, covering the short distance to the device. As he approached, it was clear the unit was a remotely operated weapon. A number of thick cables ran along the floor and 
through a metal grating on the floor. The tunnel continued on for just a few more metres, before it reached a dead end. Spartan looked back, the lights from the other marines showed they were approaching.
“Is the field down now? Can you hear me?” he asked.
Nothing but crackling and static returned.
He leaned down and examined the grate. It was thick iron and it looked like there was a drop of about five metres into a lightly lit room or space below. Spartan considered his options. He could withdraw and call for an 
engineering and tech team to investigate, or he could bulldoze his way in. He briefly favoured the safe, sensible option but then recalled his mission objectives. To obtain intel and technology on the enemy, and to attempt to 
ascertain their command structure and strategies. He could wait, but what if there were insurgents below and they were destroying evidence?
“Screw this, I want answers!” he growled then slammed his excavator arm into the ground, near the grating. The hardened metal easily smashed through the floor. In one quick movement he ripped out the large grating, exposing a 
hole twice his size. He looked to Marcus, who was standing next to him, and then pointed down. It looked liked he was sighing inside his suit, he could equally have been laughing. Impatient to see what was happening, Spartan 
jumped into the darkness and fell for what seemed an age. The impact on the ground smashed up into his legs. Though the suit absorbed the bulk of the impact, it still felt like he had jumped from several metres up onto a 
concrete sheet. As he straightened his back, he hit the power on his floodlights to expose the room. It was easily a hundred metres wide and packed with machines and equipment. A number of artificial divisions split the area up 
into what looked like work areas. A noise from above reminded him the other marines were going to join him. He jumped to the side just in time to avoid being landed on by Marcus.
Something caught his eye and he quickly turned to his right to see what looked like three enclosures. Each one was the size of a training hall, and full of life and movement. His eyes almost failed to recognise what he was 
seeing, until the movement erupted into what must have been at least eighty, maybe ninety, Biomechs of all shapes and sizes. Spartan lifted his gun and to his left, Marcus did the same. More marines dropped in behind them but it 
didn’t matter, they had to fight or be overrun in this dark hole in the ground.
Spartan pulled the trigger and gritted his teeth, the guns blazing away and cutting a swathe through the approaching horde. As they moved even closer, he recognised the creatures he had first seen during his boarding action, as 
well as a number of the larger creatures on Kerberos.
“Die!” he screamed, the rooms flashed yellow with gunfire from the Vanguards.
It was a massacre, the fight was over in less than twenty seconds and the area was littered with body parts and blood. Spartan’s visor was splattered with blood that gave the area a weird red glow.
Marcus stepped forward, followed by three Vanguards. He must have spotted something, as he rushed to a large metal device on the wall. Without hesitating, he fired five rounds into the unit. A bang echoed through the room and 
was immediately followed by some kind of shockwave that hummed through Spartan’s head.
“Spartan, are you receiving me?” came Teresa’s voice.
“Holy shit, you cleared the jamming device!” said Spartan as he waved over to Marcus.
“That’s affirmative, Sergeant Morato. We have cleared the area and the transmitter.”
He looked about the room, it was packed full of computers and electronic systems, most of which seemed to be fully operational.
“Spartan, have you seen this?”
Spartan followed his arm to where a large number of pipes and cables ran into a spherical device. As he moved closer, it was clear the object was biological. He stopped in front of the unit and looked at the pipes.
“I don’t understand. It looks alive. What is it?”
“From the shape, Sir, I’d say that we have some kind of brain connected up to this system.”
“Brain? Why connect a brain into a computer system?” he asked.
“No idea, but it would be safe from software virus issues and able to run systems without human intervention. Other than that I haven’t got a clue.”
“Captain Hobbs, Spartan here, I have something down here you will to want to see.”
The radio was quiet for a moment.
“So far, Lieutenant, all I’ve seen off your handiwork is broken hardware and bodies. What do you have?”
“Some kind of AI system, a hybrid of living brain and machine. You need to get the techs down here, fast!”
“Hybrid AI system? Maybe that’s what is running this place. Secure the area, my team will be with you shortly.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Spartan looked back at the device. The tubes running to the brain were carrying a fluid, presumably a type of artificial blood. Perhaps even real human blood. Marcus moved closer, looking at the brain in bewilderment.
“This is some weird shit, Spartan.”
Spartan turned his attention from the machine to the Sergeant.
“You’ve got that right!”
CHAPTER FIVE
The Centauri Confederacy should have been a shining beacon in the history of humanity. The first mutually beneficial empire created peacefully on new worlds. History tells us a different story, one of weakness, destruction and 
betrayal. A story, where the self-importance of the colonies allowed them to be subverted from within. Prime was the first of the planets to suffer unrest and the last to finally succumb to the offerings and temptations of the 
enemy.
Proxima Prime
The bright sun of Proxima Centauri was already flickering along the horizon and casting a dull glow across the surface of the planet. As it slowly faded, the light from the twin stars of Alpha Centauri replaced it, each casting 
their own hue of light across the ground. The sky was unlike anything seen on the old worlds of Mars and Earth, with their single life-giving sun. Kerberos may not be the centre of its own solar system, but it was the heart of 
finance and industry in Proxima Centauri. The end result of this was that the single inhabited continent on the planet was massively urbanised with factories, shipyards and commercial structures occupying vast swathes of 
territory. Between the corporate structures lay five major wasteland areas, each ripe for exploitation once the companies found the time and money to do so.
This industrious planet was also now the heart of the enemy camp, the base of operations for the Echidna Union and their ambitions. Officially, the government was still in control but following the coup, Typhon, the leader of 
the Church had become the figurehead of the drive for peace and harmony. At least, that is what all the advertising said. In reality, the smouldering remains of Fort Hood, the Confed outpost burning in the distance, told the 
true story. The government departments had been absorbed one by one, until they existed in name only. Rumours said that the civilians had been quickly cowed down by colonial militia, Zealot political officers and the Biomechs.
A number of fires burned as fuel and ammunition stores continued to expend themselves in a fiery mess. Corporal Jenkins surveyed the lost position through his binoculars, before sliding back down the dusty slope to the well-worn 
riverbed.
“Captain, I’ve got two patrols moving towards us, ten-plus infantry and a pair of Biomechs. They look serious, I mean really serious. They are following a standard search pattern.” The Corporal had lost his helmet at some point 
in the fighting, his armour was scorched and marked.
“What about equipment? Are they armoured? Heavy weapons?”
“Uh, Captain. The Biomechs are the big ones, you know, the ones that were on the news on Prime. One of them has a big gun on his arm, I couldn’t tell about the other one.”
“What about the infantry?”
“They’re regulars, Sir. Army uniforms and armour from what I could tell.”
“Army? You sure they aren’t looking for us?”
A rattle of small arms fire erupted from the distance, along with a series of explosions and shouting.
“I think they’re looking for us alright, Sir. The local Army units must be working for the Union now.”
As the Captain stood with a bewildered expression on his face, the other marines and soldiers started talking, at least one of them turning to head back. There was a series of heavy weapons fire, from no further than a kilometre 
away, it was quickly followed by a chorus of shouting.
“The bastards, I said we couldn’t trust them. This whole thing is just a coup by the socialist unions to do less work!” snapped one of the soldiers.
A marine, still wearing his scorched PDS suit, moved up to him, a look of cold anger in his face.
“Unions? Are you kidding me? Didn’t you see the news? The public wanted to split from us. Less work, no military service with housing and welfare for all. Why wouldn’t they want it?”
He turned away, firing off one final salve as he walked off. “You reap what you sow and right now, I don’t think they are partying in the streets in Yama City.”
The group continue to make slow progress, each of them weighed down by the equipment they’d managed to salvage prior to their escape. They all carried side arms and rifles, but were woefully lacking in heavier ordnance or 
explosives.
“What’s that?” shouted one of the men. A vicious barrage that crashed all around them immediately answered him. The shockwave threw them to the ground, covering them in dirt and dust. Captain Erdeniz stood up, shaking his head 
as he tried to clear the ringing in his head. Special Agent Johnson moved closer, but before he reached the officer another artillery barrage forced them down to cover. Sporadic gunfire indicated somebody was still alive to 
shoot back. One of the marines started to get up to try and climb up the embankment so he could shoot, before being dragged back down by the Captain. He pulled him down so hard the man rolled to the bottom, landing on his back 
in the dust.
“Keep your head down, you idiot! If they spot us we’ll be dead in less than a minute! It isn’t just you, we have the last survivors of the Fort here. The time for being a hero is over, now it’s time to survive!” he said angrily.
More shells and rockets continued to land in the distance. At least one other group was trying to do the same as them. With a quick hand gesture, the Captain ordered the group of marines and soldiers to move along the riverbed, 
away from the scene of the devastated base. Towards the front was Special Agent Johnson, but now he wore a rough camouflaged jacket and a borrowed army helmet.
“What’s the plan?” he asked.
“Well, you managed to get your intel off planet. Hopefully, it is on its way to Naval Intelligence and they can do something with it. As far as we are all concerned, we have a simple job. Number one, it is our duty to avoid 
capture and to survive.”
“After that?”
“Assuming we survive, we will work out how we can fight back and get these bastards off the planet. Trust me, Confed will eventually regain control of these colonies. For now, we have to keep our heads down and find a way to get 
in touch with the Fleet. When they arrive they will need all the information we can get. Who knows, if we’re smart, we might even be able to cause a bit of trouble down here and make their arrival a little easier.”
The Special Agent nodded in agreement, looking behind to check on the rest of the men.
“Captain, you’ve not led ground troops before, right?”
“No, why?”
“It’s strange. I’ve not met a Naval officer before that grunts would listen to in a situation like this. Have you seen combat?”
“You’re kidding? I was on the Crusader over Prime. We saw combat alright, a good portion of the crew was killed. Why do you think I’ve been promoted so fast?”
“Right, I heard about the battle. The video feeds were shown extensively after the victory. The reports said Confed Marines boarded the ship and gutted her from the inside. Is that true?”
“Yeah, you could say that. Zero-G combat on board a warship isn’t fun, though.”
“Get down!” cried one of the marines. The call was just in time as three Army Lightning MK I Fighters appeared. They were the older two-man craft, equipped with automatic cannons and air to ground missiles and rockets. Although 
much the same design as the more modern space-based fighters, these craft were unable to leave the atmosphere. This inability to leave the planet was down to the avionics, jet engines and fuel the fighters carried. To offset 
this weakness, they carried greater numbers of ground attack weapons and ammunition than the more advanced space superiority fighters. They were the perfect multi-role fighter-bombers and deadly to exposed infantry. They rushed 
past, leaving a screaming howl behind them as they moved off into the distance. A smoke trail from one arced downwards, striking a hidden target. Several seconds later, the dull crump of the blast rolled across the countryside.
“Poor bastards, the Union must be picking off survivors, small groups like us,” said a despondent Jenkins.
“Listen, there are fifteen of us. We have the equipment, skills and knowledge to survive out here. If we stay in the open, we’re screwed. I suggest we get to the outskirts of Yama City and make shelter in one of the construction 
sites. There are less people there and plenty of cover,” suggested Captain Erdeniz.
Special Agent Johnson nodded in agreement.
“Makes sense, Captain. When I left the city, the Union were organising groups of militia under Zealot commanders to patrol the streets. If they spot Confed personnel, I reckon they’ll be shot on sight. This isn’t a revolution. 
It’s extermination of any that oppose them. I wouldn’t be surprised to find them establishing camps throughout the colony.”
Captain Erdeniz looked at him whimsically, surprised at his suggestion.
“What? You think it won’t happen? Trust me, it has happened before and it will happen plenty of times again. The tradition of locking up the opposition goes back millennia. Don’t forget though, after incarceration you often find 
extermination!”
Captain Erdeniz nodded slowly in agreement.
“You’re right, it is a strong possibility and something we need to get evidence of. Do you have any contacts we can make use of in the city?”
The Special Agent pulled a small paper notebook from his pocket and waved it at him.
“This is all I was able to smuggle out. It’s low tech, but I do have coded entries for several contacts and suppliers. I don’t know if they are still active but they’re our first option.”
“Good,” said the Captain, turning to the rest of the group. “Keep your heads down and keep moving. We have a journey of twenty klicks to the outskirts and we need to get there in one piece. Let’s go!”
The small group, barely more than a normal marine squad, continued to move ahead. Their progress was slow, but each step took them one further from the burning ruin of Fort Hood.
* * *
The Crusader, the only battlecruiser in the Fleet, fired its engines and started the slow change of course that would push it out of the powerful gravitational pull of the gas giant Khimaira. As the mighty warship moved away, it 
was joined by a number of smaller vessels, each one taking up position to provide escort or supplies for the ship.
“Admiral, we are receiving a message from an approaching ship, the recognition codes are from the CCS Aurora, one of the Leander class frigates that defected at the start of the uprising.”
“What is their course?” she asked.
“They are in high orbit around Khimaira and en route to reach our position in less than thirty minutes,” replied the tactical officer.
“How did they get so close?” asked a confused sounding Captain Tobler. He’d only just transferred from the 7th Fleet. He was possibly the most experienced warship commander in that Fleet, but he was still getting used to the 
ship and its crew. The Admiral had seen the reports on the epic escape of the survivors of the Fleet. She had tried her best to keep the crews together but she’d desperately needed an exceptional officer to replace the losses on 
the Crusader.
“Unknown, Sir, they just appeared on the scanner.”
Captain Tobler looked concerned and moved quickly to the right of the CiC, where Lieutenant Nilsson was at her communication console.
“Lieutenant, respond with audio only. I want to know what’s going on.”
“Aye, Sir.”
She turned to the display and tapped her earpiece.
“This is the Battlecruiser CCS Crusader to unidentified vessel. Please respond.”
Commander Andrews, now promoted to the position of Executive Officer, stood a short distance away, observing the situation from his own tactical console. Unlike the Captain, he was at home in the CiC, having spent the last two 
tours as the ship’s senior tactical officer. There wasn’t another person on the ship with his skill and knowledge of the flagship of the Fleet. Lieutenant Nilsson continued to broadcast, but after four more attempts turned back 
to the Captain.
“Nothing, Sir. They are receiving us but not replying. It’s as if there isn’t anyone on board the ship.”
“Keep trying, Lieutenant. If they are not replying, it must be either because they are unable or unwilling to.”
That was enough for Commander Andrews, who pulled the intercom from the computer terminal in front of him and hit a button on the control board. The lights in the CiC dimmed and were quickly replaced by red emergency lighting.
“This is the XO, we are under possible attack. Battlestations! All crew to their stations! This is not a drill! All gun positions ready in sixty seconds! Secure outer sections and open the gun ports. Prepare for battle!”
Admiral Jarvis, from her position in the middle of the room, examined the vertical tactical display. This was the strongest Fleet she had yet been able to assemble and it seemed odd to send a single ship this close to them. 
Captain Tobler approached and checked the disposition of the Fleet with her.
“Thoughts?” she asked.
“I’ve seen this before. Sometimes they send a single ship packed with weapons, possibly nukes for our vessels. We split up and the blast causes confusion. That’s usually when the raiders move in for the kill.”
“I agree, Captain. Get Wasp to send her CAP to intercept. If the ship has friendly intentions it can stay at a safe distance, otherwise she can burn. If what you say is true, this ship could have the equipment on board to 
cripple half my Fleet!”
“Burn? Are you sure, Admiral? We can always try and force them to a safe location.”
“No, we don’t have time for this. Either they stop, or they burn. There are no other options. I do not have a single ship I can spare. The loss of one capital ship could be the end of our counter offensive. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Admiral,” he replied curtly. He wasn’t completely happy about the attitude of the Admiral. He had seen just as much combat against the Zealots and their allies, perhaps more, yet the Admiral seemed to be taking the war 
personally. He could understand her argument, but he was just as concerned at the possible loss of the frigate to overzealous gunners. A frigate was hardly a major ship, but it had its uses and could be carrying hundreds of 
valuable military or civilian personnel.
He looked carefully at the tactical display and checked the disposition of the Fleet. A quick scan and he found the correct ships and also noted the icons showing the three groups of fighters circling the Fleet. He tapped the 
visual representation of CCS Wasp, the Fleet’s main carrier, and requested a video link with the captain. It took just seconds before the image of Captain Hardy appeared.
“Captain, the Admiral wants birds in the air to intercept the hostile. How close is your CAP?”
There was a brief pause before the Captain replied.
“Already on the way. I have four Lightning fighters roughly three minutes out. They have orders to perform a full scale reconnaissance.”
“Understood. The Admiral’s orders are to move the ship to the outer marker or to fire on her. She is not to be allowed inside the defence perimeter. If she does do so, then our guns will be turned on her.”
“Sounds sensible, we can’t take the chance. Let the Admiral know two of the fighters are equipped with Skua anti-ship missiles. They have the firepower to do the job. They are already patched into your tactical systems. The 
Admiral can monitor the operation from your CiC. Wasp out.”
Captain Tobler lowered the intercom, still slightly surprised at the brisk, almost indifferent response he had received from the senior officer of the Fleet’s carrier. He watched the officers move about the CiC, each of them 
helping organise the escorts and fighters to screen the battlecruiser from the potential threat. He looked back at the screen, double-checking the dispositions and noted that the Fleet was properly spaced. He must be missing 
something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Surely the enemy wouldn’t waste one of their ships in a futile rush towards the large number of warships, unless they had a trick up their sleeve?
* * *
Commander Anderson stood in the roughly repaired command centre. The bloodstains from the fighting had gone, but it still looked nothing like a Confed installation. Bishop, Kowalski and Gun were standing near him as they watched 
the large video screen. In the middle, was the oversized and slightly distorted image of General Rivers.
“Commander, good to see you again. I have read your report and understand you have confirmed our agreement with Representative Gun?”
“Yes, General. As per your instructions, all combat units are being loaded onto the ships and prepared for battle. So far, we have nineteen hundred Biomechs woken and the same number still in their capsules. The first group have 
agreed to the proposals and Gun here has an understanding with them.”
“I see, go on?”
Gun looked to the Commander and then at the screen. He appeared a little confused at the image, perhaps wondering how the General was able to speak without being there. Either that, or he was just thinking about something else.
“General. My people fight for two reasons. We fight to be free, we fight for revenge!” he snarled.
“I understand. I will do my best to ensure you get both. Commander Anderson, what is the status of the nineteen hundred? Are they ready for combat?”
“Not quite, Sir. Their discipline is, well, a little unorthodox and they have only the basics of firearm control. They will follow orders though and can fight.”
“How about officers?”
“I have selected a team of officers and NCOs from the people I have here to provide a full complement of twenty companies. You have your two battalions, Sir.”
“Excellent. You have been allocated the civilian heavy transport, the Yorkdale. She has been drafted into service and is the largest and toughest civilian ship in that sector. Ensure the Biomechs are loaded and ready to leave in 
twenty-four hours.”
“What about the rest, Sir?”
“They can stay on the site until they are ready. I assume that is acceptable?” he asked, looking specifically at Gun.
“Yes, they are the last. We are not Biomech!” he stated firmly.
“I’m sorry? What?”
“General, I forgot to add. During our discussion, the term Biomech was raised. It is offensive to Gun and his comrades. They are not happy with the same name used for the enemy.”
“I assume they have something in mind?”
“Yes, Sir. One of the techs here made a joke and referred to Gun as a Jötnar. Apparently it is the name of some kind of mythical giant. The Biomechs have already started calling themselves Jötnar. Most of the personnel here have 
started doing the same.”
“I see. Well, you presented me with a fait accompli. Jötnar it is. It was the intention to name the units as the 1st and 2nd Biomech Battalions. I assume the 1st and 2nd Jötnar Battalion will be the correct nomenclature?”
Gun nodded and then turned and grinned towards Bishop, who did his best to try and avoid looking directly at him.
“There is one final thing I wish you to all consider, especially you Gun. As the leader of your people, and the most experienced warrior amongst them, it would be useful to give you a position in the Confederate Military. 
Command structure is important and this will integrate you into our military system.”
“What position?” asked Gun.
“Leaders of allied or mercenary units have been called many things in the past. We have not done this before in the Army or Marine Corps, though. My suggestion is we make you their Commander. You are both a leader and a warrior. 
This will ensure your people, and ours, understand your status.”
Gun looked at him with a confused expression.
“Ko’mandor?” he asked with difficulty in pronouncing the word.
“No. It is Commander,” repeated Commander Anderson.
General Rivers interrupted them both, seemingly irritated by the time being taken on semantics.
“Ko’mandor is just fine.”
Commander Anderson looked less than convinced at the news.
“Is he being given an honorific title, Sir, or is this an actual military position?”
“This isn’t a joke, Anderson. The Admiral and I are concerned that if the Biomechs, no, I mean Jötnar, are to integrate into our forces they will have to join us formally. Commander Gun and his Jötnar will be an important and 
valued part of the Confederacy.”
Gun looked to Anderson and the others, smiling in his own crooked and slightly sinister way.
“Ko’mandor Gun. Yes, that is it.”
General Rivers moved to the side of the screen, presumably to access an onboard computer on his ship. One of the displays in the room flashed and a map displaying ship dispositions appeared. He continued speaking.
“The Promethean Fleet and all ground forces will leave the colony in twenty-four hours. You are to leave a token defence force, we need everybody you can muster for the counter offensive.”
“May I ask the destination, General?”
“You’ll know shortly, Commander, in the meantime get your people ready. One day and you move out.”
“Understood, General. Is there any news from the Fleet, Sir?”
The General paused for a moment before leaning in closer to the camera, the consequence being his head appeared to grow even larger. Gun stepped back, uncomfortable at what looked like a giant General Rivers.
“The Fleet is assembling and in good shape. We have enough ships and ground forces to start the fight back. Admiral Jarvis has established a plan that once put into practice, will start the slow and steady reversal of our 
fortunes. I don’t know how long it will take, son, we will return every colony to the Confederate fold though, I promise you that.”
“Excellent, that’s what we wanted to hear.”
The officers saluted and the screen faded out to black. Gun started to laugh, the low rumble from his throat filling the room.
“What’s so funny, Gun?” asked Bishop.
“Ko’mandor!” he said with a pause in the middle of the word. He then turned to leave the room. It was just a subtle alteration of a common word, but in Gun’s voice it sounded like something new and alien, a perfect companion to 
the even stranger sounding Jötnar.
Bishop and Kowalski looked in confusion at Anderson. The officer shrugged and smiled back at them.
“Don’t ask me, you’ve spent more time with him than I have!” he laughed. “Just make sure the ships, weapons and troops are ready. You heard the General. There’s a big operation coming and we need every fighter on the front line. 
Kowalski, I want tech teams to double their efforts on the defensive systems. How far away are you from integrating the compound’s defences to our own tactical network?”
“Well, the estimate was another three days. I’ll see what we can cut out and get as much online as possible.”
“Good. If we’re taking most of our forces away from here, we’ll need as much of the automated defence system operational to keep this place secure.”
“Yes, Sir,” replied the two men who saluted and then marched off, leaving just the Commander in the room.
“Jötnar Battalions? They won’t know what hit them!” he said to himself.
* * *
The journey from the surface had been uneventful. The shuttles were already making their way out of the atmosphere and into high orbit around the planet. As the glow from the planet faded, it was possible to make out the flicker 
of stars in the blackness of space.
“There she is!” said Teresa happily.
Spartan tried to lean towards the window, but the combination of the harness and the acceleration forced him down into his seat. He turned his head and strained to see in the direction she was pointing.
Marcus, who was sitting behind them, tapped Spartan on his shoulder.
“Watch yourself, Lieutenant, you might strain something!”
Spartan twisted behind. “Funny!”
He looked out through the small viewport on the vessel, where he could just about get a glimpse of the ship. The CCS Santa Cruz was massive, easily the size of the major capital warships and bristling with antennas and dishes. 
She had been a civilian vessel earlier in her life, but her conversion to a Marine transport had transformed her hull. The retrofitted armour, weapons and point defence systems had been installed to protect the crew and 
passengers from attack. To improve the vessel’s operational capability, the cargo space had been converted to a fully automated hangar and loading bay, allowing the use of landing craft and shuttles. It wasn’t the prettiest 
conversion job, but the end result was a vessel perfectly suited to carrying large number of marines throughout the Confederacy. There was even space on board for training and combat practice.
“She looks different to the Santa Maria,” said Teresa, as she carefully examined the lines of the ship.
“How can you tell?” asked Spartan, himself unable to spot any noticeable changes.
“Their hull sections are different lengths. The Cruz is longer and thinner, especially right there, to the rear,” she pointed.
“What else?”
“The loading bays on the Cruz are larger, she can move more marines and faster. The Santa Maria has more space and dedicated training facilities. Cruz, she is a true ship of war now.”
“You reckon we’ll get some R&R when we get back? We’ve been in action more than we’ve been on the ship!” asked Marcus.
“We’re at war, Marcus, what do you expect? At least we’re going back to the ship. I would think the platoon will get re-equipped, a few days off and then back to wherever the General decides we should be going.”
“Have you heard from the General since we all got back?”
Spartan looked out of the window, thinking of the bloody fighting back on Prometheus, when they attempted an insurrection to escape the prison. The General had been there, right in the thick of things and had come back even 
angrier and more scarred than before.
“Not since we left the Cruz. He has a lot of work to do getting ready for the counter-offensive.”
Teresa twisted around to look at him. “You think there’ll be one?”
“Of course. We can’t just sit about waiting while the enemy gets stronger. The longer we wait, the harder our job will be. If I know the General, he is already getting resources together to start a major operation, and when he 
does you know who he’ll be calling!”
“Yeah, great, thanks, Spartan. So we have our new shiny unit that every commander is going to want to use.”
“Well, that’s what the unit is for. With the armour and firepower our Vanguards have, we can turn a battle around in minutes and with minimal casualties. It’s the right thing to do.”
A clunk reverberated through the vessel as the hydraulic grapples extended from the craft. From the window, the hull of the Santa Cruz crept ever closer, the thick metal ribs now evident as they drifted. Massive rotating 
sections along the length of the ship showed off the state of the art artificial gravity of the transport.
* * *
Spartan pulled himself out of the shuttle, making his way along the ladder and through the collapsible tube. It was fully transparent but sealed and safe from the cruel, airless section of the ship used by machines, robotics and 
shuttlecraft. He moved a little further, until reaching the multi-layered airlock seal. As he reached the first level, a blast of warm air rushed down towards the shuttle. He turned back to see Teresa close behind.
“What’s up LT?” she asked, now ever careful to avoid his name in public.
“Nothing, just checking you’re all awake.”
He turned back, continuing along the ladder and through the final airlock segment into the sealed section of the landing bay. As he emerged, he reached a spider-shaped section with poles and ladders extending out to the hull. It 
was odd, the structure moved slowly in the centre, but if he looked off to the sides of the ship he could see the outside moving move quickly. Grabbing the first pole, he pulled himself along with the speed and timing of a man 
that had done it many times before. It didn’t take long before he reached the end and dropped to the floor. As his feet hit the solid surface, he felt a little shaken, the movement of the metal sending a shiver through his body.
“You okay, Lieutenant?” asked a familiar voice. Spartan straightened himself up and looked towards the voice.
“Captain...Captain Daniels, good to see you, Sir,” he said, automatically saluting.
“No need for that, I see time is working for you. Give it a few more months and you’ll be replacing General Rivers.”
“I don’t think so, I’m just...”
“It’s okay, I jest, of course. I’ve been reading the reports, your platoon has performed exceptionally well, you must be pleased?”
“I am, they have done good work and our mission should yield results.”
The officer leaned in closely to Spartan.
“From what I’ve heard, your mission has really got people moving around here. I don’t know what’s going on, but something big is brewing and you can be sure we’ll all be in the middle of it.”
Marcus and Teresa dropped down beside Spartan. The rest of the marines made their way down and headed for the debriefing room.
“Sir,” said Teresa.
Spartan turned and looked at her and then to Marcus.
“Good, you’re both here. You’ve met Captain Daniels before,” he said, introducing them both to the Captain, before continuing. “I thought you were still with the engineering company, under the command of Captain Mathews. Is he 
okay?”
“Oh, he’s fine. Actually, I’m glad your sergeants are here. Isn’t there another one, Lovett, I think?”
“Where is he?” asked Spartan.
“He went straight to the engineers, something about not being happy with the gyro mounts and the weapon system. Officially, he is going there to help the engineers, unofficially I think he plans on a bit of shouting,” said 
Marcus with a chortle.
“These suits of yours, they’ve been kicking up quite a storm. Some in the Marine Corps are talking about producing a heavily modified version that can be made small and issued to all front line infantry. What do you think?”
“It is interesting. The main advantages of the armour are its strength and defensive capability. If you make it smaller, will it still be able to take a heavy impact from a rocket, explosive or firearm?”
Marcus nodded in agreement and stepped forward, feigning a series of jabs.
“More importantly, when you’re underground and in the dirt can you still take on a Biomech in hand to hand combat and come out on top? I know I feel a lot safer encased in some pretty meaty chunks of metal.”
Spartan lifted his hand, palm forward and indicated for him to move back. He turned to the Captain and continued.
“You were saying about your promotion and the engineers?”
“I was, until I heard about your little operation at the Bone Mill. You have to understand the hostility the reports from Kerberos were about, when we were using some of the CES suits. There are those that don’t like change and 
you’ve been advocating some interesting options. Your results in the last few days though have turned a lot of people around. The time and money looks like it has paid off and the Vanguards, in time, have the potential to become 
maybe even a new wing to the military.”
“Something tells me that is going to piss off a few people,” said Teresa, before realising she was speaking before an officer. She quickly added a sir.
“You are probably right, that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be done though. I pulled some strings with the battalion and helped by the news of your success, I have been assigned to the Vanguards.”
Spartan nodded, stepping aside as a group of a dozen recruits marched past, escorted by a drill sergeant. He watched then for a moment, thinking back to the time not so long ago when he had been doing just the same. They passed 
a doorway from which emerged two officers, one of whom started to bark orders at the group. Spartan shook his head and looked back to his own group.
“That’s great news, Sir, we could certainly do with a few friendlies on our team. Being attached to Hobbs didn’t exactly go smoothly for us.”
Marcus looked a little angry and sighed as he spoke.
“That’s a bit of an understatement. If you ask me, she wanted us to fail. She pushed us out without checking the ground, doing a thorough recon or providing us with adequate support.”
Captain Daniels smiled at them and beckoned for the group of marines to lower their tone a little.
“I think you’ll find my news to your liking then. At the last meeting of the battalion commanders, based upon your reports, the decision has been made to expand the Vanguards. It will take time, but as you know there is already 
a second platoon under construction. I’ve been put in overall command of the company and the transition to a full company. The intention is to form a complete three platoon company with the option to double the number, if and 
when resources and personnel allow.”
Spartan smiled at him, genuinely pleased to see somebody known and competent would be further up the chain of command.
“A double company, so it could potentially hit over two hundred Vanguards? Do we have the equipment to even consider that?”
“The fabrication stations on the transports have been working flat out to break down the surplus and damaged PDS suits. The materials have produced over thirty Vanguard units since you’ve been on Prime.”
Marcus looked surprised at the news.
“Thirty, fully working suits in a few days? Man,...all we need now is bodies to fill them.”
“Quite. Something tells me we will be on the hunt for manpower very soon. In the meantime, I have enough personnel to start training up 2nd Platoon and I’m going to need a few of your seasoned fighters to share their experience.”
Spartan nodded in agreement.
“Not a problem, sharing the knowledge is a good idea. I’ve got some good fighters. They are skilled and careful. With limited numbers, and in the most dangerous places, you don’t want hotheads.”
“Hotheads? Really?” said the Captain, grinning at Spartan and his two sergeants.
“Anyway, this all sounds good. As an independent platoon, we were likely to get wasted doing other people’s dirty work like a unit of attached armed sappers. An actual combat company will give us the men and resources we need to 
make this an effective force. A double-sized company could probably do the same work as a full battalion.”
“Of course. With manpower down, why else do you think they are really going for it? I bet the plan is to reduce the number of marine companies and convert the best to Vanguards.”
Before Spartan or his sergeants could respond, the internal loudhailers started a ship wide broadcast.
“A Code Alpha announcement will follow in three minutes from Admiral Jarvis and the command staff of the Confederacy.”
Spartan looked back from the speakers to the Captain.
“Any ideas on what that is all about?”
“No, I’m going to head to the briefing room. You coming?”
“Yeah, you head on, I’ll join you.”
The officers saluted, Captain Daniels moved away quickly. Spartan turned to his two sergeants.
“I need to see what this is about.”
Marcus nodded and after a quick salute marched off along the corridor. Spartan moved to Teresa who looked inpatient. He reached out and she grabbed his arm.
“I’m going to your quarters, don’t be too long, I’ll be waiting for you,” she said with a mischievous smile. Without saluting, she turned and walked away slowly. Spartan watched her go before the internal loudhailer reminded him 
of the impending message from the Admiral.
CHAPTER SIX
Before the Great War, the colonies of humanity lived in a relatively peaceful and independent status. Each colony replicated many of the dialects, cultures and attributes of their original colonists. The agrarian and heavily 
religious Carthago and the modern, industrious Terra Nova were inevitably going to clash. Their difference of ideals moved first to political disputes and then to an ideological struggle fought by proxy through their allies. The 
fires of war spread through the colonies in a matter of months. It took the deaths of over a quarter of a million soldiers in the sieges of Carthago before a ceasefire was finally called and the Carthago leadership and the 
Centauri League was dissolved. The consequence of the war was the formation of the Confederacy and also the start of the great Exodus.
The Unforeseen Consequences
The briefing room on board the CCS Santa Cruz was packed. Though most of the naval officers weren’t present, the bulk of the command staff for the 5th Reconnaissance Battalion was there in force as well as the XO, Commander 
Malone. Stood in the middle of the room was Lieutenant Colonel Blake, flanked by several other command officers. Spartan recognised the other company commanders, including Captain Mathews, Captain Daniels and his least favourite 
officer, Captain Hobbs. She was stood off to one side with two of her NCOs. He watched for a moment as she spoke sternly to two of them, one was sent off and he quickly marched away.
“You really are one miserable cow,” he muttered to himself.
Towards the back wall was a series of large vertical displays, each one showing pertinent data for the current disposition of forces in the Proxima System. The display to the left showed the Fleet layout, including the circling 
frigates and fighter wings. The Fleet had already left the safety of the gas giant Khimaira fourteen hours ago. The navigation data was missing, so where their destination was could be anybody’s guess. On the middle display was 
the logo of the Confederacy, with the Naval Emblem motif directly in front of the purple banner. From the data being displayed, it was clear that the Fleet was it its greatest state of readiness since the siege of the Titan 
Naval Station. There were more ships in one place than at any time for years and they were poised, waiting for their orders. Marcus tapped Spartan on the shoulder. He was the only sergeant from the Vanguards present, not that it 
was critical as the message was going out to every ship in the Fleet.
“What do you think the news is?” he asked.
Spartan didn’t have time to respond as the large display unit faded out to show a lectern. Around it stood Admiral Jarvis, General Rivers and two civilians in suits to their side. It was unusual for civilians to be present at 
such a military announcement. Even more unusual, the man was wearing his badge of office from the Confederacy. He wasn’t familiar but was obviously important.
“Who the hell are they?” said an unknown officer at the back, before being hushed by the rest of the assembled men as the Admiral spoke.
“Men and women of the Confederate Military. I have several important announcements to make on behalf of the High Command. Before I get into the details, I would like to introduce the Leader of the House from Yama City on 
Kerberos, Dr Hamis and his assistant, Ms Baines. As some of you may already know, in the last three days a number of officials from the fallen colonies have been making their way to Confed military vessels and installations in 
safe areas throughout Proxima. So far, we have representatives at various levels from the colonies on Prime, Kerberos and Agora. The news they bring is truly shocking. Their home worlds haven’t simply changed one leader for 
another, they are suffering one of the worst forced relocations and genocides in the history of mankind!”
A stunned silence met her comments as they absorbed the words. They were all familiar with some of the worse attributes of the enemy regime, but the fact that there was genocide ongoing was still unknown to most of them. Many of 
them had family spread throughout the colonies and the thought of them being left behind in this struggle made their job that much more difficult. While they waited in space, their relatives could already be in damp prison camps 
or being ground to paste to create more Biomech creatures.
“I will pass you over to Dr Hamis, who can tell us more about his firsthand experience under the occupation of the Echidna Union and their armed forces.”
Dr Hamis nodded and stepped to the microphone. He was shorter than the Admiral and wore a grey, slightly crumpled suit. He coughed as he tried to clear his throat.
“Thank you, Admiral.” He turned to the camera and continued. “The situation on Kerberos is nothing like the public image. Since the revolution, the new regime has suspended all political parties, taking over all political and 
civil offices with members of the new Union bureaucracy. This organisation has been filled by the ranks of the Church, the Zealots and other groups that have been working against the Confederacy. This, however, isn’t the worst 
of it. In the last few weeks, the new state militia and police have been taking citizens away to forced labour camps, some to re-education centres and others have vanished after arriving at underground facilities. The Biomechs 
are providing the muscle and the members of the Church the organisation and support.”
He paused for a moment and looked down at some notes.
“A large group in the government attempted a revolt three weeks ago against the Echidna personnel. At first we tried unarmed protest, but anyone who spoke out vanished in a matter of days. The revolt turned violent and in the 
end a number of us tried to remove them by force. It was a disaster. Almost all state officials were rounded up by militia forces, a small group managed to escape into parts of the city, where they are still trying to fight 
back.”
He stopped again and took another drink of water. His hands were shaking and it was incredible he managed to drink without dropping the glass or the fluid. He recomposed himself and continued.
“Before I was able to escape from the planet, with the survivors from the last uprising, I witnessed the arrival of several ships from the Rim containing Biomech reinforcements. The very same ships took prisoners from the camps 
and returned back on the same course. I tried to investigate further but the authorities discovered my people. We were lucky any of us made it out alive. Typhon and his associates have created a reign of terror on Kerberos. 
Forget what you have heard about Zealots, insurgents and the like. It is a very simple system. The colony is now being run by one man, beneath him are his political and military advisors, all taken from the groups we have been 
fighting. The Union now exists as a strong, autocratic regime where conformity to the state is required. The ultimate objective doesn’t seem to be a political takeover, they are preparing the colony for something big and taking 
away people to their camps is a big part of it. From the scattered transmissions we’ve detected throughout the sector, the other seceded colonies are experiencing the same.”
Ms Baines put her hand on the visibly shaken man’s arm. He looked at her and said something that only she could hear. He then moved away and she took his place at the lectern.
“My name is Ms Baines, I am the Doctor’s assistant and also a data specialist with the Department of Defence. It was my team who discovered the disappearance of citizens that started a month ago. We were working alongside Confed 
Special Agents to monitor substantial data streams being sent to Kerberos. Our investigation was halted and the agents have all disappeared. We know just one thing though. A person or faction, known as the Core, is co-ordinating 
the actions of the Union forces. Typhon may be the figurehead of Prime and Kerberos but we suspect he is just one commander, one of possibly three or maybe four, in the entire System that is under the direct command of the Core.”
She paused for a moment to let the information sink in.
“What?” Marcus said surprised. Several of the officers turned to glare at him but Ms Baines continued before anyone could complain.
“Our intelligence suggests the Union is laying the groundwork for the real threat, one that even Typhon doesn’t control. If you think things are bad on the colonies right now, just try to remember that it is almost certainly 
going to get a lot worse. There is a strong link between The Core, the factory colonies and the ships we have seen.”
Admiral Jarvis thanked the two, before taking her place in the centre.
“You have all seen the reports from the secessionists and their new masters. In the past, the rule of law and order was paramount. The hand of the Confederacy was light, more a big brother to help in times of trouble, than an 
overlord. This has changed. The new terrorist regime has turned on our people and enslaved them. This leadership structure, centred on what is being called the Core, matches our intelligence recovered from Kerberos and 
Prometheus. The options are limited, but I believe the enemy command has been sheltering in Alpha Centauri the entire time. By hiding in our secure backyard, they are able to monitor our movements and control their forces in 
safety. The discovery of the Anomaly gives us the chance to turn this around. It also explains how they seem able to slip men and materials out of the Proxima sector right under our noses. I will not share the intricacies of the 
plan yet. It is strictly on a need to know basic for command staff. All you need to know is that of right now, the Confederacy is going on the offensive. No more will we fight rearguard actions or engage the enemy piecemeal. 
Starting today, Operation Perdition has begun. The systematic and thorough cleansing of the Proxima of any taint of the enemy.”
The Admiral paused and looked directly into the camera, ensuring she gained the attention of everybody watching.
“The surviving civilian officials have been rallying to our outposts and ships for the last two weeks. A decision has been made to form a government in exile for all fallen colonies. The senior executives from each colony have 
been put forward to form a new Council for Proxima. Between them, Dr Hamis has been chosen as the civilian leader of the Confederacy in this star system. We do not accept the secession of any colony and representatives have been 
selected for those that are still under the yoke of the enemy.”
She turned to the man and nodded for him to continue. He still looked a little shaken at his position and possibly the shock of the terrible events he had witnessed on Kerberos and through the sector.
“In my capacity as Acting President, I have given Admiral Jarvis and the newly formed High Command of Proxima orders to start the reconquest of our homeworlds. Operation Perdition has been designed around the requirements of the 
members of the civilian council and the capabilities of our current military forces. The Council will operate under the same rules and laws as used in the Confederate Council, but with its scope limited to Proxima Centauri. When 
the System is brought back into the fold, it is our plan to make the Proxima System an independent member of the Confederacy, with each of the former colonies becoming a self-regulating state. Citizens will have greater 
responsibilities to the state, but they will also be able to expect much more from it.”
He waited a few seconds before continuing.
“From today, the Church of Echidna, the Zealots and any of their offshoots are banned and illegal anywhere in the Confederacy. Laws, orders and commands given by them are illegal and are to be ignored. Any decisions they have 
made since the commencement of hostilities are considered null and void. The role of the Church in state affairs has been a problem going back to the start of the war between alliances of Carthago and Terra Nova, generations ago 
in the Great War. Religion will be officially split from the state. It has no place in the role of government. We are a secular society and though any citizen may practice any form of religion, from today it will not be allowed 
to interfere with state or public life.”
This particular point seemed to grab the attention of some of the officers, a few of which were known to come from the ultraconservative planet of Carthago. On this old and battered world, religion was still an integral part of 
everyday life, even though several churches and practices had been banned for decades. There was still resentment on the planet to their treatment following the surrender.
“There is one other point, and this is likely to be contentious. As you will no doubt be aware, the enemy has been taking away our citizens, some of whom have been thrown into appalling conditions in the deep mines and factories 
of the enemy. The worst fate of all is the harvesting our citizens for years to obtain organs and biological material. The information obtained from the horrific camps and facilities on Prometheus is shocking. It confirms that 
the enemy have been creating their biomechanical slaves using our own citizens as the raw material. It would appear that they have multiple sites at different stages of production. Those on Prime have been modifying and 
adjusting complete bodies into violent creatures. The site on Prometheus was creating life forms with completely artificial bones and flesh, just using the brain and nervous system as a control unit. All are horrendous, but they 
leave us with a conundrum. Those Biomechs fighting against us are simply the enemy. They have been programmed and built to hate us. They will never stop, never surrender and show us no mercy. We will show them the same. There is 
another group, however. I would like to show you this footage from Prometheus.”
One of the secondary monitors changed to show a video feed from Prometheus, where a large hangar-type space filled the screen. In the open area were thousands of capsules lined up in columns. A dozen people walked around them, 
checking on their status. Every few seconds a series of blue sparks rattled along the ceiling and occasionally touching the sides of the tubes. General Rivers, in full dress uniform, took his place and pointed a stick at the 
display.
“These are the tanks, the place where the new breeds of Biomechs were being created on Prometheus. These models have only recently been discovered and they represent a marked change in design. Unlike the previous models, these 
are fully artificial Biomechs. Synthetic creatures if you will, the latest version that doesn’t require donor body parts. The brains are laboratory grown, along with the nervous system. These parts are created separately and 
then placed into the fabrication tube where over a period of weeks the rest of the creature is constructed. It is my understanding that this development only occurs on Prometheus, where there has been massive amounts of research 
and experimentation. From our assessments, over four thousands civilians have died in these experiments to streamline the process in manufacturing artificial life. The mind is programmed to the level of a human teenager and when 
they are hatched, for want of a better word, they are fully formed and ready to fight. I have seen and faced these creatures and can attest to their design and abilities. They are tough and one hundred percent loyal to their 
cause.”
He waited, knowing full well that his next comments would have to be very carefully worded.
“It is possible to remove the indoctrination part of their programing, so that when they are hatched they are essentially neutral, no different to you or I. They are no different, regarding problem solving or morality, than any 
man or woman. The first wave of the Biomechs has already been born and they have no programing other than their basic motor skills. There are another few thousand waiting to be hatched on Prometheus, and we have to decide what 
to do with them.”
Admiral Jarvis took over. She sensed the mood in the room was already changing.
“While the General was fighting for his life on Prometheus, a small group of these neutral Biomechs helped his team. Only one survived and it has proved completely loyal and dependable. After speaking with the command staff, and 
the civilian government in exile, it is our decision to allow these Biomechs the opportunity to redeem their name. Remember, these creatures are newly born and have committed no crime. The creature that helped our people has 
chosen his own name. This will make it clearer.”
She finished by pressing a button, altering the video feed of the tanks to a group of Biomechs stood waiting patiently. Each of them wore minimal armour, more clothing than metal, but it made them look more like warriors than 
bestial monsters. The group of five were similar in height, each roughly three metres tall and big in every direction. The one at the front looked to its side and then towards the camera pointed at him.
“I Ko’mandor Gun,” he said with a growl, lifting his right arm on which he still carried his multi-barrelled Gatling gun. He then turned to those stood next to him.
“These are my Jötnar brothers. We pledge service to Confederacy,” he said sternly.
The room erupted as the military personnel started chatting and shouting at the news. It was the first time many of them had heard a Biomech make a sound and the first time any had heard one speak. The ramifications of these 
abilities were only just starting to dawn on them.
“I know this will be hard for some of you to understand. We have Biomechs in our midst who speak to us and offer friendship. The Confederacy has been weakened, almost crippled, and the war has cost us dearly. Ko’mandor Gun has 
already proved his worth. We owe the capture of Prometheus to him and the sacrifices of his people. We have agreed to a deal with the Jötnar, their preferred name. In exchange for fighting alongside us, we will grant them a 
colony and citizenship in the new Confederacy.”
The room once again exploded into shouting and it became impossible to hear the sound from the monitors. Marcus pulled himself close to Spartan.
“I told you they would never go for it. Biomechs fighting alongside us! Most people will see this as a betrayal.”
“Then it is our job to show them they are wrong,” replied Spartan.
Lieutenant Colonel Blake lifted his hand for quiet.
“Please control yourselves!” he snapped, the room quickly fell silent. On the screen, the General was talking but they had already missed the first part of whatever he had been saying.
“...will be a hard campaign to clear every single colony of the taint of the Union. We will not just be fighting to defeat military forces in our homes, we will force them out forever. From the moment we start combat operations, 
this offensive will not stop until victory is ours. The Jötnar have been formed into two new combat battalions and have been placed under the command of Marine Corps officers. They will assist in heavy assault operations, as and 
when they are required. Return to your units and ensure they are fully combat effective. I want all platoons ready for immediate operations with six hours notice. Weapons, armour and vehicles need to be in first class condition. 
Your ship and unit commanders already have their orders and this will be passed down as required. This campaign will be long and it will be hard, but we will not stop until we are victorious!”
The General lifted up his arm as he finished his speech. The microphone easily picked up the applause he was receiving, presumably from on board the flagship where the footage was being recorded. The camera footage pulled back 
to show at least thirty people in the foreground clapping. The display faded back to the Confederate Military motif and lights in the room slowly increased in brightness. Lieutenant Colonel Blake turned to the assembled group 
and the hum of chatter quickly softened until he was greeted with silence.
“Thank you. As you have probably gathered, this message is one of the most important you will have ever seen. The strategic situation has changed and so must we, if we are to turn back this genocidal assault on our way of life. 
The message is being relayed to every Confed ship and military base in the Proxima System. It reminds us that the civilian government structure is in place and has the potential to be stronger than ever before. We are not just a 
fleet. We are a moving Confederacy. Where we go, the Confederacy goes and with us we spread out values and ideas of the rights and responsibilities of our citizens. The battle plan laid out by General Rivers is complex and will 
not be easy. I have no doubts that this battalion will be responsible for some of the toughest missions. After all, that is what we are for. We are always first into trouble and the last back out. Prepare your units for assault 
operations. We can expect to be hitting ships, stations or planets in days, perhaps even hours. Make sure your people are fully competent and ready. We are massively outnumbered, but our single advantage is experience. We have 
better trained and more experienced marines and soldiers, than any unit in the Union. Dismissed!”
Some of the officers started to file out of the room. Spartan and a few others stayed, each looking carefully at the data and reports coming in on the large screens. Marcus looked over to Spartan, nodding his head in agreement, 
presumably with the announced plan.
“Looks like we’re going to war then. Operation Perdition has a nasty ring to it. I assume that was Rivers’ idea to scare the crap out of the enemy. I just hope he wasn’t planning on doing the same for our people.”
“Maybe, or perhaps Rivers knows exactly the kind of bloody campaign this is really going to be. You remember what it was like on Prime. They don’t give up and they have numbers and industrial capacity on their side,” replied 
Spartan grimly.
* * *
Spartan and Teresa sat relaxing in the soft couches in the ship’s recreation room. It was a spacious area and over a dozen marines were sat relaxing or playing games on the various computer systems. There was a pool table in the 
middle of the room. It was much like a traditional table, but the balls were sealed inside and struck with shortened cues that moved the balls when they reached a few millimetres from their targets. It was beautifully 
constructed and balanced so that the game could be played with or without gravity, even when the engines were on full burn. On the outside it appeared impossible, but in reality the balls were held in place by magnets and the 
system was managed by a detailed and responsive computer system.
Sergeant Lovett and Keller were busy playing on it. The sound of the wooden cues almost striking the balls sent the occasional tapping sound throughout the room.
“You’re going down, old man!” whispered Marcus to his opponent, whilst tapping one of the balls gently.
Spartan turned from watching them and back to Teresa.
“Have you heard from your friends on Prometheus? Bishop, Kowalski or Anderson?”
“Not for a while now. I guess they are all busy working on the tech in the base. Last time I spoke with Anderson, he was still working on the Biomechs. Apparently Gun had been causing a bit of trouble.”
“A problem?”
“No, not that kind of trouble. It was about a weapon or something. Anderson wanted to examine it, Gun wanted it for himself to use. You know what he’s like, he does like his guns and knives!”
Spartan laughed though not as loudly as she was used to. It was as if his mind was elsewhere, not really on this conversation.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
She reached out and touched his arm. “Come on, I’m not stupid, tell me.”
“Something isn’t right. I don’t know what it is, but the enemy, their plans and their people. It just doesn’t seem to fit together. On one hand you have the religious insurgents, like those we fought on the Naval Station. Then 
we found ourselves up against the Biomechs and some of the religious organisations on Kerberos.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Well, what is the point? What are these groups after and why are they working together? Then, there is this group known as the Core. What kind of name is that? They must be the people who have been sending the control data to 
the AI hubs in the factories and some of the ships. It’s a clever way of running things, without ever having to be in the same system. I still don’t see why though, what do they get?”
“You’ve seen the news reports from the colonies. Those that have seceded seem to be quite happy to be members of the Echidna Union. You have to admit, their offerings are attractive.”
Spartan looked less than impressed.
“You saw the transmission from the Admiral. The civilians aren’t happy, how could they be? Working, eating and then death! What about ambition, politics, even competition? That broadcast confirmed the entire political system has 
been removed. Now they have Colony officials, all appointed by Typhon and his cronies. I just don’t get the point of it all. Is it simply a play for the Church to take over everything?”
“Don’t forget the signals and the AI units. Typhon wasn’t just giving orders, he was receiving them from the Core, whatever it is.”
Captain Daniels entered the room, accompanied by a small group of his marines. They wandered over and started chatting to Marcus who was still playing pool. He looked about until he could see Spartan sat in the corner.
“He looks serious,” said Teresa, as she watched the officer approach, they both made to stand up.
“Yeah, he does.”
Captain Daniels beckoned them to sit. Spartan nodded and indicated to his side.
“You look more worried than I am, what’s up?”
Captain Daniels sat down, handing Spartan a datapad with a series of maps and charts for the Fleet disposition.
“The announcement from the Admiral about the new campaign and this new strategy. If you look at the numbers, you can see we are up against it. They have more men, more weapons and more resources. There is even a chance they have 
enough ships already built to match us, I guess we’ll find out about that soon enough.”
“You’re right, but that isn’t what’s got you bothered, is it?”
“True. It’s the strategy that is getting me. I’ve been double-checking the intelligence you brought back from the Bone Mill. I’ve been looking over your report, as well as the information you recovered on Prometheus. What gets 
me isn’t the Biomechs, or even the Zealots, it is the one thing that keeps popping up time and time again.”
“The Core?” asked Teresa.
“Exactly!” replied Captain Daniels with a grin.
“This Core faction seems to be the real enemy, the one pulling the strings and the one that seems to always be one step ahead.”
Spartan nodded in agreement. “Yes, I’ve been thinking the same.”
Captain Daniels scratched his chin and gave the impression he was trying to find a way to raise a particular point. Spartan took in a deep breath, expecting the worst.
“I’m considering asking the Colonel permission to assemble a small team, perhaps a single company and a frigate, to head through the Anomaly to investigate. My guess is this faction is hiding under our noses, maybe just a single 
ship on the other side. If we could take out the Core, we would be left with a mess of an enemy with no clear leadership.”
“Surely they will have just general orders though, otherwise they would never be able to function, except with commands from elsewhere?” asked Teresa.
“Yes, that is true. But if we remove their top-level command structure, they will lose much of their ability to network and co-ordinate. It could give us the edge we need in this campaign and might even allow us the opportunity 
to take on their forces piecemeal. My question is, are you in? If I can get the go-ahead from the Colonel, I will need an ad-hoc company and I’d like your platoon to be part of the mission.”
Spartan looked to Teresa who was already nodding before looking back at the Captain.
“Of course. I trust your judgement. If you want my platoon, you have it. Don’t we already have ships on the way to the Anomaly? Can’t they send scouts to investigate?”
“They could, but that is not what I’m talking about. My plan is for a flexible strike team that can raid deep into the System, track the signal and disable it somehow.”
Teresa didn’t look particularly impressed with the idea.
“I don’t understand. We have the name and some pretty wild intel that suggests something on the other side of the Anomaly is sending signals. What if it is a battleship...or a moon? We could waste weeks getting our people 
through and for nothing. I get the impression this campaign will start in days. The mission wouldn’t even make it halfway to the Anomaly by then.”
“Nice to see you speaking your mind, Sergeant,” replied the Captain sarcastically and for a moment Spartan wasn’t quite sure he was serious.
“On our present course, we have already shaved almost a week off the route to the Anomaly. With hard acceleration, one ship could do the trip in a few weeks. Yes, the campaign will probably be well underway, but even if we hit 
it halfway in it could make a big difference.”
“Okay, I can see what you’re getting at. By all means start working on the mission, but in my opinion we should use the forces due to arrive in the next day or so and get them to scout ahead. If it is a small target, they can 
send fighters or frigates in to do the work. If it is bigger, then we’ll need more than a company anyway.”
“Fair enough. I’ll put the information on the Boss’ table and see what he thinks.”
“I’ll ensure they’re ready, whatever operation you have in mind. Good luck selling the idea to the Lieutenant Colonel. I’ve heard he is a real hard case and he isn’t the Vanguards’ biggest fan.”
Captain Daniels stood up and indicated to his NCOs that it was time for them to leave.
“Don’t worry about it, Spartan. I know you are the king of pissing people off. I’ll persuade him one way or the other!”
* * *
Admiral Jarvis left the briefing room first. A small group quickly followed her, including the new President and General Rivers. They walked briskly, moving fast to avoid the cadre of press and lower ranks waiting to ask a 
question. General Rivers pushed ahead until he was walking alongside her.
“General, the CiC, we have things to discuss,” she said curtly. It was in such a tone that he immediately knew that there was to be no further discussion until their arrival.
The corridors on the warship were quite narrow and big enough only for three people to move along at a time. The briefing room was only a hundred metres away from the CiC that was buried in the heart of the ship and behind the 
thickest armour. Contrary to what most people expected, it couldn’t be placed directly in the centre of the ship, as this would put them in an artificial gravity part of the vessel. Instead, the command sections of the ship were 
enclosed in a large rotating cylinder inside the triple-layered skin. The only visible difference on the exterior of the ship was that this part was slighter wider to accommodate the extra layers of armour.
The group approached an airlock seal that was being kept open by a marine guard. The Admiral stepped though first and turned immediately into the CiC. The command staff were already busy, as always. She marched in, walking 
directly to her strategic map in the middle of the open space. General Rivers and the rest of the group followed and stood around the map.
“Before I go over the details for the operation, there is one critical area we have to discuss.”
“The synthetic life technology?” asked Dr Hamis.
“Quite. The ability to create life, even that as crude as the Biomechs, could be the greatest gift and weapons ever bestowed on humanity.”
“I agree. With it, we have the ability to grow adults at an accelerated pace. To create warriors when needed, or even a completely functional labouring class for the Confederacy. The moral and ethical dilemmas created by this 
technology are unparalleled.”
“I take it you would rather I didn’t give the order to destroy all research or equipment then?” asked General Rivers.
They turned and looked at him, astounded by his comments, before realising his was being sarcastic.
“I suggest you secure the equipment and data and we will revisit this topic at the conclusion of Operation Perdition. Acceptable?” asked Dr Hamis.
General Rivers looked over to Admiral Jarvis who gave him the nod.
“Just remember, Mr President, if the war turns against us we might have to revisit this topic earlier than you intended.”
Dr Hamis nodded slowly in agreement.
“I understand. Let us hope for all our sakes that it will not be necessary.”
The Admiral turned back to the computer displays and brought up the latest, most detailed strategic map of the Proxima Sector. The planets, colonies, stations and fleets were all marked, as well as flashing yellow boxes on 
unknown data, such as the reports from the Rim.
“Mr President, are you one hundred percent sure on your intelligence? Your reports from Kerberos said Euryale was definitely the target and an attack is expected within the week?”
“Yes, Admiral. The planet is at the top of a list of targets and my intelligence team and agents were able to establish the names of three vessels out on the Rim that are already making their way to it. It isn’t a matter of if 
an attack is going to happen, it is simply when will it happen.”
“I understand.”
She turned to General Rivers.
“We can be at the planet in just under five days at present speed. Will that be sufficient time to assemble your forces for ground assault?”
“No problem. The Marines and most of the Army units are already prepared for combat. The only issue is the reinforcements on Prometheus. They can be on their way in less than twenty-four hours, but that means they will still 
arrive several days after the rest of our forces.”
“How about the defences there? Can Prometheus hold?”
“Commander Anderson has really achieved a lot in a matter of weeks. The new route through the storms is now fully charted and can be navigated in three days. I have co-ordinated the construction teams from here to get the route 
mined and protected, should Union forces attempt an assault on the planet.”
“Good, we also have half a dozen frigates now on standby, plus the locals have put twice that number of private security vessels around the stations.”
“Yes, Anderson was telling me about them. They really don’t like to have military vessels poking about,” he said with a grin.
“I suppose the final point is what we do with the Jötnar Battalions?”
General Rivers looked a little uncomfortable before he answered.
“They are already aboard the heavy transport ship Yorkdale, as are the six Army battalions on their three transports. They have a small escort, as well as the Vengeance for heavy fire support. Anderson is still on Prometheus and 
working on the technology there as well as the Jötnar still in the tanks.”
“I understand he has been looking at converting part of the site into a medical centre?”
“Not just that, he has brought in civilian contractors from the stations to help repair and modify the shipyards. He is of the opinion that in six to eight weeks he will be able to restart equipment fabrication. He thinks it 
might be possible to even start small ship production.”
“Excellent. Prometheus is proving to be a surprisingly useful resource. I want all available forces sent to meet us at Euryale. Once the operation is completed, it is my intention to keep moving. We will follow your strategy of 
planet hopping until each planet is retaken. Please contact Commander Anderson and remind him that he will need to form agreements with the local contractors for additional security. I suggest the next batch of Jötnar might 
prove handy as base security.”
General Rivers nodded in agreement. The Admiral turned to the group, pushing her hands out in front as though she was about to make an impassioned plea.
“We start Operation Perdition today. Our first objective is Euryale, we will then move through Proxima until each and every colony is recovered. Please let your civilian vessels know they should either follow the Fleet or head 
to the outer marker at Prometheus so they can be directed through to the planet. We cannot guarantee their safety anywhere else.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The golden age of exploration is often thought of as the colonisation of Earth’s Solar System. The first small base on the moon was quickly followed by substantial colonies on Titan and Mars. These were humanity’s first fragile 
steps into the unknown. Even when the mining of the asteroid belt began in earnest there was still peace. Minor private squabbles were extended when the harvesting of helium from Jupiter reached its peak. Even with commercial 
rivalries of many companies, Earth was able to maintain strict control of the System. That was until the day the new bases found they could manage without help. The decline of Earth started in parallel with the successes of the 
Mars and Titan bases and their transformation into the first colonies.
The Decline of Earth
Spartan was awake, he had been for the last hour. As he lay there he watched the gentle movement of Teresa as her body lifted ever so slightly with each gentle breath. It was the first real rest he’d had in months and he was 
still not used to it. Being an officer certainly had it perks, but he was finding the meetings, briefings and talking to be a chore and a real hindrance. The more he thought about it, the more he realised he needed to expend 
some energy and the more violent the better! He crawled out of bed and headed to the shower, moving as quietly as he could in the small space that was classed as his new home.
As he moved away, he looked back at Teresa who was still fast asleep, undisturbed by his movement. For a moment he considered waking her, she was needed in the training hall for a class, but he relented. She could use a few 
extra minutes. He went back to the doorway leading to the shared shower block for the officers. It was far nicer than the communal showers for the enlisted men and women, but still poor by any other standard. As the water 
started to flow, the internal speaker system whistled to indicate an impending announcement.
“This is the XO. We are now approximately twenty hours from Euryale. Scout drones indicate possible enemy presence in the area. All units are to conduct readiness drills under their commanders. Infantry units are now placed on a 
sixty-minute readiness roster. Get the birds ready and make sure combat units are fully effective prior to our arrival!”
Spartan continued washing, yet all the time thinking about the message. He’d been concerned about the campaign for days now. He might not have the details, but it was pretty obvious that wherever they were heading would require 
a blunt, full on assault. He’d already experienced that kind of fighting in multiple theatres and the results were always bloody. Not that he minded the fight, in fact he much preferred a full on fight than some of the more 
clandestine work he’d been involved with on Kerberos. There had been a total media and communication blackout in the Fleet as they made their way to what could be the largest operation of the war. He sprayed water onto his face, 
only to feel cold air. Turning quickly, he spotted the almost totally naked form of Teresa stood in front of him.
“Room in there for me?” she asked coyly.
Spartan shook the water out of his eyes and smiled at her.
“Of course, there’s always room in here for you. Come on, get over here!”
She stepped in, the water running down her. She stumbled slightly on the wet floor and almost crashed to the ground. Luckily, Spartan reached out and grabbed her around the waist just time to avert disaster. As she regained her 
balance, she leaned and kissed him firmly on the lips.
“You heard the broadcast?” he asked.
“How could I not? Is that really what’s on your mind?” she asked, feigning insult.
Spartan turned her around and helped run the water along her neck and back. She relaxed and said nothing for a moment. She turned to him. The water seeped into her hair then down over her face and body. Spartan appeared 
transfixed.
“Hey!” she cried, running her finger along his face. Her clothes were now completely wet, making it skin-tight across her athletic form.
“What is your plan today? Doesn’t Daniels want to talk to you about something?”
Spartan continued looking at her, unable to take his eyes of her.
“Uh, yeah. I’m going to meet with the commanders of the platoon shortly. I just need to keep that bitch Hobbs out of my way.”
Teresa turned around and pulled off her now dripping clothing, leaving herself completely naked. She stood about a metre away from him, the water running along her skin.
“You want me to go and have words with the mean lady?” she said, and then threw herself at him, forcing him to the side of the shower.
“I have a few ideas to take your mind of it!” she said with a laugh.
* * *
Spartan marched smartly along the corridor and past the scores of marines who were busy getting their weapons and gear ready. To the untrained eye, the ship appeared to be busier than usual. To Spartan, it looked like a ship 
preparing itself for war. He’d already seen two sets of engineers welding additional internal mounts for automated weapons systems. The Admiral was taking no chances with being boarded. It reminded him a little of the weapons 
system in the prison compound on Prometheus. Back then, all it took was one well-informed man who was able to neutralise the entire system through the computers. An officer, dressed in his parade uniform, approached. Spartan 
glanced over at him, realising it was Major Howard. He saluted as he reached him. The Major was the ship’s executive officer and the second most important on the ship, after the Captain.
“Lieutenant Spartan isn’t it?”
“Sir.”
“I’ve just come back from a meeting with the Colonel. Looks like your ideas for the Vanguards have just been given the thumbs up.”
Spartan looked a little confused. He didn’t recall speaking to the Colonel about any particular plan.
“Ideas, Sir?”
“Well, Spartan, you only have yourself to blame. You’ve been out on too many adventures, more than most marines would expect to see in an entire career in the Corps,” he said with a wry smile.
Four marines in full PDS armour marched past, each of them carrying an L48 carbine. It was rare to see this level of security on the Santa Cruz. Things were definitely changing, hopefully for the better.
“The Colonel has been given one of the toughest nuts to crack. You’ll get the details shortly though your CO. Rumours are spreading that you are heavily involved in the General’s pet project.”
“The Jötnar?”
“Of course,” he said, as leaning in closely.
“The Colonel is not a fan of using the enemy’s tech in our own units, he is suspicious of their equipment and the possibility of it being used against us.”
He then straightened up before continuing.
“This operation is going to be a proving ground for a number of critical decisions. In a few days we will know the true value of both the Vanguard and the Jötnar Battalions. I hope that they are all worth it.”
Spartan sighed inwardly. He always seemed to be facing two fronts, one against the enemy and the other against those on his own side.
“I’m sure all Confed forces will perform their tasks admirably, Sir.”
The Major smiled widely at him.
“Lieutenant. You may not have been an officer for long but, holy crap, you’re starting to sound like one already!”
He moved off down the corridor leaving a slightly confused Spartan.
“Why do they want to keep testing us? Will we have to win this war on our own, just to prove we’re worth having?” he said quietly and turned around, resuming his walk to the training hall.
A clanking sound rattled along the bulkhead up ahead. Spartan automatically moved off to the side and took cover behind part of the bulkhead’s thickly ribbed sections. The sound reminded him of the Biomechs on Prometheus, where 
their heavy footsteps was usually accompanied by violence and battle. Dark shadows expanded along the floor until four marines appeared. Each carried electronic gears and were moving slowly in front of a mechanical device. 
Spartan moved out from the cover of the bulkhead, to the bemusement of one of the marines. The device was a heavily modified mule, one of the four legged robotic load carriers he’d seen during his recent action at the Bone Mill. 
It moved in an ungainly fashion, with both pairs of legs facing inwards, so that what were effectively knees pointed to the middle of the unit.
“What are you doing?”
“Sir,” replied the first man, saluting crisply as he tried to hold onto two boxes under his left arm.
“We’re running tests on the new mules. This is one of the combat mules that is ready for assessment.”
“Combat mule?”
“Sir. We have three units that are modified with armour and weapons for potential front-line support.”
He called over to the rest of the group, who stopped for a moment and moved back to Spartan. The mule waited next to them, its body moving slightly as it constantly adjusted its position to stay upright and stable.
“Tell the Lieutenant about the specs on the combat mule, Corporal.”
“Sir! The Mule M13 is designed to provide close fire support for marine units. As well as carrying additional supplies and ammunition, it can operate as a mobile pillbox or to use for suppressing fire in difficult situations.”
“How tough is it?”
“Very. The legs have been improved with reinforced actuators and the software is fast enough to be able to operate with one leg damaged or out of action. The unit can sustain repeated fire from medium calibre firearms and still 
function.”
Spartan walked around the mule, noting the extra plating fitted over the important components and electronics. It was a bizarre shape, very similar to the walking stretcher arrangement he had seen previously.
“Weapons and capability?”
“We’re not at liberty to say just yet, Sir. The unit has been in development for years, but these three combat models have been rushed into trials prior to the operation. You will have to check with the Colonel if you want to 
know more, Sir.”
Spartan nodded and indicated for them to carry on. They didn’t wait, evidently the leader of the group was impatient to get going. The combat mule was an interesting idea, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with an autonomous 
machine carrying weapons. If the enemy were able to obtain control, how would we stop them turning them onto us? Still pondering the new piece of equipment, he returned to the last leg of his trip. One more bulkhead and he was 
outside the entrance. Ducking down, he stepped inside the training hall and was instantly hit by the smell of oil and grease. Along one side of the hall were a dozen Vanguard suits, surrounded by a full platoon’s worth of 
marines. Some were checking weapon magazines. Others were reading the hastily cobbled together manuals for the suits.
“Officer on deck!” shouted the Platoon Sergeant, a tall, tough looking man in his forties. Like most marine sergeants, he was lean, incredibly fit and hard as nails.
Spartan stopped, looking at the marines.
“As you were.”
The Platoon Sergeant approached and saluted smartly.
“Lieutenant Spartan, 2nd Platoon, as requested. They are acquainting themselves with the revised suits.”
Spartan nodded and walked over to the suits, examining the first two.
“I have been asked by Captain Daniels to brief you on my experiences so far in 1st Platoon. Up till now, this was the only full-time Vanguard unit that is fully trained and equipped with these suits. Some of you fought alongside 
me on Prime with the CES suits. That was an ad-hoc unit that was formed for one mission. The Vanguards are the next step. These new suits are tailor-made with our requirements in mind. They are equally suited for ranged or close 
quarter combat work and can be adapted with different weapon loadouts, depending on the mission. Even more important, is that this unit has been created exclusively to use this armour as a matter of course.”
He looked out at the group, recognising at least two of the marines from that terrible episode on the perimeter of New Carlos. He moved his gaze to the rest of the marines, trying to spot any that he may have fought alongside in 
previous actions.
“How many of you have used the suits so far?”
Every person in the hall lifted their hands.
“Excellent. Captain Daniels has already shown me your dossiers and I must say, there is something you have that I like. Maybe because your profiles remind me of myself?” he said with a chortle to himself. He was met by nothing 
but silence.
“You have been chosen because you are the most independent marines in this battalion. You jump first and you fight first. That is exactly what we need in these units. What we do not want, is a one-man army. The Vanguard is 
special, but it isn’t invulnerable. You can guarantee that wherever we are sent we will always, and I mean always, be outnumbered. We will never be outgunned though!”
He walked along and stopped next to a very rough, worn looking suit. He could see a number of marks that indicted bullet impacts. There were even substantial scratch marks, either from falling debris or possibly close action 
against Biomechs. He reach out and touched the dented but unbroken metal armour.
“The Vanguard suit incorporates the improvements and ideas from seven separate operations against insurgents, Zealots and Biomechs. These operations have taken place on the ground, in tunnels and in zero-g combat. Every time we 
used the CES suits in battle we assessed their strengths and weaknesses. This is the culmination of hundreds of marines’ input and it is, in my opinion, the most important piece of equipment on this ship after the marine’s 
rifle.”
He pulled open the front and with a series of hisses and clunks it opened up to reveal its cramped interior. The armour was designed to fit around the marine, rather than being driven by one.
“Give me a hand, Corporal,” he asked as he stepped up into the suit. The marine pulled a series of straps around Spartan and then pulled on three levers that clamped the internal cushioned webbing into place around him.
“Okay, Sir?”
“Do it. Close her up.”
With the tap of three buttons the suit sealed up, and in less than ten seconds, it was powered up and fully operational. Inside the suit, Spartan felt massive. He was easily taller than every person in the room and now had the 
capability to rip through walls or even jump out into the vacuum of space. Tapping a switch in the right arm, he activated a series of relays that finished with the reinforced visor sliding up to reveal his face to the assembled 
marines. Due to the shape, his shoulder appeared slightly lifted and the same height as his head. It was a menacing and powerful look.
“The suit isn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it will allow you to do things no normal marine ever could. I have personally used these suits to fight Biomechs up close with edged weapons and firearms. As you can see, I have 
full mobility and speed, much more than in the CES suits.”
To demonstrate, he moved to the middle of the training hall and dropped into a low fighting stance. The suit was much quieter than the earlier models, the creaks and groans now far less noticeable. He punched and jabbed with a 
series of quick moves, the suit moving as fast as he could move his own body.
“It is reasonable to expect us to be able to punch, kick and grapple, if necessary. Just remember that you have mass and weight on your side. If you’re on a ship and you slam against a bulkhead you could cause substantial, 
potentially catastrophic damage. I want you to use the training units to work on your close combat skills.”
“Sir!” called out one of the shorter marines.
“Yes?”
“Shouldn’t we be spending out time working on our shooting, Sir?”
“If you should, then don’t you think I would have said that?” said a slightly irate Spartan. “Those of you that fought on Prime, raise your hands.”
The two marines he had spotted previously lifted their hands.
“Explain to the rest of this unit what we faced and how we responded on the surface.”
“Sir!” barked the first man.
“On Prime we fought a rearguard action against superior enemy forces. We were dropped directly into combat and engaged Zealots and Biomechs in close quarter combat and firefights.”
“The result?” demanded Spartan.
“Total victory, Sir!”
“Exactly. We get the toughest jobs and we need to be ready to fight any foe at any distance. You are marines and that means you can already shoot. The odds of us being used for fire support are slim. If and when we are used, I 
promise you it will be right in the middle of the action. In this situation, we need to be able to fight and cut our way through the enemy to our objectives. It is critical that you can wrestle, knife fight and fence from inside 
the suit. You don’t have long left, I suggest you get practicing, and fast!”
The door opened and in walked Captain Daniels and a group of officers from the other platoons and companies. Spartan quickly saluted as they entered.
“Lieutenant. Glad you are here. They are interested to see what the Vanguards can do first hand in close quarter work. I told them you would be happy to demonstrate some of their fighting prowess. Apparently, not all of them are 
convinced the Vanguards won’t be overrun, due to lack of numbers and ability to use cover as effectively as marines.”
“Marines? We still are marines, Sir. I recall we fought in close quarters, without issue, underground at the Bone Mill and in the ruins of New Carlos. On every occasion we were heavily outnumbered.”
“I know,” he replied with a forced smile. “Perhaps you could indulge them?”
“Sir,” replied Spartan.
Captain Hobbs stepped forward with a cold expression on her face.
“How many marines will it take to bring you down, Lieutenant?”
Spartan took two steps forward, the heavy metal of the suit clunk on the metal flooring.
“How many have you got?”
Hobbs, apparently unfazed by his approach, signalled to a team towards the rear of the room. The group had been quiet until now, from the look on their faces they were all too familiar with her.
“This is one of my most experienced and decorated squads. You might recognise some of them from the Battle of the Bone Mill.”
“Battle?” laughed Spartan, instantly regretting his obvious enjoyment.
“You supported us during the operation to recover the tech? That was a successful mission, one I think you’ll find aptly demonstrated the Vanguards.”
“It did. You were insubordinate, undisciplined and too eager to rush ahead without obeying the strict chain of command. As you are aware...”
Captain Daniels stepped in to intervene.
“I have to meet with another platoon shortly, perhaps we could get on with the demonstration?”
Captain Hobbs nodded, obviously not impressed at the interruption of her rant. Spartan looked at her carefully as she waved over the squad of four marines. Each was already wearing armoured PDS suits and none were carrying 
weapons. They moved to the series of lockers on the inner wall and proceeded to remove sparring weapons. Three took out what looked like padded metal clubs, the fourth took a padded metal sword. Hobbs walked up to them and in 
one quick action removed the padding on the sword to reveal a thin, blunted piece of curved metal. She did the same with the other three until the entire squad was stood before Spartan, each carrying metal weapons and eager for 
a fight.
“Four, is that it?”
Hobbs said nothing. Her expression was unsettling though. Spartan had seen that look before, usually from somebody who had something up their sleeves. He shrugged inwardly. All he could do was his best and just hope she hadn’t 
done anything stupid. He looked at the four marines, who in almost perfect synchronisation lowered their own visors and lifted their weapons ready to fight.
“Everybody else get back, we need the hall!” he barked and then lifted his arms into what looked like a fighting stance.
“Ready?”
The marines all nodded.
“Come on then!”
The four ran at him, each spaced apart by two or three metres. Spartan lowered himself slightly, his legs bent and relaxed. The first man reached him and started stabbing with the metal spear. The left arm of the Vanguard armour 
was reinforced and equipped with a modified excavator blade. A quick parry from Spartan easily brushed the blow aside. He swung in his right arm but had to redirect to deflect attack from the other two.
“Where is the fourth?” he growled to himself, still beating off the attacks from the marines.
Under normal circumstances he may not have noticed the movement, but something caught his eye. Glancing upwards, he saw the shadow of the last marine moving along the ceiling. The marine was above him!
“Shit!” he snarled and without thinking he dropped to one knee and rolled to the side. No sooner had he moved than the fourth man crash down next to him, missing Spartan by just a metre and slamming his heavy metal rod down to 
the ground.
The other three positioned themselves in a loose line. Spartan simply stood there, not moving, glaring at each of them. To one side, he noticed Hobbs, it looked like she’d signalled to someone. But he may have misread it. All 
four of them rushed him, each waving their weapons.
“No more messing about!” he growled.
Dropping both arms, he struck upwards and hit the first two in the chest with the tip of the arms. Both flew backwards and onto their backs, neither moved. The remaining marines kept at arm’s reach and swung for him, trying to 
attack the more delicate parts of the armour or possibly the face. It didn’t matter, neither was able to cause any substantial hits. Spartan pushed forward and immediately felt as though several hundred kilos of weight had just 
been added to his left arm. A series of alarms started flashing inside the suit. A computerised voice spoke from deep in the bowels of the armour.
“Armour malfunction, firmware overwrite. Safety protocol activated.”
One by one the computerised components shut down, until he was left with just basic motor functions and almost no power. The visor darkened as the photosensor shut down, now unable to detect light levels. Knowing that in just a 
few seconds he would be immobile, Spartan struck the override switch that transferred full manual control of the armour. The visor was still darkened, so he struck out with several meaty punches with his arms. They felt slow and 
cumbersome, his muscles strained as he moved the deadweight. Something clanged, he must have struck one of the marines.
“Where the hell is it?”
He rummaged around in the right arm, trying to find the switch that was connected to the cable override to the visor. He thought he had it, but a heavy impact on his left leg caused him to drop down and lose his position. As he 
hit the floor, he finally found the lever and pulled on it hard. The visor popped open, exposing his head at least allowing him to see. One of the marines was looking down at him, holding the blunt sword above his head. With a 
mighty effort Spartan dropped to his side and kicked out, striking the man and knocking him down.
“One left.”
Panting as though he had just run a double marathon he stood up, the malfunctioning suit still in one piece and partially operational. The final marine stood in front, the metal rod in one hand and shaking his head.
“What’s the matter? Too much work for you, Corporal?” shouted Spartan.
Not waiting for an answer, he stomped slowly forward and towards the man. Sensing danger, the final marine stepped back, looking for cover.
“Stop!” shouted Captain Daniels, who was stood off to the side with the rest of the officers and marines who were watching the bizarre matchup with interest. Spartan stopped and flicked the escape switch. The suit clunked and 
part of the front popped open. He pulled the release cords and dropped out of the suit and onto the floor. It wasn’t enough, Spartan straightened himself and marched towards the panicking marine. Free of the confines of the dead 
weight, Lieutenant Spartan felt fast and free as he moved up to within one metre of the man.
“Next time, don’t hesitate. Strike hard and strike fast. We don’t have the luxury of second chances in the Vanguards. Understood?”
“Sir, yes, Sir!”
Daniels and the others moved closer as several of the marines helped their comrades out of their dented and buckled armour.
“What the hell happened to you?” asked Captain Daniels.
“That’s what I would like to know. The suit powered down and started installing some kind of subroutine.”
“How is that even possible?” asked a sceptical Captain Hobbs.
“Sir, look!” called one of the marines who was busy looking about inside the suit.
Daniels was first there, pushing his head inside the armour and examining the mass of electronics.
“What is it?”
The marine pulled his head back out from the suit, in his hand he held a mass of thick cables, each one neatly burnt and clipped.
“Part of the loom and the backup to the main power unit has been burnt right through. It couldn’t have happened in the fight. If you look here, the cut ands burn marks are too precise.”
Captain Daniels looked confused.
“What are you implying, Corporal?”
“I’m not, Sir. I’m suggesting that there are only two things that could have happened here. Either somebody must have had a blowtorch accident during maintenance or else it was left like this on purpose.”
“Blowtorch? Inside the suit!” repeated Spartan. His tone suggested he was far from convinced by the explanation.
“I agree. It does seem unlikely. Are you sure there is no external damage? A tool or weapon could have worked its way inside during the training or even regular maintenance?” asked Daniels.
“No way, Sir. I’ve just checked the area around the damage. The armour is intact, not even a scratch on the metalwork. I reckon you could take a 20mm cannon round in that plating and still walk away.”
Captain Hobbs moved closer to the suit and examined it with a cursory glance, then went back to Captain Daniels and Lieutenant Spartan.
“If you ask me, this simply shows the suit is accident or error prone. A simple malfunction or problem with maintenance, and the suit is rendered useless to all. All, but the most bestial of men,” she said looking directly at 
Spartan.
Captain Daniels could see and sense their hostility but appeared unwilling to try and place himself between them. He did speak up, though.
“If a fighter jet or weapon malfunctions, what does a marine do? He improvises, he overcomes. That is our mantra and one that Spartan himself aptly demonstrated. If I am not mistaken, he was able to eliminate three of the four 
attackers and then chase down the fourth. This was even with a barely functioning suit. I would call that a damned successful test, Lieutenant.”
Spartan stared intently at Captain Hobbs as he replied.
“Thank you, Sir. The engineers have done some excellent work on the suits.”
He then turned back to Captain Daniels.
“I don’t understand how this kind of damage could occur. I’ve been in action against heavy weapons and sustained substantial battle damage, and still not seen this kind of internal damage. I’ll get the crews to double-check the 
other suits for similar issues.”
Captain Hobbs started to look uncomfortable as the other two officers discussed the damage. In an attempt to steer the conversation away into another direction, she cleared her throat. Captain Daniels paused and looked towards 
her.
“I concede Spartan is quite capable in a physical confrontation of brawn and strength. The question is, can he do the same for his entire unit? You see, being an officer is more than just a uniform. Some of us are meant to be 
officers, others are better suited to other roles.”
Spartan took a half step forward, his brow tightening with tension.
“Really? Is that what you say to yourself every morning?”
Captain Daniels grabbed Spartan and dragged him away from the group.
“Lieutenant! That is enough.”
Once they were out of earshot he spoke quietly. “You have to watch your mouth, Spartan. People like Hobbs will have your ass. She is a career officer and I promise you, she will have friends in high places. Understood?”
Spartan looked around him towards Hobbs, and then moved back.
“Yeah, I understand alright.”
Captain Daniels shook his head in frustration and moved back to the rest of the group.
“I suggest we keep the testosterone for the battlefield. There are more than enough enemies to go round for all of us.”
“I agree,” answered a jubilant looking Captain Hobbs.
She indicated to several of her junior marines to follow her. Moving towards the door, she stopped in front of the now dripping and filthy Spartan. Compared to the rest of the marines in the room, he was by far the roughest 
looking but also the most physically intimidating. Even the Platoon Sergeant paled in comparison to the strength and bulk of the man.
“Look at you, Spartan. Really, are you what we need? You have only just moved up through the ranks and lack some of the more, well, civilised behaviours we would expect in the Marine Corps. If you want to lead marines, you need 
to be more than just a man that bleeds and sweats!”
She turned smartly and headed through the door, her small group of marines following closely behind. Spartan’s face turned from calm and passive to taut anger. It was only quick intervention by Captain Daniels that stopped him 
stepping forward.
“Stop, you have work to do here, don’t you?”
Spartan said nothing, his face giving the Captain all the answer he needed.
“Get back to work, Lieutenant, I’ll check on you and your unit later. Understood?”
Spartan looked back at him, his face relaxing just a bit before he nodded in agreement. Captain Daniels shook his head once more, realising that it was starting to become a habit when he was around Spartan. He almost said 
something unkind, before the images of the fighting on Avagana came back to him. Spartan had fought hard and well and his actions had not only helped win the day, he’d also saved a good number of marines. He gave him a grim 
smile, not much but it was something and then made for the door. With the officers now gone, it was just Spartan and the rest of the marines who were waiting for their introduction to the armour and the unit.
“Right, now that the niceties are out of the way, I think it might be an idea to introduce myself.”
A few of the marines started to laugh and the tense atmosphere in the training hall instantly evaporated. Spartan could sense it as well. He could feel his muscles started to ease and his heart rate slowing. He took a slow, deep 
breath before starting.
“My name is Spartan, Lieutenant Spartan. As you may have already worked out, I have only recently been promoted to Lieutenant. I’m not the best shot, not by a long margin. What I do have, is the hard won experience of pit 
fighting in the arenas on Prometheus. That place has taught me many things, not least how to fight and how to defend myself in battle. This ability to fight the enemy, up close and with any weapon, is an ability I feel has been 
lacking on the Corps. We have the kit and the weapons, but we stand off and fight at range. Since I’ve been a marine, I’ve been in action almost continually since the overrunning of the Titan Naval Station. I have seen action in 
space and on Kronus, Kerberos, Prime and of course, Prometheus. The kind of fighting I’ve seen has been an equal share of firefights and close quarter combat. I’ve fought the Zealots, Biomechs, insurgents and also assholes like 
Captain Hobbs.”
More laughter reverberated around the hall.
“None of this really matters to you, other than for you to know one thing. I have seen these suits in action and have detailed combat experience of them. I suggest you listen carefully to what I have to say and then take it to 
the rest of the platoon for your first deployment.”
“Any questions before I begin?”
Three marines raised their hands.
“You!”
“Sir!” replied the nearest. “How reliable is the armour? If it breaks down in action what do we do?”
“Good question, son. The suits, especially these new improved models, are now extremely reliable. The power plants are strong and, unless you sustain damage from substantial weaponry, you should be able to stay in the field for 
several months before a recharge is required. As for what happens if the suit fails, well, as you saw just now the joints are counterweighted to take as much of a strain from the motors, actuators and your own muscles. Even with 
a failed power plant, you will still be able to move and walk. Just don’t fall over!”
Another marine lifted her hand.
“Our unit, Sir? Is it true that the unit is being officially named as the Vanguards?”
“It already is. The rest of the marines on this ship form the commandos, the best of the marines in the entire Corps. We, however, are something else. Within the battalion, the Vanguards are to be the new elite assault unit. Our 
name tells you exactly what we are designed for. Expect to drop into combat and then to fight back out. A day will come where I suspect we will conduct operations completed unsupported; that day will come when our numbers are 
sufficient.”
The third and final marine raised his hand.
“Why are you called, Spartan, Sir?”
Spartan smiled at him. “Because that’s my name!”
He turned around and looked back to the suit he had been wearing for the demonstration. Waving his hand, the rest of the marines approached and formed a loose circle around the armour.
“I’ll go over the basics of the suit with regards to combat. The first thing to know is how to get in and out of the damned thing as quickly as possible. In an emergency you will need to be able to get in, strapped down and 
powered up fast. On the flipside, if there is trouble and you need to abandon the suit, you need to get out even faster. Don’t forget, there is a built-in explosive self-destruct unit on every suit. Don’t trigger it by mistake. 
Now, who is going to volunteer to get in the Vanguard armour first? I want the fastest possible time.”
None of the marines pushed themselves forward. Each of them was watching the rest suspiciously.
“Fair enough, you then!” he pointed to one of the women who was busy doing her best to avoid his gaze.
“Platoon Sergeant!”
The Sergeant was already in position, moving with speed and almost no sound.
“Sir!”
”Time this marine.”
He nodded in agreement.
“3...2...1...Go!” shouted Spartan.
The marine pulled open the front of the suit and threw herself into the armour to the cheers of the other marines.
“Keep going, the timer stops when you are buckled down and the suit is ready to power up!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Titan was chosen as the first major colony to be built, following experiences learnt on the moon station. The cold, distant moon of Saturn was chosen due to its unusual and unique atmosphere. Of all the places in the Solar 
System, it was the one that offered the greatest possibilities for finding life or for setting up a habitable colony. It was the Huygens probe in the early twenty-first century that discovered dark rivers of water ice. It was a 
humble start to the era of colonisation and expansion. Titan was the first colony, but not the last.
The Lost World
No matter how many weeks Commander Anderson worked on the arid rock of Prometheus, he still found the heat uncomfortable. Local engineers, recruited by the Confed military, had installed additional cooling equipment but it just 
wasn’t enough. Perhaps for some of those with experience in hard labour it was acceptable, but for the Commander it was like nowhere he had ever been. Others knew the place colloquially as Hell, some were a little more 
imaginative with the name Inferno. The surface ran with lakes and rivers of molten ore. The heat was ever present in the hollowed-out tunnels and chambers deep in inside the surface layer. Yes, Hell was probably a good 
description, he thought to himself.
He wiped his brow with a cloth and then looked up to the three transports, each were waiting on the platform. They were not the heavy transports used by the Army and Marines, these were civilian vessels than could ferry people 
and supplies up to the major vessels waiting in orbit. He was only familiar with the Tamarisk though, the Q Ship he had used to get to Prometheus in the first place.
From his viewpoint behind the thickened glass, he watched the latest group of Jötnar moving up the platform and onto the vessels. Commander Gun, an odd character by any standards, had already established a basic command 
structure with the Biomechs being divided up into fifty-man units led by a Captain. It was a strange system. He had tried to instil the basic of command structure but the self-righteous Gun had got his own way. Fifty Captains 
had been selected personally by Gun, after a series of tests that had could only describe as barbaric. Thirty-eight had left with Gun and the combat battalions, the other twelve had stayed behind to help train more Jötnar and 
help with the next generation waiting in the cylinders.
The first wave of Jötnar, full two battalions, had left days ago on the massive transport the Navy had commandeered, along with a number of recently recaptured cruisers and frigates. The CCS Yorkdale, as it was now known, was 
hardly a ship of the line but it was well built and contained ample space for their mammoth proportions. It had been modified in less than a week with point defence weapons. It was loaded with landing craft and spare parts.
A small group of marines were waiting on the platform near the ramp leading up to the Tamarisk. Each wore the usual PDS suit to protect them against the heat and hostile atmosphere. One tapped his head, indicating to Anderson he 
was about to speak. Anderson, however, was busy looking at the vessel. She had served him well in his recent adventures. The engineers had done fine work patching her up and refitting her armour and weapon systems.
“Bishop here, Commander, we’re nearly loaded. I’ve just received contact from the orbiting transports. They say they are due to leave within the hour. Are we still planning on sending the Jötnar reinforcements to join them?”
Anderson lifted up the military intercom unit from his belt to his mouth.
“That’s affirmative. General Rivers wants every combat unit we can spare sent to the front. From what I’ve heard, he is expecting heavy combat and these Jötnar are going to cause some real mischief when they get involved. The 
first two battalions are already earmarked for the follow-up wave. You will have four captains and their squads, so another two hundred Jötnar in your own transports.”
“Understood, Sir.”
“You have my coded data to pass to the General upon your arrival. Ensure only General Rivers or the Admiral get to see it. The data is of a highly sensitive nature, as you know. Not even the Jötnar can have access to it.”
“Affirmative. We’ll be in touch once we reach the Fleet.”
“Good luck, Sergeant, give my regards to Captain Haris. Have a safe trip.”
The man and his team followed the Jötnar into the vessel and the loading door started to lift up, quickly sealing the ship. From the side it looked like the most unlikely of warships. The vessel was squat and fitted with three 
large spheres nears the engines with a long beam surrounded by the cargo hold. As the engines powered up, the other two vessels did likewise. Unlike the Tamarisk, they were smaller craft designed to dock with the larger 
transports sat in orbit. They would be the last of the ships to be sent to join the Fleet. The latest orders from General Rivers had instructed him to use all local forces to create a strong defensive position on and around 
Prometheus. It was a difficult job, made more difficult by the request for most of his experienced marines and engineers.
He turned away from the windows and headed back along the main corridor that led into the compound. The tunnel had been cut with the blood and sweat of thousands of slaves. The tens of thousands of Biomechs that had fought on 
the battlefield were a testament to the crimes committed in this very place. The only reason Commander Anderson had not pushed for the plug to be pulled on the newest of the Biomechs, was purely down to the fact that the current 
generation appeared to be wholly synthetic. They were the result of years, possibly decades, of gruesome research and experimentation by the Zealots and their allies. They were the latest, and possibly the final iteration of the 
Biomech production line. He continued along the tunnel, considering the terrible events that had occurred there.
Making his way back, he passed multiple work gangs as they carried pieces of machinery or laid down new cables. Some of the work looked rushed but other parts, especially those related to the cooling or power systems, were 
buried deep inside the rock. He rounded a corner to find three marines chatting to a woman. He was about to walk past when he spotted Misaki. She had been a prisoner on the site, along with General Rivers, Spartan and the 
others. As he understood it, there had been some kind of trouble between her and Spartan, but he still wasn’t completely sure what had happened. Ultimately he didn’t really care, providing the complex on Prometheus was made 
fully operational as quickly as possible.
“Sir, Sir!” came the unmistakable voice of a woman calling out. He stopped and looked towards the group. Misaki had turned and stood at the front facing him.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Bishop said he was going on a mission. He wouldn’t tell me where. Do you know when he’ll be coming back?”
“Then he has done what any marine should do. He should not and cannot talk to people about missions and deployment. You should know about that?”
“Of course, but...”
“No, Misaki, there are no buts. You will see the Sergeant when he is next here and not a moment before.”
She looked disappointed, there was something else about her. Something he couldn’t quite get his head around, but it was there. It was if she was asking, but not really as interested as the words suggested. Next to her, the 
other three marines stood and said nothing, waiting for him to leave.
“Marines. Don’t you have work to do?”
“Sir!” came the smart reply and in seconds they were moving out along the corridor and away from Anderson and Misaki.
Anderson started to walk in the direction he had previously been travelling along. Misaki recognised his body language and walked alongside him.
“Your work here, on the programming system. How is it going?”
“Okay. The factory systems are very simple, most of the higher functions were being handled off-planet. This place was more like the assembly plant for a computerised ordering system. With the order part gone or blocked, we are 
left with the final stages but no data or management software to control it.”
“Yes, I read the report from the tech team three days ago. You think you have found something else?”
“Well, they won’t let me into the main system, but from what I have seen it would be pretty easy to upload part of our civilian production command software to work on the support shipyards. We can’t replicate what they were 
building, but we will be able to fabricate machines, armour and ship parts quite quickly.”
“Have you been security cleared?”
“Yes, we all had to go through the procedures. I’ve been helping Bishop and he put me through the Level Two security system so I could assist with the atmosphere and air conditioning system.”
“Interesting. With a large number of the military personnel gone, I am having to rely upon greater numbers of civilians to work on the industrial parts of this site. Bring me your proposals in an hour, along with a full 
presentation. I’ll bring my Sergeant Kowalski along to take a look. If he likes what you say, I think you might find we’ll get you drafted.”
“Thank you, Sir, I’ll get right on it,” she replied and then jogged away into the heart of the compound.
He watched her go, thinking quietly to himself that she seemed to be both an asset and a potential problem. Since his arrival, he’d heard rumours of her and Spartan, and now this with Bishop. He wasn’t trying to be judgemental, 
but he was being careful. Weaknesses could lead to all kinds of potential problems and he had enough of those to resolve already.
Commander Anderson continued at his same pace, until he reached the observation platform that gave a sweeping panoramic view of the circular heart of the base. Many tunnels, corridors and structures led from the centre. It was 
right here that some of the heaviest fighting had taken place during Spartan and General Rivers’ uprising. Prometheus was far from the richest colony in the Confederacy, but what it lacked in civilisation it made up for with raw 
materials, industrial capacity and more importantly, the storms. The great plasma and electrical storms that raged for hundreds of thousand of kilometres around the planet made it deadly to approach. Only those with the secret 
route, established by him and his crew, could make the trip in days. For everybody else, it would take months unless they ran the gauntlet and risked their ships.
“Sir, we’re loaded and ready to go. I’ll be in touch when we rendezvous with the Fleet,” came the familiar voice of the recently promoted Sergeant Bishop.
“Good work. Have a safe trip and guard that data!”
“Understood, Sir, we won’t let you down.”
* * *
“Okay, marines, this is it,” announced Lieutenant Colonel Blake from the front of the now familiar briefing room on board the CCS Santa Cruz. Every officer from the battalion was crammed inside and two of the doors had to be 
left open so more could hear what the commanding officer had to say.
“Thirty minutes ago, advance elements of the Fleet, led by the Crusader, arrived outside Euryale. They have run directly into the path of a full scale Union invasion of the planet.”
A murmur of shock and excitement spread like wildfire. Blake lifted his hand for silence.
“This is not entirely unexpected. We had intelligence that the enemy had plans for Euryale, though not quite of this magnitude. The enemy forces are substantial, much more so than our previous assessments had led us to believe. 
There are at least five captured, or possibly mutinied, Confed warships and over two-dozen vessels of an unknown origin. These include some configured as the size of cruisers. We suspect these latter ships have been constructed 
in secret, such as at the yards on Prometheus, though it is unclear how they have amassed so many without us knowing. We have General Rivers and his team to thank for shutting that place down or else it might be even more. It is 
a powerful fleet, but one Admiral Jarvis is convinced we can defeat.”
A few of the officers turned to look in the direction of Spartan. It was well known that he and the others marines had been captured and forced to work on the planet for many weeks, before starting a violent and successful 
uprising. Spartan was a little uncomfortable at the attention and glad when the officer continued his briefing.
“There is something else. We have received word that Typhon himself may be present. Rumours have come our way, from agents on fallen colonies, that he has been moving between the colonies on a heavily modified warship. Until 
now, we thought this more mere speculation. If you look here, you will see this ship is like nothing we have seen before.”
The image on the display showed what looked like a bloated version of a Confed heavy cruiser. It was bristling with small bumps and antennas.
“The size and design tell us nothing of its capabilities, but it does match two reports of Typhon’s ship, the Leviathan. As you are by now aware, Typhon is the head of the Echidna Union. The enemy are completely loyal to him and 
his troops. If this is his ship, then it cannot be allowed to leave.”
Spartan looked at the enemy ship closely. He was by no means a naval expert, but it was clear this ship was larger and substantially different to their own ships. He was intrigued by the many bumps on the vessels. He turned and 
spoke quietly to Marcus.
“What are they?”
“The bumps? A communication array or maybe a weapon. I don’t know,” he said with a bemused look. One of the officers nearby gave them a stern glance and for a second Spartan felt like a scolded schoolboy. He opened his mouth to 
speak, but Marcus quickly struck him with his elbow.
“Remember where you are, Spartan,” he whispered. Spartan gave the fellow officer the best and most polite nod he could manage. At the front, the officer was still speaking.
“The entire planet has been blocked by scramblers for over two weeks now and only a ship in close proximity can make use of its sensors. Upon arrival, the vanguard of the Fleet came across the enemy in the middle of their ground 
attack. Reports from Admiral Jarvis indicate most of the fleet is away from the planet and operating a blockade, whilst the transports and cargo ships are landing forces onto the surface. They are expecting an attack and are 
trying to keep our ships away from Euryale.”
On the screen, the display showed the enemy fleet in a large formation and guarding the main routes into the System. A smaller number of ships orbited the planet nearby, as well as another dozen smaller vessels that were 
presumably scouting the area for Confed forces.
“It gets worse, the planet is already under bombardment by warships and it is making defence of the surface almost impossible. Whether they obtained intelligence we were on the way, we do not know. All we can tell is that they 
beat us by twelve hours and have already landed ground forces and our civilians have been forced to retreat underground.”
He pressed a button to show the three-dimensional tactical map of Euryale. It showed the planet and the ships in close proximity to the planet. There were two substantial manmade structures on the surface. The first was a major 
city and the second the planet’s spaceport. The port was a massive structure capable of handling civilian cargo vessels as well as military ships.
“As you already know, Euryale was a dead world. The surface was sterile and its atmosphere weak. Atmosphere generators have been working there for over a decade, but it will be half a century before it will be workable as a 
viable colony above ground. Nonetheless, there is almost full gravity, a fully working magnetosphere and enough of an atmosphere to allow civilians in basic suits to go about their business. There are over thirty outposts on the 
surface, most research or mining operations. The largest structure is the city of Oenopion. On the surface it looks like a relatively modest city but only fifteen percent of its total mass can be seen from orbit. Most of the 
site is underground and accessed via elevators and tunnels. There are a series of rail and road systems throughout the city. Euryale is a rich source of iron and most of the major corporations have operations on the planet. 
Estimates for the population are over seven hundred thousand, almost all civilian workers and engineers.”
Spartan listened carefully. The numbers seemed almost meaningless. A colony with a hundred, or a million, was still a lot of people needing help. Seven hundred thousand, most of whom were trapped underground, sounded like a 
tough assignment to him. Lieutenant Colonel Blake pointed to the map and an extended image of the surface of the dead planet.
“This is just the background for the operation. Admiral Jarvis and the Fleet will be taking care of the action in space. What is of more importance to you, is what you will be doing. We are due to arrive at the planet in…” he 
looked at his watch, “ fifty-four minutes and you will have your work cut out for you.”
He paused, for what seemed like effect, until a group of three marines walked in and brought him a datapad. The entire room waited as he read the data before handing it back. They saluted and quickly left the hall.
“Admiral Jarvis has sent us an update. The Fleet is already heavily engaged and keeping enemy forces occupied. The vanguard has smashed through the scouts and is heading towards the enemy fleet as we speak. The Crusader is doing 
what she does best, getting into the middle of the enemy and tearing the guts out of them. The Admiral says they have already broken though a light rear-guard and destroyed a captured War Barge.”
A cheer ran out through the hall, the echo bouncing sharply from the walls. War Barges were an old class of ship dating back to the Great War and were now just used as a defence platform. They were slow and crude by modern 
standards, but very well armoured and equipped with massed arrays of conventional artillery and missiles.
The room quietened as Blake continued.
“General Rivers has assessed the situation from his close vantage point with the vanguard. He has organised a complex and aggressive operation to quickly take control of Euryale. We have substantial forces available for this 
task. As well as the 5th we have two battalions of marines on board the Santa Maria and the Bunker Hill. Army support includes nine full infantry battalions, along with their strike planes and heavy armour. This gives us a 
combined force of over twelve thousand marines and soldiers. More are on the way form Prometheus that will add another eight battalions, as well as our new bio-engineered friends.”
He indicated towards Major Howard who was stood, waiting patiently for the Colonel to finish his introduction.
“Sir.”
The Major then turned to the assembled officers. He wore his dress uniform, resplendent with medals and carrying his service sword on his belt. The weapon was an anachronism from centuries earlier, but it was a tradition held in 
high regard in the Navy and Marine Corps.
“As you might expect, as the best in the Fleet, we will be taking on the hardest mission. The 5th will lead and the rest will follow. I expect every man and woman to do the Battalion and the Confederacy proud in the next hours.”
He turned to the map that was still showing the layout and disposition of enemy forces around the city and spaceport.
“The basic plan is simple. The main force, consisting of most of our marines, will land and engage enemy forces at the spaceport on the surface. This will immediately halt the arrival of further reinforcements for the enemy. 
Once fully engaged, a secondary assault will be attempted to force entry into the city that is located over fifty kilometres from the spaceport. The 5th will be spearheading the assault onto the surface and will be closely 
followed by supporting units. Alpha, Bravo and Charlie companies will be landing at the primary spaceport on the surface. It has already sustained damage and there is fighting ongoing. Marine detachments from the Santa Cruz and 
Santa Maria will provide support for this part of the operation. Bunker Hill will stay in reserve as will most of the regular Army units.”
He paused deliberately, knowing that the rivalry between the Army and Marines would simply force them both to try and outperform each other.
“I will be leading this part of the assault and we can expect heavy and bloody resistance. The Army will follow us in, as and when we need them and their heavy equipment.”
The maps moved in even closer to show parts of the city, ruined roads and several destroyed railway lines. The planet was clearly inhabited and had a well-established road and mass transmit system.
“It is no accident the Union selected Euryale as the first step in their final conquest of Proxima. It is lightly protected and of more use to us than them. Remember, it is their intention to enslave every man, woman and child 
in the Confederacy. They already occupy the most populous colonies in Proxima Centauri. We need Euryale. We need the colony, its people and most of all, we need to prove that the Confederacy has the right to lead in this Sector. 
Euryale must not fall!”
He tapped a key and the map adjusted to show the spaceport and the city of Oenopion. A series of rail tracks and highways linked the two together. A large number of black marks and smoke trails showed that significant fighting 
must have already taken place in the last few hours.
“Fifty kilometres from the spaceport, the city of Oenopion has already been penetrated by lead elements of the enemy. Scans show a number of armoured vehicles destroyed or burning on the surface. Troops are being landed in their 
hundreds and then travelling to the city where they are forcing their way inside. The surface of Euryale is unfriendly at best and downright dangerous when it gets bad. Visibility is poor and there are frequent storms and strong 
winds. This is one of the main reasons for so much of the city being below the surface. We can assume the underground entrances, through the elevators and tunnels, will already be blocked and defended by Union troops. 
Especially, as they know we are here. They will not want us breaking through their lines. A frontal assault by marines or army units would be suicidal under the circumstances. The operation to take the city will be led by none 
other than Captain Daniels and the newly founded Vanguard Company. There is limited space to land and very heavy resistance is expected. It will be a tough first assignment for the company.”
He turned to Captain Daniels who waited patiently to the side. Spartan watched carefully as he moved to the middle. Captain Daniels was the youngest and most junior officer present at the front of the hall. First, he turned to 
the commanding officers.
“Thank you for giving my company the honour of leading this attack. I know there are some who doubt the wisdom of spending such time and resources on the unit, but this is the situation for which they were created. With the 
thickest armour and the best close quarter combat marines in the battalion, I firmly believe there isn’t a wall we cannot penetrate.”
He then looked out to the marines in the hall.
“The Vanguard Company will land fifteen minutes after the primary assault on the spaceport. That attack should draw away sufficient firepower to get the heavy armour onto the ground. Once the Vanguards have obtained access to 
the city, additional forces from Force Recon and the Combat Engineers with the CES armour will follow to clear their way inside. The chosen landing zone is a partially ruined retail area on the northern side of the city. It has 
the widest tunnel leading below the surface and is the weakest defensive structure within the city limits.”
The Colonel nodded in agreement and then indicated he wanted to speak further.
“Strike aircraft from the Wasp and Ark Royal will lead the Vanguards in and perform two sweeps of the area. The landing will take place within sixty seconds of the strafing runs to give you the element of surprise. We are 
talking about the ultimate expression of shock and awe here. For this part of the operation, as with the spaceport, the Bunker Hill and the Army regulars will wait in reserve. They will not be landed until we have the spaceport 
secure, so we can land the big birds. Oenopion is accessible by landing craft and shuttles only. Marine and Army transports need the spaceport.”
He zoomed out on the map again to show the planet and the ongoing space battle.
“We don’t have long. Euryale is just hours from disaster. Remember, we hit the ground running, just like always. Marines hit the spaceport and cut off the enemy supply line. The Vanguards smash into Oenopion and destroy any 
potential air defences. Then they break into the city and link up with the defenders. Assuming we are successful, follow-up waves of marines will flood the colony with Army support if needed. Any questions?”
A flurry of hands went up, some from the senior officers but a few from the lower ranks. Spartan also raised his hand.
“Yes?” said the Colonel, pointing to Spartan.
“Sir. The amount of ground to cover is substantial. Should the Army, with its greater manpower, be used against the spaceport and our entire battalion used together against the city?”
“Lieutenant, isn’t it?”
Spartan nodded.
“The plan is already in motion. The spaceport is the main landing zone for armour, heavy equipment and the internal transportation system for the surface of the planet. In approximately ninety minutes, the enemy will be able to 
push out and secure the city, cutting us off completely from the people underground. If we do not hit the spaceport quickly, we will never get to them. Ideally you are correct, we would hit one or the other first. Time isn’t on 
our side, we need our best forces in two places at once. As of now, there is no way inside without fighting our way in. That’s where your company comes in, Captain,” he answered and looked over to Captain Daniels at the same 
time.
“You will hit the city with a small, but powerful force. They are no more access points to the city that we can use, other than by directly landing in the urban sections. Once you are underground, you can expect to find your 
space is limited. There will be little room for manoeuvre. It will be a killing ground for regular infantry but your armour should give us a chance to break in.”
Captain Hobbs, who until now had been silent, lifted her hand.
“Sir. Is there no access from the spaceport? Can’t we just land everything there and then fight our way underground? There must be tunnels or underground subways from the transportation hub connected to the spaceport?”
Major Howard took the question.
“No, there is nothing usable. We have checked our tactical data and also orbital imagery, there are no underground routes to the city. There are plans and some construction work underway on a rail system, but it extends only 
one-fifth the way to the city do far. There is simply nothing under the spaceport but rock and ore. It is designed this way to keep spacecraft, supplies and dangerous materials away from the access points of the city. In this 
case, it is the only reason the enemy hasn’t already secured the planet. We have to neutralise it though, as they are landing heavy weapons and equipment at this point, as well as scores of transports with ground troops.”
Spartan lifted his hand once more and he instantly spotted the look of frustration on Major Howard’s face.
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
“Any intelligence on numbers?”
“Your company commanders have already received data on the specifics. Overall, we estimate over ten thousand troops on the surface, including an unknown number of Biomechs of different models. We have also detected armour from 
colonial armouries, including tracked vehicles. Check your datapads with your commanders for specifics.”
No more hands went up and the mood in the room was electric. The operation wasn’t just an infantry landing, it was a massive combined arms operation and for many of them, bigger than anything they had ever seen. The Lieutenant 
Colonel nodded to Major Howard to end the briefing.
“Good. I’m sure your units will all perform admirably and in the way I would expect any marine to conduct himself. Remember, every combat operation conducted is fluid. Force disposition and resources change, but always remember 
the goal. Maintenance of the aim is critical. Spaceport and city are the twin objectives. Both are to be secured quickly and efficiently. Improvise and overcome, so we achieve our objectives with the minimum losses to our forces 
and the civilians. We expect reinforcements with the Vengeance battlegroup to be with us in less than thirty hours. If all goes well, they will just be needed to help mop up. Good hunting, people!”
* * *
“Damage report!” shouted Commander Andrews from his position deep inside the CiC. The ship shuddered from another massed barrage of cannon shells that slammed hard into her armoured flank. Though the vessel was of considerable 
bulk, it was possible to feel the impacts this far inside the ship. The tactical officer called over from his seated position.
“Sir. We’ve sustained light damage to the starboard flank. One weapons battery out of action. The ablative layers have sustained minor damage. No hull breaches reported, Sir.”
Commander Andrews pulled down his intercom from the mount on the wall.
“This is the XO of Crusader. I need frigates to screen our flanks, fast!”
A flurry of confirmations came back from the myriad of smaller vessels that swarmed the capital ships like flies.
“Admiral. We’re within range of the main guns of the enemy. Shall we return fire?”
At the back of the CiC, looking like a skulking cat, Admiral Jarvis stood, flanked by two marine guards.
“Negative, hold your fire and proceed to the target.”
“Aye, Sir.”
Admiral Jarvis looked back to the tactical map of Euryale and the many ships circling the planet. Around it, and also in a large group a distance from the planet, were a series of icons representing the enemy forces. On one of 
the screens was a direct video feed from the Bunker Hill, the largest of the three marine transports.
“Are you sure about this?” asked the General.
“Which part of the plan?”
General Rivers selected a section of the map and highlighted it on her screen. It showed the largest group of ships representing the bulk of the enemy capital ships and a large number of troops transports.
“Here. From what I can see, you are sending the first wave of our forces, eight capital ships and nearly thirty escorts, up against two-dozen warships and transports plus an unknown number of escorts. Wouldn’t it be better to 
move to the planet and hold them off while my ground forces land.”
“No. We need to keep the big guns off your Assault Division as long as possible. You only have seven military transports with their twelve battalions of troops, in place. It is barely enough for the job they have. I cannot 
afford to risk your men, General. One false move on my part and we will lose the best trained and equipped ground forces in the whole of Proxima. Twelve thousand men doesn’t sound a lot, until you no longer have them.”
She zoomed back out on the map to the front of the Confed Fleet, specifically two green columns of warships containing most of the capital ships.
“As planned, my primary force is advancing in two groups, Crusader leading the first column and Rear Admiral Churchill with the Royal Oak, leading the second. That gives us a total of five armoured cruisers, one assault cruiser 
and the Crusader. We also have three squadrons of heavy frigates and a dozen destroyers in the attack. The gunboats and fighters of the Wasp and Royal Oak will help as a missile screen and provide torpedo fire support. Our force 
is sufficiently powerful that they will have to face us or risk annihilation by splitting up.”
“I agree. It is a formidable force, but what of the enemy? I am not sure I have seen these vessels before. If you hit trouble, my troops will have no defence against a counter-attack.”
“General, if my ships can’t hold them off, then we are well and truly finished anyway. This is all we have!”
She brought up several screens showing the schematics and disposition of the enemy vessels ahead. The ships contained some similarities to the vessels in the Confederation Fleet but there were some marked differences, the first 
being their colour scheme. They were more numerous that the capital ships, but contained vessels not much larger than heavy frigates and light cruisers. Before either could speak, another series of blasts rattled down the hull 
of the ship.
“Admiral, the enemy fleet is forming up into a line of battle. Their larger vessels are presenting a solid wall with their primary weapons ranked along our bow. There’s at least one, possibly two, air defence cruisers in the 
centre. They are trying to jam us, but it looks like the Leviathan may be the larger cruiser in the centre of the second formation. Shall we refuse the line and…”
“No, Captain, my orders are clear. Both columns will continue forward towards the centre of the enemy forces. Put us on a direct course with the Leviathan,” she paused and looked at the view screen with the General, “one moment.”
General Rivers nodded and the Admiral wasted no time in grabbing her intercom.
“This is the Admiral. All vessels are to commence full burn. Execute tactical formation Trafalgar. Fighters and strike aircraft are to form up with the lead vessels. Proceed with defensive fire. Keep our bows clear.”
She replaced the intercom and lowered herself into one of the many chairs built into the CiC. Around her the other crew did the same, as they prepared for harsh acceleration of the warships. Until now they had been coasting 
towards the enemy, the ships thrusters used just to alter course and to maintain formation. With the after engine pushing the craft forward, the gravitational force would push the crew to the rear of the compartments. The 
rotating sections slowed and then stopped, their benefits now being halted by the opposing gravitational forces. She turned back to the General on the view screen, who she could see was busy issuing orders to his own force. 
Another series of shells struck the warship, the vibrations moving through the heavy bulkheads. Admiral Jarvis looked over to the XO who nodded, letting her know the ship was withstanding the attack.
“In that case, Admiral, I will take your leave and conduct the first phase of the ground assault.”
“Understood, General. Good luck!”
His image flickered and vanished on the displays.
Admiral Jarvis examined her tactical maps and virtual cameras so she could place herself directly into the centre of the battlefield. The enemy ships definitely matched the data she had seen from Prometheus and the Anomaly. She 
tapped a button bringing up the blurred image they’d recently examined and called over to the tactical officer.
“Have we been able to ascertain their capabilities yet?”
“No, Sir. They appear to be slightly smaller than our cruisers and have heavy power plants and engines. There appear to be eleven larger ships, each of a similar configuration to the smaller vessels, but with no obvious weapon 
mounts or gunports. The two larger ships show over thirty turret mounts. We assume they must be air defence vessels, possibly support ships. The larger cruiser is the one we think is the Leviathan, Typhon’s flagship. The smaller 
ships, I would guess, are based primarily around their weapons systems. They have no rotating sections of obvious crew space, so it is fair to assume they are short range with minimal crew on board. The larger ships are perhaps 
more transports? That is all.”
“Interesting,” she said quietly.
On the tactical map, the two columns of ships were now a matter of three hundred kilometres apart. They were easily within range of projectile weapons, and well in range of missile or drone systems. From her screen, she could 
see the line of enemy ships, bright lights flashing on their hulls as they fired their primitive but powerful artillery towards her ships. These weapons were not much different to those used hundreds of years earlier and were 
substantially less effective than the railguns on her vessels.
“Admiral, I’m getting reports from Rear Admiral Churchill, he says three of the frigates providing a skirmishing screen have just exploded.”
She tied to stand but the straps on her chair held her down.
“What! How?”
“Unknown, he says Wasp picked up a massive energy spike from three of the larger ships before thermal sensors on the frigates went off the charts. It took three seconds, and then they just exploded. No lifeboats, no survivors!”
“Dear, God! Is it a weapon system or are the ships sabotaged?”
“Unknown, Sir.”
She sat for a few seconds, stunned by the news. On the display her Fleet was now well in range. The amount of defensive fire from the enemy was creating a cloud of ammunition hurtling towards the two lead ships. Both vessels 
were well equipped with point defence turrets and all were fully engaged trying to explode shells before they reached them.
“Two hundred kilometres, Admiral, we have fired reverse thrusters. We will be inside their line in three minutes.”
“Excellent work, Captain. Get your crew ready, this battle is about to start.”
A continuous rattling sound hammered along the superstructure, as dozens of rounds and chunks of shrapnel smashed into the hull of the Crusader. A third of the enemy fleet had their guns trained on the massive warship and their 
fire was starting to wear down the think frontal armour on the ship.
“Breaches on Levels Three and Seven. Two batteries out, forty-one casualties.”
“Deal with it!” barked the XO.
More shots smashed against the ship.
“Heat surge detected!” shouted the tactical officer.
“Get some frigates in front of us, protect our bow!” responded the XO, in an even louder voice.
The CiC lit up with the chatter of pilots and their commanding officers of the warships. It took just seconds for a number of the frigates to alter their positions in front of the columns. Each of the ships carried between fifty 
and two hundred crew and their loss would be keenly felt. It was their job though to screen the Fleet and they did their job well.
“Here it comes!” yelled the tactical officer.
A series of red lights flashed up around the CiC, followed by sparks and a number of fires. Some of the displays went blank as power or circuits were damaged.
“Report?” shouted the Captain.
“We’ve taken heavy bow damage. Our frigate screen is gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Just gone, Sir. They must have taken most of the impact for us. I have severe breaches in the bow, engineers report eighty-one casualties. We can’t take more damage there, Sir.”
Admiral Jarvis sensed the deciding part of the battle was nearing. She pressed several buttons to contact Rear Admiral Churchill. His face appeared and, to her dismay, she spotted fires burning in his CiC and a number of bodies 
on the floor.
“Sir. We have suffered catastrophic damage, we must withdraw.”
“Negative, Admiral. Stay the course. Move up frigates and cruisers to protect your bow and ready your gunners, it is time.”
There was a short pause, interrupted by the internal speakers inside the Crusader blasting out orders from the XO. In just seconds, the two columns would meet the enemy fleet head on. It was a risky strategy, but with both 
columns meeting the enemy’s flank they would hopefully smash through in two points. Each ship would crash through the line and be able to fire broadsides in the bow and stern of the enemy vessels as they travelled past.
“Understood, Admiral Jarvis. We will see you on the other side.”
She looked back to the Captain, who was watching the navigation display as they moved into position. It was just seconds away now.
“5…4…3…2…1…” called out the tactical officer. Then an odd calmness travelled through the ship as the reverse thrusters stopped their burn. The ship coasted though the enemy formation at a crawl. The XO grabbed his intercom and 
roared through its microphone.
“All gunners, open fire! Let them burn!”
CHAPTER NINE
Particle beam weapons research was outlawed following the destruction of the Carthago shipyards. The disaster occurred during a routine test thirteen years before the Great War. A tragedy that killed over twenty thousand people.
The weapon used an ultra-high-energy beam of atoms or electrons, to damage a material target by hitting it and disrupting its atomic structure. The speed of a beam would approach that of light in combination with the energy 
created by the weapon would negate any realistic means of defending a target against it.
Direct Energy Weapons – An Introduction
The battle to retake the Proxima System had begun. It would prove to be the most significant battle since the Siege of Titan, similar in scale to even the largest battles of the Great War some fifty years earlier. In the opening 
minutes of the battle and before the two main forces of ships were fully engaged, more than a hundred crew had died from long-range fire. It was a savage start that would number the casualties in the thousands.
The primary stage of the operation began with the two Confed Navy columns smashing into the Union line. It was truly a sight to behold, as thousands of shells, projectiles and bullets tore through open space. Shreds of metal and 
bodies drifted in the void, yet the ships continued onwards. The climax of the battle was yet to come. The Union forces maintained their position, each vessel presenting its flank to the Confed Fleet so that they could maximise 
their firepower while protecting their vulnerable bow and stern.
At the front of the Confederate columns, the lead ships were heavily damaged. The immense amount of raking fire they had attracted during their high-speed rush into action was taking its toll. As they pushed between the closely 
spaced Union ships, the terrible truth must have occurred to the enemy. Rather than destroying the Confed columns by crossing their T, they had in fact exposed their own bows and sterns to full broadsides from the massive 
warships.
CCS Crusader, the heavy battlecruiser and the most powerful ship in Proxima Centauri, was the first to fire. Unlike the lighter ships, the bulk of her railguns were built into the rotating bands and sections of the vessel. This 
gave her a full 360° firing arc above and to the sides. Every weapon was loaded and charged. As she passed slowly between two Union warships, great streams of ionised plasma hurled from her gunports. It wasn’t the plasma that 
was the weapon. This was simply a consequence of weapon system blasting projectiles at a velocity and with such power. These unusual weapons were common on the larger Confed vessels and were entirely electrical. The system 
accelerated a conductive heavy projectile along a pair of metal rails. The core of the weapon used two rolling contacts that passed a massive electrical current through the warhead. This in turn, interacted with the magnetic 
fields generated by the rails and accelerated the projectile. The technology dated back to the middle of the twentieth century, but it took the powerful power plants of capital ships to allow the weapons system to flourish. 
There was no armour in the Confederacy that could withstand a railgun projectile, it simply obliterated anything it smashed into.
The mighty battlecruiser vanished for almost thirty seconds, as the clouds shrouded her in the dust and debris of the close quarter action. Right behind her, followed two armoured cruisers, each of these ships with its side 
gunports wide open and their weapons ready for close ranged battle. These ships were part of the escaped 7th Fleet from Alpha Centauri and were a powerful addition to the Fleet. Though nothing as powerful as the Crusader, they 
fitted somewhere between the capabilities of a conventional cruiser and a ship like the Crusader. They lacked the rotating sections of the more recent ship designs, but made up for it with additional weapons mounts and armour. 
As well as side-mounted railguns, they carried the massive 400mm automatic cannons. In years gone by, these ships were so powerful, even their presence was known to be enough to quell dissent on some of the more troublesome 
stations or bases in the Confederacy. Today, they were the second rate capital ships in a mighty fleet.
CCS Crusader moved past the enemy line and turned sharply so that she could run down the flank of the force, her guns still blazing. Following her course, the first armoured cruiser added its own fire to the already badly 
damaged enemy ships. Doing much the same job as the Crusader, the armoured cruiser quickly dispatched one of the larger enemy vessels in an impressive display of coordinated firepower. Each railgun round smashed through large 
sections of the ship, some of them even going so far as to pass completely through the vessel. It was a massacre.
At the same time as the first column smashing the line, Rear Admiral Churchill’s force of ships did the same towards the rear of the enemy formation. It was a textbook assault in the fashion of the naval battles of old. The 
Confederation warships were tougher and better armed for the close range duelling. Behind the two columns the carrier Wasp waited, protected by a swarm of frigates and gunboats. As she stood off at a safe distance, her squadrons 
of fighters rushed out to assist. A much smaller number of the assault gunboats moved ahead. These powerful vessels were usually used to escort transports and were armed to the point of excess. The small fighters darted around 
the craft in small formations. From a distance, it looked like a mighty two-pronged dart being stabbed into the heart of the enemy line. In the centre of the enemy fleet, protected by the two large cruisers, was the Leviathan. 
Her dark red hull looking almost black, unless lit by weapons fire or the direct illumination of the star.
As the battle started its first bloody stage, the second part of the Fleet started firing their reverse engines. At that moment they were out of scanning range, but it wouldn’t be long before the planetary assault force reached 
its destination. This formidable force included the assault carrier CCS Ark Royal and her compliment of fighters. The mighty formation of ships approached the planet almost half an hour behind the primary attack force.
* * *
Flashes burst around the group of fighters, as they braved their way into the heart of the space conflict. From inside his Lightning Mk II fighter, Wing Commander Anders did his best to avoid the incoming flak guns and debris. 
The action was well underway as the fighters rushed past the battle lines looking for targets of opportunity. The small twin-engine craft was fast and agile and usually used as a high-speed interceptor. Their speed and agility 
was their only realistic defence in a place where they could be crippled by a single cannon round. Though not as powerful as the heavier Thunderbolt strike bomber they were escorting, they still carried a powerful payload of 
Skua anti-ship missiles and powerful automatic cannons. The enemy forces were taking heavy damage and his fighter wing was looking for stragglers to pick off. A series of messages from CCS Royal Oak and CCS Crusader popped onto 
his helmet display.
“Angel One to Angel Squadron, vector seven. We have two vessels breaking off. Escort the heavies into range, watch for turret fire!”
The squadron of eight fighters split up into two groups of four, each one altering course to bring them in front and to the flank of the four Thunderbolt fighter bombers from Delta Squadron. These heavier fighters were easily 
double the size of the Lightnings and powered by four substantial engines. They carried two crew, but the size and number of defensive turrets showed a marked difference in design and capability. Above and below the wings, 
fitted onto the pylons, sat a dozen Skua anti-ship missiles. They were the same light missiles used by all Confed fighters but these craft carried far more. Under the hull, was a single tungsten tipped anti-ship torpedo. In the 
nose of the weapon was a state of the art micro-fission charge. These tiny nuclear warheads were the most powerful weapons carried by fighters and capable of destroying a cutter, or even a destroyer, with one well aimed shot. 
The hardened tip would allow it to penetrate deep inside the hull of the target before the warhead ignited. All of this was irrelevant, if they couldn’t get close enough to target the enemy ships.
The Wing Commander checked his tactical displays, noting the massive amount of electronic jamming taking place. It wasn’t strong enough to interrupt his communication systems, but it would stop the targeting computer. There was 
no chance he, or the rest of the fighters, could get a decent weapon lock under these circumstances. They would have to launch their weapons on a direct line of sight. This made it much more difficult to get into position and 
also a lot easier for the enemy to shoot down the approaching ordnance.
“Wilks, put the Skua missiles on manual, we’re gonna have to do this the old fashioned way.”
His gunner nodded and flicked a number of switches to deactivate the main tracking system for the missiles. A series of flak bursts shook the craft as they passed two duelling warships and moved in on a direct course to the 
stern of a retreating Union frigate. They were less than ten kilometres away and though the frigate was leaving a trail of debris and lifeboats, its guns were still firing.
“Delta Squadron, I’m getting tactical data from the Wasp. The line has been split and part of their fleet is trying to escape. Gunboats are heading for the heavy cruiser. We have the two trying to sneak away. Right here.”
He tapped the button that would send a marker to each fighter. Their mapping displays would show the designated target, as well as highlighting it on the head up displays built into their helmets.
“We’ll take the frigate first, then we’ll deal with the light cruiser.”
“Hold on!” he forced the nose of his jet downwards and hit the thrust button. Unlike movement in the atmosphere, in space the fighters kept travelling in the same direction unless they used their thrusts to alter the course. 
They moved lower until they approached from underneath the rear of the ship. Four point defence turrets blazed away, each one released a series of small calibre cannon rounds.
Wing Commander Anders spotted the incoming fire at the last moment and hit the vector thrusters button. It was for emergency course changes and sent a massive burst of power from an additional engine outlet mounted on the top 
and bottom of the fighter. The burst hit the two men like a sledgehammer, pushing the fighter down thirty metres before he corrected their course. The stream of shells tore past, missing the fighter by just a few metres. Their 
wingman wasn’t fast enough and a number of the rounds ripped through the nose and port wing, shredding the vessel and blasting it off course.
The two groups of fighters kept on their course, continuing to drift up and down to throw off some of the incoming weapons fire. They were past the centre of the battle and approaching three heavy frigate type vessels, all of 
which appeared to be breaking away from the heavy fire of the Confed cruisers. One of the ships had scores of domes along its flanks and top of the hull.
“Angel Squadron, watch out, the main target looks like a fleet defence ship. Take her out fast!” he barked.
“Sir, we’re in range!” shouted his gunner.
“Do it! Do it!” he cried and did his best to keep the fighter on a straight course. It wasn’t easy as streams of gunfire ripped past him, threatening to destroy the fighter in a single burst. As he tapped the joystick, he 
spotted the flashes from the other fighters and then felt the clunk from his own wing pylons. Four missiles released from their mounts and with a burst of fire pushed away from the fighter. At first their speed appeared slow, 
but they increased in velocity quickly, each missile hurtling towards the rear of the larger enemy ship. No sooner had they released their missiles, he gave the evasion signal.
He hit the vector button again and lifted the fighter up high and away from possible defensive fire. The burst of power from below the fighter pushed the crew downwards and Wing Commander Anders’ vision started to fade before 
the computer took over and reversed the thrust to put them back on course.
“Everybody here?”
He had his answer before anybody could speak. On the main tactical display, it flashed the status of the squadrons and showed him they were still down just one fighter. So far, so good. They moved over the warship and 
accelerated towards their next target. Below them the weapons turrets blazed away, but this time the enemy were more interested in fighting off the dozens of Skua missiles streaking towards their ship.
Once the first missile reached two hundred metres from the weapons detection, alarms flashed on the fighters. The point defence mounts must have triggered their close quarter mode, as the area of space around the ship filled 
with thousands of metal shards from the small Gatling gun mounts. The rapid fire weapons made short work of the first eight missiles, each of the guns tracking quickly to explode them as they reached the defensive perimeter. 
Only so many could be stopped, one struck near the port engine, quickly followed by another five. The first explosion was small, the blast contained by the medium armour. As the follow-up missiles arrived the damage expanded 
until a series of explosions tore out a large section from her hull.
All of this was insignificant next to the two torpedoes that followed right behind the missiles. The smaller Skua weapons were merely a decoy to keep the turrets occupied. A hail of small calibre defensive fire from three 
rotating turrets managed to clip one torpedo. The onboard computer sensed the distance to the target and also the damage it had sustained, determining it had to detonate. Though it was fifty metres away from the ship’s hull, the 
heat from the explosion managed to create significant damage. Even better, the explosion blinded the defensive system from the second torpedo. It slammed inside the damaged ship and exploded with a blinding flash deep inside its 
hull. A bright blue flash indicated the main power system had been breached and streaks of energy and debris tore from the inside.
“Beautiful!” Anders rolled over to watch the stern tear completely away from the ship, both sections now blazing from internal fires. Additional explosions continued along her entire length.
“Angel and Delta Squadrons, reform on me.”
In didn’t take long for the remaining fighters to regroup and move to a safer distance from the ongoing battle.
“Are you seeing this?” called Angel Three.
“All I can see is a whole lot of lead being flung down there!” exclaimed one of the other pilots.
Wing Commander Anders glanced at the tactical map. The space battle was becoming messy. Dozens of ships were now broken from formation and small skirmishes between two or three ships at a time made it look more like a ground 
battle. He could see their target, the break in the line, where a light cruiser was trying to escape. During their attack, the cruiser must have been joined by another frigate and they were circling a Confed armoured cruiser. 
The enemy vessels included a small number of captured Confederate ships, at least two cruisers and three Achilles class frigates. It made visual scanning difficult with so many similar ships fighting.
“Sir, I think the larger ship is on a collision course with the cruiser!” called one of his wingmen.
He looked at the unfolding battle and hit the analysis engine built into his computer system. It quickly calculated the likelihood of collision, his wingman was correct.
“Affirmative. They will strike the Valiant in seventy seconds.”
“Can they evade?”
“Negative, they are already trying. The enemy cruiser is faster and more manoeuvrable.”
He checked to his left and his right, ensuring the rest of the fighters were with him.
“We have two more torpedoes left. Break and attack, we have to keep her away from the Valiant.”
“What about the frigate?”
Wing Commander Anders thought for a moment. He had just seven fighters and four bombers. It was maybe enough to damage the frigate, or the cruiser, but not both. He couldn’t decide and was about to say something when one of the 
bombers spotted movement from the centre of the battle line.
“Sir! The Crusader!” he shouted.
Anders looked down to his right, unable to see what was happening. Then he saw her. The Crusader smashed through the wreckage of the crippled cruiser and towards the approaching enemy light cruiser. As she emerged from the dust 
and sparks, her damaged, but still intact armoured prow, was forcing through like a battering ram. Though most of her weapons were along the hull in the rotating rings, there were still four guns mounted in the bow and they 
fired continually. The volleys of projectiles surged ahead and tore chunks out of the two enemy ships.
“Sweet! Look at her go!” cried one of the bomber pilots.
As the hulk of the ship cleared the debris, her broadside batteries were clear and even more railguns opened fire. Several looked like scatter guns as they blasted the approaching enemy ships. The front of the enemy light 
cruiser vanished, as metre-long sections were ripped apart. A ripple of blue explosions ran along the dorsal section of the ship, as it ripped apart into three almost equal sections. The remaining frigate turned to flee, but was 
already taking dozens of railgun rounds in her flank. Lifeboats appeared to be launching.
A light on the comms system indicated a coded message from the warship. He tapped the receive key.
“This is Captain Tobler, commander of the CCS Crusader. We have this under control. Proceed to the Assault Division and join the rest of the air support. They need your assistance. Good work, Wing Commander.”
Anders sighed to himself before turning from his attack. His first thought was disappointment that they were not needed and that their possible sacrifice had been so easily brushed aside. This thought was quickly tempered by his 
realisation that his group of fighters would have taken heavy casualties up against a well-armed light cruiser, and possibly faced complete annihilation. In reality, their craft were not designed for use in the middle of what 
was turning out to be slugfest.
“Abort attack run! Follow me, we have new orders!”
The fighters changed course and dropped down below the line of battling capital ships. Their thrusters allowed them to move quickly from danger. Weapons fire still rushed past them, but with their engines on full burn they were 
soon away from the larger ships and back in the vast open space between the planet and the battle. As Wing Commander Anders surveyed the scene, he was surprised by the calmness of space. It was hard to believe he had just been 
at the heart of an inferno where hundreds of men were dying from missiles, rockets and projectiles. He checked his computer and spotted the assembling vessels off near the planet.
“Listen up. The Assault Division is making its run on the planet. Reports indicate the enemy has stopped sending transports to the surface, but they have large numbers on the ground. If our guys are going to stand a chance 
they’ll need close air support, and fast!”
With a slight course change, the fighters hit their primary thrusters and hurtled towards the planet and the great hulks of the military transports. Their combat operation in the main battle might be over but from what he could 
see on his scanner, the assault on the planet might make the space battle seem easy.
“Gods. Have you see this?” asked his navigator in awe.
Anders looked up, tapping the magnification button to expand his main viewing window. The shapes of the assault ships filled his screen around the planet. Large numbers of transports lurked in orbit and scores of shuttles and 
landing craft were getting into position for their attack run.
“What?” asked Anders.
“Look at the tactical map of the spaceport.”
He pressed three buttons and examined the landing zones. The orbiting ships had already sent updated video feed data to the command ships and this had filtered down to the fighters.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Yeah, recon estimates over a hundred anti-air defences are already in position around the landing zones. Do you think they know something we don’t?”
“Bastards. That, or somebody told them we were coming!”
* * *
Spartan waited patiently inside the landing craft. It was cramped, packed full of the Vanguard Marines, each of them strapped or clamped to the newly welded bulkhead mounts. The last thing any of them wanted was to be thrown 
about during the combat landing. From inside the safety of his armoured suit, he watched the unfolding battle on the internal monitors. The platoon had been split onto two landing craft. Marcus and Lovett were in the second 
craft along with 2nd and 3rd Squads. Teresa, his most trusted sergeant, was now alongside him, acting as Platoon Sergeant for the entire unit. A few marines from the Engineer Company accompanied them, each wearing the older and 
much more primitive CES armour.
Teresa turned towards him.
“Any news on the spaceport landing?”
“Good point, the figures coming in are showing heavy defences around the spaceport.”
Spartan checked his secure tactical display and hit a button. It sent the latest feed to the main video unit on the wall in the passenger section of the craft. All the assembled marines could see the unfolding battle in great 
detail. The main feed came from the camera units fitted to the Assault Carrier Ark Royal.
“Look at it!” Teresa said in awe.
The Ark Royal had dropped as low as it could manage, before the heat from skimming the atmosphere proved too much. From its position, the cameras could just about make out the details of the descending fighters and landing ships 
of different types. Wave after wave of Lightning bombers pounded air defences and other craft dashed at high speeds dropping guided bombs.
Streams of tracer fire arced upwards, some occasionally scraping one of the bombers or hitting a fighter. In the middle of the maelstrom, the first of the heavy landers and shuttles swept in to disgorge their infantry. One 
shuttle took multiple hits and spiralled down to the surface streaming smoke. Teresa groaned as she watched the vessel plummet to its death.
“This is going to be a massacre. If we don’t get to the city fast, they’ll turn their guns on us.”
Spartan hit the communication button in his suit to connect to Captain Daniels, who was observing the operation from the Marine Transport CCS Santa Cruz.
“Spartan. Everything okay?” he asked with dread in his voice.
“No problem here. We’re watching the spaceport landing. Have you seen what’s happening?”
“I know. The reports are coming in. Looks like they arrived earlier than expected. Multiple guns and missile platforms are on the hills and on the highways. They’ve left the centre of the spaceport clear, probably to tempt us to 
land.”
“Can’t we redirect to the city? What are the defences like there?”
“No chance. The city is in the valley surrounded by mountains. There are only a few open spaces, enough for small units like ours, but useless for landing anything more. Unless we take the spaceport, you’ll be on your own. Major 
Howard has contacted me to say his first battalions have landed and they are establishing a beachhead.”
“What is the point, if they can’t get to us? Can’t they bring some landers down into the open countryside instead?”
“It’s too late, Spartan. The battalions are already committed and by all account they’re making progress. My bird is still stuck here. You’re going to have to go without me. You’re the most experience Lieutenant in the 
Vanguards, you have my authority to take the lead over 2nd Platoon in my absence.”
There was a crackle of static before another voice joined in.
“Captain, Lieutenant Weathers here.”
“Ah, good. I was just explaining to Lieutenant Spartan. My shuttle is delayed and you’re going to need to get going without me. Until I join you, Spartan will be taking the lead. He has more experience of the Vanguards. 
Understood?”
“No problem, Sir, Spartan’s reputation is well earned,” replied Lieutenant Weathers, with surprisingly little resentment.
“Thank you, I won’t let either of you down.”
Captain Daniels continued.
“I suggest you get the Vanguards into action immediately. I’ve requested the Ark Royal redirects three squadrons of fighters for your support. They will follow you in and then remain on standby. Two Lightning bomber squadrons 
are blocking the highways and routes to the city. Any forces trying to move back to the city will have to face running their gauntlet.”
Spartan turned to Teresa, who was listening in on the conversation. She shook her head is despair, evidently not impressed with the operation.
“I know this isn’t what we planned.”
“When is it ever?” replied Spartan.
“Too true,” he paused for a few seconds, “Just get your people on the ground. The quicker you get to the surface, the less danger you’ll be in. I’ll get on to Major Howard and see about forcing a breakthrough to link up with 
your forces.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Good luck, Lieutenant, I’m sure the Vanguards will do their job.”
“We always do. Spartan out.”
He looked back to Teresa. “We’re going in hot. You ready?”
“Would it matter if I wasn’t?”
“Check in with the squad commanders, I want them ready. We go now.”
She nodded and pressed a few buttons in her suit to connect to the rest of the company. Spartan meanwhile transferred his communication gear to the open unit channel.
“This is Lieutenant Spartan. The mission is a go. I repeat. The mission is a go. Get my people into the LZ as fast as you can.”
The pilots of the force responded quickly. In less than twenty seconds a rumble started to build up inside the landing craft as the engines powered up. Spartan could feel the changing g-forces and gravitation pull as they 
dropped in through the atmosphere. It wouldn’t take long for them to reach the surface. Once through, the craft could glide to the surface or use additional power from their engines to speed up the process.
“Sergeant Lovett, 2nd Squad. I have reports of armour breaking through the city limits.”
Spartan tapped the intercom. “Yes, a small group are trying to break the bomber blockade. They must know we plan on hitting the city. Stick to the plan. We hit the plaza and then move as a unit to the shopping precinct and mall. 
There is underground storage and two primary tunnels at the same site. Is your squad ready?”
“No problem, LT, they are locked and loaded.”
“Good work, we hit the ground in twelve minutes. Do the final checks.”
* * *
Captain Daniels watched the groups of landing craft and their escorts heading to the surface, from his position in the landing bay of the Santa Cruz. His own armoured assault shuttle was still being prepped and wouldn’t be ready 
for another ten minutes. He paced about angrily, his Vanguard suit clanking on the metal flooring. One of the many upgrades to the Vanguard armour had been magnetic seals on the feet, so that they could walk in the zero-g areas 
that were equipped with compatible walkways.
“What’s the hold up?”
The pressure regulator has failed. We are bringing in another shuttle, she’ll be here shortly, Sir,” answered a frustrated deck chief, who moved away to the safety of the control booth as a new shuttle was moved into position.
All the crew and marines in this part of the ship were wearing sealed suits, as the section was open and fully exposed to the vacuum of space. From where Captain Daniels stood, he had a view to down to the planet. Visibility was 
poor, with thick clouds obliterating much of the detail. Only the advanced optics of the ships would allow him to see what was happening on the surface.
“Does it always look like this, Sir?” asked one of his marine bodyguards, also wearing Vanguard armour.
He looked out to the pane below, watching a pattern of clouds. He was about to speak, when two Lightning Bombers rushed past, making no sound. They must have been on their way to join the landing party. The large four-engine 
fighter-bombers looked massive at this close distance, but they were some of the smallest craft being used in this operation.
“It’s mainly down to the atmosphere generators on the surface. They throw up all kinds of crap. It’ll be decades before it clears up to anything like a normal sky.”
The shuttle moved over to the side and the replacement pulled along the gantry until it reached the party of waiting marines. From inside, a man in a sealed pilot suit waved for them to climb inside. Captain Daniels didn’t wait. 
He tapped the release button and pulled himself along, towards the door. The other three Vanguards followed him.
“Sir, we’re ready to go. Spartan and his team are twelve minutes from the surface.”
“Good. Come on people, let’s get moving!”
He was first inside and moved to the right of the craft where the magnetic clamps and seals were located. As soon as he stepped into the pre-allocated position, a light started to flash. He tapped the seal button and with a thud 
his boots and arms locked into place. He turned to his left to see the other marines inside and doing the same.
“Okay, Lieutenant, we’re in. Get us down to Spartan and his team as quickly as you can.”
“Aye, Sir, we’re good to go.”
The door slid shut and the shuttle moved slowly to the open hangar doors. It would take about a minute, for them to reach the release position to break and push away from the Santa Cruz. Halfway to the open door, he noticed a 
series of dull flashes down on the surface. Most appeared to be taking place, around the designated landing zones, on and around the spaceport.
“Check your weapons one last time, marines. If I know Spartan, he has a habit of attracting a lot of attention. You can guarantee we’ll land in a shitstorm!”
The men started laughing, but Captain Daniels looked down to the planet with an impassive stare. His men might find the idea amusing, he felt otherwise. He had absolutely no intention of being killed on some barely habitable 
rock during the first stages of the Confederate fight back.
“No, this is just the beginning,” he said to himself.
* * *
The landing craft shook hard as a series of flak bursts exploded nearby. For the last minute, the craft had been dropping at high speed, and the shaking and vibration was becoming alarming. More explosions blasted off to the 
side, followed by the whine of cannon shells streaking past. A large amount of thumping and shaking appeared to come from the front of the craft as it absorbed a number of heavy bullets. Teresa looked to Spartan.
“You think she can take much more of this?”
Spartan tried to shrug, but his arms were locked in the transport mounts to stop him falling about in the passenger area.
“You’ve seen what these birds can do. She has over a metre of metal on the bow, as well as ablative and reactive armour. Either she makes it or we burn, kind of out of our hands now.”
“You’re such a joy, Spartan.”
Three small holes appeared in the metal skin, followed by a much larger one as a piece of shrapnel lodged itself in the side of the craft. Luckily nothing managed to strike the marines or anything vital in the vessel.
“Bloody hell, that was close!” shouted Teresa.
Spartan nodded. “Yeah, too close.”
“What were you saying about the thickened armour on this thing?”
“I said on the bow. In case you hadn’t noticed that fire came from the side.”
“That’s just great!”
They waited as the shaking started to abate. They were much lower now and their speed had dropped. According to the displays on the inside of the ship, the city was just over the next series of mountains, deep inside a valley.
“How much longer?” Teresa asked him.
Spartan tapped his intercom to connect to the crew section of the vessel.
“Lieutenant Spartan here. What’s our status?”
“We’re three minutes from the LZ, Sir. Keep your people strapped in. We’re going to do a high power drop down the mountain and then straight to the city. We’ve got a problem though.”
“Oh? Go on.”
“Well, Sir, my scanners are picking up electronic signatures from a dozen weapon systems around the shopping precinct and the north side of the city. I’m going to have to drop you half a klick further to the south or I’ll get 
shot down before we land.”
Spartan looked at his map.
“The south? Isn’t that right on top of the transit station?”
“Afraid so, Sir. If we land at the precinct, we’ll be blown out of the sky. I can bring you in low over the rail lines and then drop you, but you’ll have to cover the open ground on your own.”
“Great!”
Spartan double-checked his map of Oenopion on the built-in tactical navigation unit. The surface section of the city was small due to its hostile and unfriendly nature. It was possible to travel on foot above ground but masks 
would have to be worn at all times. The city was shaped like a large cross on the ground, with the centre section being an open plaza surrounded by small buildings and the shopping precinct entrance to the north. Apparently, the 
only reason the precinct existed on the surface was because it gave the best viewing area from two restaurants. Spartan seriously doubted they existed anymore.
“Okay, we’ll make it work.”
“Understood, Sir. We can stay on the surface for twenty seconds maximum, after that we’ll have to stay on the ground. Make sure your people are ready for a hot insertion, I mean a red hot one, Sir!”
Spartan tapped the key that altered his comms unit to the two platoons of Vanguards. The plan had changed just slightly, but it did mean they would need to move even faster.
“Lieutenant Spartan here. There’s been a change of plan. We are redirecting to the central plaza, due to hostile movement and defensive systems installed around our intended LZ. Our objective is still the exposed surface level 
of the shopping precinct. We land hard and we land fast. Once you hit the ground, spread and head north. We’ll be exposed for most of the five hundred metres, so don’t dawdle!”
“Five hundred metres? Can we make it that far under fire?” asked Lieutenant Weathers from the second Landing craft.
“I don’t like it either. We’ll find out soon enough. If we don’t stop their assault into the underground sections of the city, it could take us weeks to clear the place. Not forgetting that, the price in civilian deaths will be 
astronomical. According to the intel from the fighters, the Union troops only managed to break through the airlocks into the city less than an hour ago. If they are anything like the ones I’ve met, they will be fighting for 
every inch of ground.”
He paused for a second and glanced towards Teresa who was smiling at his reference.
“Our Vanguards are the only ground unit that could do this job. A Marine or Army battalion would be shot to ribbons and with the size of the LZ only a company of infantry could land at once. Our armour will give us a fighting 
chance and we’ll have to take it. Once we have secured the site, we’ll force open access to the city and break the first part of the siege. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Sir!” came back a chorus of voices.
“Get ready then, we hit the ground in...” he checked his clock in the armour, “seventy seconds.”
CHAPTER TEN
The raising of the first Jötnar battalions was always going to raise difficult questions in the Confederacy. Tens of thousands of lives had already been lost, many of them to the Frankenstein monsters of the Echidna Union. The 
single saving grace of the Jötnar was that they were fully synthetic. Many would still argue that their very existence was a reminder of the cruelty and genocide committed in the name of science. Without the organs and tissue of 
those sacrificed, there could never have been a single Jötnar.
The 1st Jötnar Battalion
“Twenty seconds, here we go!” Spartan called over the company communication channel.
The last minute had been horrendous with the jinking of the landing craft, as well as heavy fire from the ground. It reminded him very much of his first mission months before. The big difference then was that they were attacking 
a moon from space, so it was smooth and lacking in gravity. Even so, the constant course changes and weapons fire had thrown him about. This time it was far worse. They were in a thick atmosphere in an area well known for 
variable pressure levels and poor weather. The turbulence shook the craft as they moved downwards at high speed. As if this wasn’t bad enough, the continuous ground to air fire was having a marked effect on the trip. Cannon 
rounds, flak batteries and missiles were being sent up from the vast air defences already positioned by the enemy.
“Fifteen seconds!” added the pilot, his voice reverberating inside the hull of the vessel. The external microphone feeds repeated the signal, but at an acceptable volume. It was just as well, the noise of the engines and the 
weapons fire was too loud to allow normal conversation. Spartan looked to the clamps holding him in place. He was truly thankful for their installation. A normal combat drop like this would have resulted in most of the Vanguards 
lying in a heap on the floor by now.
“Ten seconds! We’re taking..” he shouted before being interrupted.
A row of holes ran down the length of the left side of the hull and a Vanguard marine took a dozen hits to his armour. Spartan looked over at the damage, trying to speak, but craft lurched to the left. He felt the movement in 
his stomach and then the sickening groan of tearing metal that indicated they were in serious trouble. One of the clamps broke free on Spartan’s right arm. He was forced to punch into one of the bulkheads and grab the damage 
pieces of metal to save himself from falling. They couldn’t be far from landing now.
“Brace!” It was all he had time for as the craft struck a hard surface. The initial strike seemed an anti-climax but it was nothing more than a bump. When they finally struck the ground, the impact was massive. Spartan had been 
in crashes before and he’d seen firsthand the damage and entailed risks. The worst had been a crash on Kerberos when his vessel was hit during a landing in the city. At least this time he was wearing heavy armour.
The alarms inside his suit, as well as in the landing craft, all triggered at once. The area inside flashed red from the emergency lights. The actual crash seemed to take forever and for just a brief moment Spartan thought the 
pilots had averted disaster. It was all wishful thinking.
The crash began with the remaining clamps around Spartan’s suit disconnecting. They didn’t just unclick, they were literally ripped from the suit, taking small chunks of metal and paint with them. Spartan tumbled backwards. The 
tremendous force sent him hurtling towards two other Vanguards. The impact almost knocked him out, only the thick armour and internal cushioning protected him from the jarring impact. Luckily, their advanced armour spared any of 
them from major injury. At least that was his first assessment as the craft continued to bump and slide, before coming to a halt.
Spartan shook his head and checked his sensors. There appeared to be no internal damage and his suit was still operating as normal. More holes appeared throughout the structure. He guessed they were using incendiary rounds or 
had hit a fuel cell, as two fires quickly spread around the rear of the passenger section of the vessel.
“Everybody out, now!” he barked.
The Vanguards pushed their way from their broken harnesses and towards him and the door. An alarm started beeping and he quickly checked his suit diagnostics. He found no signs of damage or failure on the suit. Then he saw the 
thermal warning light. It must be hotter in the landing craft than he thought.
“Come on, move it!” he shouted, the seriousness of their predicament now clearer to him. He noticed more of them moving and was relieved to see the other Vanguards were starting to lift themselves up. He pushed down with his 
right arm, staggering to the door that was still closed. Unsurprisingly, the crash had either broken the mechanism or the crew were dead and unable to operate it. To the side was a triple lock and button system to prevent 
accidental access during flight. He reached out with his armoured hand and twisted, then tapped the unit. A loud hiss erupted from the frame, followed by a grinding sound as the motors and gears tried to engage. The door slid 
open but very slowly. He looked behind to the rest of the marines, most were making their way over to him. He spotted Teresa.
“Sergeant, status?”
“I’m good, LT. Where are we?”
He turned and reached out to the door with his metal arms, forcing it open so he could see out. The scene that greeted him looked nothing like he was expecting. Their new LZ was in the open plaza in the middle of the city. This 
place was rocky and the city appeared to be several hundred metres away. Two more craft landed gently beside them and a number of Vanguards were already climbing out. He looked back to Teresa.
“Not good, looks like we are just outside the city.”
“What about the other birds?”
“They seem okay. They’ve landed around us, at least we’re not split up.”
“One bit of good news, then.”
They turned and looked back at the crashed landing craft. It was far more damaged than they’d realised. The nose section had sustained heavy and repeated fire, with chunks as large as a fist ripped from the metalwork. Along the 
side of the craft were streaks, where rounds had struck her on the descent.
“There!” said Teresa with her arm extended out towards the crew section.
Spartan looked at the damage there and doubted anyone could have survived such a terrible ordeal. Though there were no windows along the front, the crew section did feature armour plated window sections on the sides of the 
craft. Near them were two small, automated weapon turrets. These were recent additions, designed to replace the usual door gunners the older craft had used. Spartan moved forward and reached up to the door and windows, noticing 
the many cannon holes. He pointed to a large two-metre gash near the door.
“I know, we need to check though,” said a saddened Teresa.
From their left, the last of the Vanguards staggered out of the crashed vessel, moving away to a safe distance. One of the engineers, in a CES suit, came up to Spartan to lend assistance.
“Step back,” he said as he reached the door. The engineer was equipped with heavy cutting blades on his arms, as well as plasma cutters and welding gear. It took only a few seconds to cut through the mangled metal and then with 
a tug he ripped off the smashed door. As the metal fell down, a part of the ruptured bulkhead did the same. Spartan lifted himself up, pushing his metal fist into the wreckage to gain purchase. He looked inside and then dropped 
back down.
“Dead?” Teresa asked.
“They aren’t in there.”
Teresa looked confused. “What do you mean, not in there? Where did they go?”
The intercom unit crackled.
“Sir, Lieutenant Weathers here. Were unloading marines around your position. What is your status?”
“Good to hear your voice. The landing craft is out of action, no casualties in my squads. Possible fatalities with the crew though.”
“Uh, Spartan!” called Teresa. He could just about see a grin on her face.
Spartan followed the direction of her arm. She was signalling towards several large holes with burn marks on the top of the landing craft.
“What?” he asked.
Teresa lifted her armoured fist higher and pointed up to the sky. Spartan’s vision adjusted and he gazed at the clouds until spotting several dark shapes. At first he couldn’t work out what they were, until the wind caught one 
of them, making it change shape slightly.
“Parachutes,” he muttered in amazement.
“Good call,” said the engineer. “If they’d stayed, the crash would have killed them.”
Spartan stepped out onto the rock ahead of the landing craft to observe the objective. More Vanguards unloaded and he made out the different paint scheme of Marcus’ Vanguard armour. Since becoming Sergeant, and leader of his 
squad, he had really taken things seriously. He was proving to be a good choice. The first of the crew were down and two of the Vanguards moved over to check on him. A few seconds later, the second pilot dropped down to the 
ground. He hit the ground hard and didn’t seem to be moving. Sergeant Harris checked them both and after speaking with the other marines, he turned and went over to Spartan.
“The co-pilot is okay, just a bit shell shocked, Sir. The pilot’s alive but he can’t move. I think he might have a shattered leg. From what the medic thinks, he might also have a broken pelvis.”
“Great, that’s just what we need. Well, we have to get moving. Leave a detail of two marines to watch over them. The wounded can go back with Daniels’ shuttle when he finally gets here.”
Harris nodded in agreement and then looked upwards, half expecting to see their commanding officer arrive.
“He won’t be here for a while, some kind of screw-up back on the Cruz. In the meantime, we need to get moving. Assemble your squad and do a final check, we move out in less than a minute.”
Spartan looked back to the city as the Sergeant moved to his marines. It was hardly one of the great cities of the Confederacy. It didn’t even match some of the smaller bases he’d seen on the stations around Prometheus, during 
his time in the pit fighting matches. He couldn’t see much from this distance, just the tops of the low buildings. The wind and clouds did their job in ensuring his visibility was reduced to just a few hundred metres. He moved 
through multiple vision modes, checking for radar, electronic signatures and heat patterns. Teresa and several other Vanguards walked around him, each checking the ground for danger.
“What have we got?” she asked.
“If you look ahead, that is the storm wall. The brief said it was built to keep most of the dust storms away from the main buildings. That means we are on the southern perimeter, about three hundred metres from the plaza and 
even further from our target.”
“Want to send the landing craft ahead with a few squads to scout?”
“No, definitely not. The enemy are dug in with greater numbers than expected. In my opinion, they must have arrived earlier that we thought and captured the surface level of the city hours ago. We need to get underground, where 
most of the structure exists, and help the civvies, fast!”
The leaders of the other squads approached along with Lieutenant Weathers.
“I assume we have a new plan?” asked Weathers.
“Revised plan,” corrected Spartan. He indicated to the rest of the marines.
“We have two platoons, a full six squads of Vanguards, plus an additional engineer squad.”
As if to emphasise the point, the team of engineers stomped past and towards two crates of tooling for their suits. Three more climbed out from the final landing craft. Their CES suits looked primitive and basic compared to 
their new, improved Vanguard armour but their worth was now well known, especially by the Vanguards.
“We will penetrate the wall and move through the southern levels of the city. We will work through the built-up areas and along the perimeter instead of the middle. We’ll make use of the cover and get to the precinct quadrant as 
fast as possible.”
“Are you sure there aren’t other ways inside the city?”
“There are some small access points but most of this surface layer simply exists on one level. It is like a large flat structure with only a few parts actually continuing underground. The shopping precinct and the transportation 
hub are both supposed to continue underground.”
“Why don’t we hit the hub instead? With us landing in the wrong place, it’s now much closer to where we are now. Surely if it is a transportation hub, there should be wider corridors and tunnels for vehicles and loaders?”
“Good point. Thoughts, Sergeant?” asked Spartan as he looked over to Teresa.
Teresa thought for a moment before replying.
“I agree with Lieutenant Weathers. The hub is to the south west and much closer. If it is accessible we take it, if not we continue around the perimeter till we reach the precinct. We need to only slightly alter our route to 
check it on the way.”
“We’re agreed then. Good. Lieutenant, take the right flank and keep your heads down. Look for any possible enemy reinforcements in the direction of the spaceport. 1st Platoon will take the left flank and circle around the plaza 
till we meet at the hub. We’ll move through the wall one squad at a time and then split apart until which reach the objective. Each squad will ensure it is in sight of the next at all times. I don’t want any gaps the enemy could 
exploit.”
The small group nodded in agreement.
“Good, let’s go!”
Lieutenant Weathers turned back to his platoon and jogged over to them, the heavy metal of his armoured suit making clanking sounds as he moved. He called out orders on the internal platoon network. Some of the marines started 
to move into position before he even reached them.
Spartan looked back to the marines of 1st Platoon. They were the men and women he had spent considerable time with in multiple operations. Marcus and Teresa, now both Sergeants, were the people he had known the longest now. All 
three of them working together since they started training back on CCS Santa Maria.
“1st Squad take point, the rest follow on the flanks. Move out!”
Sergeant Harris, the new NCO and leader of 1st Squad, waved to his group of marines. They moved forward in a loose skirmish screen, leaving a space of four or five metres between them. Advancing behind were 2nd and 3rd Squads, 
under Sergeant Lovett and Sergeant Keller. Spartan followed the 1st Squad so that he and Teresa, who was now his Platoon Sergeant, were in the heart of the combat force. They all moved at a fast walk, each marine turning their 
upper bodies as they marched, checking for trouble. The low whirring of cogs and gears were the only sign that the suits were mechanical, rather than just armour plates fitted around their bodies.
The surface of Euryale looked dark blue with its rain-swept hills and thick cloud cover. Visibility was poor, and for those with exposed ears the sound from the constant whistle of the wind could drive a man to insanity. It was 
a miserable location and unsurprisingly one of the least desired colonies in the Confederacy. If it weren’t for the constantly expanding population through the Confederacy, and the demands on raw materials, it would never have 
been colonised. With so many of the civilians working underground, the colony had become a hub for computer based research and services.
The Vanguards continued forwards, their dark, drab armour moving like large metal bugs across the dreary landscape. From inside Spartan’s armour, the rain ran down the visor and slightly obscured parts of the ground. He watched 
for movement but so far, the only object of note was a flight of three Navy Lightning fighters screaming across the sky being pursued by two missiles. Spartan watched them for a moment, nodding to himself with pleasure as the 
automatic flare launchers distracted the missiles long enough for the fighters to escape.
“Sir, we’re approaching the perimeter wall. No signs of movement.”
Spartan inhaled slowly, this was where he expected trouble.
“Stay frost people, watched your sensors and check cover. We don’t want to run into an ambush out here.”
The outer storm wall of the city was somewhat of a misnomer. It wasn’t completely manmade. A large part of it was natural rock, reinforced with metal girders and plating to create a boundary of eight metres in some places. Where 
the natural rock was highest, it had been left completely untouched.
“Sir, I’m detecting damage along this sector. It looks like a part of the wall, roughly forty metres wide, has been smashed by artillery,” said one of the Vanguards at the front.
“Signs of the enemy?”
“Negative, Sir.”
“Good, keep moving. It’s probably damage from the fighting. Intel says they will have taken the spaceport first and then used the roads into the city to move men and materials.”
Teresa turned her head towards Spartan and contacted him via a private channel.
“Spartan, I don’t like it. What if this is the way they came in?”
Spartan checked his scanners. There was no sign of enemy moment or even military hardware. He tapped the button to activate the thermal imaging and instantly spotted a heat bloom.
“I’ve got something, thermal readings twenty metres behind the breach. Tread carefully!” he called out on the company channel.
The group kept moving forward though now they had slowed to a walk, each of them twisting their torsos and checking every rock or piece of cover for a potential target. From Spartan’s position, behind the 1st Squad, he could see 
their skirmish line of a dozen marines moving up the dirt embankment and towards the ruins of the wall.
“This place is giving me the creeps,” said Teresa quietly, “Don’t we have any surveillance?”
Spartan almost kicked himself, completely forgetting about the extra equipment installed on the landing craft. There was a reason he had done so well as a private and then as a sergeant. He wasn’t used to being in charge of 
operations of this size.
“All units stand your ground,” he called, tapping a button in his suit. It took just a few seconds to establish a direct link to the craft. He checked the vessel’s status and received an immediate response that five automated 
drones were loaded and ready for use.
“Wait for tactical reconnaissance,” he ordered and then hit the launch button. Behind him, two puffs of smoke were the only indication of the two jet powered drones that blasted off into the sky. They were both fully automated. 
All he had to do was tap a point on his tactical map. Then they would move into the area and circle at a safe distance. No sooner had the first one moved over the wall, than he could see the problem. He pressed the company 
toggle.
“Lieutenant Spartan here. We have a problem. The drone is showing a large number of enemy forces preparing defensive positions further inside the city. It looks to me like they are expecting an attack from the west. That is 
exactly where our reinforcements from the spaceport will be coming from.”
“I see it,” replied Lieutenant Weathers.
The drone continued along its path, sending more footage to the Vanguards.
“Sir, look at the transportation hub. What are those around the entrance to the tunnels?” asked Teresa.
Spartan couldn’t quite see on the screen, so tapped several more buttons to zoom in. The video shook for a moment as the optical stabiliser of the drone tried to correct for the wind. It locked onto one of the objects and 
focused in. Spartan concentrated hard.
“No way. The animals!”
The video feed showed a multi-barrelled gun mount that had been set up to face inside the tunnel. Around the area moved a small number of foot soldiers. Most were wearing army issue carapace armour. It was more primitive than 
the marines’ PDS suits but was very tough and hard to damage.
“They’re setting up turrets to face the defenders. If they try to break out they will be cut down.”
“They must be expecting the civilians to try and fight their way out,” suggested Lieutenant Weathers.
“No, that isn’t it. I know how these people think,” said a bitter sounding Spartan.
“They are planning on herding the civilians to the guns. The Union aren’t interested in taking the colony or prisoners. They just want to bleed us, stop us from reclaiming Euryale and getting people and resources for our war 
effort.”
“Bastards!” muttered Marcus.
“Sergeant!” reprimanded Spartan.
“Sorry, Sir.”
“Listen up, Vanguards. Wait here and secure the immediate area. We need to get this data to the Fleet,” he said, lifting his arm to point upwards.
“Make sure you’re ready, the mission is still on. The objective hasn’t changed. We are still going to rescue the civilians! We’re also going to make sure our friends in the rest of the ground force don’t get creamed when they 
arrive!”
Lieutenant Weathers signalled for his marines to find cover. The sergeants did their jobs and in just a few seconds the two platoons were well concealed amongst the dirt and rocks, around the broken perimeter wall. Spartan 
ducked down behind a series of large boulders and connected to the CiC on the Santa Cruz.
“Major Howard here, what is the problem?”
“Sir. My team has hit trouble around the city limits. I’m sending footage from our drones. Looks like the enemy have dug in and are preparing defences along the main highways.”
There was a short pause, partially down to the distance for the signal to travel, and also probably because the Major was busy examining the video feeds.
“I see, what about the city itself?”
“Heavily defended, Sir. We are about to move though the southern wall.”
“Good work. I’ll pass the data to the ground forces at the spaceport. They are making progress and should be able to assist in your operation within the hour. I suggest you get inside and break through to the civilians as soon 
as possible.”
“Understood, Sir.”
“One more thing, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, Sir?”
“The last bomber run indicated approximately three battalions of ground troops, including Biomechs, have fallen back from the highway and are moving to the city. I’ll hit them with what I can, but in twenty minutes their 
survivors are going to be on you. When they get there, make sure your people are dug in and ready.”
“Yes, Sir, we’ll be ready.”
“Captain Daniels has started his drop, I’ll transmit your plans and data directly to his vessel. I understand his craft has two of the experimental mules on board. If you survive, I’d be intrigued to know how they perform.”
Spartan shook his head in surprise. No matter how many conversations he had with the second in command of the marines on board CCS Santa Cruz, he could never understand the Major.
“Yes, Sir, I’ll do that.”
He looked to Teresa who was waiting patiently for his orders.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Always.”
Spartan flicked back onto the open company network.
“Vanguards, we will move quickly to the hub. Hit them hard and hit them fast! The clock is ticking and we have enemy troops inbound!”
He gave a final glance at the position they were in and the aerial drone which showed him the same scenario as before. The enemy were busy and it didn’t look like they had much in the way of defences along the southern part of 
the city. With a final breath he lifted up to his full height.
“Vanguards! Let’s go!”
The skirmishers rushed the embankment in just a few seconds and for a brief moment Spartan winced. A feeling in his gut told him something terrible was going to happen as they crossed the high ground. Nothing happened though and 
they disappeared from view. His heart still pounding, he pushed forward and the rest of the Vanguards did the same. It looked like a scene from an old war movie as he watched those in front rush the embankment, much like 
infantry storming a breach in a fortress.
He reached the top but didn’t stop, aware of how exposed he was, and dropped down the embankment. As he hit the bottom, he jogged to the first piece of cover he could see and surveyed the ground around him. It was part of a 
damaged loading bay. Several wrecked trucks and forklifts were strewn about. As he took cover, he noticed half a dozen bodies, all civilians and all unarmed. Teresa dropped down next to him and scanned the area. Up ahead, the 
skirmish screen pushed forward. To their right Lieutenant Weathers and his platoon moved away and followed the perimeter wall. In this way, the two platoons would be able to ensure they couldn’t be outflanked, yet were close 
enough to provide mutual fire support. Here, there were no buildings taller than five metres anywhere in sight and a large part of the city seemed to be heavily damaged. It looked far worse on the ground than it appeared from 
the drones.
“Sergeant, I’m picking up movement!” shouted Sergeant Harris at the front, with the skirmishers.
Before Spartan could reply a great volley of small arms fire blasted from the north of their position. The bullets clattered against some of the Vanguards but were incapable of causing damage. One rocket whistled past and 
exploded impotently against the already damaged perimeter wall. It looked like they had run into the right flank of the enemy line. From the confusion showing ahead of them, it was the Vanguards who had the element of surprise.
“They know we’re here. Push forward! Check your scanners, weapons free!” called Spartan.
A great storm of fire erupted from the Vanguards as each of the metal machines clambered forward and targeted the enemy. It was the first open battle the new unit had experienced. In less than a minute every one of them had 
expended substantial ammunition.
“Those mules would be pretty handy about now!” said Spartan through gritted teeth.
A fire team of five enemy soldiers, each wearing carapace armour, appeared around a corner. Two of them were carrying a heavy machinegun on its stand. Spartan was facing away from them, but had spotted movement. Lifting his left 
arm, he targeted the middle of the group and squeezed his trigger. Two were torn apart, the other three dropped the gun and ran.
“Drive them back!” he roared.
* * *
Wing Commander Anders waited patiently near the extended booms of CCS Ark Royal. The massive carrier was still launching fighters to assist in the ground attack and, by all account they were hitting the enemy hard. Angel 
Squadron were low on fuel and ammunition. They sat patiently as the automated boom and munitions gear reloaded their fighters. There were over a dozen similar booms extended from a series of extended jetties around the craft. By 
reloading them externally, the carrier was able to continue launching and landing aircraft, thereby increasing the number of fighters it could handle. He tapped the intercom trigger on the fighter’s joystick.
“Angel Squadron, I’m reading ninety-seven percent full. Check in with your stats.”
A series of numbers dropped in on his display as each fighter reported fuel capacity and weapons load. He read through the list, satisfied the squadron was almost ready.
“Good stuff. Delta Squadron is already loaded and waiting for us. Twenty seconds then hit the auto release. We have work to do.”
He looked back at the tactical map of the battlefield down on the planet. It seemed the marines and army forces at the spaceport had managed to establish a beachhead. With a secure landing zone, it was now possible to land heavy 
armour and set up a forward base.
“Wing Commander Anders. I have new orders for you. The Vanguards are pushing into Oenopion and hitting heavy resistance. Drones are picking up infantry and Biomechs falling back from the spaceport and into the city. We need you 
to hold them off long enough for the Vanguards to secure their objective.”
“Understood, Sir. I have your targeting data, we’re on the way.”
“Good hunting.”
“Angel Squadron, we are moving to Oenopion to provide close air support. Do a final safety check. I don’t want to lose any birds on the way down. It’s gonna get damned hot!”
The squadron started their checks, each pouring over data to ensure there were no problems or breaches in their fighters. In the airless vacuum of space, the thermal protection wasn’t much of an issue, but on re-entry it was 
another matter. There were occasions where craft making their way through planetary atmospheres, let in superhot gasses through ruptures in thermal tiling or protection, with catastrophic results. This was a problem going back 
to the early days of twentieth century space flight. Each of the fighters checked in to acknowledge they were clear.
“Angel Squadron, detach and form up.”
Anders was the first to disconnect from the resupply part of the ship and added a small amount of thrust to push away from the great vessel. He hadn’t yet been aboard the ship as his squadron was based on CCS Wasp. The Ark Royal 
was known as one of the most battle experienced ships in the Fleet. The scorch marks on her hull showed she had seen heavy fighting over the last months. As he moved slowly away from the warship, he spotted the outlines of Delta 
Squadron and their fighter-bombers.
“Delta Squadron, good to see you again. We have new orders for tactical ground support over Oenopion. Are your birds ready?”
“Roger. I’ve been assessing the situation while the birds have been refuelled. I have some suggestions,” answered Captain Smith, the leader of the squadron and something of a legend within the 7th Fleet. This particular squadron 
had the highest kill record of the 7th Fleet and that included the Thunderbolt squadrons. It was quite a feat.
“Of course, what are you thinking?”
“It looks like the Union forces have installed substantial air defences to cover the western approach and the expected push from our ground forces. Normally, we would dive bomb the target, but my suggestion is a low-level 
strafing run from the east with your fighters. We’ll loiter to the south and hit them sixty seconds after your attack.”
“Give them a chance to try and recover their wounded and equipment then hit them?”
“Exactly. They won’t know which direction to defend against.”
“Follow us in, we’ll assemble fifty klicks to the north east of Oenopion.”
“Roger, we’ll follow your lead.”
Anders altered his course and started his descent into the atmosphere. Around his fighter the rest of the squadron followed, as well as the four bombers from Delta Squadron. As the flames started to lick around the underside of 
his Thunderbolt, he glanced back to double-check on the rest of the fighters. A short distance behind was the dark shape of the closest bomber. They were shaped like a large wing and easily double the size of his craft. A 
warning sensor drew his attention.
“What the hell?” he muttered, checking the computer system for more details. The warning was a temperate alert for his port engine. There must be a slight leak. He would have to be careful once they were low enough to restart 
the engines. It could be a problem getting back into orbit though.
“Sir, I’m picking up radar signatures to the west of Oenopion.”
“Got it, they are scanning for our air support.”
He looked down at the display. The computer had already attached icons for each detected transmitter and they forced a solid wall around the expected enemy positions.
“Angel and Delta Squadrons. Meet at the rendezvous and watch your scanners. They have substantial surface to air assets in place. I don’t want to lose any birds. We’re going in!”
* * *
The skirmish screen moved forward as a single loose line across the open ground. From reinforced positions ahead, a group of thirty or forty infantry fired indiscriminately. Most were armed with small arms, but at least three 
made use of unguided rockets that blew chunks of rock and masonry from the buildings. Spartan stepped out from the cover he’d been using and aimed carefully at a four-man group dragging a heavy weapon between them. The twin L48 
rifles blazed away, each barrel sending 12.7mm intelligent rounds towards the enemy. The rounds were specially developed for the marines’ standard issue rifle. Unlike bullets and shells of the past, each one was fitted with 
advanced electronics that could alter the characteristics of the bullet. The most common use was a range mode, used by selecting a distance with the weapon and then setting the round to explode at the preset range.
“Keller here, we’re pinned down by heavy machine gun fire.”
Spartan looked over to his right where he could see two Vanguards from Marcus’ 3rd Squad.
“Casualties?” asked Spartan over the radio.
“None, so far. Every time we tried to push ahead we take fire from the weapons.”
“Stand your ground, I’m sending the engineers ahead for you.”
Spartan tapped a key to access the additional voice channels. “Engineers here, what do you need?”
“3rd Squad is pinned by machine gun fire on the right flank.”
“Understood, we’re on the way,” said the sergeant in charge, with a matter of fact tone.
Spartan hadn’t fought alongside this particular group of engineers before, but experience had shown him they were all a tough bunch. Out behind their battle line, he saw the first moving forward. Each of the marines wore the 
modified CES suits with the large excavator blades and additional heavy armour on the front. Several rounds of small arms fire hit them but did nothing of note.
“Let’s go!” he cried to Teresa and moved out, following behind the path left by the skirmishers. 1st and 2nd Squad were making good progress and Spartan had already passed over twenty enemy dead. One of Lovett’s squad moved out 
to his left, when he spotted a man with a rocket launcher.
“Look out!” he shouted and jumped ahead. The strength and power of the suit pushed him two metres forward, far further than he could ever have managed before. As he moved through the air, half the Vanguards in the squad targeted 
the unfortunate rocket shooter. Over fifty rounds struck him and he quickly disintegrated. It wasn’t just that the man’s body was shattered, he simply disappeared by the horrendous overkill. Spartan landed on the ground just as 
the rocket slammed down next to Teresa. Their armour was more than sufficient, but its primitive charge sent rocks and dust all around them. Spartan was knocked forward by the blast and stumbled before crashing to the ground. 
His left knee hit a series of rocks and several lights flashed to indicate a temporary drop and change in pressure in the armour.
“Here they come!” shouted Sergeant Lovett.
Spartan looked up to see the shadows of Biomechs moving out of the dust towards their loose skirmish line. He recognised their height, as well as their peculiar gait. These were the more modern Biomechs, the generation before 
Gun and his Jötnar, and probably the most advanced models still using human parts. He pushed the ground hard and forced himself upright, instantly noting the impact of light ammunition pattering against his armour.
“Hold the line!” he shouted, lifting both arms to take aim with all four barrels. Off to his side he noticed something attached to one of the Biomechs, it looked like a standard. Pressing a key, the display magnified the area 
and the creature in particular.
“What the hell!” shouted one of the Vanguards, as he spotted the same peculiar item.
Spartan looked again, it was certainly a standard. It looked like the shape of a beautiful woman with the body of a serpent and two coiled, serpent's tails.
“Echidna?” he muttered.
“I’ve seen that before,” shouted Teresa between firing bursts from her L48 rifles. “It’s the symbol of the Union!”
“Not for long!” he replied under his breath and calmly squeezed his triggers. He fired in shorts bursts, each in the direction of the approaching enemy warriors. Around the feet of the Biomechs were scores of the smaller 
creatures, some running and others moving using all four limbs. It looked like something from hell.
“Lieutenant Weathers here. We’re picking up several columns of vehicles approaching the perimeter wall from the west. Approximately thirty vehicles, most are carrying troops. From here, it looks like they have Biomechs on foot 
following behind.”
In the broken, windswept streets of the city, Spartan stepped out into the open. Around him moved a dozen Vanguards, each slotting into a loose line. It was a drill they had often practiced, giving them maximum firepower and 
mutual protection. Three Biomechs staggered from behind a small building and a dozen of the smaller creatures rushed forward from around them. The Vanguards stayed cool, half shooting at the larger Biomechs, the rest taking very 
careful aim at the smaller ones. It was over fast and not one creature reached closer than ten metres.
“Keep moving forward!” called Spartan. As one, the line opened up slightly and they moved at a walking pace, still firing as they moved. Inside his suit, Spartan checked the position and progress of the other Vanguards. They 
were split up into six small groups now and working their way around the western side of the city.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Frigates and destroyers have a long history in the Confederate Navy. The frigates are the mainstay of all fleets. They are small and fast enough to operate as the eyes of the fleet and powerful enough to escort larger ships. A 
destroyer, on the other hand, is smaller and designed to hunt down frigate class ships in small groups. Both have a critical part to play in small anti-piracy operations and full-scale fleet encounters.
Naval Cadet’s Handbook
Commander Anderson read the last report from Sergeant Kowalski. He sat in the office formally used by the compound’s governor, although Confed agents had removed most of the equipment. From this location, he had video feeds and 
data from all the operational parts of the base. He looked back down at the report, intrigued by the comments highlighted by the Sergeant. The scouting mission was supposed to have been nothing more than routine, but it seemed 
they had bitten off more than they could chew. He lifted his head up to the sound of his deck intercom.
“Yes?”
“Captain Leander, Sir.”
“Good, send him in.”
The door opened to reveal the Captain of the scout frigate and the outlines of two marine guards who watched the door. The officer moved inside, saluting in front of him.
“At ease, Captain. I’ve been reading your report, as well as the report from the marine detachment on board led by Sergeant Kowalski. I’m sure you’re aware that most of our forces are away with the Fleet.”
“Yes, Sir, hence our need to maintain a constant vigil, in and around the storms, to keep Prometheus secure.”
“Quite. So the report you have sent me concerns me greatly. You say you found a debris field roughly twenty thousand kilometres from the final beacon. Do you have any idea what the debris was from?”
“Sergeant Kowalski’s knowledge of tech and metallurgy is impressive to say the least, Sir. He has performed a series of tests and is almost certain it matches the materials from the shipyards, Sir. We retained several plating 
sections for study by the intel teams stationed here.”
“Good work, Captain. Is the Sergeant with you?”
“He is, Sir.”
“Excellent, please send him in on your way out. Give me an update on your ship’s status as soon as possible.”
The young Captain saluted and left the room. A few moments later, Sergeant Kowalski walked in and waited for the door to shut firmly behind him. His salute was a little less firm that the Captain’s and the look on his face 
suggested he had important news.
“Out with it, man!” said the Commander, trying and failing to disguise his intrigue.
“The Captain, there is something odd about him, Sir.”
“He was one of the many Confed officers imprisoned here, we were lucky to find so many Navy crew to help with the construction of the basic defence force here.”
“That is just it, Sir. He has an attitude, as though he has a chip on his shoulder about something. I don’t know what exactly, but he has a real problem whenever I mention General Rivers or anybody involved in the revolt.”
“Odd, if it wasn’t for the General and yourself, the escape would never have happened.”
“I know, there is something definitely wrong. I didn’t really think much of it, until he refused to bring back debris and the material from the wreckage we found. I had to almost cause a riot to get just a few samples on board. 
Of course, those being taken to the labs are not actually what we found.”
“I don’t understand?”
“I used one of the maintenance drones to grab three chunks of metal and stowed them inside the hangar.”
“What? Without the knowledge of Captain Leander?”
“I think the Captain is working for the Union or maybe he just has something to hide. Either way, he is a problem, Sir. We need to find out what is going on. I’m pretty sure he was trying to hide the evidence.”
Commander Anderson leaned forward. “Hiding what?”
The Sergeant lifted his datapad from his side and slid it across the table. The Commander examined the details for almost a minute before looking up to Kowalski.
“You’re sure? If you are correct then we have a big problem. Your analysis shows this to be battle-damaged sections of a heavy transport, likely to be the Yorkdale. Couldn’t this just be debris from the ship passing through the 
area?”
“No, Sir. Look at the carbon analysis, the fragments have been hit by a powerful weapon. I would put strong odds on the fact that something happened after the Yorkdale, and the rest of the reinforcement fleet, left the storms.”
Commander Anderson examined a detailed map of the space around Prometheus and then tracked the route to Euryale. It was a difficult journey, but if the Sergeant was correct, they may have been ambushed en route.
“The reserve fleet is critical to the operation in this sector. We are talking eighteen ships and eight escorts. How could they have been attacked?”
Before Kowalski could answer, the video communication unit on his desk started to flash. Commander Anderson looked down to see it was coming from the monitoring post on the Prometheus Seven Trading Post. It was flagged as urgent 
and of command level importance. For a second he considered sending the Sergeant out of the room, but quickly changed his mind, the man already knew more than probably his own intelligence services. He tapped the connection 
button, the face of a man in a dark suit appeared.
“Commander. We have just picked up capital ship signatures coming through the storm, they are due to arrive within the hour.”
“Capital ships? Ours?”
“Unknown, Sir. The storms are playing havoc with our sensors. We do know that there are at least six, possibly seven ships and they are moving fast.”
“Understood. Initiate a Code Alpha shutdown on the station. We need to prepare.”
The man nodded and the signal cut instantly.
“Code Alpha?” asked Sergeant Kowalski.
“It is the defensive code I established before the troops left. It is the code for a full military lockdown on Prometheus. All military and private security vessels will assemble around the station and the entrance to the 
storms. All external entry points to our facility here will be sealed and troops stationed at all points.”
“You’re expecting trouble?”
“Aren’t you?” replied Commander Anderson.
“I’d better go and help the security details then. If it is trouble, we don’t want them inside.”
Sergeant Kowalski stood to move but Anderson reached out and stopped him.
“Good work, Sergeant. Don’t go too far. If what you say is true, we could have more potential problems here than we thought.”
He nodded in agreement and left the room. Anderson returned to his desk and thought for a moment. The possibility of enemy ships moving to this area was of grave concern, if nothing else because all major combat forces were away 
from the compound. He had minimal numbers with which to defend the area. He would just have to rely upon the preparations he had already made and hope he could hold out long enough. As he sat there, curiosity finally got the 
better of him. He tapped a few buttons and brought up the military records of Captain Leander. By all accounts, the young man was a credit to the Navy. His record was clean, no problems in the last three years and his service as 
an escort commander at the Siege of Titan had won him a commendation.
“What is your secret?” he asked quietly.
The first page on his dossier described him physically, as well as outlining his closest family. He noticed nothing out of the ordinary, until he spotted an image of a man.
“It can’t be,” he muttered.
The face of the man looked almost identical to the man that had betrayed General Rivers and the rest of the rioters at the last minute. He picked up the intercom.
“Get Captain Leander back here immediately!” he said sternly.
“Sir!” came the reply.
He looked back at the screen and brought up the details of the man that had caught his eye. All it said was that Captain Leander’s brother, a Tigran Leander, had gone missing seven months earlier. It was an unusual name and 
strangely similar to the Tigris on this very colony. Could it be that the Captain had a brother who had also been a prisoner? Was there a link? A knock came at the door.
“Come!” he answered.
The door opened and in walked a suspicious looking Captain.
Commander Anderson stood up and walked towards him. “Tell me, Captain, what of your brother?”
“My brother? I don’t understand,” he said, though the look on his face told Anderson exactly what he needed to know.
“Damn it, man, answer the question or I’ll have it torn from you!” he said furiously.
Before the Captain could answer Anderson held up his datapad showing the images of Tigris taken from the video feeds during the revolt. It showed him approaching the now dead governor of the compound, killed during the battle.
“This is your brother isn’t it?”
The Captain said nothing.
“Your silence condemns you. Are you a man or a Zealot-loving traitor? At least your brother had the guts to make a decision.”
The Captain was still silent.
* * *
CCS Crusader broke away from the main battle to chase the single remaining Union cruiser and her five frigate escorts. She was the largest and most powerful vessel still fighting and three full broadsides from the Crusader 
hadn’t been able to stop her. The frigates hung around her stern as a mobile, living shield against fire from the pursuing battlecruiser. Several large holes had been torn through her hull, yet she refused to give up. For every 
shot that struck her reinforced hull, she returned double. Dozens of small turrets blasted hundreds of cannon rounds, making it deadly for fighters to approach. From the CiC, Admiral Jarvis watched in anticipation as they gave 
chase.
“There must be some way of stopping her. How long until she is in range of the rest of the armada around Euryale?”
“Our orbiting assault force will be in direct line of fire in seven minutes, Admiral.”
“We have to stop them, keep the forward guns firing!”
“Yes, Sir,” replied the weapons officer who continued firing the small bow battery. It was pathetic compared to the firepower from the flanks of the ship, but it did at least let them feel they were doing something useful. 
Admiral Jarvis stood for a second, feeling the vibration through the floor. Each time the main guns fired, a low hum would reverberate through some of the floor plates. It was an odd feeling, but also somehow reassuring. As long 
as the hum continued, it meant the heart of the ship was beating.
“Why don’t we just turn and hit her with another broadside?” asked the XO.
Captain Tobler looked at the tactical screen and checked the disposition of the ships. By moving forward, but at a slight angle, it would give them just enough space to bring their guns to bear. The downside would be, that if 
the ship continued accelerating it would take even longer to reach the enemy.
“Why not maintain course and coast? We’ll continue at the same velocity and can turn and fire without altering our course.”
The XO checked the charts again and shook his head.
“We take a big risk cutting the engines. The cruiser is still accelerating and she’ll be amongst our transports in a matter of minutes.”
Captain Tobler could see the risks and Admiral Jarvis had already made it clear to him that he needed to stop the ship, by ramming if necessary.
“Navigation, alter our course by fifteen degrees. Put us between the transports and the cruiser. Fire when ready on the starboard batteries!”
The XO nodded in agreement and moved over to the tactical officer. In seconds, the steady hum from the weapon systems could be felt through the mighty warship. On the main screen, one of the frigates shook from multiple impacts 
before half of the port superstructure tore off. The ship appeared crippled but continued moving in the same direction.
“We’re just creating more debris around her stern, we need to get closer, and quickly, so we can deliver a killing blow!”
“Sir, the frigates are breaking off and moving to intercept us!” shouted the tactical officer.
Captain Tobler banged his fist on his terminal.
“They’re trying to buy time for the cruiser. Ignore the frigates, full power to engines and get us alongside the cruiser. Keep the guns running, we won’t stop her, standing back like this!”
A rumble shook the ship as the engines powered up to the maximum combat speed. Alarms triggered for the rotating sections to slow down and stop, and for the crew to strap themselves in. The officers in the CiC moved to their 
seating areas and pulled on the straps fitted to each of them. Towards the front, the Captain and the XO continued discussing the tactical situation, the gun decks kept up their heavy fire. Admiral Jarvis leaned towards the 
science officer who was still busy checking the details of the enemy technology.
“Do we have any intelligence on their weapons? Our ships have taken more damage than they should have. We’ve had entire ships lit up from a single hit.”
The science officer skimmed through several screens of data. He turned with a look of confusion on his face and then shook his head.
“It is strange, Sir. I’m not comfortable making an assessment with so little data.”
“Comfortable?” she replied with a raised eyebrow.
He noticed her look, it wasn’t one that was happy to simply wait for what he found convenient. He was about to speak but a barrage of shells must have struck the bow of the battlecruiser. Alarms stared to flash throughout the 
CiC and one of the computer systems near the Admiral sparked and flashed before failing spectacularly.
“Damage to forward guns, casualties reported!” called the chief engineer.
The rest of the officers in the CiC continued to manage the battle with the rogue cruiser, under the stern eye of their XO. In the centre, directly in front of the artificially projected screen that replicated the view expected 
from the bridge, sat Captain Tobler. He carefully examined the report screens to check on the status of his ship, it wasn’t looking good.
“Armour?” he asked.
“The starboard belt has been ruptured, Sir. Evacuation teams and engineers are already in position. They used the new weapons and it exploded three layers of armour.”
“Exploded? Not burned?”
“No, Sir, the weapon is agitating the target and then exploding it. We’re luck they are using their stern weapons, they are far less powerful.”
He pressed the tactical database option on his display, bringing up the ship’s scans and imagery from the initial combat. The cruiser they were facing had been in the centre of the battle line when they assaulted the enemy. From 
the port side view, it was clear the ship was equipped with a heavy weapon mounting of some kind.
”Isn’t this one of the ships with the new weapons?”
“It must be, Sir. The damage it is inflicting is out of all balance with its size and configuration. I have cross-checked the data coming in and yes, it would appear they are using a very, very high power weapons system. At 
first it looks like the firing pattern for our capital ship railguns, but there is a major difference.”
Admiral Jarvis didn’t look impressed, she wasn’t the kind of officer who liked to listen to excessively long explanations.
“Lieutenant, the short version, if you please.”
The science officer looked a little confused, on one side sat the Captain of the ship, but further back in the CiC was the ever-watching eye of the Admiral.
“Sorry, Sir. The figures suggest to me they must be using particle beams. There is no visible light from them as expected in space.”
“Why?” asked Captain Tobler.
“Surely you covered light effects in space, Captain?” retorted the Admiral, though for those that knew her it was clear she was being a little light hearted with him.
“Uh, no, Sir. Perhaps you could elaborate?”
Admiral Jarvis nodded to her science officer, who by now was sweating profusely.
“Yes, Sir. A laser, or any other form of normally visibly direct energy weapon, is a highly focused beam of light. In the case of a laser it consists of the stream of photons travelling in one direction. None will escape to hit 
your eye and therefore make the beam visible.”
Captain Tobler looked less than impressed and turned, assuming the lesson was over, only to spot the Admiral indicating for him to wait so the officer could finish his explanation. He sighed quietly to himself and beckoned for 
him to continue.
“In a vacuum, you would only see the beam light up where it hit the target. There is nothing in the path to make the beam visible.”
On the main screen in the CiC, a series of lightning fast flashes burst around the escaping cruiser. Though the blasts looked relatively small, they disguised the immense energy being expended in space against the thick armour 
of the ship.
“When will she die!” growled Captain Tobler.
“Sir, message from the Wasp and Ark Royal. They are moving in three fighter wings to provide a screen for the transports.”
“Good, we need to get closer. Get onto engineering, we need more speed!”
On the screen, a large section of the cruiser ripped apart and drifted off behind the ship. A group of three Thunderbolt fighter-bombers rushed through the damage. No sooner were they past than they were hit by fore turret. The 
streams of cannon shells were simply too fast and too accurate. Two were destroyed immediately. The third lost a wing and its main engines. It drifted out of control and away from the cruiser. The commanders on the Crusader 
watched in anger as the fighter pilots sacrificed themselves in a desperate attempt to halt the cruiser.
Admiral Jarvis checked her tactical display and traced the movement of the ships with her hands. From what she could see, the cruiser would reach the Army transports first and then within another minute would be right in the 
middle of the Fleet. She lifted the intercom unit but was quickly interrupted.
“Sir!” shouted Lieutenant Nilsson, the ships communication officer.
“What is it, Lieutenant?”
The excited officer turned around in her chair to face the Admiral. Captain Tobler stopped what he was doing for a few seconds as he waited on her words. Whatever it was, she seemed electrified by the news.
“Transmission from the Vengeance. They will be here in less than five minutes.”
“The War Barge? Five minutes? How?” she demanded.
Captain Tobler checked his logs and shook his head.
“You must be wrong, Lieutenant. There is no way she can be here so fast. We’re not expecting the reinforcement fleet to be here for at least a day.”
Commander Andrews, the ship’s XO, examined the navigation screen before looking over to the Admiral.
“No, the Lieutenant is correct. The crazy sons of bitches have their engines on full reverse burn. They must have covered the distance with terrible g-forces, probably double normal gravity. They’re gonna feel that when their 
teeth stop aching!”
Admiral Jarvis looked confused, her forehead wrinkled as the skin tightened.
“Double normal gravity? Is that even possible?”
“When we were ambushed on our way here, a number of our ships were forced to accelerate past normal tolerances. There were consequences, including casualties in the crew, but it did keep the rest of us alive. They have taken a 
major risk to make the trip this fast, Sir.”
Lieutenant Nilsson lifted her hand, trying to get the attention of the officers.
“Sir, incoming message from Vengeance.”
“Put it on loudspeaker, Lieutenant.”
She lowered the intercom and placed it in a cradle. Flicking a toggle switch was all that was needed to move the audio feed to the main speaker system in the CiC.
“Captain Severus of CCS Vengeance. What is your status?”
“Sir, I‘m detecting decelerating ships, they are moving fast, really fast. Whoever they are they will slow down right in the middle of this battle, Sir,” said Lieutenant Nilsson.
“Is it the Vengeance?”
“I think so. Yes, I have three ships. The Vengeance, a heavy transport and a light cruiser.”
“What are you doing here early?” she asked.
The speakers crackled for a few seconds, the distortion making the first few words impossible to hear. The only other sound was the odd hit coming from the light weapons of the frigates now moving closer to the Crusader.
“…critical information on Euryale. Had to get here fast...intruders...risk”
The entire CiC went silent as they all listened intently, each trying to work out what the message meant. Admiral Jarvis picked up the intercom that immediately reverted their communication back to a private channel.
“This is the Admiral. We appreciate your assistance but the battle is almost over. Deploy your forces at a safe distance from the planet.”
There was a violent series of whistles and spikes before audio was restored.
“No, Admiral, it is about to start…we have lost…computer failure…need..” the audio cut to a high pitch whine before fading back for one last burst, “...stay away!”
The signal cut out and the Admiral stood in shock, unsure as to what was happening. Several alerts icons indicated a series of cannon shells striking the outer armour of the ship. The frigates must have been returning fire, a 
last desperate gesture as they moved around the Crusader in an attempt to overwhelm her.
“Here she comes!” called out the tactical officer.
On the main screen a dot quickly magnified into what appeared to be a burning hot object. As it came closer it slowed, the heat blooms now clearly showing as the stern of the ship, its engines on full burn.
“What is her distance?” she demanded.
“Seventeen thousand kilometres, Sir,” replied the tactical officer.
Admiral Jarvis examined the burning hot vessel as it altered course and adjusted its position. The hull was pockmarked with dents and holes from battles past. She was an old warhorse, a vessel way out of her depth. Though her 
armour was thick, her engines were underpowered and her weapons simple, antiquated automatic canons. She was a relic from humanity’s past.
“Wait,” called out the XO, “are you seeing this?”
Captain Tobler looked at the screen and tactical display, the XO pointed out the position of the ship.
“I don’t understand, the Vengeance is moving towards us?”
On the main screen, the scorched and damaged hulk of the mighty ship was clearly turning and moving at speed towards the Crusader. Admiral Jarvis wasted no time and grabbed the intercom, clicking it onto a general broadcast.
“This is the Admiral. All ships, this is not a drill. The War Barge Vengeance has just arrived. She is to be considered hostile. All vessels are to maintain a safe distance, leave her to the capital ships. I repeat the Vengeance 
is a possible hostile vessel, keep away!”
She replaced the intercom and looked at the officers in the CiC.
“You heard Captain Severus. He told us to keep away and there were intruders. If I had to guess, I would say the Vengeance is under the enemy’s control.”
The XO shook his head and turned to the Captain, to find him nodding in agreement with the Admiral.
“It matches the facts. If she is hostile, we have a big problem.”
“Weapons, she’s powering up her weapons grid.”
“No, it can’t be. The Vengeance is an old ship, I know Captain Severus. He’s a good man.”
“Irrelevant, Commander. If the ship has been compromised there could be a Union crew on board. We’re lucky they didn’t arrive without warning, be thankful to Captain Severus.”
Lieutenant Nilsson tapped her ear as she listened carefully to transmissions from other vessels. Something must have grabbed her attention as she turned quickly to the Captain.
“Sir, two more ships moving into range, it’s the Yorkdale and an unidentified frigate.”
“As expected,” he replied, “their course?”
“Uh, Sir, this isn’t right. They are moving on the Vengeance. Both ships show signs of damage. The Yorkdale is missing a part of her starboard engine and the frigate has sustained heavy damage.”
“What the hell is going on out there?” demanded Admiral Jarvis.
“Getting a transmission from the Yorkdale,” continued the Lieutenant.
“Put it through!”
The main display flicked from the bridge camera display to the video transmission from the massive transport. At first, the video was nothing but blackness but the display suddenly adjusted to the brightness and contrast. In the 
middle of the screen was a view of a badly damaged bridge. It was not unlike the CiC of the Crusader, but lacking in many of the crew positions and computer equipment. A shape moved past the camera and then blocked it 
completely. Then the shape moved back to show a dark silhouette of a large man. As the image adjusted again, it was the face of a Jötnar. A murmur of surprise fell from Captain Tobler’s lips.
“Commander Gun?” asked Admiral Jarvis.
The Biomech stood and gazed into the screen for a moment before grinning. He had a bandage over his head and covering one eye.
“Admiral. We deal with Vengeance!” he said and then turned from the camera. His voice appeared angry, but it wasn’t obviously different to the way the Jötnar spoke to most of the Confed officers.
“What the hell is going on?” demanded Captain Tobler.
A human officer, his uniform ragged and bloody appeared on the screen. He wore the insignia of a Major.
“Major, what is going on?”
“Admiral, we were attacked by a force of renegade vessels as we left the storms at Prometheus. Vengeance was boarded and they turned the guns on us before getting away. We have been in pursuit ever since. They jammed our 
transmissions, they mean to attack the troops ships!”
“You know this?”
“Gun and some of his wounded Jötnar managed to get information from some of their captured soldiers.”
Admiral Jarvis turned to Captain Tobler. “Captain, status of the Leviathan?”
“She’s closing on the transports. Santa Maria and Santa Cruz are moving to block her. The other transports are dropping as low as they can into high orbit. We’re gaining on her.”
“What about the Vengeance?”
“Good God!” he muttered as he watched his screen.
“What?” she demanded.
One of the crew tapped a key that sent the main forward camera feed straight to the primary display. It showed the vast hulk of the War Barge surging forward with all its engines on full burn. The ship was of a similar length to 
the Crusader but much wider and contained far more bulk. From the left of the display, the even larger shape of the Yorkdale, the recently requisitioned transport, pushed ahead. It appeared to happen in slow motion to those 
watching as the two ships collided. The bow of the Yorkdale splintered and shattered as it ripped through the flank of the War Barge.
“What are they doing?” demanded the Admiral.
To the side of the main display was the direct feed to the marine Major on the Yorkdale. All around him were sparks and flames. Several Jötnar rushed past in the background.
“They are out of control, Sir. Commander Gun and his forces are boarding the Vengeance.
The Admiral turned to Captain Tobler, who shook his head in exasperation.
“They can’t be trusted,” he said sternly.
“Maybe, maybe not. Either way it gives us a chance. Put us on a pursuit course with the Leviathan, get the Cruz and Santa Maria to do the same. We’ll surround her and pound her hull to dust.”
“What about the Vengeance? She is still drifting towards the Fleet. We can’t deal with both of them.”
“You deal with the Leviathan, I’ll bring the rest of the Fleet in to help deal with her.”
“Aye, Sir.”
* * *
Spartan and his platoon were just one hundred metres from the transportation hub. The ground rose slightly where two roads and a rail system moved into a series of wide tunnels and structures. Most of the low buildings were 
heavily damaged from the fighting.
“Sitrep!” he called out.
“All squads accounted for. Two Vanguards damaged but still operational,” answered Teresa who was standing three metres to his left. As she spoke, she continued to engage the enemy who were firmly entrenched.
“Lieutenant Weathers, how is the right flank doing?”
A dozen cannon rounds blasted around Spartan and one managed to shatter an ammunition link to one of his guns. A series of warning alarms triggered inside the suit.
“We’ve cleared the enemy right up to the wall but we can’t cross the highway, it’s blocking out route and it runs all the way to the hub.”
“Damn!” Spartan growled to himself. He lifted himself up and examined the highway that ran to the front of the tunnel entrance. The entire system reminded him of the underground highways and tunnels on Prime.
“Spartan!” Teresa called, indicating behind her with her left hand.
Spartan turned to see a small group of Vanguards led by Captain Daniels. Behind them moved two of the armoured mules he’d seen on the Santa Cruz.
“Getting into trouble again, I see!” he said as he approached.
“Good to see you, Sir. We’ve hit heavy resistance and large numbers of enemy reinforcements are approaching from the west.”
Captain Daniels and his escort moved into position and immediately started adding their fire to the battle. At least a dozen rockets blasted from the entrenched enemy around the smashed buildings of the transport hub. Scores of 
rifles and machineguns added their own fire. The Vanguards were in position to the south and west of the hub but the blistering fire kept them all securely behind cover.
“Spartan. I’ve received the latest reconnaissance from our fighters and there is a big problem.”
More bullets hit near them, but the violent response from the Vanguards quickly forced the enemy back out of sight. One of the men in 2nd Squad tried to push forward but was struck within five seconds by three separate rockets. 
Two slammed into the torso knocking him back and the third tore off his right arm up to the elbow.
“Get him to safety!” barked Spartan. He waved for two other marines to move him. More bullets rattled around them.
“Where the hell is our air cover?” shouted Teresa rhetorically.
“It’s there, trust me. The problem is the enemy aren’t just moving men and machines down the highway to the city. They’re bringing prisoners from the spaceport with them. Two bombing runs have already been called off to avoid 
civilian casualties,” shouted Daniels.
Spartan leaned around the corner of the rubble that used to be some kind of vehicle shop. He fired a quick burst that killed an enemy soldier and wounded another, then moved back behind the masonry. He looked over to Captain 
Daniels.
“You’re kidding? How many?”
Daniels looked at a screen inside his suit before looking up to Spartan.
“Look, our estimates put the enemy infantry at over six battalions of militia with a similar number of Biomechs. We calculate another two to three thousand troops in the northern suburbs and on their way to clear the city.”
“Is that who the Air Force have been bombing the crap out of?” asked Teresa.
Captain Daniels turned and signalled for the mules to move towards them. More gunfire continued, the intensity now far greater than before. He looked back at Teresa.
“Yes. They’ve already hit the lead units approaching the city and have moved to the north. With more of these units taking prisoners it’s making air support difficult.”
Spartan looked down at his map of the city and the approximate disposition of the enemy. The Vanguards had created what amounted to just a small enclave in the middle of the city and the perimeter was shrinking as more enemy 
forces approached. He looked at the Captain.
“If they are going to hit us soon, we’re going to need to dig in. We have to take the hub and clear a path to the civilians. We’ll need their help.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Full frontal assault, we take this hub once and for all!”
Teresa nodded, the Captain looked less than convinced.
“You realise there are over three hundred troops dug in just over that escarpment?” he said, pointing ahead to where the repeated gunfire came from. A flag was being raised bearing the symbol and iconography of the Union, but 
accurate fire from the Vanguards cut the pole in half and it dropped from sight.
“Give it another five minutes and we’ll be surrounded. The only way is forward. Are the mules fully operational?”
The Captain nodded. “Okay, Spartan, you’re sure your Vanguards can handle this?”
Spartan looked at him with a look that told him he really shouldn’t be asking the question. Captain Daniels tapped a key inside his suit and sent out communications to the other units. As he organised the attack, Teresa turned 
to Spartan.
“You’re not just trying to impress him now, are you?”
“Why does everybody keep questioning me? What else would you suggest?”
Teresa shrugged.
“Yeah, thought so,” replied Spartan with a grin. “We rush the bastards, smash though the barrier to the civvies and link up. We need to secure this place and fortify it in the next thirty minutes. If we don’t succeed, we’ll be 
overrun and it won’t matter anymore.”
Daniels signalled to Spartan and Teresa.
“Lieutenant Weathers and his Vanguards are going to launch a diversionary attack in sixty seconds. We wait thirty seconds after they start before moving in. Look at this.”
Inside Spartan’s suit a map slid onto his tactical screen showing an aerial view of the hub. It looked like a cross between a highway flyover and railroad station. Large parts were damaged, but what really mattered were the 
trenches and weapon emplacements.
“If we take out the two positions on the right, we can link up with Weathers as his forces penetrate their line.”
Spartan nodded in agreement and glanced down at the readouts in his suit. He gave them a cursory look, ensuring the guns and ammunition were ready for the battle. A new set of icons had appeared that gave him authorisation to 
control the mules. It wasn’t direct control, simply a mechanism that allowed him to select them and move them to particular areas. He tapped the two green shapes and moved them out into the open so they could start suppressing 
fire.
“What are you doing?” asked Teresa.
The two four-legged machines moved out from cover and into the open, directly in front of escarpment. Rifle fire started to hit their thick metal armour and a rocket exploded ineffectually nearby.
“When Weathers attacks, they will assume the mules were a diversion. They can advance with us.”
Teresa didn’t look totally convinced. She called over to the squad sergeants and quickly ordered the Vanguards into position to commence their attack. With precision and skill, the operational Vanguards moved as forward as they 
dared. The two mules remained stationary, absorbing masses of fire. Their motorised gun turrets joined the battle and very soon the enemy were keeping their heads down. Spartan looked down at the timer on his suit and then hit 
the intercom button.
“We start our attack in forty seconds, make your checks.”
Almost to emphasise the starting attack, a low level group of three Lightning fighters screamed overhead. Two of them fired long bursts into the enemy positions ahead. Spartan watched his drone feed with pleasure as the machine 
gun nest to the right was saturated in gunfire. Nothing could survive that inferno.
“We’re going in!” called Lieutenant Weathers over the intercom. Though his voice vanished, the sound of the assault could be heard from their position two hundred metres away. Spartan shuddered as he wondered how they would fair 
against such devastating firepower. He looked back down at his timer, it read just twenty seconds to go.
“1st Platoon, squad leaders report in.”
The Vanguards were obviously ready and waiting for his command. Off to his left, he spotted the raised arm of Marcus.
“3rd Squad ready, Sir!” he replied with a bark. Sergeants Lovett and Harris quickly followed him.
Spartan checked once more, just ten seconds to go.
“Vanguards. We do not stop, no matter what! We take this place, understood?”
A chorus of agreement echoed through his suit. He looked over to Teresa who waited, both her weapon arms ready for the fight. She nodded to him. The timer flashed, it was time.
“Now!” he shouted, and then pushed himself from out of cover and into the open. Lights flashed through the suit as sensors detected incoming bullets and rockets. It didn’t matter to Spartan, he pushed down with his feet and 
drove himself forward. The patter of small arms struck around the suit but nothing was able to stop him making progress. No sooner had he pushed ahead ten metres, when a group of six soldiers in carapace armour stood up to fire 
their heavy weapons. Spartan kept going and held down the trigger of his L48 rifles. Bright muzzle flashes rippled along the line of Vanguards as they stormed up the broken embankment and towards the escarpment. To his left a 
rocket smashed into a comrade, knocking the still burning Vanguard suit to the ground.
“Lieutenant Spartan, we’ve broken through!” came a rough crackle on the radio system. It was Lieutenant Weathers. Spartan kept going, digging in his right arm to help lift him up to the lip along the embankment. As he stood 
there looking down, he could see several dozen Biomechs picking up weapons and rushing towards him. To his left, three Vanguards appeared and to his right, another two. He didn’t even hesitate.
“Follow me!” he cried and jumped down to the charging Biomechs. He held down the triggers but it wasn’t enough. They were on him in seconds. He was forced to rely upon his speed and skill with the excavator claws built into the 
fists. Behind him, dropped more Vanguards as they filled the transport hub and overran the defensive positions. The closest Biomech swung for him but he evaded the strike with a quick twist of his torso. He followed it with a 
savage uppercut that embedded the metal blade deep into the creature’s throat. Another approached from the left and he smartly dealt with it, firing a long burst from his left arm. Teresa jumped next to him, fending off three 
carapace-armoured soldiers with her L48 rifles.
“Spartan. You ok?” she shouted over the din of the battle.
Throwing off the bodies of the dead, he lifted his arms and stepped forward, blazing away with the built-in gun.
“All fine here, you?”
“No problem, where is Weathers?”
Another group of Vanguards dropped in, Spartan instantly recognised them by their suits, it was Marcus and the rest of 3rd Squad. He was quickly assailed by a small group of Biomechs, but the massed firepower from the squad 
stopped all but one reaching them. As the final bullet-ridden Biomech stumbled forward, one of the mules appeared behind them. Its computer controlled turret weapons system locked onto the Biomech and opened fire with linked 
automatic cannons. It instantly turned the creature to pulp.
“Holy shit!” shouted Marcus over the radio.
A dozen rounds hammered into the thick frontal armour of Teresa’s armoured suit, throwing her to the ground. As she fell back, Spartan grabbed her arm and lifted her up.
“What you doing? We’re not finished!” he said, moving back into the fight. From the right flank of his platoon, the battle damaged and heavily scarred Vanguards of 2nd Platoon staggered over the western ridge and moved into the 
transport hub. The weapons fire was already starting to fade and the last few dozen soldiers lifted their hands to surrender. Three Biomechs remained, each stood around the last soldiers, waiting to protect to them from the 
Vanguards. Captain Daniels pushed past Spartan and towards the group.
“Cease fire!” he called and walked slowly towards them. In the middle stood a man in a dark uniform, similar in style and cut to those of the Confed Naval Intelligence. In his hand he held a small metal box.
“Captain, get back!” Spartan shouted.
The soldiers, still with their hands raised, dropped to their knees. It was then that he saw the thick metal collars around their necks. He jumped forwards and reached out towards the Captain. Fast though he was, it wasn’t fast 
enough. The man gave a sinister grin and pressed a lever. A series of blasts echoed as the collars of the dead and living exploded, each one sending shards of bone and lumps of flesh all around them. Captain Daniels staggered 
back from the blast and then fell down in a loud and violent crash.
As the final act in the battle for the transport hub played out, the Biomechs stood silently. Each watched their comrades vanish in a mist of blood and gore. They had a confused and slightly bemused expression on their faces. 
The leader was still standing and with the large number of Vanguards around him, he dropped the metal box and lifted his hands. Spartan stepped forward, easily double his size and stared at the man. He carried a scar on the side 
of his face and a look of sheer hate in his eyes.
“Lieutenant Spartan of the Vanguards. You will surrender yourself and these creatures to my safe keeping,” he said firmly.
“Hah!” laughed the man and he spat on the floor. “Your platitudes mean nothing to me, Spartan. The Union is just the beginning. My people have worked long and hard for our revenge, and it will come! The forgotten sons shall 
return soon enough!”
Spartan sensed what was happening. As the man reached for his pistol, he swung his right arm and smashed the man in the face with the back of his armoured hand.
“Lieutenant, over here!” shouted Sergeant Lovett. Spartan turned to see a number of ragged civilians appear from underground. They must have opened the hatches after seeing the last stages of the Vanguards’ assault. One man in 
particular moved towards Spartan and saluted.
“Sir! Sergeant Jim Patterson, 1st Platoon, City Militia. Damned glad to see you. We thought they were going to break through.”
Spartan flicked a switch to open up the visor so the man could see his face properly.
“Lieutenant Spartan, Vanguard Marines. What is your status?”
“We have control of most of the city. They’ve been using the small bastards to infiltrate the place but so far we’ve held them off.”
Lieutenant Weathers arrived and moved up to Spartan to listen to the man’s report.
“The shopping precinct?” asked Spartan.
“Lost that almost twelve hours ago. They hit it first, why?”
“That is where we were supposed to break through.”
“Glad you didn’t use that route, Sir. It was captured quickly, but we used seismic charges to collapse the tunnels. It’s completely blocked now.”
Spartan turned to look at Weathers, his armour was smashed and damaged but still working. “Your platoon?” he asked.
“Three dead, two wounded. They did their jobs,” he answered calmly.
“Good call on the hub. If we’d kept on, we would have been trapped and surrounded at the precinct.” Lieutenant Weathers nodded, acknowledging the thanks from Spartan.
“We’re expecting a major assault on this position in the next few minutes. Can your militia help with the fight?”
“No problem, they’re itching for some payback.” He turned and whistled to those waiting underground. Without saying more, the first of them appeared. Each was wearing light armour and carrying out of date rifles and carbines.
Teresa helped Captain Daniels to his feet, the officer staggered for a second as he regained his footing. Spartan stomped over to check on him.
“You okay, Sir?”
“Yeah, goddamned rookie mistake. I should have stayed back.”
“Yes, you should have, Sir. At least the suit did its job.”
The Captain did his best to smile.
A flight of Lightning fighters whistled past and proceeded to strafe and bomb positions half a kilometre to the north. The flashes and explosions continued for several seconds as they flattened the section of the city. From over 
the ridge, the first of the mules started to climb down into the transport hub but lost its footing. The odd-looking mechanical contraption slipped and fell, but incredibly straightened itself before crashing. With a few slips, 
it managed to stand up and move towards Captain Daniels. He looked at it in surprise and then back at Spartan.
“I’m getting information from General Rivers. He’s diverting two battalions of Army ground forces to the city. They are due to land east of the hub in the next twenty minutes. They will secure the city and relieve us.”
“What the hell?” said Spartan angrily.
“Spartan. Our job is done. We are the spearhead. We shatter the enemy and then move to the next target. The Army have armour and artillery on the way. An advance company of pathfinders is already on the ground and making its way 
here. They need space to bring in the heavy landers.”
“What about us?”
“For now, we stay here and defend the transport hub and the centre of the city. Don’t forget we are expecting enemy forces to arrive at any moment. I want you to take a handpicked unit and escort the engineers to the east and 
help clear an LZ for the big birds.”
“Don’t we need everybody here?”
“Spartan, a dozen Vanguards will not tip the scale that much. Get the engineers to the designated zone and help the pathfinders clear a space. Hold the landing zone so the big birds can land the heavy armour and infantry. If 
you’re quick you can have ground troops and tanks in position in less than thirty minutes. They are already on the way, so move it!”
Spartan saluted, his body language made it quite clear he was less than impressed by the order. He moved to the middle of the hub where Teresa and the other Vanguards were helping the city militia prepare foxholes and 
emplacements for the captured enemy weapons. The three Biomech prisoners stood patiently, they each looked unsure what to do, as did the three Vanguards guarding them.
“The Captain needs us to get the engineers to this area to establish an LZ. We don’t have long, the Army heavies are already on the way.”
“Maybe we should have established an LZ first?” said Marcus.
“Yeah, maybe you should have done it yourself. It doesn’t matter, right now I need both of you and three more marines.”
Marcus moved away to recruit those he felt best suited for the job. Teresa stayed slightly closer to Spartan. She was about to speak when he noticed several news feeds coming in from their commanders, the one that caught his 
attention was about newly arrived ship.
“What is it?” asked Teresa, noticing something was wrong.
“The Yorkdale, she’s here. They rammed a rebel War Barge.”
“They? You mean Gun?”
Spartan shook his head in annoyance.
“Yeah, news is spreading through the Fleet. Apparently, the War Barge is renegade and the Jötnar have started a major boarding action.”
“I told you Gun was crazy,” she laughed.
“Was?” muttered Spartan, as Marcus returned with three dusty and slightly battered looking Vanguards. The CES equipped engineers were already there waiting. Spartan looked out to the east and the distant smoke plumes. He glanced 
upwards but so far there was no sign of the impending Army forces.
“Right, let’s go!”
Spartan moved ahead first with the engineers directly behind and the other five Vanguards spread out around the group. As they moved away from the hub, the remaining Vanguards helped lift great chunks of masonry, quickly turning 
the site into an improvised fortress.
“How long until they attack?” asked Teresa.
Spartan looked at his tactical display and noted the large number of red icons converging from the west. A much smaller group seemed stuck in the north of the city, probably held up by the constant air attacks from the Navy 
fighters.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Why use the Jötnar? They were after all the only synthetic life form based military unit to ever serve in the Confederate military. Though lacking in the discipline and experience of the regular Marine and Army units, they did 
have very important advantages. Almost impervious to harm, they were tough and ruthless. They made excellent soldiers, perhaps the best natural warriors in the Confederacy. Coupled with unswerving loyalty to their masters, they 
almost matched the capability of the elite Vanguard Marines but without the requirement for expensive equipment and training. It was never a matter of could they do the job? It was simply a case of whether they would be allowed 
to do it.
The 1st Jötnar Battalion
“Admiral, video signal from Prometheus. It’s Commander Anderson,” said Lieutenant Nilsson.
Admiral Jarvis looked down to the smaller view screen. It was positioned so that only she could see the content. She was surprised to hear that her old friend wanted to speak with her. She had left him in charge of the defences 
of the colony and its secretive underground factories and research labs. The image changed to a one-way video transmission from Commander Anderson. She was immediately transported back to the time, just months before, when he 
had been her XO on the Crusader.
“Admiral. Half of the reserve fleet, including the Army transport and most of the escorts, have just returned to orbit around Prometheus. They were ambushed after leaving the storms and several of the ships were destroyed. Most 
of them are showing damage from high power weapons. Our scientists here believe they are using a direct energy weapons, possibly a particle beam. If so, the weapon will agitate and explode the target in line of sight. There is a 
chance the Vengeance has been captured. The Yorkdale is in pursuit.”
He paused for a moment and then leaned in closer to the camera.
“I had information on one of the ships to be delivered to you by hand. Sergeant Bishop was due to give it to you, as well as a handpicked unit of Jötnar. The ship is one of those missing following the ambush. I have no idea of 
its whereabouts,” he said shaking his head.
“Reports from the ships that escaped the attack, say there is a fleet of approximately thirty ships out there and they include a number of heavy cruisers. This fleet might be heading our way or on the way to hit your forces, 
there is no way of knowing. I will send more data as it arrives. We already have a dozens escorts out scouting the storms and around the colony to keep an eye out for them.”
An image popped up to the side of the video feed with three rough schematics and several shots from the gun cameras. It showed a cruiser, much like the Leviathan though perhaps a little smaller. Commander Anderson continued.
“If these forces do enter your location, we could really do with capturing one of their ships. I appreciate that probably won’t be easy, but Kowalski informs me this level of technology is easily thirty years ahead of where we 
are. It could be critical to the war effort,” he said with a wry smile.
Admiral Jarvis smiled inwardly at the comment. The Commander knew full well how hard it was to get close enough to even consider a boarding action, let alone carrying one out to its successful conclusion. It was normal for a 
ship that was about to be boarded to accelerate away or even to self-destruct. Anderson turned to look at something and then back at the camera.
“I have to help prepare the defences. If they do arrive, we have enough ships, defences and minefields to drag it out for weeks, maybe months. Good luck, Admiral, I’ll be in touch. Anderson out.”
The image turned black and Admiral Jarvis sat, stunned for a moment. She wasn’t sure which part had hit her hardest. The fact her reinforcements were not coming or that there was a force of thirty or more ships lurking 
somewhere. A fleet of that size could cause her serious problems on her new campaign. She considered responding but knew in her heart that a few minutes either way would make little difference to what was about to happen. Right 
now she had Euryale, the Leviathan and a rogue War Barge to deal with.
She looked around at the CiC, like her the rest of the crew were still strapped into their seats. The vessel had been accelerating since the pursuit of the Leviathan had begun. It was slow, but they were finally starting to gain 
on the enemy ship. Lieutenant Nilsson calling over to the Captain caught her attention.
“Video signal from the Leviathan,” she said.
“Put it on the main screen,” replied Captain Tobler.
The face of an old looking man in a dark gown appeared on the display. A small number of men in the robes of the Zealots moved around him. Something the crew of the Crusader hadn’t seen for some months.
“Typhon!” hissed Admiral Jarvis from the back of the CiC.
“Euryale is sovereign territory, as is all of Proxima Centauri. You tried to sabotage our efforts on Prime and failed, then Kerberos. Your regime is a catalogue of brutality and failure. The remnants of your dictatorship have no 
influence here. The days of the Confederacy are over. Your pitiful forces will be ground to dust if you stay here. Order your forces to leave the colony or we will be forced to unleash fire upon the surface to cleanse it of your 
unholy taint.”
“He’s bluffing, jam him!” snarled the Admiral, her disdain for the leader of the enemy forces being obvious.
“Sir, he’s not heading for the transports. He’s moving directly above the city.”
A hush spread through the CiC as the gravity of what was about to happen became evident. The loss of ships was insignificant to the destruction of a colony and its civilian population.
“What? Can his weapons penetrate the atmosphere?” Captain Tobler asked desperately.
“I don’t know. We have to stop her and fast! I will not lose another colony!”
Admiral Jarvis brought up her tactical display and selected an open channel to all Confed vessels in the Fleet. Though the Captain was in command of the battlecruiser, the Admiral commanded the entire Fleet and the operation in 
Euryale.
“All ships within range of the Leviathan. She is about to release a weapon on the colony. Use any and all means to stop her. There are hundreds of thousands of lives depending on us!”
“Sir, the Vengeance, her engines have cut. It looks like she is losing power. She is still moving towards the planet.”
“Looks like the Jötnar have a use after all,” she said quietly, smiling to herself.
“Fifty kilometres from the Leviathan, firing reverse thrusters. We are in range, Captain,” said the XO.
“You don’t need my orders, you know what to do,” he replied.
The XO picked up the intercom microphone, before he could speak the tactical officer interrupted him.
“Sir, the Cruz and Santa Maria are putting up heavy defensive fire, their railguns are hitting the Leviathan hard.”
The XO looked at him and shook his head.
“It’s not enough. We’ve raked her twice at close range. She’s got thick skin, this bastard!”
He grabbed the intercom. “This is the XO. Commence firing, don’t stop till she burns!”
The continuous rumble and reverberation of the gun batteries firing resumed. It could be felt through all major bulkheads in the ship. They were at optimum firing distance, but he knew a few good hits wouldn’t finish the fight. 
Based on how long the battle against the Battleship CCS Victorious had taken, it could be an hour before they were able to cripple the vessel completely.
“Direct hit!” called out the tactical officer. “Port engine damaged, continuing fire.”
Captain Tobler nodded in satisfaction and watched as parts of the Leviathan tore off from the massive vessel. More flashes indicated impacts from the railguns as they smashed the stern, causing substantial damage. Two squadrons 
of Lightning fighters turned away after releasing their Skua missiles, but each one was easily shot down buy the myriad of turrets along the ship’s hull.
“She’s firing up her starboard thrusters...wait, she’s coming around.”
The XO grabbed the intercom. “All stations, brace for impact!” he shouted.
“She’s charging up her primary weapons. Wait, I’m picking up more ships.”
“What?” demanded Admiral Jarvis.
On the main screen the image of the turning heavy cruiser slid to the side to make space for a mass of dots that quickly grew in size.
“They’ll be here in three minutes, their transmissions and IFF systems are blocked.”
“Blocked by their own ships or being jammed by these bastards?” said the XO bitterly.
“Use everything we have, crash the fighters into her weapons if we have to, she must be stopped!” cried out the Admiral.
* * *
Spartan, Teresa and Marcus fanned out as they moved between two low buildings. Unlike the rest of the city, this section seemed to have avoided the explosions and gunfire that had gutted most of the rest of the surface. Behind 
them moved the engineers, themselves being carefully watched by three more Vanguards. In the distance behind them, the arc of tracers from the ground gave away the closing enemy troops as they moved in on the city. It wouldn’t 
be long before they were at the walls.
“How much further?” asked Marcus.
“Not long, past the next building, through the yard and over the wall. The pathfinders are already in position,” replied Spartan.
They kept on, the heavy thud of the armoured legs mixing in with the pneumatic whine of pistons. They covered the ground fast and quickly moved into the yard. One six-wheeled truck lay partially assembled to one side. Spartan 
glanced to his right when he spotted to bipedal machines. For a second he was about to fire, when he realised they were just forklifts, nothing he needed to concern himself with.
“Spartan, look!” called Teresa.
Spartan looked over, further to his right. About a hundred metres out to the side a dozen men in carapace armour were jogging past the buildings. The path the men were taking ran exactly parallel with the Vanguards.
“That can’t be a coincidence, they must be trying to stop us reaching the landing zone. Teresa, you escort them. Marcus come with me!” he growled.
The two Vanguards slightly altered their course and crossed the space between the two groups and moved on the enemy. On his rear video feed, Spartan watched Teresa and the other marines stomp away and towards the objective. He 
kept moving as fast as the massive armoured legs would let him.
“Spartan, watch...” shouted Marcus, before a rocket slammed into his chest and knocked him to the ground. Spartan threw himself to the side and into the wall of a small structure. The mass and weight of his suit smashed through 
the outer wall, leaving broken stone and masonry all around him. Cannon rounds clattered about him and he was forced to roll to the side to avoid being hit.
“Marcus, are you alright?” he shouted, there was no response.
The enemy soldiers stopped their chase and turned to put down fire on the sheltering Spartan. He grabbed Marcus by the arm and shook him, noticing slight movement inside the man’s visor. He must be unconscious, Spartan thought. 
The armour penetration sensor flashed as two rounds splinted a servo mount on his left leg. He pulled himself up and pushed out from around the cover. The men were stood just a dozen metres away, most with their weapons pointed 
directly at him. Without thinking, he drove himself forward and dropped his hands down low. The ammunition counters on the guns were low and in less than a second’s worth of shooting he was left with just one gun with a 
quarter-full ammo box. The large calibre shells shredded the closest three and then he was amongst them.
“Bastards!” he roared, swinging his metal arms as hard as he could to strike them. The impact barely registered as he slammed his blade hard into the first. The hardened metal edge buried itself deeply into his thigh and then 
slammed into the next man. Two turned to run, the other five stood their ground and fired their automatic weapons at point blank range. Lights flashed throughout the suit as the weapons penetrated some of the weaker parts of the 
armour, damaging the delicate pipes and wiring running through the thinner section to the rear of the suit.
“Lieutenant, get down!” shouted somebody on his intercom. He didn’t recognise the voice for a moment, so caught up as he was in the bloodlust of close quarter combat. Nonetheless he dropped to the ground, just in time to see 
streaks of tracer fire from a team of Army soldiers. One armed with a shoulder-mounted thermal cannon sent a blast of superheated energy that vaporised two of the enemy. The rest were cut down in carefully aimed rapid fire.
He turned in the direction of his rescuers to see men in thick carapace armour. Though usually painted battleship grey, these soldiers were a type of mottled camouflage that fitted in beautifully with the urban structures around 
them. One of them moved closer and saluted.
“Sergeant Tony Jackson, Pathfinder Company.”
Spartan dragged himself up, immediately noticing the reduced power and movement in his arm. A quick glance showed him the suit had sustained substantial damage, yet after all of this it was still functioning.
“Lieutenant Spartan, Vanguard Company. Good to see you, Sergeant. Your timing is perfect.”
“Glad to see you, too, Sir. Your engineers are already being put to work. I can’t believe you took this place with just one company, Sir.”
“One company? No, two platoons is all we have right now.”
“We need some of that armour!” he said with a sly grin.
“Give me a hand,” asked Spartan. They helped lift the unconscious Marcus between them.
“The birds are on their way. Apparently, the first to land is a company of marines under the command of a Captain Hobbs. She says she wants to see you when she gets here.”
“Hobbs?” asked Spartan, with an obvious hint of bitterness in his voice. “You could say that, she’s itching for some combat and is pissed off by anybody that gets there first!”
“Yeah, we know the type. Watch your back, Sir.”
“Don’t worry, I’m getting used to it.”
* * *
Three ships were circling the Leviathan but after a full twenty minutes of battle it was still undecided. The Santa Cruz had sustained heavy damage to her bow and was turning to move from battle. The Santa Maria hadn’t fared 
much better, with one of her rotating sections out of action and a series of fires burning on her starboard hull. The Crusader showed no obvious signs of damage but inside was another story. Hundreds of dead and wounded had 
already been evacuated from the now totally crippled bow section. A quarter of the gun decks were offline due to damage in the primary power plant. In the CiC, gravity had resumed as the rotating sections reverted to their 
normal state of three rotations per minute.
“Her weapons are powering up again!” called the tactical officer.
“Captain, we can’t take another hit from those guns, we have to withdraw!” replied the desperate XO.
Captain Tobler staggered to the tactical display and stood next to Admiral Jarvis. She held a bandage to her forehead, trying to stem the flow of blood dripping from a light gash. He turned back to the XO.
“No, the only reason Typhon hasn’t flattened the colony is because we’re keeping her busy. Get us closer!”
Admiral Jarvis agreed, watching in satisfaction on the main screen, as scores of hits riddled the vessel. The Leviathan was certainly a ship worthy of its name. Captain Tobler traced the movement of the new ships on the display 
with his right hand.
“Here they come,” he said with a tone of dread and anger. The Crusader had fought hard and long but in the end they needed more time. The Leviathan was just too tough a ship to destroy in a hurry.
“Put them on the main screen,” he ordered.
The external cameras took several seconds to adjust, not helped by the barrage of cannon fire that raked Crusader’s hull. All the crew in the CiC watched anxiously as the blurred shapes slowed and then came into view. The first 
was an Army transport, closely followed by a group of two damaged light cruisers.
“Can it be?” said Admiral Jarvis, with a tinge of doubt in her voice.
Four destroyers moved in, quickly followed by another Army transport and a frigate. The smaller vessels rushed directly towards the Leviathan and unleashed a great mass of torpedoes. A great surge peaked on the scanners and 
almost as quickly as she had arrived, the mighty enemy flagship accelerated away from the battle. A final vessel, much smaller than the rest, appeared.
“Signal coming through, it’s the Tamarisk, Sir.”
The video feed popped up to reveal the cramped bridge of the small ship with Captain Haris and Sergeant Bishop in centre view.
“Captain Haris here. Apologies for the delay, we had a slight altercation with enemy forces attacking the Yorkdale. I assume she was able to escape?”
“Affirmative, Captain, good to see you here. We understand a rogue fleet hit the reinforcements as they left the storms.”
“Makes sense. When we arrived, there were already a number of damaged ships in the area. I assumed the majority had returned to Prometheus. Glad to see some of them got through to you,” he turned to Bishop, who was trying to get 
his attention.
“Oh, yes. Is Admiral Jarvis there?”
“I’m here, Captain, what is it?”
“The Sergeant here has an important message for you. Permission to send a party over?”
Captain Tobler looked to the Admiral. “Send him over.”
“Understood, he will be with you shortly.”
The image slid to the side to return to the hulk of the War Barge and the increasing number of Confed ships moving into position around her. At first glance, the ship appeared lifeless, but the Crusader’s sensors were picking up 
hull vibrations. Every minute or so a short burst of gunfire would erupt from the hull towards the circling ships. It was light and sporadic but it did confirm the enemy still had control of some or all of the ships weapon 
systems. The main engines appeared heavily damaged but the manoeuvring thrusters were still functional and maintaining the vessel’s course towards the planet.
“What’s going on in there?” asked the Admiral.
“I’ve done a detailed scan of her hull. The best I can tell is most of the vibrations are coming from explosions and weapons fire on board.”
“There are only two people I know who can cause so much trouble, one of them is on the surface with the Vanguards.”
“Gun?” he asked.
“Of course. Who else would go against direct orders and cause so much noise and violence?”
She moved over to tactical display and gave a cursory look at the ship dispositions. There were now three main groups of ships. The largest group was in orbit around Euryale, this included some of the newly arrived 
reinforcements. Most of the warships were boarding the crippled enemy vessels following the main battle and the remaining ships were splitting off to deal with stragglers.
“How many ships have left the System?” she asked.
“The Leviathan, one damaged cruiser and four frigates. Everything else is either destroyed, boarded or crippled,” replied the tactical officer. “The Leviathan is still on the same course. If they don’t start their engines soon, 
they will be caught in the gravity well of Euryale.”
“Other than those on board, what is the downside?” asked the XO.
“At that distance, they will have a clear run on any transports and vessels still in orbit. They could also use their bombardment weapons against the colony. War Barges are the perfect platforms for that kind of work.”
“I want every capital ship able to move to take up positions around the Vengeance. One way or the other, they will not be entering the orbit of Euryale,” ordered the Admiral.
She turned to Lieutenant Nilsson. “Can you reach any of the crew of the Yorkdale? We need to know what is happening down there.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Admiral,” she replied, but at the same time kept pressing a series of button and keys. She was the most competent and experienced communications officer on the ship, possibly the Fleet. She turned 
quickly.
“I’m getting something faint, it looks like internal suit communications from personal armour. I’ll try and amplify it, give me a moment, I’ll put it on the main speakers.”
The crackle of suit communications was initially nothing but noise and spikes of volume. The expert hands of Lieutenant Nilsson quickly removed most of the distortion until a number of voices became clearer.
“Turn it up, Lieutenant.”
A random selection of words, most sounding like orders and shouting in the middle of a battle, poured from the speakers. Each of the officers listened intently, trying to understand what exactly was happening.
“Wait, I’ve locked onto one suit,” she said with triumphalism in her voice. Most of the static vanished to be replaced by the voice of man, his breathing heavy.
“Report in. Four dead, CiC still barricaded...Gun!...Gun!...What the hell!” there was more crackling followed by a series of screams and heavy gunfire.
Admiral Jarvis looked to Captain Tobler and started to speak but was cut off by more audio on the speakers.
“Gun is down, I repeat, Gun is down. We need to fall back, we can’t get inside the CiC!”
“Lieutenant, keep the channel open and record the stream, cut the speaker feed. Get me General Rivers.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Admiral Jarvis picked up the intercom and waited for the nod from Lieutenant Nilsson. It took a few seconds for the linked to be connected.
“Admiral,” came the familiar sound from the General.
“We are cleaning up the fleet in orbit. What is your status?”
“The spaceport is secure and my forces are pushing their way to the city. I have the landing platforms organised and the heavies are landing armour ready for a full frontal assault.”
“Excellent. How are your casualties?”
“The lead elements suffered badly. Anti-aircraft defences were more substantial than intel suggested. Since securing the landing zones we’ve had the upper hand. We have taken substantial prisoners, the rest are falling back to 
the city.”
“Any news on the city? Is it secured?”
“Yes. Captain Daniels reported in a few minutes ago. The Vanguards plus militia elements from the city have been digging in. I’ve sent reinforcements, as well as armour, to help but it’s down to whether they can clear a landing 
zone in time.”
“Who is doing that?”
“Spartan, he’s taken a unit of engineers to clear the site. They should be there by now.”
“Is there anything you need?”
“No, Admiral, just keep their forces off our backs and I think we’ll have this operation wrapped up in less than ten hours.”
“Excellent, keep in touch.”
“Admiral.”
She replaced the intercom handset and looked at the crew in the CiC. With the enemy ships destroyed or retreating, the urgency of the battle had vanished. With the War Barge still drifting, there was a palatable sense of fear. 
It was well justified. The War Barge would require the full weight of the Fleet to destroy her. Even then, the wreckage would continue to drift into orbit. The odds of the capital ship hitting the populated areas were slim, but 
it was a risk she wasn’t prepared to take.
“Send a signal to the Yorkdale and anybody you can reach on the Vengeance. They have twenty minutes. If they can’t move the ship then we’ll be forced to open fire.”
“Admiral. Captain Severus and the troops from the Yorkdale are still fighting on board her. If we turn our guns on the Vengeance, we could lose hundreds of warriors.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she replied with an irritable tone.
* * *
The first wave of assault shuttles swept down and disgorged their squads of marines. These were the kind of fighters Spartan had started with months before. Fast, agile and equipped with tough PDS armour and carry L48 rifles. 
They were the best the Confederacy had to offer and Spartan watched with pride as they fanned out around the landing zone in less than thirty seconds. The shuttles lifted off to make room for the first of the heavy Army Landers. 
Just one remained, probably the command shuttle that was positioned off to the right and out of the path of the following vessels. These much larger craft carried whole companies of Army units into battle, as well as armour and 
artillery. Less mobile and far less well trained, they were the hammer. The marines were the scalpel.
As the first of the massive vessels lowered itself onto the cleared landing zone, a great cloud of dust and debris was kicked up from the engines. It served to mask the arrival of Captain Hobbs, who appeared from the dust like 
an evil apparition.
“Spartan,” she said, ignoring his rank and position in the Vanguards.
He straightened himself, expecting to hear a tirade from her mouth. Before she could speak, the young Sergeant from the pathfinders stepped in front and saluted.
“Sir. The Vanguards have secured the site and we’ve mounted beacons along the perimeter, it is safe for the follow-up waves.”
“Excellent work, Sergeant,” she said but kept her gaze on Spartan.
Once the Sergeant had left, she took a step closer to him. Spartan looked carefully, trying to assess what was going to happen.
“I take it you have heard the news about your Jötnar friends? As expected, they have gone against orders and got themselves stuck on board a derelict spacecraft that is heading for our transports in orbit.”
“I’m sure they are doing their best, as we all are.”
She looked angrily at him, her gaze still locked on his eyes.
“We have a chain of command for a reason. Allowing the Jötnar to serve alongside us was a mistake, and one we will soon see rectified!”
Spartan nearly choked, realising that Hobbs was referring to something he knew he didn’t want to hear.
“What do you mean?” he asked, bracing himself for her news.
The War Barge will be in amongst our ships soon. If she doesn’t change course in the next five minutes, the Fleet has orders to destroy it.”
“What?” demanded Spartan.
“What did you expect? The ship is risking the entire Fleet. As far as we know, the enemy is still under control of the ships weapon systems. If they get close enough, they can hit the transports mid drop. There could be 
thousands of casualties.”
“Rubbish. The Jötnar will secure the ship and get it away from the Fleet.”
“Can we even trust them? They will probably take control and use the guns anyway.”
Spartan was starting to shake, his temper just barely controllable. He was about to reply when Teresa and one of the Vanguards appeared to his right. Her armour was almost as smashed as his. Dents and burn marks ran along the 
limbs and he spotted over a dozen dents from small arms and cannon fire. She saluted to the Captain.
“Sir.”
She then turned to Spartan.
“Sir, I’ve just received a communication from Captain Daniels that he wants us to bring reinforcements back to the transport hub to help with the defence.”
Captain Hobbs cleared her voice loudly.
“Sergeant, I am the commanding officer here. Round up your Vanguards and help unload supplies. I will take the reinforcements to the frontline, you look like you could do with a break.”
“Captain!” barked Spartan.
She turned back to him and glared. “That isn’t a request, Lieutenant. You are in no shape to fight. Use the power loading equipment you are wearing and help with unloading the heavy gear. That is an order!”
She waited for a few seconds, expecting further argument from Spartan. Though he wanted to put his fist through her visor, he was well aware of her intentions. One obvious act of sedition and he’d be locked up and sent to the 
brig. He saluted lazily.
“Yes…Sir.”
Captain Hobbs turned away and moved to the assembled troops. She started giving them their orders. Teresa indicated for the rest of the Vanguards to join her and Spartan.
“How is Marcus?”
“Concussion and lacerations to the legs. He’s being loaded onto the shuttle to return to the Cruz,” answered Randle, one of the new recruits in the platoon.
“Teresa, I need to speak with Admiral Jarvis,” said Spartan as he looked around, trying to find a way of speaking with her.
“No chance. Hobbs can route a signal up through the Cruz and then on to the Crusader. No way, will she, though. Why do you need the Admiral, what’s the problem?”
“We have to stop the destruction of the War Barge. Gun and the rest of the Jötnar will be massacred.”
He continued speaking but the assault shuttle that Hobbs had arrived on was powering up its engines. The powerful turbines were fitted up high on rotating wing mounts and as the power plants revved the dust cloud increased in 
size. Spartan started walking towards it. Teresa chased alongside.
“Hey, what are you doing?” she shouted.
Spartan said nothing and simply marched up to the side-loading ramp where several stretchers were being taken inside. Spartan pushed past two of the crew and into the loading bay of the shuttle. Teresa stood outside and looked 
at him, confused.
“What?” she said, shaking her head.
“I’m going to get Gun,” he replied dispassionately.
“Gun? Are you joking? They’ll court martial you for this. Leaving your post in times of war and all that!”
“I don’t care. I’m talking hundreds, maybe thousands of lives here.”
Teresa stood silently, unsure what to say or do. The rest of the Vanguards had arrived and stood next to her, even less sure about what was happening than she was. She turned to them.
“Spartan and I are taking Sergeant Keller back to the Santa Cruz. Tell Captain Daniels we are going to get Gun.”
“Gun? The Jötnar?” asked Randle.
“Yes, Gun. Just pass it on. Good luck!” she said and then threw herself inside the section, alongside Spartan. The door slammed shut behind them and in less than thirty seconds the heavily armed assault shuttle was blasting off, 
leaving a ring of dust and three confused looking Vanguards in their wake. Spartan looked down at the bruised and battered shape of Marcus who was lying on the stretcher. He lifted himself up slightly, his vision and hearing 
obviously returning fast. He spotted the shape of Spartan, still inside his battered Vanguard armour. To the side of him was the equally rough looking Teresa.
“What in God’s balls are you two doing here?”
The two sat there looking at each other. Marcus shook his head and closed his eyes. The shuttle started to vibrate as the main engines fired. The boost of power was the first stage in its trip up into orbit and the waiting ships.
* * *
“Any sign of their engines powering up?” asked Admiral Jarvis.
Captain Tobler finished speaking with his immediate officers before looking back to her.
“No, Admiral, they are dead and drifting in the water. They will be close enough to start hitting the transports in less than fifteen minutes. How many are left in orbit?”
She looked at her tactical display and did a quick tally.
“Three Army transports. They are taking on wounded from the shuttles. The rest have pulled back, but most of the infantry transports and landing craft can’t break out of orbit. Only some of the marine shuttles have the power to 
break away. Those that can’t make the trip have already returned to the surface. The Santa Cruz has dropped back to provide cover for the rest of them.”
“We’ll have to start now if we are going to stop her. Even then it might not be enough, Admiral.”
She stood silently, hoping and praying news would arrive of a change but she knew deep down it wouldn’t. The badly damaged Yorkdale had broken away from the War Barge and was moving slowly out of the area. As they moved apart, a 
number of cannon shells blasted back and forth between the two ships. From the Crusader, it looked as though they were locked in some kind of private argument.
“Admiral, what are your orders?” asked Captain Tobler once more.
She waited just a few more seconds before making a final decision.
“Give them one last warning. They have sixty seconds to evacuate the ship or we reduced her to ashes. We can’t wait any longer!”
“Aye, Sir,” replied the Captain, pleased to finally have orders to act on but also feeling angry that he would have to fire on a potentially friendly ship.
Admiral Jarvis lifted the intercom unit.
“This is the Admiral. The Vengeance is showing no signs of movement and is still shooting back. You are hereby given fifty seconds notice of a fire order. Upon my command, all ships in range will target the Vengeance. Total 
destruction is paramount to avoid damage to the colony below. Standby for my signal.”
She lowered the intercom and checked her tactical screen, again looking for something she could use.
“Captain, I’m picking up a reading from near the Vengeance. A shuttle, one of the assault shuttles from CCS Santa Cruz is changing course and moving towards the War Barge.”
“What! Who is it?” he demanded.
“I have a signal from Lieutenant Spartan,” said Lieutenant Nilsson excitedly.
“Put him on the main screen!”
The image once more slid to the right to make space for a new video feed from the shuttle. It showed the crew section of the craft with a pilot at the controls and two Vanguard marines pointing their weapons at the man.
“Explain yourself, Lieutenant!” said the Captain.
“The Jötnar deserve better. I’m going to board the ship and do what I can to help.”
“Where is your unit?”
“On the surface, they are assisting in the city defence, Sir.”
“This is dereliction of duty, Lieutenant.”
“Call it what you like, Sir. I won’t leave them behind!”
The video feed cut off, leaving the image of the assault shuttle rushing towards the War Barge. As it moved closer, multiple streams of tracer fire blasted around it from the ship’s automated defence turrets. Several rounds 
struck the thick armour of the craft but nothing substantial enough to stop its progress. As quickly as it had arrived, it disappeared underneath the great ship’s hull.
“Where are they going?” demanded the Admiral.
“The shuttle bay on the underside, Sir. I’m receiving messages from the Fleet, they are awaiting your orders.”
Admiral Jarvis considered her options. Should she wait and give Spartan a chance or should she start shooting now? It was an unenviable decision to make.
“Admiral, two of their forward guns are tracking towards the transports, they are almost in position to fire.”
Lieutenant Nilsson called out. “Admiral! Status report from General Rivers. His forces have reached the city and have surrounded the last enemy forces. Most are surrendering, the last few are being hunted down by Vanguard units 
under Captain Daniels.”
“Excellent, pass on the message to the transports and see if he needs any aerial assets to assist him.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Admiral Jarvis looked down at her deck and the intercom. She couldn’t believe after all that had happened, with the ground battle almost over, that she would have to do this. She took a deep breath.
“Very well,” she grabbed the intercom, putting herself in direct command of the circling warships.
“This is the Admiral. We have a rescue team aboard the ship. Target her weapon systems. Avoid structural damage where possible. Open fire!”
She lowered the intercom and stared at the view screen. The ships were more efficient that she ever could have hoped. Flashes of plasma rippled along a dozen capital ships as cruisers, frigates and transports released their pent 
up rage. Railguns hurled solid shot that ripped metres into the armour of the War Barge. The heavy cannon shells of the older cruiser did their job but the penetration was substantially less. On the screen, it reminded her of a 
prisoner in the stocks and having rotten fruit hurled at him. She turned from the violence and lifted her hands to her face.
“God save them,” she whispered.
* * *
From inside the shuttle, Spartan could barely seen out of the tiny windows. It wasn’t helped by the grime and scratches covering the armoured visor on his suit. According to the sensors, the armour was having trouble maintaining 
pressure. It wasn’t an issue for moving about in the ship, but if he were caught in a pressure-less section he would have just a few minutes before the inbuilt generators failed and he lost pressure. With a clunk, the vessel 
rested against one of the landing bulkheads.
“Teresa, you ready?”
She nodded and released the metal bars she’d been holding on to since they left the surface of Euryale. Unlike the suits used by the infantry, the Vanguard armour had been modified with experimental magnetic boots. It was a 
simple modification allowing the wearer to attach and detach their armoured feet on compatible surfaces. How well it would work on the interior of an old warhorse, like the Vengeance, was another thing.
“Let’s do this!” Without checking, he hit the release button. The side door slid open to reveal an empty hangar area lacking in both people and lighting. Spartan switched off the boots and pushed away. He moved slowly forwards, 
the drifting of zero-g travel feeling strange inside the suit. He covered the distance quickly and started to flounder as he approached the wall. With no inbuilt thrusters, he had to lift his arms to protect his face as he 
crashed into the metal. As he made contact, a quick flick of the switch activated the boots. Thankfully, the suit clunked into place on the wall. He waited a moment as he adjusted his bearings before realising he was stood on 
one of the walls.
“Spartan!” Teresa called out on the intercom. He looked to his right and saw her drifting just as he had done. Reaching out he grabbed her, pushing her towards the actual floor of the room. She struck the ground and started to 
tumble.
“Hit your boots!”
As she struggled to right herself, he walked down the wall and to the floor next to her. She stood up and shook her head.
“I goddamn hate zero-g combat.”
“Don’t remind me!” grinned Spartan.
He looked at his tactical screen and the plans of the War Barge. The ship was massive but he had no intentions of hanging around. It shook violently and he had to grab one of the walls to stop being thrown about.
“Looks like they started shooting.”
“It’s expected, if the ship gets much closer they’ll be able to hit our transports. We need to get a shift on.”
He slammed his metal fists into the sealed door and forced it to the side. As it pushed across, it revealed a devastated corridor marked with bullets holes and thermal damage. Spartan stepped inside, his boots thudding down hard 
as he moved slowly along. Teresa followed, her weapon arms lowered and moving from left to right as she checked for hostiles.
“What’s the plan?” asked Teresa.
“You remember the Bone Mill?”
“I’m still trying to forget it.”
“Anyway, you find the links to the AI hub. According to the briefings, the enemy have been installing them to control hardware and even ships. This ship has been captured and used against the Fleet. I’m betting the reason the 
Jötnar can’t regain control is that is isn’t men in charge.”
“You think they’ve already got a hub installed? That’s a bit of a leap!”
“Maybe, it’s the best I have though. If you were going to install one, where would you put it? The CiC?”
“No chance, it’s the best guarded part of the ship. Anywhere where the ship’s data connections meet would be fine. As far from weapons lockers, or widely used parts of the ship, would be best.”
Spartan scrolled though the plans and came to two likely locations.
“Okay, either the secondary or the communications deck.”
“Deck? The ship has a separate comms deck? That would be perfect. Large numbers of computers, plus access to the communications array. Where is it?”
Spartan checked, taking a few seconds to trace the route.
“Here, about fifty metres behind the CiC and inside this armoured node.”
“Yeah, look. It’s heavily protected from external weapons fire. No wonder we can’t stop the ship. Only a series of charges around the node could destroy it. That has to be done from inside.”
Another heavy blast shook the ship and Spartan slammed up against the wall before regaining his footing.
“Come on, we don’t have long!”
They went along the long corridor and turned off to follow the primary corridor around the port side of the hull. In two minutes of slow progress, they had still not found a single soul. Turning once more, Spartan spotted a 
number of yellow flashes, like strobes in the distance. He stopped, lifting his arm for Teresa to stop.
“Looks like we’ve found trouble. Watch your fire, there could be friendlies in this area.”
He pushed on much slower, until they reached the end and came to a T-junction. More gunfire blasted from the right and two wounded Jötnar moved past and towards the sound of the gunfire. They were dragging themselves along the 
walls. Spartan went around the corner and ran behind them. In his armour, he was almost the same size and bulk as the creatures. Teresa was closely behind him. They carried on for about twenty metres until reaching an open space 
littered with debris and broken bodies. Masses of gunfire ripped through the space, smashing into the thick metal interior.
“Who’s in charge here?” demanded Spartan.
From the front, the bloodiest and obviously wounded leader turned to face him.
“Gun!” he said, with obvious pleasure.
“Spartan?” he replied and hit him with his fist. It was a friendly gesture but the impact knocked Spartan back a full metre before being stopped by another two Jötnar.
“What you here?” asked the creature, his language skills still not fully refined.
“I’m here to save your ass!” said Spartan.
“No, here for Severus. He is a prisoner…there!” he replied, waving his arm down the corridor and towards the entrance of the CiC.
“Forget that. If we get to the comms deck, we can stop their control of the guns and try and get the engines back under control.”
“Where?” asked Gun.
“Follow me!” Spartan clambered off to the corridor leading to the right. Gun followed, pulling himself along the walls with speed and skill that suggested he’d spent years training to do it. They left the area of the main 
fighting to find themselves in a narrow corridor, barely wide enough for them to fit inside. Spartan reached the end and a sealed doorway. He tried to open it but it refused to move, either locked from the other side or jammed 
from damage.
“You sure?” asked Gun with a cocked head.
“Yes, through the door, left twenty metres, then through the hatch to the communications deck.”
“Okay, my way!” he growled.
Spartan look confused, then he spotted the creature lifting his arm with his fitted Gatling gun. He pulled himself out of the way just in time for the massive volley of shells to hammer against the door. At first they simply 
ripped chunks from the metal, but then quickly tore larger holes until the entire metal section ruptured and fell backwards. Gun pushed his body through the wrecked doorway and looked to the left. He turned to Spartan and 
grinned.
“Come on, my turn!” he growled.
Spartan followed to find him waiting in the corridor and looking ahead. Along the floor and walls ran a series of thick tubes, cables and pipes. They were a different colour to the rest of the vessel. Gun looked back at Spartan 
and cocked his head.
“Yeah, this looks like the place.” Teresa appeared through the hole and looked down at the pipes. “Yeah, same as on Prime,” she looked up, seeing movement ahead.
“Get down!” she cried but it was too late. A massive burst of gunfire ripped into Spartan. The first bullets hit his head and then drew a line down his body to his leg. The impact sent him spinning out of control down the 
corridor.
“No!” screamed Teresa and lifted her right arm. Round after round blasted towards the enemy position and she lifted one foot after the other, moving towards the lights. Gun held onto the bulkhead, blood drifting from wounds to 
his chest in balls of dark red. He appeared unperturbed by the injury and lowered his arm, adding his own fire to that of Teresa’s.
She pushed forward, ignoring the odd bullet striking her, until she reached the doorway leading inside the communications deck. Three men, all in traditional Zealots clothing and armour, blocked her way. She looked past them to 
see a series of cases and computer gear. Behind it all, was what appeared to be a cylinder with pipes and cables running from it. She didn’t have time for examination but in her heart she was certain it was an AI hub.
The first man fired his weapon but she pushed her left arm towards him and opened fire. His head vanished in a blast of blood against wall. She turned to the second but her ammunition alert beeped. She was out. Just two men 
armed with rifles were all that stood between the Confederacy and control of the ship. The nearest lifted his rifle and the second rushed towards her with a wicked curved blade.
Spartan shook his head, still partially stunned and in great pain. The alerts had stopped in the suit, its internal power unit now ruptured and bleeding just like him. He turned his head as far as it would go, to see Teresa at 
the end of the corridor. She lifted her armoured metal fist and jumped forward through the doorway, stabbing with her articulated arms and screaming through the suit’s built-in external speakers. As she disappeared inside the 
communications deck, Spartan finally passed out.
* * *
In the CiC of the Crusader, the crew watched as the old War Barge sustained scores of hits, nothing would stop her course. The forward guns had been quickly silenced by heavy cruiser fire, yet the plucky ship kept moving 
onwards. The tactical officer turned in surprise.
“Admiral, her thrusters are moving her on a trajectory away from the Fleet. Something has changed.”
“Are you sure?” she demanded.
“Yes, Sir. Her guns are silent.”
“Message from the Vengeance, Sir. It is Sergeant Morato of the Vanguards.”
Captain Tobler breathed a sigh of relief and indicated to put the feed on the main screen. The image changed as she lifted the intercom to speak with the Fleet.
“This is Admiral Jarvis. All ships, cease fire! I repeat. All ships, cease fire!”
As quickly as it had started, the violent assault of weaponry stopped to leave the debris strewn heavy warship limping away from the waiting guns.
“We’ve secured the communications deck. It was infiltrated by a Zealot raiding party. We destroyed the AI Hub and cleared the deck. The remaining enemy forces are being guarded by the Jötnar. I repeat, CCS Vengeance in under our 
control and no longer a threat to the Fleet!”
Admiral Jarvis stepped closer to the video feed so she could speak directly to the Sergeant.
“Excellent work, Sergeant. What is the status of Lieutenant Spartan and Commander Gun?”
Sergeant Morato looked to her side for a few seconds before looking back.
“Both are injured, they should be okay once we get them some proper medical attention. Spartan has sustained burns and bullet wounds to his arm and legs. Commander Gun, well, he is acting as though nothing is wrong. I think he 
has sustained chest wounds.”
“I will send over a marine escort to assist in your efforts. You and your comrades have done us a great service.”
Sergeant Morato saluted smartly.
“Sir. I need to get back to our forces, we still have some mopping up to do.”
“Understood. Expect a marine force in less than ten minutes. Watch yourself out there. Good hunting!”
The feed went blank. Admiral Jarvis stood alone in the centre of the room. It was deathly silent as they waited for her to say or do something. She lifted her hand to her face for a moment, almost dizzy with the news that they 
had overcome terrible odds. She reached out to the table to steady herself, pulling at the intercom.
“This is the Admiral. The Battle for Euryale is over. This is our first victory and it will not be the last!”
The officers in the CiC erupted into cheers and clapping and for a moment, however brief, Admiral Jarvis allowed herself a moment of relief.
It looked like the war was starting to turn in their favour.
FALL OF TERRA NOVA
By Michael G. Thomas
PUBLISHED BY:
Swordworks Books
Fall of Terra Nova
Copyright © 2011 by Michael G. Thomas
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means 
(electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners 
of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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 front-line 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 two–dimensional 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 co-ordinates 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 co-ordinates. 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.
“Co-ordinate 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 co-ordinate 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 electro-magnetic 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 off-line. 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 off-line?” 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 off-line,” 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.
SLAVES OF HYPERION
By Michael G. Thomas
PUBLISHED BY:
Swordworks Books
Battle for Proxima
Copyright © 2012 by Michael G. Thomas
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means 
(electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners 
of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
CHAPTER ONE
The mineral rich jungle world of Hyperion was never fully colonised prior to the forming of the Alliance. Its great continents were abundant with wildlife, and it was frequently assailed by mighty storms that flooded entire 
islands. Few lived there before the Uprising and even fewer afterwards. It was the final stages of the Great Uprising that saw the Echidna Union commit one of its most heinous of crimes, the firebombing of the only major city, 
New Stanley.
The downfall of Hyperion
Spartan glanced down at his datapad and examined the face of their target, for what must have been the hundredth time. Chraige Attez was a major player in the Kerberos underground, and according to his file; in the last six 
months his group had been responsible for the capture and execution of at least ten officers in the new Alliance. If the file was to be believed, he had been a close associate of Typhon and the Zealots that had done so much to 
bring death and destruction to the Confederacy. It was much more than that though, this man could be traced right back to the bombings on Prime prior to the War. There was a good chance he was part of the ring that called 
themselves brothers and included Typhon as their number. Video evidence placed him at the scene of the infamous barracks bombing in which nearly three hundred marines had been murdered. This man wasn’t just a terrorist; he was 
one of the faces of the enemy that had been the catalyst to the entire Uprising. The War may now be long over, but there were still plenty of sympathisers and collaborators that needed to be brought to justice.
“We’re passed the last tracking station, and from here in, we’re low and fast!” said the pilot over the helmet-mounted communication systems worn by all those on board. Spartan thought back to the briefing prior to the start of 
the mission, the words of the Major Daniels, the commander of Alpha Squadron, Alliance Special Operations Group, still echoing in his head.
No mistakes, it has taken two years to finally track him down. If you find him, you’ll kill or capture him. Don’t come back without his head on a platter.
It was a simple brief, and Spartan could hardly disagree with his commander’s sentiments, a man like Chraige Attez had no place in civilised society. The man had chosen this path himself, and Spartan would see to it that his 
life took a completely different path from this day onwards. He would no longer have the chance to spread his messages of hate and violence to the citizens of the fledgling Alliance.
“Hey, Spartan!” came a familiar female voice. He turned to see Teresa, his dark-haired Hispanic partner and now mother to their first child. Most expected her to leave after the birth of their son, but she had left him with her 
grandparents on Carthago. Marines with experience like her and Spartan were in great demand, and she wasn’t going to be held back by a child. Not that either of them had much of a choice. With the victory at Terra Nova had come 
the end of the War and the dissolution of the Confederacy. The birth of the new Alliance had put great demands on the soldiers still left, and although they had both tried, neither had been given permission to forfeit their 
commissions in the Marine Corps. He remembered the choice they had been given, either they found somebody to look after the child, or they would have to put him up for adoption in the state sanctioned department. If he quit, 
then he would still be sent back to prison, even after all he had done for the Confederacy. Spartan had been furious, but they had talked about it, and Teresa’s grandparents had been adamant at playing a major part in this. 
Spartan was privately happy at the whole affair; he got his family but on his own terms, and where it fitted around what he and Teresa were doing.
Once the boy was a little older, he told himself that things would change, but for now the Alliance needed him more, and the grandparents on Carthago could do a much better job than him. There were things he would want to teach 
the boy, how to fight, how to lead and how to do a great many things. That day would come.
“Yeah?” he replied through his throat mic as he turned his mind back on the mission and away from his new family.
“The new satellite scans are in, look,” she said and handed over her own device that showed a live feed of their target. It was at night, but the thermal imaging clearly showed the position of the guards as well as a local 
police headquarters just a kilometre away. The site was an old police station that according to their intelligence was now being used by Chraige Attez and his family. It was tempting to simply bomb the place, but they had to be 
sure. News reports of random Alliance bombings of civilians would cause uproar if they got it wrong. Anything less subtle than a Special Forces raid, and the man would melt away, just as he had done for years.
“You sure we shouldn’t have told them we are coming in? I don’t think the local security force will be happy to learn we’re dropping in on their jurisdiction.”
Spartan shook his head.
“No way, you saw what happened two weeks ago. There are too many moles. This is no minor raid. Chraige Attez is one of the biggest players we know of with the Zealots. We wouldn’t even know about him if we hadn’t come down hard 
on the groups on Terra Nova. Each operation leads us further up the ladder and tells us more about them. A year ago, we knew almost nothing about them, just their demands and the fact that they seemed to hate anything about us. 
No, we get him, learn what he knows, and then use that to find whoever is left in the movement. We do that, and we can apologise for the intrusion later.”
He looked out of the window and could just make out the dull black shapes of the other three Cobra light aircraft crewed by the 27th Special Tactics Squadron. The unit had been formed at the same time as Spartan’s new unit for 
just these kinds of operations. The Cobra was much smaller than the craft he usually operated with but was ideal for special operations. Shaped like a large bug, they were equipped with four rotating engines that allowed the 
machine to take off and land vertically. On the small stubby wings fitted to each side were dual-linked servo controlled L48 rifles as well as Hydra unguided rockets. The Cobra aircraft was short-ranged and could only carry a 
maximum of eight passengers, but this was more than enough for this kind of mission. He could see the two pilots at the front of the craft from where he was strapped in, and both wore helmet-mounted night vision gear. The inside 
of the craft was only very lightly lit with a dull red glow; it was as though the craft was switched off. The co-pilot looked over his shoulder.
“Lieutenant, we’re three-minutes out,” he stated simply.
Spartan nodded to the man and turned back in his chair to look at the others. Sergeant Morato was his next in command, and the other six were all experienced men and women, a mixture of police, soldiers and marines that had 
trained together for months. His old unit was being rebuilt following heavy losses and damage in the War. For now these ad hoc special units had been created to tie up the many loose ends remaining since the Union surrender. 
Spartan wished for a moment that he had the people he had worked with back on Terra Nova, especially Gun and Khan, his two Biomech friends in the Jötnar. Still, perhaps their brand of violence wasn’t ideal for this mission. He 
grinned to himself as he imagined what the two giants would do upon arriving at this compound. They were just as likely to bring down half the structure, as they were to actually capture Chraige Attez.
It’s time! He tapped his throat mic, making sure it was active.
“Lieutenant Spartan here, the mission is a go. Remember, we go in hard and fast, and we’re after one prisoner. Anybody else that gets in our way is collateral damage. Either bind them or shoot them, and then move on. We do not 
have the time to take anybody else back with us. Good hunting!”
He glanced back to Teresa who was already lifting her visor so that she was completely enclosed. Each warrior in the Cobra was wearing the thickly armoured, but tight fighting Personal Defence Suits worn by all Confederate 
Marine Corps personnel. The PDS allowed them to operate in space or even underwater and contained their own air supplies, filtration and basic medical aid features. Unlike the gear he had worn though, their equipment was black, 
and they wore no insignia of any kind. His main weapon was his small calibre, triple barrelled XL52 Mk II assault rifle, one of the newest and most modern weapons in the Confederate arsenal. Large stocks had been recovered on 
Terra Nova, and all Special Forces and elite military units were being equipped with them.
“Sir, we are on final approach, sixty-seconds!” called out the co-pilot.
Spartan nodded at him and looked around once more at his team. They knew the plan and were all ready for what had to be done. He looked down to his XL52 rifle and checked the setting one last time. He’d spent some time on the 
range with the new weapon, but this was its first use with his unit. Unlike the L48 rifles they normally used, these weapons were actually miniaturised projectile accelerators that had multiple coils used as electromagnets in 
the configuration of a synchronous linear motor to accelerate magnetic projectile to ultra-high velocities. A selector on the side of the weapon allowed the firer to select two different power levels, a rapid firing low power 
mode and a single shot high-power mode that used the full power capacity of the weapon. A quick twist of the muzzle would activate the silent mode, a new modification on the Mark II that kept the projectile subsonic for covert 
operations. This selectable power made the weapon perfect for special operations forces where firepower was always at a premium. At least that’s what they had been told. Spartan pulled down his visor like the rest of his unit 
and checked the details on the head-up display (HUD). The health indicators for each of his fighters were in the safe zone, and they were all ready for the raid.
“Remember, no prisoners. We’re on the clock with this one.”
The Cobra shook slightly as the engines swivelled to feather the landing. They were coming in fast and needed to make sure they didn’t slow down until the very last second. Too slow, and they would be heard, making the operation 
even more dangerous for the team. Too fast, and they could crash or overshoot the target area.
“Ten seconds!” called the co-pilot, and at the same time he hit the red light in the crew area. It was the signal that they would be landing. Each of the warriors did a quick final check of their gear and braced themselves for 
the landing, thirty-two elite commandos, heavily armoured and carrying the best weapons in the Alliance. He spotted a yellow flash outside, but before he could respond, they were already on the ground. The side doors slid 
sideways, and he was out. His feet hit the firm ground, but he was ten metres away before he spotted the fire. It was the first Cobra that was tasked with dropping its team directly onto the roof.
“Keep moving!” he cried and pushed on until reaching the outer perimeter wall. When in cover, he looked back at the crashed cobra and was relieved to see all eight members of the team moving towards him. The last two cobras came 
in fast and disgorged their own forces alongside the next wall about a hundred metres further along the compound.
“Status?” he asked, but it was superfluous. No sooner had he asked the question than he could already see their positions on his HUD. It was fast, quick to read and immediately told him the unit was in position.
“Okay, plan B, we go through the walls. Proceed as planned,” he stated clearly.
Like a well-oiled machine, two of the men attached devices to the wall. It took just seconds, and they backed off, turning from the wall.
“Fire in the hole!” shouted the one and with no further warning, a chunk of masonry was blown apart. The hole was at least three metres wide, plenty big enough for them to enter. Spartan stepped through first, and the rest of 
the two squads followed him. A number of floodlights filled the outer sections with a dull orange glow, and the building in the middle was lit from several internal lights. Dusts and debris filled the air, and for a second 
Spartan almost lost his way. He connected to the recons that were situated almost three kilometres away near the main powerplant replay station for the area.
“Cut the power, now!”
It took less than five seconds for every light in the compound to cut out as well as every structure, streetlight and power coupling in the block. With the lighting gone, the entire compound was now almost totally black. The 
team inched forward, their dark armoured suits melting them into their surroundings. They spread out with Spartan and his squad heading for the main door while the others moved to their own targets. As he moved forward, he 
quickly communicated with the pilot of the downed Cobra.
“What happened? Casualties?” he asked.
There was a short pause from the pilot before he replied.
“Mechanical failure, no casualties, Sir. She’s set for detonation when we hit the air. I’ve already stripped the data and communication core.”
Spartan nodded to himself at the quick and precise information. It was an unfortunate loss and meant the second squad was now unable to assault via the roof of the compound. Still, the teams had been practicing this operation 
for weeks, and the loss of a single squad wouldn’t stop their mission. When they left the site, they would trigger the charges and destroy the crippled Cobra in its entirety. Nothing but charred metal and burnt out components 
would remain.
“Transfer your gear to Cobra Three and provide extraction fire support.”
“Sir!” came back the reply.
He looked to the door that was now just a few metres away. It looked almost identical to the one they had worked on back in the mock-up of the compound erected on board the ANS Santa Cruz. The old warhorse had plenty of space 
for their training now that so few people were stationed there. It was odd compared to her days of carrying thousands of marines. He looked back to the barrier now facing them. The hinges and bolts were hidden from view by the 
close fitting metal outer skin; it was designed for security and had been reinforced recently. He lifted his hand to give the signal but spotted movement on one of the higher levels. His instinct told him of the danger, and he 
sidestepped just as a burst of gunfire ripped through the courtyard. The soldier behind him took three rounds in his chest armour and stumbled back, hitting the ground. He watched him fall and then looked up in the direction of 
the attacker.
Bastard!
Spartan lifted his rifle and took aim through the holographic sight to the enemy watching down to the courtyard. With the target in clear view, he pulled the trigger. With an almost silent whoosh the firearm sent a surge of 
power through the coils and accelerated a single metal slug to just below the speed of sound. It struck the man in the forehead and sent him flying back into the room he occupied. The gun itself was completely silent, and only 
the crack made by the projectile crashing through the air made any sound at all. Two more rounds were sat in the two other barrels, ready to be released at any moment. He looked back to the fallen man only to see one of his 
corporals lifting him to his feet. He nodded to Spartan.
“He’s okay, the armour did its job.”
Spartan smiled inwardly. The armour was good equipment, but the thought of losing these well-trained individuals was always a heavy burden to him. They hadn’t even penetrated the main building, let alone spotted their hated 
enemy. Losing a man so early would be a heavy price for the mission. They were interrupted by an almost elated message from Sergeant Yobun.
“Sir, we’re in!” he called out over the communications unit. The commander of the Third Troop was on the other side of the compound and performing the same mission as Spartan’s team. Just seconds later, and Spartan could already 
see ammunition expenditure on his HUD. It meant they were in combat and firing their weapons.
Third Troop is in action already. Come on, we need to get in the fight, or they’ll be on their own!
He turned to Corporal Lina Sovana to encourage her to speed up, but she was already on the door and placing charges at key points. It was fast work, and Spartan allowed himself a moment’s pleasure at the skill and precision 
exhibited by his team. Most had come straight from the Marine Corps like himself, but some, such as Corporal Sovana, were from the police Anti Terror Units; the elite tactical teams used to bust drug dealers and stamp down on 
organised crime. She looked to him, nodded and then stepped back.
“Blow it!” he ordered.
With a simple tap on the detonator device on her suit, the series of three charges ripped chunks from the wall. Spartan pushed forward to find their way still blocked by the scorched but still standing door. Through the holes he 
could see there was another layer of armour behind the first section. He looked back to the young woman.
“It’s still up, Corporal. Bring down the wall!”
She needed no further encouragement and took up position along the wall just a few metres away. It was a procedure they had tested already in case of such an eventuality. There was always a chance the entry points would be 
reinforced, and there might even be deliberate diversions from the main ways inside. Corporal Sovana placed a new series of shaped charges and double-checked them before again stepping back. She looked to Spartan who gave her 
the nod.
“Fire in the hole!”
There was a mighty flash that the suit’s visor instantly deadened, much like the way a welding mask might react to the arc of a welding torch. His thermal imaging picked out the signatures of two figures, both on the floor but 
already standing. One was carrying a weapon of some kind, which was all he needed to know. He stepped inside the breach and fired two short bursts at each figure. The triple-barrels fired one after the other, allowing a high 
rate of fire yet giving the weapon time to load the chambers, a round to the head and a round to the chest, just as he had practiced so many times before. It was classic double tapping, and then he was past them and inside the 
lower level of the old police compound. The first eight fighters of First Troop moved in behind him while the second team set up a perimeter in case anybody tried to escape. They frequently practiced working with the troop of 
sixteen so that they could operate as one unit or break down to smaller groups of either eight or four. It gave them the flexibility to operate in all kinds of situations.
“Stay frosty people, we have reports of up to a dozen tangos in here. Watch for wires and traps. I don’t want to lose any one today.”
“Sir!” called Sgt Seven Troky from outside the building, “We’re picking up movement at the militia barracks. Looks like somebody spotted the explosions.”
Spartan checked the overhead view from their circling reconnaissance drone. The barracks was far enough away that he reckoned they had at least ten, maybe fifteen minutes before they might be found. The wrecked Cobra was no 
longer burning and not obvious from the ground. He spotted the shapes of the other three Cobras as they took off and moved away. While they were on the ground, they were vulnerable to gunfire. They had another way out, and there 
was also the assumption they would need a larger vehicle to extract prisoners and potentially wounded.
“Update me on their progress,” he ordered and continued his approach to the main staircase on the left wing of the building. At the bottom he waited for the rest of his unit to catch up and did another quick check on the aerial 
view, still no change. He scanned every possible hiding place while keeping his rifle up to his shoulder. His HUD overlaid the information from his firearm, as well as integrating infrared and thermal imaging to create a visual 
feed, that gave him a major edge over the enemy. The infrared gave him a monochromatic view of the interior while the thermal imaging showed him heat sources.
“Ground floor clear, moving up!” called out Sergeant Yobun.
Sergeant Morato tapped Spartan’s shoulder. It was a simple signal, but that was all he needed to take the corner. He moved to the far left, his rifle pointing directly up the stairs and in the expected direction of the enemy. 
Teresa moved to his right and the others behind them in two short columns, as they had rehearsed so many times before.
“Stun grenade!” called Teresa.
On cue, a hexagonal stun grenade sailed passed them all and to the next level. It was smaller than the equipment used by conventional ground forces and designed to operate on impact. It took skill and timing to use it correctly 
and could be as much a danger to the team as it was to the enemy if not used properly. It disappeared from view and was followed by a dull crump. It was the signal they were waiting for.
“Move it!” barked Spartan.
Both columns rushed the stairs, each of them scanning for signs of the enemy. A man staggered into view, either confused by the attack or temporarily blinded by the grenade. Either way it didn’t matter, he was struck by two 
short bursts fired by the unit. None stopped as they continued their steam roll through the building. Spartan moved along the corridor and approached the next flight of stairs, taking him to the main level above.
“Sergeant, secure this level,” he said as dispassionately as he could.
But it wasn’t easy having the mother of his child as his number two. Not that he would have it any other way. They had worked together since joining the Marine Corps, and there was no one else he trusted more to watch his back. 
Sergeant Morato nodded and gave hand signals to the other three in the split unit. They moved off onto the level to look for signs of the enemy. Spartan looked back to the staircase and checked his own half of the unit was ready.
“Intel has this as the primary level in the compound. Watch for friendlies. Second Troop is entering from the south side.”
With that, he moved up with the rest of the group close beside him. The staircase widened to an open foyer type arrangement with a circular reception desk facing them. Spartan spotted movement and threw himself to the right side 
of the corridor, knocking down the two closest of his men. A loud burst of rifle fire clattered towards their now vacated position. The weapon was large calibre, possibly even a light machine gun, and tore finger-sized holes in 
the walls around them. It was archaic compared to the triple barrelled XL52 Mk II assault rifle he was carrying.
“Taking fire on the northern stairwell. We need flanking fire, now!” he said calmly over the suit’s communication system.
“Roger,” came back the calm response from the Sergeant Tsuki Yobun, the confident commander of the Second Troop. Unlike Spartan, this Sergeant was an old school NCO back from well before the uprising. He was much older and had 
the scars and experience to prove it.
Spartan looked back to the top of the staircase and realised the precarious situation they were in. He twisted the muzzle to deactivate the more stealth subsonic mode. In this situation, he needed firepower and penetration over 
quietness. Not that any noise he made mattered now, the terrorists own firearms roared in the stillness of the night air. He glanced over to the other three who were all looking up to the position of the enemy.
“Give me covering fire, now!”
There was no hesitation, and each lifted their weapons and blind fired towards the position of the enemy. A sporadic burst of defensive fire hit back, but it was wild, and the shooter must have been ducking to avoid fire. 
Spartan lifted his head briefly and aimed at the position he had last seen the man firing from. The reception desk was flat-fronted and cool on his display, much cooler than expected. He could pick up the sparks and flashes from 
their rifle rounds failing to penetrate the target. He fired a short burst and dropped back.
“Sir, he’s dug in. If you ask me, that desk area has been armoured for a day like this. I’d say inch thick plate or some kind of composite,” suggested Corporal Lina Sovana.
The others had dropped back down but were still firing short bursts to keep the man pinned down. He looked down to his rifle and selected the high-power mode. It reduced his rate of fire to no more than one shot every five 
seconds but would expend the capacitor’s charge to propel all three projectiles at the same tame to incredible speeds. According to the instructors demonstrating the weapon, a single slug at that speed could penetrate through an 
engine block. Three rounds in close proximity would be devastating. He waited the few seconds for the indicator to show on his HUD that the weapon was charged and ready.
“Again!” he called out and the others lifted their weapons to add more fire. A short burst ripped back towards him from the defender and then stopped for a second. It was his chance. He stood up to the right so that he was 
pushed up to the wall and took aim at the point where the muzzle flashes had occurred. He dropped his aim down by a metre and squeezed the trigger. With a loud pulse of blue light and an almost bellowing scream, the rifle 
released its cargo of three magnetic projectiles at super-high velocities. It smashed through the desk as if it wasn’t even there, through the man and continued on through half the building. The man himself was hurled backwards 
by the impact almost two metres before crashing into the wall, and dead well before he even touched the ground.
“Forward!” cried Spartan and the group of four were up off the stairs and surging onto the main level. According to their plans, the area was divided up into ten rooms with two staircases at each end and a long corridor running 
between the rooms. A number of individuals stumbled about but were instantly cut down by his team.
“Rooms one through four are clear!” called out the second team who had already cleared over a third of the floor.
Spartan started to worry about their intel. They had been promised the head of their target in this compound. Drone recon indicated he had been present less than an hour ago.
Where is he? Spartan wondered.
He moved to the corridor and to a short distance ahead. At the far end of the hall, he spotted the second team as they did the same. Both sides lifted their fists to acknowledge the position of the other. It would be a tragedy 
if two elite teams caught each other in a deadly but mistaken crossfire. It was easily done, hence the weeks of training and rehearsals. There were doors just ahead and on each side. Spartan waved with his left hand for two of 
his unit to take up positions on the one side while one stayed behind him. He counted silently with his fingers.
Three...two...one!
Then he spun around and kicked the door hard. It opened more easily than expected, and he was inside. A man carrying an L48 carbine, the same weapon he had used on many occasions, was looking out of the window and turned to 
shout. Spartan fired at his chest; completely forgetting his weapon was still on high-power. The powerful blast threw the man headlong out of the window as the three magnetic slugs hit him with enough power to tear through a 
toughened concrete wall. The body disappeared in the courtyard below. One of the marines with him started to laugh at the bizarre scene.
“Stop it,” snapped Spartan. He wasn’t in the mood for games.
At almost the same time, two men emerged from behind a set of metal cabinets and slammed a heavy wheeled trolley at the group. Spartan took the brunt of the impact and flew back to the wall. He landed hard and slid down to the 
floor. Alerts flashed up inside his armoured suit, and a burst of adrenalin was pumped directly into his bloodstream to keep him going.
“Lieutenant!” cried the nearest marine, but the second man struck him across the face with a metal bar that almost broke his neck. If it hadn’t been for the reinforced neck armour, it would have killed him outright.
Corporal Lina Sovana rolled to the side and avoided being stuck. In seconds, half of the team were down, and the remaining two were caught up in a violent hand-to-hand struggle. From the ground, Spartan spotted the young 
Corporal punch one of the men before being jammed against the wall while the second hit her repeatedly with the bar. He used every ounce of effort left in his body and forced himself to his feet.
“Get off her!” he growled.
One man kept her pinned, pulled a handgun from a hidden holster, and placed it at point blank range in front of Lina’s face. The other, a slightly taller man, turned to face Spartan with nothing but the bar in his hand.
“First we have Confed criminals, and now we have Alliance dogs. Don’t you get bored serving the same master?” he said with contempt dripping from his voice.
Through the doorway appeared Teresa and one of her corporals. Both had their rifles aimed squarely at the man’s chest. Spartan turned to her and spoke quitely, so only those on the commuications netork would hear him.
“On my signal, hit the guy next to Corporal Sovana. I’ll take care of him.”
Sergeant Morato said nothing, but Spartan could tell from her body language that she understood exactly what he wanted. The lights flickered on, presumably from the internal backup genertators. Spartan thought that was odd. 
Surely they could have put them on at any point, unless it was their plan all along. He opened his visor and looked into the eyes of his enemy.
“You know we aren’t leaving without you, Chraige Attez!” he announced.
The man showed no surprise, and that unsettled Spartan more than the situation itself. Even worse, as the lights came on, so did a low pitched hum through his communciations system.
“What’s the problem, Alliance filth? Having problems with your communications?” he laughed.
From inside the room, a bright yellow light filled the window as the external lights reactivated and bathed the courtyards with dull light. The sound of powerful engines announced the surprising arrival of a ground transport of 
some kind. The side doors of the room burst open to reveal another four armed men, each carrying Confederate military issue L48 carbines, presumably looted from murdered officers or soldiers.
They knew we were coming. This is a set up, he thought bitterly.
It was at that moment that Spartan knew they were in serious trouble. Chraige Attez was known for the murders of so many people, and in a matter of seconds, he and the rest of his team would share the same fate. He looked down, 
seaching for his weapon and spotted his rifle several metres away near the man holding the pistol to the Corporal’s head. His training told him exactly what to do, but there was a moment’s hesitation. If he surrendered, he would 
give up the entire team. They would certainly be ceremonially executed and their bodies dumped in the courtyard. Corporal Sovana was already dead, all he could do was try and save as many as he could.
Do it, do it now!
With one quick action, he slid his right hand down and grabbed at the close fitting thigh holster. His hand touched the hilt before Chraige Attez even spotted the movement. Even so, it wasn’t fast enough. A loud report from the 
man pointing the gun at the young Corporal announced her death. Spartan spotted the single bullet penetrating her visor and into her skull but did his best to ignore the carnage and aimed at the man. With great precision, he 
emptied five rounds into his torso and head before spinning around to point the weapon at Chraige Attez’s face. Sergeant Morato and two of her comrades unleashed a hail of fire at the four other men and cleared the room in 
seconds. It was violent and bloody work, but they were safe for now.
“Clear!” she said simply and moved to the window to check down in the courtyard. An eight-wheeler was approaching, and she could make out the shapes of a number of men on the back.
“Spartan, we’ve got company!”
He nodded and stepped forward towards his prisoner, smashing the grip into his face. The impact almost certainly broke his nose and sent blood streaming over his chin. Sergeant Morato lifted her visor to reveal her face, a look 
of anguish showing clearly as she glanced over to their own fallen soldier. Spartan nodded in her direction.
“Grab her, we need to get out and fast!”
Two of the team grabbed the Corporal and Sergeant Morato lifted Chraige Attez to his knees, the blood still dripping from his face. Then they were out of the door and heading back to the staircase. Sergeant Tsuki Yobun saw them 
from the other end of the corridor and signalled with his left arm for them to follow him. They’d practiced dozens of scenarios, and luckily one without communications gear was one of them. It didn’t take long for the fifteen to 
work their way down to the ground floor, even with two of them carrying their wounded comrade. As they approached the secondary entrance, one of them spotted movement and lifted his fist. All fifteen ducked down low and waited. 
Spartan moved forward and leaned around the doorframe to look outside. He could make out the shapes of the other two groups of Alliance warriors, each in cover and watching the streets leading to the compound.
Sgt Kawa Naori spotted him and indicated for Spartan and the others to stay where they were. She pulled a device from her suit and pointed it up high. Spartan watched as an object puffed out and flew up almost two hundred metres 
before giving a short but bright purple pulse.
Good thinking, Sergeant. It was the emergency contact flare. A special electro-visual device that sent a digital pulse and small coloured flash to indicate they needed immediate support. A Marine Corps landing craft was already 
inbound for the extraction, and the signal would task the crew to come in fast to assist. That was when Spartan saw movement off to the right. It was at least a dozen armed men, and they were positioning themselves near the 
outer wall of the compound. Spartan stepped out from the shelter of the building.
“Contact!” he cried and fired a long burst into the shapes near the wall. Two were killed instantly; the rest went to ground and proceeded to fire sporadically at those in the main building. Spartan looked back and gave the 
signal for his unit to fan out into the compound and to leave the safety of the building. It offered good protection, but they needed to evacuate and fast. Another five minutes, and the local cell members of Chraige Attez’s 
forces would be on them. This area was known to house a number of sympathisers, and they might manage to kill their prize before they could escape to interrogate him.
One of the windows smashed on the upper floor, and a man blasted down indiscriminately at them. Spartan ran to the first wall where the others were taking shelter and spun round to check for enemies. On the visor HUD he picked 
out at least six men, all armed and firing. They must have been in hiding, waiting for their chance to strike. Several rounds struck nearby, and Spartan was acutely aware they were using the L48 carbines, a weapon easily capable 
of punching through even their toughed PDS body armour. He took aim, taking out two as a burst of fire forced him to shelter amongst the rubble of the partially collapsed wall.
“Lieutenant, vehicle is here!” shouted one of the corporals, but he couldn’t quite make out who it was at this range. Spartan pulled himself from cover and hoped the return fire from his own team would be enough to occupy those 
in the building while he checked the new arrival. He looked through part of the damaged section from the explosives they had used and could see the eight-wheel vehicle as it disgorged at least a dozen men. They looked similar to 
the Zealot warriors he had fought on so many other planets and warzones.
Where the hell have they been hiding?
“Put fire on them, and do not let them get away from the vehicle!” he ordered. His team were all excellent shots and in seconds had stalled the Zealot reinforcements, pushing them back into the cover of the lightly armoured 
vehicle. Spartan could make out the head of one of the men on the other side of the vehicle. He selected the high-power mode and grinned to himself as the three projectiles smashed through the vehicle, slamming the man to the 
ground. Muzzle flashes lit up from multiple directions, and the walled compound was starting to look less like their escape route and more like a prison.
“Sir, watch out!” called out Sergeant Morato who was busy trying to suppress those on the highest floor of the building. Chunks of masonry blasted from the walls as both sides exchanged fire. Corporal Jenkins was hit in the leg. 
Soon after, another burst of L48 carbine fire shattered Sergeant Tsuki Yobun’s rifle, but incredibly the shredded round managed to avoid penetrating his armoured suit.
“Keep them busy. Help is on the way!”
Spartan flicked the weapon back to normal firing mode and held down the trigger. With all three barrels active and firing in sequence, the rate of fire was astounding. He had read the gun could almost hit fifteen hundred rounds 
a minute, so far the weapon almost sounded like a chainsaw. He was tempted to order a retreat back inside, but once there they might never get back out. A familiar screaming caught his attention. It was a Marine Corps landing 
craft; one of the heavily armoured assault vessels used to land troops and light vehicles directly into battle. A series of loud crumps hammered around the eight-wheeled troop carrier as almost thirty magnetic projectiles 
slammed around the vehicle, each fired from the door-gunners on the flanks of the vessel.
Good timing, people, he said happily to himself.
The large craft came down so fast it almost looked like a crash landing. As soon as it hit the ground, the four side doors slid open ready for access. The door-gunners continued their suppressing fire against the enemy in the 
open and also in the building. Spartan lifted his hand, indicating for them to board the landing craft. It took less than a minute for them all to make it inside without taking further casualties. Spartan counted them in. Once 
satisfied the entire team, along with their prisoner, was inside, he climbed in. The door slid shut just in time to deflect two projectiles that would have struck him.
“Hold on, we’re getting out of here!” said the pilot over the sound system.
With a roar, the craft lifted up, and Spartan felt twice his weight as it accelerated into the sky. He looked over to Teresa and two of the other men who were busy checking the body of their fallen comrade.
“How is she?” he asked painfully, but he was aware she had little to no chance of surviving. Teresa looked back at him with a bloodied face and shook her head.
“Not good. She’s alive, but barely.”
Spartan lowered his eyes and looked back to the small side window and the compound that was already quickly disappearing into the distance. He held onto one of the many grab handles and squeezed it tightly.
Somebody screwed us over. Somebody that knew we were going in. I’ll find them, and damn help them when I do!
CHAPTER TWO
The early years of the Alliance saw the retirement for many of the most famous ships of the War. While some ships were simply too badly damaged to be economically repaired, others such as those that fought for the Echidna Union 
were best scrapped to remove their shame from the annals. The Santa Cruz was one of the few ships to emerge from the war with her honour intact and useful role remaining. She was changed from a heavy marine transport into a 
mobile base for Alliance Special Operations Groups, more commonly known as SOGs.
Ships of the Alliance
Spartan, Teresa and Sergeant Tsuki Yobun waited patiently outside the medical bay on board ANS Santa Cruz. They’d been there for almost an hour now as the surgeons did their work. It wasn’t the waiting that was frustrating 
Spartan thought, not even the fact that he might have lost a good and dedicated warrior. No, it was the fact that somebody had let Chraige Attez and his Zealot friends know they were coming that hurt the most. Kerberos had 
suffered greatly at the hands of the Zealots and their Church of Echidna friends. By the time the rebels had fought the Union forces to a standstill, a large portion of the population had already been shipped away. It was one of 
the many problems still remaining for the fledgling Alliance, to find those hundreds of thousands of missing citizens. Some were known to have been used as slave labour, and in the early months of the War, a large percentage had 
been used to create the most savage and violent of biomechanical creatures.
“Spartan, are you okay?” asked Teresa.
He looked to her and nodded calmly.
“I’m good. I’d like to know which bastard turned us in though. They nearly blew the raid.”
Sergeant Tsuki Yobun rubbed his chin as he thought. He looked as if he had experienced an epiphany as he waited.
“Lieutenant. If they knew we were coming, why did Chraige Attez stay there? Surely he could have just left the place, maybe even desert it and leave traps or charges for us.”
Spartan said nothing at first, but he had to admit the Sergeant had a point. A sound from further along the hall marked the approach of a small group of marines. They wore the same uniforms they always had, but Spartan 
recognised the patches as being from the newly created Alliance. As the two men approached, the figure of Major Daniels followed them. He walked up to Spartan who saluted smartly along with his two comrades.
“At ease,” were the first words Daniels spoke before he turned slightly and pointed at the door.
“Is there any news on your Corporal?”
Spartan shook his head.
“A nasty business, but you did what had to be done. The rest of your team made it out alive though. As I said in the briefing, he had friends in the local militia. We weren’t sure whom, if any, we could trust. For your peace of 
mind, recon drones show four trucks of local militia arrived sixty seconds after you got out of there. If you’d surrendered your forces, you and your team would be strapped down and being interrogated as we speak.”
He looked to the door and nodded in its direction.
“Your Corporal in there may not live, but at least she has a chance. Better this than a few days of agony in their hands. You saw what they did to Shoutarou, not a pretty sight at all.”
Spartan nodded in agreement, but he would much rather have not been forced to dwell on what had happened to that unfortunate soul. Luckily, the Major appeared agitated and started to move away.
“I will see you in the briefing. You’ve got ten minutes before I start. Don’t be late,” he said firmly and marched away.
Sergeant Yobun looked through the observation window into the medlab but could see little of note. There were two layers of smoked windows plus a fabric screen that blocked most of the light. He turned around to face Spartan who 
still looked angry at the way the mission had ended.
“Lieutenant, you made a tough call, and it was the right one. We bagged the target, slotted anybody that got in our way, and completed the mission. Like the Major said, if we’d stayed or done anything differently, we would have 
been smoked.”
Spartan did his best to look as though he agreed, but the issue with the Corporal wasn’t going to be resolved quite that easily. The Sergeant sighed and twisted away from the other two.
“I’m needed down in the training hall. We’re running the ship hostage scenario again, and they need another instructor. Fill me in on the briefing afterwards.”
Spartan nodded but said no more. The Sergeant moved off down the corridor, leaving just Spartan and Teresa alone. They were silent, happy to say nothing while they waited for news. They didn’t have long though before the Major’s 
briefing started. Spartan knocked on the door, and it was quickly opened by one of the four medical orderlies on duty. The man looked at Spartan and shook his head.
“Sorry, Sir, no news. She’s stable, and her injuries are healing. She might come out of the coma today, in a week or never. As soon as there’s news, I’ll be in touch. I promise.”
Teresa reached out and held his forearm.
“Spartan, let’s go. There’s nothing we can do here, not yet.”
He looked at her and back to the orderly. The man did his best to smile at Spartan, trying to reassure him she was in the best possible place.
“Trust me, Sir. I will let you know immediately.”
* * *
The briefing room on board the ANS Santa Cruz hadn’t really changed much since the end of the War. The damage sustained in the final battle around Terra Nova had been patched up, and most of the crew had moved on. Some had quit 
the military, others were taking well deserved breaks with others just needed posting somewhere else. Like many of the survivors of the War, the old warhorse had been pressed back into surface until the new generation of ships 
could replace her. Only her designation and insignia had changed from the old CCS to the new style. Gone were her thousands of marines, and instead was this mixture of experts that had been tracking down the people and 
technology behind the War.
Major Daniels entered the room and took up his position at the front. He had aged considerably in the months and eventually years it had taken to win back the Confederacy from the Echidna Union and its allies. Although young, 
his hair was already greying prematurely, and his face betrayed a tiredness that only prolonged combat and exposure to tragedy could replicate.
“Be seated,” he stated simply.
The hundred or so people sat down in their seats and watched patiently. Spartan glanced at them and allowed himself a small smile. This was being treated like a military briefing even though over half of the people there were 
actually civilians that had been seconded to the ad-hoc unit for the last six months. Service in the Confederate Marine Corps had definitely instilled an attitude into Daniels.
“Thank you for attending this briefing. As you are no doubt aware, the conference on Terra Nova will be the first to take place since the peace accords thirteen months ago. A great deal has happened since then, the founding of 
the Alliance, the disbanding of colonial militia, and the resettling of many of our lost colonies. The threat of the Union has vanished since we vanquished their Core and control systems, but their supporters still exist. There 
are terrorist cells on every colony, and be in no doubt, they will keep on fighting as long as just one of them remains. Typhon died on Terra Nova, and his legions surrendered, but what of his brothers, the so-called Sons of the 
League? No trace has been found of them, and of the ten legions of Biomechs Typhon boasted of. Only four were found.”
He paused for a few seconds, letting that information sink in. It would, of course, be of no surprise to the men and women of this particular unit. After all, they put themselves in danger everyday to continue the fight against 
the enemy. Major Daniels nodded as he watched them.
“But that isn’t why we are here. The brothers of Typhon and the missing Biomechs are just one of the many issues left for the Alliance to deal with. For the last six months, you have been involved in seven operations, each one 
risky, but each bringing us closer to understanding those behind the War. Now we are starting to understand how they were able to infiltrate our forces. It didn’t take place over months or years, not even decades. The rot 
started after the Great War itself. That is why we must show eternal vigilance and ensure this can never happen again. There are many of our enemies still out there, and work by people such as yourselves is bringing us closer to 
a better future.”
He noticed Spartan in the group and nodded politely; a movement that was barely discernible to all but the most eagle-eyed of observers. He then looked to the rest of the hall and continued.
“I have gathered you here because you are to participate in a summit of the best scientists, soldiers and politicians to plan the future of the Alliance military. You will have a complete free rein to voice your opinions on your 
experience with this unit and also on operations in the War. Obviously, you will not discuss the operations themselves or your roles in them, but you can use this information to help others understand what works, what doesn’t 
and what you think would help in the future. This short meeting may provide useful additional information prior to your arrival, especially since we have new intelligence and data from our last three operations.”
He turned to a man in a suit, somebody Spartan didn’t recognise. With a few quiet words, the man took his place on the podium and then pressed a button. A detailed image of Terra Nova appeared; the planet rotating like a marble 
orb.
“Thank you, Major. As the official research delegate from Kerberos, I would like to thank those of you that helped free my world from near annihilation. Even now, we are still finding the bodies of those mutilated and savaged 
during the occupation. It is this tragedy that has inspired a new generation of scientists and researchers like myself to ensure we build a strong, dependable and long-term future. The Confederacy was weak, and many paid the 
ultimate price. All of us have a duty to ensure it never happens again.”
He turned and looked at the image of Terra Nova for a few seconds. The planet represented many things to those who had suffered in the War. The planet was the official capital of the entire Confederacy and had also been at the 
centre of enemy operations. It was also the site where the War had been decided. There were many with a great distrust of the planet and its people, who mainly seemed to have avoided the hardship faced by planets such as Prime, 
Kerberos and Carthago. He inhaled slowly and continued.
“I asked the Major for this meeting before we reach the conference because I have a few important observations I wanted to share with those of you travelling from Kerberos. The first is my thanks for your previous and continuing 
efforts to protect my homeworld. The second is my research that I think you will find interesting. When the Union left our planet, they gave us a legacy of destruction. But there is also something else they left behind.”
He lifted a small leather case and placed it on the table beside him. With a gentle click the case opened up, and he removed what looked like a small metallic idol. He lifted it to show everybody.
“This was recovered from one of the shuttles brought down as they tried to escape during our own little insurrection. I know some of you have already seen this amongst the objects taken from captured or killed Zealots.”
The screen changed to show a detailed image of the object. It was one of the common relics of Echidna. An item often carried by supporters of the religion and almost every member of the militant wing known as the Zealots. The 
shape was a bizarre mixture of a serpent fused with the classic shape of the mother goddess. Part monotheistic and part pagan, it mixed the essence of multiple religions together. As he held the artefact up, he moved a small 
computer device next to the relic for them to see. A number of indicators lit up, and it emitted a tone.
“As you can see, these are no simple metal devices. They give off a level of coded radiation that is astounding. So far, we have found no dangerous side effects, but, and this is a big but, they have one very important 
characteristic in common. They match the radiation patterns found at the destroyed research station in the Anomaly. We’ve been seeing these icons for decades now, but we didn’t pay any attention until the martyrdoms on Kerberos. 
Now that we’re looking, we’re finding more of them. Or more specifically, your teams are finding more of them.”
The mention of the Anomaly took Spartan right back to the last days of the War when the Confederate Fleet, outnumbered and desperate, had fought its last battle; a battle against the new Union of colonies run by the Church of 
Echidna hierarchy. The remnants of the Confederacy had fought battle after battle against the Zealots extremists and the biomechanical monsters they had been creating in secret.
He looked at the object and recalled seeing the symbols often tattooed, and sometimes even burned into the flesh of the Zealots with the same half woman and half serpent image. Even now, he couldn’t believe that a mere handful 
had used the bridge provided by the Anomaly to travel to Terra Nova where they had landed and destroyed the Core. One swift assault, and the brains behind the uprising had been knocked out. It was a shocking and bloody end to 
the War, and one that still shook the Confederacy itself to her knees. It seemed like years had passed since then, yet it was only thirteen months ago, and so much had changed. He looked back to the man who was still talking.
“What does this mean? We do not yet know, but you can be assured that the best scientists on Kerberos are working on this, and I intend on presenting my findings at the conference. There is a definite link between the Zealots, 
their religion, the icons and the Anomaly, and I do not believe for one second that they have gone away.”
With a polite nod, the man stepped down, and the Major moved back to his previous position.
“Based on the new intelligence on these artefacts, as well as the placement for three more Biomech research stations, we are now starting to make some progress. Interrogation of the Zealot commanders confirms there is a 
something more to the Church than we thought. Some of you may have heard mention of a Judgement Day, something I think almost all religions seem to share.”
A few of those in the audience laughed nervously at the mention of the concept. Spartan noticed a few doing their best to avoid the response. It was hardly surprising. There were followers of a hundred different religions in the 
new Alliance, and many shared a fear of the concept of a judgement day.
“Well, it is clear to us that adherents of the Church of Echidna are expecting theirs to arrive very soon. In fact, the most common timeframe we’re hearing is in the next six years.”
He waited at the last comment and let it sink in to the soldiers, marines and civilians. They represented only a small cross-section of society, yet even they seemed unsurprised at his words.
“I see you have heard this before, and some of you probably from the dying curses of Zealot terrorists. What if I told you that every indication from the last two months suggests something is going to happen? That the surviving 
Zealots are working on something, in secret, that will make the uprising seem like nothing more than a diversion?”
The last part really caught Spartan’s imagination. One thing he couldn’t argue with was that the War had concentrated the minds of all involved in one thing, victory. If somebody wanted a diversion, they couldn’t have done a 
better job.
“Once I have finished my briefing to the Alliance Security Council, I will see what else our forces have managed to uncover. But I want you all to know that this kind of intelligence wouldn’t have been possible without the 
intervention by units such as yours. Units that have recovered schematics, Biomech plans and even brought in leaders like the criminal Chraige Attez,” he explained, without looking directly at any of the handful in the room that 
had taken part in the mission.
Spartan knew full well who had done what, but it was in nobody’s interest to draw attention to any of them, even in this close circle of friends.
“We will be picking up another group of scientists from the temporary research site at the Anomaly in seven hours. After that, we’ll take the short trip through the bridge and rendezvous with the other representatives for the 
conference. We will be there for sometime, and I expect you to speak your minds. Let it not be said that you had ideas but didn’t mention them, when it might have helped. Each of you has knowledge and experience since the War 
that will be critical in shaping our future. As members of the Alliance Special Operations Group, your advice will be invaluable. Thank you.”
Major Daniels received a polite but slightly reserved applause as he stepped away from the podium and rejoined his security detail. A communications offer rushed up towards him to speak, and Spartan tried to understand what was 
happening. It was evidently important as the body language of the Major transformed in seconds. Teresa moved closer to Spartan and would have spoken but was cut off and interrupted by Sergeant Lovett, one of Spartan’s marines 
from the end of the War, who rushed towards him with the same urgency as the communications officer.
“Lovett? I thought you left an hour ago on the shuttle. Aren’t you transferring home for two weeks?” asked Spartan in surprise.
Lovett shook his head. His face betraying a bitterness that Spartan had seen so many times before. He reached out and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“What is it?” he asked, almost dreading to hear the words.
Lovett’s eyes were red, and it was clear some terrible tragedy must have just taken place. He leaned in towards his two friends and shook his head.
“I was waiting on the shuttle when an instant communication arrived for me from High Command. It was about the Atlantic Star.”
Teresa looked to Spartan with a quizzical look on her face. From what Lovett had said, she assumed she should know something about this ship, but it was a complete unknown to her. Spartan looked equally confused.
“The Atlantic Star? Sounds like a passenger ship. What about it?”
Lovett nodded at his suggestion and took a few deep gulps of air before continuing.
“My fiancée was on the Atlantic Star, heading to Orthrus. The ship was hijacked three hours ago. It’s on the newsfeeds already, over a thousand dead.”
“What? By Zealots?” asked Teresa.
“No way of knowing, but they detonated the engines an hour later. The ship’s gone, no survivors. A rescue drone has been sent to assess the situation, but it looks like they didn’t even give them a chance to leave the ship.”
“Bastards!” snapped Spartan. “I don’t get it. I thought the last Core controlled ships had surrendered at Carthago? What were they doing at Orthrus?”
Lovett shook his head in disagreement.
“Not all of them, no way. But they never made it to Orthrus. If they had gone that far, the planetary defence force would have stopped them in seconds.”
He stopped and looked at the rest of the people in the room who were already dispersing. A few could see he was upset, but they were doing their best to pretend they hadn’t noticed. He looked back to Spartan.
“No, this was while they were taking on fuel at the unmanned supply station orbiting Hyperion. There was no air cover. She was a private liner. The last transmission said a Zealot boarding party were on board. Next thing we 
hear, the engines are detonating. There wasn’t even time to issue a mayday.”
Spartan didn’t know what to say, but Teresa, being more sensitive to people, moved closer and held him close. They’d spent months working alongside each other fighting for the Confederacy in its darkest hour. Even now, they 
still struggled against the remnants of the Zealots and their shrinking pool of supporters. He spotted movement and realised it was Major Daniels.
“Lieutenant,” he said and then looked at other two, “Sergeants,” he said in a rush and looked back towards Spartan.
“You and your NCOs in my quarters in ten minutes. We have urgent things to discuss. There have been developments.”
Spartan nodded and saluted, and then the Major was gone. He looked back to Teresa and Lovett. Teresa raised an eyebrow in question; Lovett on the other hand seemed completely disinterested.
“Come with me, this looks important. I bet it concerns the Atlantic Star.”
With that single mention of the passenger ship, Lovett snapped out of his trance. He grabbed Spartan as he made for the door.
“What is it?” he asked.
Spartan pulled his hand off his shoulder.
“Not here, come on, we will find out soon enough.”
Sergeant Lovett was still standing there when Spartan and Teresa left the briefing room. He watched them go before realising he was supposed to be with them. He shook his head and did his best to throw the thoughts from his mind 
and chased after them.
* * *
Spartan and his two Sergeants waited outside the door of the Major’s quarters for what seemed like an age. As always, there were two Alliance guards, both ex-marines, stood either side of the door. Unlike the other guards on the 
ship, they used standard issue L48 carbines. It was standard practice for those on ships to use special low velocity weapons that didn’t risk the innards or skin of the ship. These guards were the last defence for the commander, 
although safety concerns were secondary compared to protecting the commander of such a critical military unit. The guard to the left nodded to himself and then looked to Spartan.
“You can go in.”
He tapped the coded panel on the door, and with an almost discernible hiss, it slid open. Spartan stepped inside, followed closely by his Sergeants. Inside the room, the Major stood looking at a model of a ship on the computer 
display. The door shut behind them, and the three stood smartly to attention. Major Daniels turned from the model, a grim expression pervading his face.
“At ease.”
He looked to Sergeant Lovett first and did his best to look sympathetic.
“I’ve heard the news and I’m sorry, very sorry. The Atlantic Star was due to bring a number of important people to Orthrus to assist in the rebuilding. The loss will be felt deeply.”
He turned to the model and pointed to the engines.
“I don’t know if you heard, but no hostages were taken. Contrary to the news reports, the attackers simply smashed a tug into the engines and a second into the propulsion powerplant. She went critical in seconds.”
He turned back to the three and indicated for them to sit down. Spartan was no great fan of doing this, but the sombre occasion demanded it. Once comfortable, the Major tapped a button that removed the ship model and instead 
showed a map of the Alpha Centauri star system. Spartan had seen the map many times before but had never shown it much interest. Until the discovery of the Anomaly, the journey time between the two halves of the Confederacy had 
taken almost a year.
“Alpha Centauri,” he said slowly while tracing the paths of the planets with his left hand.
Unlike Proxima Centauri, it was a binary star system with a complex arrangement of planets and their many stars. With thirteen planets, of which only six had been colonised, it was still the oldest part of the Confederacy. The 
planets were much better developed than their equivalents in Proxima Centauri and considered by many to be the old, more conservative colonies.
“While we were busy fighting the Union, most of these colonies managed to avoid the Uprising. They infiltrated high levels of military and political life years before the War. If you recall, once the fighting started, they 
initiated a blackout. Only one fleet of ships made it through to us before the Union were able to clamp down.”
Spartan looked to Teresa as he tried to work out what the Major was getting at.
We know all of this, why doesn’t he get to the point?
Teresa smiled uncomfortably but changed her expression as the Major turned to look at her. The short pause worried her, but he hadn’t noticed and instead looked to Spartan.
“I know none of this is news. Since the fighting on Terra Nova, we have received the formal surrender of all remaining Union forces. Political posts and positions of military command have been scrutinised, and we’re making 
progress. Without the Core, their ships, communications and Biomech support killed them overnight. This disturbing news about the Atlantic Star is a worry though. As I said in the briefing earlier, there are still plenty of 
Zealots left out there, and some have the support of the locals. We still don’t know how they were able to obtain the technology, equipment or knowledge to cause so much trouble, and I suspect there may be more to come. If one 
ship has been lost at Hyperion, it means they still have some ships.”
He tapped the screen and zoomed in on the green planet.
“High Command suspect the Zealots may have been operating from a hidden base on some of the uninhabited worlds here. It’s been low priority with the peace keeping operations most of our ground troops are now involved with.”
He paused and waited for the three to speak. Spartan looked a little confused before realising the Major wanted their opinions. He cleared his throat before starting.
“Well, Sir, this entire sector was infiltrated far deeper than Proxima ever was. They could have been running the entire operation from Terra Nova itself from the start.”
The Major looked unconvinced by his reply.
“It is possible, of course, but how were they able to come almost from nowhere in this sector? We have never understood how the Zealots became so powerful and so quickly. It is as if they were elsewhere for months, perhaps years 
before. Maybe there is something out there we’ve not discovered yet? A missing link, as you will.”
Teresa lifted her head slightly, implying she had something to add. The Major nodded towards her.
“We know where the Zealots were. They’ve been underground for a long time. We’ve seen how these movements form and expand. The power behind them, the reason why we lost so early on, was that they had access to massive numbers of 
Biomechs and ships.”
Major Daniels nodded in agreement. “Like on Prometheus?”
“Exactly, Sir. That complex was kept hidden for years, and they had the capacity to create multiple generations of biomechanicals for the war effort. One other site could easily have done the same in Alpha Centauri. Unless they 
just transported them through the Anomaly.”
He switched the device off and sat down.
“Anyway, this is all conjecture. I have discussed this at depth with High Command, and they have already decided that our sister ship, the Santa Maria, is being fitted out for a special mission to conduct a systematic sweep of 
every moon around the inner worlds, including Hyperion. They will be taking an escort, as well as enough troops and supplies to eliminate enemy ground forces, if and when they are located. The new government is being pushed to 
hunt down anybody associated with this recent outrage, and it looks like it will coincide with a major hunt in this sector. The operation could take months, and that’s why I called you three in.”
Spartan knew what was coming, and he wasn’t surprised.
“Lieutenant, they have everything they need, but they do have a need for a replacement reconnaissance troop.”
Spartan was about to speak, but the Major lifted his hand.
“No, before you say anything, it will not be you. This mission is important, but the rebuilding of the Alliance military is even more important. There is talk of shrinking the size of the fleet and relying more on local troops 
for combat operations. You have more experience than most of the senior command there, especially when it comes to operations against the Zealots and the Biomechs. I’ve a list of seven people already that want to speak with you 
about the fighting on Terra Nova itself.”
Spartan shook his head angrily.
“But, Sir, this is admin and politics, and you know what I’m like at both. My reports are already on file. They know what I think, and they know the problems we suffered with local forces and commanders. Surely my expertise is 
better needed on the Santa Maria mission.”
Major Daniels stood up, indicating the discussion was coming to an end.
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. My hands are tied. Your knowledge and experience is required at Terra Nova. You will select the best reconnaissance team available, and it is my recommendation that Sergeant Morato is considered to lead 
it. I will, of course, leave the decision to you.”
He stood smartly to attention, and the three stood to face him. Spartan saluted and turned for the door. Major Daniels was already at his computer model of the system before they even left the room. Spartan nodded to the guards 
as he stepped out into the corridor and looked back at Lovett and Teresa.
Dammit, so I stay for meetings and discussions on Terra Nova while my two best NCOs get to finish off the enemy once and for all?
CHAPTER THREE
The fall of Terra Nova marked a major shift in the path of the Zealots and their devotion to the Church of Echidna. With the Core destroyed and the Union torn apart, many returned home. Most were bitter and many blamed the new 
Alliance for their troubles. The first decades after the Uprising saw many feuds and reprisals occur throughout the old Confederacy. It was a hard and violent time but if it were not for the events at Hyperion the old troubles 
could easily have reignited.
Origins of the Zealots
Spartan looked out of the observation window and towards the shape of the planet below. The rotating of this part of the ship meant he had but a small period of time to watch before the planet moved from view. Those not used to 
it could become sick and disorientated but not him. Spartan had served on multiple ships with artificial gravity, and although they all left him with a sick feeling in his stomach, nothing caused as much pain as that blue green 
orb below.
Terra Nova, I never planned on coming back.
He thought back to his last visit and the violence of their landing. It had been the final act of the War, and a terrible full frontal assault on the planet itself. So many had died on both sides. Even the Jötnar, his implacable 
allies, had lost scores of warriors in that last, desperate rush to end the War. It reminded him of his Biomech friends, the Jötnar who had sided with the Confederacy and proven to be some of the most stubborn and trustworthy 
warriors they had access to. He had not seen them in months and was actually starting to miss his friends.
Still, I’ll get to meet Khan on Terra Nova. That should be interesting.
He smiled inwardly at the thought of the outspoken Jötnar warrior on the planet. He was even less politic than Ko’mandor Gun, their enigmatic leader and could be guaranteed to cause a scene. That was something Spartan was quite 
looking forward to seeing.
“The next shuttle to the conference will leave in seventeen minutes. Please make your way to the landing bay,” said a calm voice over the ship’s speaker system.
Spartan glanced once more at the shape of Terra Nova as it whisked by and then walked away towards what many of them affectionately called the spiral. The people were waiting patiently as the rotating part of the ship moved 
along the central core. A number of long metal ladders ran the width of the section and appeared to move slowly around the core. A crewmember grabbed the metal and lifted himself up. He looked up and followed two more as they 
moved towards the rotating central core. Of course, in reality, the spokes and the rotating section were actually moving around the motionless central spindle. As they moved closer to the top, the spinning section appeared to 
slow down. It was all an illusion, however, as this part of the ship rotated at a complete three revolutions per minute. It was enough to create the same level of gravity as experienced back on Earth but was only used on the 
main habitation parts of the ship.
“Sir, good luck with the conference,” said the burly sergeant waiting to help those climbing onto the spiral wheel.
Spartan pulled up a few rungs before looking back.
“Thanks, I can’t wait.”
He continued to move along the ladder and quickly noticed the change in gravity. Each rung made him feel lighter as he moved towards the central core. He’d seen many a marine feel sickness at this point, and vomiting in low or 
near zero gravity was a sight he would have happily forgotten. A few more seconds, and he reached the central section. He pulled himself onto the platform and waited for a moment as he relished the feeling of weightlessness. The 
spokes extended out around him to the rim of the rotating section. He turned back to the cylindrical section and pulled himself along the tube-shaped structure. It didn’t take long for him to move through to the next part of the 
ship where the transport hangars were located. A young sergeant signalled to him from one of the larger craft.
“Sir, this is yours.”
Spartan nodded and continued to pull himself towards the vessel. It was a slow and complex procedure to transfer from the rotating section to the stationary parts of the ship, and usually only carried out when absolutely 
necessary. During combat operations, marines would often be stationed in the annex quarters, a number of zero-gee rooms in the next compartment over from the landing bay. It allowed them to transfer to landing craft and 
transports in seconds rather than minutes. He pulled himself inside the vessel and towards a seat near the port side window. Like the other dozen people already inside, he quickly fitted his harness. The last thing anybody 
wanted was somebody floating about when they hit the atmosphere and the gravitational pull of Terra Nova.
“Departure in four minutes, please check your harnesses and stow any loose items,” came the automated voice that he’d heard so many times in the past.
Spartan didn’t need to check. He’d done this so many times already. What he didn’t like was the dress uniform he’d been forced to wear. Though most of the depleted Marine Corps units were now disbanded or amalgamated, they had 
yet to receive any kind of new dress uniform. Even Spartan’s Vanguard unit had been unable to survive in anything like its original form. After substantial equipment losses and casualties, the survivors were now being used to 
train recruits on Prime and Terra Nova in order to raise more recruits for the elite unit. With major combat operations now over, most of the heavy exo-armour had been returned to the military stores for maintenance with just a 
handful retained on each of the Marine Transports. He’d been told that the unit was to be reformed with more manpower and equipment, but for now the unit had been placed as inactive, pending rebuilding. Since the formation of 
the ASOG units he’d been out of touch though.
Would rather be with them right now, he thought.
He had been forced to use his Marine Corps dress uniform until something more appropriate was designed for the ASOGs, assuming the unit didn’t change again after the Defence Committee had finished making their decisions. 
Apparently, this was all part of the peace dividend.
Cuts more like.
The door shut and Spartan was now stuck on the transport. He looked about and noted the points of escape as well as the emergency gear and weapon cabinets. Each of the transports had subtle differences, and like any man with 
experience in the military, he wanted to be sure of his surroundings in case of an emergency.
He thought wryly. How many times have I landed in one of these things, and there hasn’t been a problem?
* * *
The area selected as the VIP landing zone made Spartan feel uneasy. It was the exact same place he and his comrades had landed during the fighting, and he was finding it hard to suppress the feelings he had felt when landing 
under fire the last time. Back then the world had seemed alien, foreign, and almost exotic. Now the place was nothing more than a lavish reminder of the losses they had suffered. His transports circled the Palace as though they 
were looking for a sniper or some other miscreant before it dropped down and fired its landing rockets. From his view through the window, he could see the long colonnade surrounded by waterworks and crowds of people. His eye was 
drawn to follow the path up to the main building itself. Upon seeing the front, he almost choked.
The Palace was one of the most famous monuments in the old Confederacy. A mark of lavish expenditure that stood Terra Nova out as being different to any other part of the Confederacy, even Prime. Larger than anything ever seen 
on Earth, it had been the seat of the Confederacy for the last three hundred and forty years and included the Council Chambers, as well as multiple barracks for the city-based armed forces. As his transport settled onto the 
ground, he noted the ceremonial guards, the infamous Terra Nova Guards Brigade. He was aware of their long lineage back to when they had still been the City Militia Battalion. Apparently, Biomechs massacred most of their six 
thousand troops in the months before Spartan and his forces had arrived. He wondered if these were survivors, or if they were all new recruits to a reformed unit.
Looks like I’ll find out soon enough.
The side doors hissed open, and four of the soldiers positioned themselves as an honour guard. Spartan stepped out first and took the salute of the first man. He watched him carefully; curious to establish what exactly had 
happened in the last months with the unit. The soldier in front of him wore the ancient uniform with scarlet tunic and a curiously antiquated glaive in one hand. Tucked neatly on his side was one of the newest L52a light 
carbines. Spartan had only seen one so far, and a pang of envy washed over him as he realised the static defence force on Terra Nova was receiving equipment before his own forces, even though his were in action almost weekly. He 
thought about asking a question, but his gaze was drawn to a slightly overweight officer walking towards him. The man’s epaulets brought him quickly to attention, and he raised his hand quickly to a smart salute.
“Lieutenant Spartan, welcome to Terra Nova. I am Major-General Jack Aitken,” said the senior officer with no hint of a smile.
His uniform was beautifully presented, and he carried nothing more than an army issue pistol on his belt. Spartan had met people like this career officer before, and it usually ended with an argument and him in some kind of 
trouble. He decided to try a little tact.
“Sir. It is nice to be here,” he said firmly.
The General looked at the transport and back at Spartan.
“Yes, I presume this is a more preferable greeting to the one you received on your last visit?”
Spartan tried to understand exactly what the officer was thinking, but the man’s cold expression gave nothing away. Like many of the senior officers he knew, this one was an expert at keeping his thoughts and feelings to 
himself. Some people thought the Biomechs were cold and calculating, but they were nothing compared to the senior commanders he had encountered. He was reminded of the incompetence he had encountered with local generals on 
Euryale and Prime. He just hoped this commander was cut from a different cloth. He looked at the General and the subtle indicators on his uniform and face. There was a scar on his left cheek, but it was well covered up. That 
told Spartan either he had suffered a major injury in the past, or he might belong to one of the infamous fraternities on the older colonies. Still, the number of medals on the man’s chest suggested he had seen a long record of 
service with presumably some experience of combat.
“You know how it is, Sir. Landing under fire is never a good experience for a marine...or soldier.” He added the last part, remembering how the distinction between marine and soldier had caused enough arguments back when he had 
been a raw recruit.
“Quite,” was his curt response, but this time Spartan was sure he detected more than a sense of annoyance, perhaps even of disgust.
Great, what have I done this time?
The General indicated for him to walk with him, and the two men moved away from the transport and to the main path. On each side were the beautifully cared colonnades, worked on by master craftsmen over many decades. As they 
moved towards the Palace, he glanced briefly over his shoulder and to the skyline. He recalled the sight of the burning Yorkdale, the Confederate heavy transport that had been used by the Jötnar. They had landed hard, but their 
numbers had been what was needed to get inside the Palace.
It took several minutes for them to reach the main steps that led up to the great arched entrance. This had been one of the bloodiest parts of the battle. Spartan looked around and spotted the odd sign of damage and repair work. 
The General noticed.
“You recognise some of your handiwork, then?” he asked unapologetically.
“Sir?” answered Spartan in surprise.
“Yes, sadly the Brigade was never able to help in such a way as yourself. You see, while you were planet hopping, we were surrounded and disarmed by the biomechanical monsters. Do you know what happened to most of my men?”
Spartan shrugged. He honestly had no idea.
“Me either. The last I heard was that nearly three thousand had been shipped away to work at other sites. They have not been seen or heard from since.”
Spartan was shocked at the revelation. He had no idea the forced relocation had occurred on Terra Nova, and certainly not to this level.
“I thought the Biomechs had fought an action against the Brigade prior to our arrival?” he asked.
The General shook his head.
“No, the political coup was absolute, and any military units that refused orders from high command were forced into the camps. We were ordered to assist, and my men refused.”
Spartan nodded; gladdened to hear the unit had not sided with the vile and callous enemy. It often surprised him with the speed in which supposedly good and honourable people would change their allegiance and loyalties when 
something they valued was threatened.
“I had no idea. Why didn’t you fight back? Didn’t you have the largest military unit on the planet?”
The General glared at him, and Spartan knew he had struck a nerve. For some reason, he had a knack for insulting or upsetting those in authority, even when he was making an effort to not do so.
“The planet was overrun, and the militia already infiltrated before we knew what was happening,” he said solemnly and stepped closer to the main door.
Another dozen guards stood to attention, each proudly carrying their ceremonial glaives and one in the centre with the standard. It was a bizarre sight to Spartan, who had managed to miss most of the pageantry associated with 
the military due to his rapid training and deployment during the conflict. The General stopped near the standard bearer and looked at it for a moment. It was made of silk and moved gently in the very light breeze. Just like 
those of a bygone age, this one contained the names of the famous battles the unit had been involved in. Spartan was surprised to see there were signs of damage and repair. As well as the symbols of many battles, it also 
included the names of famous individuals plus iconography of Terra Nova. It was as much a work of art as it was a battle standard.
Surely they wouldn’t have carried that into battle?
Spartan was familiar with the idea of symbols and standards, but the idea of these lightly armoured soldiers was alien to him. They wore bright colours and displayed their flag openly. It would make them easy to spot and 
therefore easy to kill. The General touched one of the repaired holes and turned back to Spartan.
“What would you have done, Spartan? The Biomechs outnumbered my troops three to one, and all we knew was that we had lost contact with Alpha Centauri, and that our government was executing any that resisted. One flank company, 
the one that carried this standard, marched on this Palace.”
He pointed to one of the few holes on the ground that had not been filled in.
“See this mark, Lieutenant? This is where the company stood, and this is where they fell. Only two men survived that day, and it is their individual courage that saved this standard from the Biomech monsters.”
Spartan could now understand the bitterness the old General felt. He had been denied a death in battle unlike that which most of the warriors of the last few years had faced. He’d tried to do the right thing, but the glory was 
not his or his unit’s. Instead, most had been killed or sent away, probably to work on mines or to be used in the early stages of Biomech development. He remembered the ships with so many people in storage, the vats on 
Prometheus, and the great factories that produced the creatures the enemy had used so effectively. He nodded in acknowledgement to the General; now well aware he had overstepped the mark and decided discretion was the better 
part of valour.
“The Biomechs were a terror. I saw many good men, just like yours that paid the price, some in the fighting and others in the processing plants. We’ve dealt with those now, and the only Biomech facilities still standing are 
those for the synthetics. At least that is something.”
Major-General Aitken looked at him but said no more. It was the mention of the Biomechs and the facilities that seemed to hurt him the most. Spartan made a mental note to do a little digging later on with regards to what had 
happened in the many months before the discovery of the Anomaly. The commander turned to the entrance and marched forward. Spartan was forced to double-step quickly to join him, and they moved inside the massive structure. 
Inside, it was a totally different world to the last time he had been there. Large displays from scores of corporations littered the place, as did the banners and insignia of the new Alliance. It looked more like a corporate 
event than the sombre seat of power that it actually was.
“As you can see, Lieutenant, it has become something of a circus.”
“Sir,” he answered quickly.
Spartan scanned the open space and noted the majority of those there were businessmen and women in smart suits. They could, of course, be politicians, but was there really much difference between them? A captain and his aide 
approached the General and spoke quietly. Spartan noticed both wore the uniforms of the same unit, which intrigued him.
The unit must have been reformed.
The Captain moved away. The General indicated towards Spartan’s military issue datapad on his belt. It slid out easily, and Spartan held it out but was a little unsure as to what the General wanted.
“I have your itinerary here. You’ll note the Defence Committee is chairing a meeting on the future of the combined ground forces. Major Daniels has indicated he would like you to represent the ASOG and Vanguard units.”
With a simple flick of the General’s wrist, he transferred the file from one datapad to the other. Spartan saluted and the General was gone. As quickly as that, Spartan found himself alone on Terra Nova and surrounded by a crowd 
of people he didn’t recognise. He glanced at his device and checked the timetable. As the General had already said, there was the meeting of the Defence Committee, but that wasn’t for another three hours. He looked back up and 
saw a number of soldiers in Regular Army uniforms, much like those worn by the soldiers on both sides on Prime. He walked towards them and one, a young corporal, noticed him approaching. They stood smartly to attention, and 
Spartan returned the courtesy.
“Sir,” asked the corporal, “Are you Lieutenant Spartan of the Vanguards?”
Spartan looked at the man. He couldn’t have been just out of his teens, yet his chest was emblazoned with medals. He looked at the others to find the same with each of them. The insignia on their dark grey uniforms was of a 
wolf. He didn’t recognise the design but that was not surprising. The Army units were very large and followed different structures on every colony.
“Yes, I’m Lieutenant Spartan.”
The young man smiled and extended his hand.
“Sir, I’m Corporal Broby Ramir of the 4th New Carlos Militia. Your unit protected our flank in the fighting back on Prime. I saw the assaults your marines held off, Sir. I just wanted to thank you.”
Spartan sighed but this time of relief. It was rare for him to come across somebody with positive news for a change. The fighting at New Carlos had been a vicious mixture of ranged firefights and urban combat. It had been the 
first battle where they had made major use of the Combat Engineer Armour, the early version of what was known as Vanguard armour.
“Thank you, Corporal. That was a nasty business back on Prime. How is your unit?”
The Corporal smiled and indicated to his comrades around him.
“We’re all that’s left of our platoon, Sir. The rest were killed, wounded or retired since we pushed back the Union forces.”
Spartan nodded.
“I see, you’re not in militia uniforms now, though.”
“No, Sir, after you left, the remaining units were combined into the New Carlos 1st Brigade, but we’ve kept the insignia of the old 4th.”
Spartan understood why old soldiers like him were being sent to the summit, but these were rankers. They had experience of combat undoubtedly, but were they what was needed to make major decisions?
“What are you doing at this summit? I can’t imagine you volunteered.”
The Corporal smiled.
“No, Sir, we’re here on an exchange programme. When the ships left with delegates from Prime, there was a call for six volunteers to visit Terra Nova. We’re joining the Guards for six months, and they are doing the same back on 
Prime.”
A woman, a private, in her early twenties with short curly hair joined in.
“That’s not a bad idea. A little more mixing of units, and we might not have had this kind of trouble to start with, if you ask me, Sir.”
All of their attention was pulled away from their discussion and towards some kind of commotion further inside the building. Spartan looked past the scores of people until he found what he assumed was the cause. A number of 
people were running to a growing throng around one of the side entrances. A series of loud shouts followed, and then one of the soldiers staggered out of the group and collapsed to the floor.
“What the hell is going on?” asked one of the soldiers.
“I don’t know,” replied Spartan.
But he didn’t like what was happening. Arguments and fighting usually escalated, and there were plenty of soldiers and weapons to be found in this place. He looked at the group and jabbed his finger in the direction of the sound.
“Follow me, it’s time we broke this up.”
He moved off at a jog and ducked in and out of those that got in his way. The nearer he came to the scuffle the more people he met until eventually he was forced to push through at a walking pace.
“Out of my way!” he snapped, his patience now starting to wear thin. A number of the civilians moved, and he and his group of young soldiers were able to approach the man on the floor. He seemed fine and tried to push back into 
the throng before Spartan grabbed him. He was almost the same height as Spartan but much lighter build and wore the uniform of a naval cadet. Spartan glared at him, his eyes almost squinting from the set of lights running along 
the wall.
“What’s going on?” he demanded.
The man looked to Spartan and shook his head angrily.
“Get off me, man, they’re here again, the animals! Get off me!” he roared and struck Spartan in the face with the back of his hand. The impact caught Spartan by surprise and snapped his head around to the side. The attack may 
have been fast, but it wasn’t enough for him to lose his grip. He held in tightly, pulling the man closer as he tried to get away.
“Do that again, and I’ll have you up on charges!” he said calmly but with conviction.
The man lifted his hand once more, and Spartan delivered a powerful punch directly into the man’s stomach. It was short and hard and knocked all the air out of the cadet’s chest. He dropped to his knees and choked for air.
“Now, everybody clear this place!” he shouted.
This time the crowds moved back to reveal two Biomechs. Each of the monstrous creatures stood almost three metres tall and was heavily armoured in crude looking metal with the symbols of axes on their chests. The nearest looked 
to Spartan, but only part of its face was visible due to the armoured helm fitted tightly around his skull.
“Spartan!” it roared and then lurched forward, both of its arms raised high.
The young soldiers with Spartan fanned out, each adopting a balanced fighting stance, just as each had been taught back in basic training. The creature was already at Spartan and swung its right arm around in an exaggerated 
hook. It swept towards Spartan who took one step forward and did the same. Their muscled arms crashed together with a dull thud into a lock. Those around them watched in confusion and surprise at the odd turn of events.
“Khan, you crazy bastard!” laughed Spartan with genuine pleasure.
Khan started to laugh with the low rumble that all the Jötnar shared. These synthetic creatures were in fact the most recent models of Biomechs that the Zealots and their allies had created. Unlike the early designs, they were 
possibly entirely artificial and had been created in the factories back on Prometheus. It was hard to tell how much of them was made from harvested human material and how much was completely synthetic. They were sentient though, 
and Spartan was under no illusions that they represented a subspecies of humanity that deserved respect for what they had done. Khan turned to one of his comrades, a Jötnar warrior Spartan had never seen before.
“This is Osk,” he said in much better English than in their last encounter.
Spartan looked at the Jötnar and scratched his forehead.
“There’s something different, what is it?”
Khan laughed even louder and much to the annoyance of the crowd who were starting to become frustrated at the noise. Spartan turned and looked at any that were coming too close. It was then that he spotted his comrades from New 
Carlos. He waved them over and each moved slowly, suspicious of the three-metre tall monsters.
“These are fellow warriors from Centauri Prime. They fought hard and in hand-to-hand combat during the battle for New Carlos.”
Khan nodded to all of them and placed his hand across his chest.
“If Spartan speaks for you, then you have my respect. He told us of New Carlos. A difficult battle.”
There appeared to be genuine warmth in the tone of Khan, and Spartan worried his friend may have changed more than he realised. He did see the look in his eye and detected the dark humour that seemed to lie at the bottom of 
every Jötnar’s soul. He turned back to Osk and tilted his head towards the creature.
“Osk, the first female Jötnar,” he explained.
“Female? How did this happen? I thought all Jötnar were male?”
Khan nodded at his question. It was a fair point, as the Jötnar had been created male with no ability to generate further offspring. From what the military scientists had explained, it was probably just a simple way of keeping 
their experiment under control with a limited lifespan and no ability to create further generations without their help. Khan gave a lopsided grin from his immense jaw at Spartan’s confusion.
“Anderson, he said for our species to live we will need differences.”
The female soldier with curly hair was listening to the conversation with great interest. At the last part she seemed desperate to add her own views.
“It makes sense to us. The Jötnar are all based on a standard design with little variation. Even with male and female in the species, there will never be enough variation to avoid defects and interbreeding problems.”
Spartan recalled the arguments after the fall of Terra Nova and the factories and equipment that had been used to create the Biomechs. The factories had been badly damaged, but there were also the implications of a race of 
beings that could be manufactured at will. Some humans rejected their place in society, and others were fearful the factories could produce untold millions of monsters that could enslave humanity. Then there were the liberals 
who worried about the Jötnar themselves. By controlling their reproduction, humanity maintained a yoke over them, and one that could consign their race to servitude or extinction. Only their war record, and the promises made by 
the Confederate High Command and the President himself had stopped a new war breaking out in the last weeks of the war.
Jötnar fighting the Confederacy, glad we avoided that one!
Spartan thought back to the last months after the fall of Terra Nova. There had been many reprisals, especially against collaborators but also against Biomechs in general. He had seen papers suggesting over half the population 
had been wiped out in the three months of purges and violence. The Jötnar considered the Biomechs their untamed brothers and had proven extremely capable in taming them and bringing them under their control. The Biomechs had 
quickly turned from confused and helpless creatures into violent monsters by their tormentors. He recalled the emergency briefings about a possible war between the crippled Confederacy and the Jötnar and their Biomech brothers. 
A deal had been forged that guaranteed the right to life for all the Biomechs and the choice to be rehoused with the Jötnar, a choice almost all took. Part of the deal was that the Jötnar would be granted control of any lost 
unprogrammed Biomechs.
The two Jötnar were busy talking about their comrades and Spartan listened with interest. The last he had heard from Gun, the leader of the Jötnar, was that they had been working with Commander Anderson on a variety of medical 
issues. He was confused though at how the female Jötnar had arisen.
“I thought the military forbade the creation of any more Jötnar or Biomechs of any kind? In fact, I’m pretty sure it was one of the demands of most of the colonies that it was to form part of the Alliance Constitution as well as 
granting limited right to the Jötnar?”
Khan nodded feverishly.
“Yes, but Anderson found two Biomech transport ships near Euryale, all with dormant and partly constructed synthetics on board. He had a choice, finish them or kill them. Gun said birth, or the deal with the Alliance was off. He 
used them to make random changes.”
Khan grinned at him with a sly look and leaned in to speak quietly.
“One change wasn’t though. Anderson let us alter the sequence so they were all born female. Osk was the first.”
Spartan was shocked, both at the idea the Biomechs might now be able to reproduce but also that Anderson had gone along with such a plan. It wasn’t that he disagreed, but he knew the Alliance and the Senate would probably have 
him court-martialled for what he had done. He looked at Osk and then to Khan.
“How many females do you have now? Can they reproduce?”
Khan grinned once more.
“Two ships, each with more than a thousand Biomechs. Almost half are expecting offspring already. First new Jötnar is due in a few months. We have a lot of females now, and they are taking their time choosing mates.”
“They?”
“Well, there are lots of Jötnar and not many females to go around.”
He looked around to Osk.
“They can be very...picky!”
Spartan stepped up to the female and looked at her. She looked very similar in build to Khan, and the only indications of her change of sex being a slightly larger chest and less harsh facial expression. He extended his arm in a 
sign of friendship. She sidestepped and pulled on his arm, instantly catapulting Spartan forward and to the ground. He landed hard but kept moving. He jumped up and kicked her in the back of the knee before she could turn. It 
was hard enough for her to lose balance but not enough to cause major damage. As she staggered, Spartan jumped up and forced his arm around her neck. The two crashed to the ground to the laughter of Khan. Two of the Terra Nova 
Guards jumped in to break it up, but Khan stepped in their path.
“No, leave them!” he roared.
Osk lay on her front with Spartan on top and doing his best to pin the much stronger Jötnar down. Apart from her name, he could see very little difference between the two of them. He pushed down harder and felt her twist. In 
seconds, he rolled off her to find the Jötnar pinning him to the floor. Her fist came hurtling to his face, and only months of experience of combat gave him the reflexes and muscle memory to avoid the strike. He used all the 
strength in his upper body and neck to head butt her in the mouth before she rolled off. Spartan lifted himself up and shook off the dust. Osk did the same and faced him with two trickles of blood running down her face.
“You want some more?” said Spartan as he spat a mouthful of blood to the floor.
She stopped and turned to Khan.
“Gun was right. He is good,” she said with satisfaction before marching up to Spartan and swinging her arm much like Khan had done at first. Spartan twisted his left forearm to block it and stopped it just short of his chest. It 
was a strike although it was a mark of friendship. He looked at her bloodied face and friendly, if somewhat contorted smile. He knew the humour of the Jötnar and brought his right hand over to grasp hers.
“Osk, nice to meet you,” he said as pleasantly as he could.
She nodded to him and stepped back to the side of Khan.
Spartan rubbed his face with the back of his hand and noted the blood, more annoying as the blood and dirt was on his dress uniform.
There is a reason I usually stay with my fatigues!
Khan called over to him and the soldiers.
“You, and your friends. You have time for drink?”
Spartan turned to the soldiers who looked confused.
“Well?” he asked.
“A drink with you and your Jötnar friends? Hell yes!” laughed the Corporal.
Spartan nodded, pleased that at least he could spend some time with soldiers and fighters rather than the myriad of politicians and businessmen that seemed to be lurking throughout the building.
“What about the rest of you?” he asked the other soldiers.
A chorus of acknowledgements confirmed that the small band of soldiers would head to the nearest bar. Spartan gave Khan a friendly punch, and the group moved off down the main hallway, to the astonishment of the assembled 
patrons.
CHAPTER FOUR
Following the Union defeat at Terra Nova the 1st Jötnar Battalion transferred to the fire world of Prometheus. As their birthplace, it was also the only part of the Confederacy that was relatively unpopulated. As part of their 
agreement to fight in the War, they were guaranteed freedoms and rights, but many citizens resented the Biomechs playing any part in civilised society. A solution to the Jötnar Question may have been war, had it not been 
answered by scientists and the unexpected events at Hyperion.
The 1st Jötnar Battalion
The circular Senate House was probably the most elaborate and exquisitely detailed structure Spartan had ever sat inside. According to the information he had read on the flight down to the surface, this part of the Palace had 
been rebuilt in marble a generation before the Great War of over fifty years ago, and had housed the Council for centuries. It had always been the seat of power for the planet and ultimately for the Confederacy. Scores of lavish 
marble sculptures adorned alcoves in the wall. The seating was on multiple levels, apparently in imitation of ancient designs back on Old Earth. Old paintings of important officials were shown on almost every flat service. It 
was evidently a solemn place, and the atmosphere of seriousness pervaded the room to the extent that Spartan could almost feel a chill down his spine.
Impressive, Teresa would love this place.
Spartan’s eye was drawn from the room and its decorations to the centre of the chambers. On a large pedestal stood a massive sculpture of the spaceship Terra Nova, the original colony ship from which the planet had taken its 
name. Spartan had heard of the tales of the vessel but had never seen a model of it before. This one was almost five metres long, and it showed signs of repair that may have been due to violence or simple decay. Most of the ship 
seemed to be taken up by massive fuel cells, perhaps more than three quarters of its size. There were a few other key differences between this model and the ships he was familiar with. For one thing, it looked like the ship was 
unarmed. No vessel of that size would travel through space in his time without at least basic point defence and small calibre weapons. The ship would be at risk from pirates, raiders and kidnappers. There was also no form of 
rotating habitation ring like on the ships he was used to; in fact, the passenger section looked no different to the cargo holds on modern ships. He was confused for a moment before remembering what he had heard about the early 
voyages, and the time they had taken to travel long distances.
Of course, the first settlers to Terra Nova were frozen. If they’d made the journey the way they travelled now, they would have been dying of old age.
At least he was pretty sure that was how the first ship made the massive journey of about four light years centuries ago when they had arrived in orbit. There were so many myths and rumours surrounding the founding of each 
colony, and Terra Nova was no different to the rest. In many ways, the capital of the Confederacy had built up such a mythology that many believed the planet had been colonised for thousands of years, rather than the official 
three hundred and thirty years taught throughout the colonies. The sound of voices drew him back to what was probably the most boring meeting he had ever attended.
“Let me ensure I understand this new proposal correctly,” announced a bitter sounding Marshal Arryne Youtler.
He was the current Supreme Commander of the Army, and from what Spartan could tell, a bitter rival of the Marine Corps and Navy. This was Spartan’s fourth visit to the Chamber in the last week, and he was starting to be bored 
with the tedium of the discussion. Hours of wasted time, and he had not been asked a single question. He tried to think of something else, but the raised tone of the man’s voice snapped him out of his daze.
“You have ignored my recommendation on splitting up the remains of the heavily depleted Marine Corps, and instead want to destroy the regular Army and use the resources saved to create battalions of weekend warriors? You 
understand this will reduce the overall quality of our armed forces, as well as increase the time it will take for us to be ready for major combat operations?”
Defence Secretary Howalt Sones stood up to address the question. In the room sat a panel of almost a hundred other personnel. Most there were senior military officers, but there were a small number of representatives from each 
of the heavily depleted branches of the armed forces. The Navy, Marines and Army were all there as well as senior commanders of the planets’ own militia forces plus those from the civilian branches of the military.
“Yes, we must make cuts, Marshal, but not quite in the way you imply. It is not our intention to slash and burn the military, nor do we intend on leaving our current forces as they are.”
The Army commander tried to keep speaking, but the Defence Secretary remained standing.
“Because of the incredible sacrifices taken by our armed forces, we have many units that are now unable to function.”
He paused for a moment while checking some number before continuing.
“Army units in Proxima Centauri are operating at less than thirty percent. Marine forces have been amalgamated to provide just two functioning expeditionary forces. Don’t even get me started on the Naval losses that are, quite 
frankly, astounding. In our current state, we are now incapable of maintaining any kind of major operation without a complete mobilisation of able-bodied citizens. Of course that is without looking at the asset stripping of 
Alpha Centauri by the Union during the occupation. It is not just the Army that needs reform,” he explained as he lifted up a thin book and waved to the rest of the assembled men and women.
“Our military has become fractured and competitive. The Army vies for control of the colonies, while the Marines carry the mobility provided by the fleet but lack the heavy equipment and armour for sustained operations. While 
the Army retains the loyalty of its home planet, it suffers when stationed off world. The opposite is true of the Marines, who can be relied upon by the central command, but do not carry the same authority as the Army on many 
worlds.”
He paused and took a sip of water before continuing.
“Now, these proposed changes to the military will create a new force that is flexible, more capable and loyal to the Alliance, not individual colonies or planets. I think you’ll agree that the old idea of territorial forces has 
created a split that created more problems than it solved. At the same time, we have to reconcile the budget with the money now needed to rebuild following this war.”
He sat down, and simultaneously half the members in the Chamber stood to argue. The discussion had been ongoing for hours now, and as far as Spartan could tell, this new paper was in its seventh revision; still they argued as if 
they had never seen it before. The Council Magistrate struck her hammer for the room to be silenced. Although she carried no actual power, it was her role to manage all meetings in the Chamber, and respect of her and her 
position was considered paramount.
“Perhaps we might hear the opinions of some of those further from the top? Maybe those that lack the weight of responsibilities carried by each of the honourable commanders?” she said in a stern but polite tone.
All but the Marshal returned to their seating, and it took a long, uncomfortable silence for the old army commander to finally be seated.
“Good,” she said and then looked towards Spartan and the handful of junior officers.
“Would one of you like to speak of what you have seen and read so far?”
Spartan glanced to the men and women from the other services, but each appeared to be reluctant to speak their minds. Spartan could hardly blame them. They had each been sent to represent their respective branches of the 
military and would be expected to promote them at the expense of the others.
Well, if somebody is going to be unpopular and take the bullet, it might as well be me!
Spartan stood and nodded to the Magistrate.
“Sir, I would be happy to speak on behalf of those I have served with.”
Compared to the rest of those assembled, Spartan looked very different. He was well built, muscular and tall. His face was slightly scarred, as were his arms, but they were luckily covered up by his hastily cleaned Marine Corps 
uniform. He was about to speak, but the Magistrate raised her hand first.
“Please state your name, unit and previous experience to the room, Lieutenant.”
Spartan nodded and instantly felt uncomfortable with the formality.
“My name is Lieutenant Spartan, previous commander of the Vanguards unit of the Confederate Marine Corps. My previous experience was with the 5th Reconnaissance Battalion under Lieutenant Colonel Blake.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. I see from your military record that you joined the Corps at Prometheus as part of the deal arranged following a violent transgression. Perhaps you might enlighten us to your work prior to joining the 
military?”
Assholes, they can never just let it go, can they?
“I used to fight in the pit fighting circuit around Prometheus and its stations.”
That seemed to get the attention of most of those present, and he could instantly feel them judging him over events they had no idea about. Would they care about the debts he got himself into, and that he’d been forced to work 
in the illegal world of underground pit fighting to pay back the money? Even the circumstances of his crime that resulted in his service were murky. He’d tried to do the right thing and been punished for it. He turned his 
attention back to his friends, the Corps and Teresa. He had good things in his life now and that calmed him, at least for a few seconds. He looked around the Chamber and noticed that all their eyes were on him, waiting for him 
to continue.
“I’ve fought in battle in space, aboard ships, on moons and on planets. I’ve seen the courage of all parts of the Confederate military, and I can say, without a doubt, we have some of the best men and women we could ever hope 
for.”
He looked to the Defence Secretary and nodded towards him.
“I have the greatest respect for my family, the Marine Corps, but I do agree with the Defence Secretary. The divisions and rivalries weaken us. It is not the people or the equipment that’s at fault. I’ve been in combat where 
more time has been spent arguing about jurisdiction and authority than has been spent in battle. I’ve also seen good soldiers that have been turned against loyalists simply down to the ambitions of regional commanders with 
political authority,” he explained with a clarity that surprised most of the civilians present.
Now that he had spoken, one of the Navy junior offices indicated he would like to have his say. The Magistrate nodded to him and gave him the floor.
“Lieutenant Jerry Sonelsm, Sir. Just back from Kerberos. I served aboard CCS Crusader in the War. Since the surrender, I’ve served on two cruisers and seen action against Zealot holdouts and pirates around Prometheus.”
The Magistrate nodded at his introduction.
“Your service aboard Crusader, what did it tell you with regards to our military posture and organisation?”
He nodded in acknowledgement but then glanced to the highest-ranking Naval commander there, Rear Admiral William Churchill, the only naval senior officer that had fought in the war and come out alive. The Lieutenant looked 
nervous as he spoke.
“Crusader was a tough posting, Sir. We fought many battles, and every marine and sailor I served with did their duty. I see no difference between the ships, crews or sailors on either side of the Spacebridge. I’ve had a good 
career in the Navy, but I saw treachery from politicians, not from the military. Maybe some things could be improved, but I think what we have works. We did win after all, Sir.”
He sat back down, and the Admiral indicated he would like to add something. He stood but didn’t bother to introduce himself. He was already well known.
“I respect the comments from the honourable citizens I see before me. My own forces were already on their way to Proxima Centauri when we were ambushed. My force was powerful, very powerful in fact. Even so, my vessels were 
infiltrated by the artificial intelligence implants we are all now familiar with. After we escaped and joined up with Admiral Jarvis in the Proxima Sector, I was able to experience first hand the debacle of the Confederacy. 
Petty differences between colonies were settled by the use of local militias and often Regular Army units as well. The Marine Corps I doubt were any more loyal than any other force, but they were independent, due mainly to them 
being based in space and not in colonies. It was a potent mix and resulted in the Zealots and their allies being able to turn colonial aspirations into a movement that coalesced into the Echidna Union. This was helped at every 
stage by ambitious politicians with authority in the military.”
He looked at each of the figures in the room and stopped at Spartan.
“I would like to know what Lieutenant Spartan thinks of the proposed changes to the structure of the military, and in particular the merging of assets.”
He stepped back down, and the Magistrate stood and invited Spartan to continue. One of the local governors tried to interrupt but was waved down by the Magistrate, much to Spartan’s amusement. As he stood ready to speak, he 
thought of the words spoken by Admiral Churchill. He’d never really spent any time around the man, but his reputation in the fleet was well known. He took a few deep breaths and continued.
“Well, from what I have seen so far, I would say I agree that our armed forces need a chain of command that begins at the top, with the Alliance and the defence staff. A structure that encourages the things we want and not 
division and infighting. Since the founding of the new Alliance, we’ve already experienced changes, good changes. We now have a strong central leadership and reduced local control. Political office has been split from those 
military commands, and I am already seeing the benefits of this. It would sadden me to see the names and institutions change, but I can see the merits of merging the Army and Marine Corps into a single fighting unit. The 
mobility of the Marines, the strength of the Army, and it all backed up with the muscle of the Navy. Regional part-time soldiers will provide a sturdy backup with the numbers if required. I assume they won’t be armed, apart from 
when on training or being deployed?”
Marshal Arryne Youtler stood to answer his question and was left to speak. He looked angry, and Spartan assumed the implication that soldiers had played a part in the uprising was a personal affront to him and his organisation.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” the Marshal started as he stared at Spartan. He’d seen this kind of look before, usually just before he ended up in the brig on some one-way assignment on a backwater world.
Yes, Lieutenant, my ass. Here it comes.
“The proposal here is to create a large body of part-timers with basic skills and knowledge but no permanent infrastructure or equipment. You understand this means they will be useless until actually posted to combat units. In 
the case of a major threat, they could be annihilated before they can even be given a weapon. I cannot disagree more on this course of action.”
Admiral Churchill gestured he wanted to speak, and the Marshall indicated he could follow from his point.
“That is true, but we must remember that large numbers of militiamen with access to heavy equipment were part of the problem to start with. I must concur with the Lieutenant here. The short-term power of the military must be 
professional and one hundred percent accountable to the Alliance High Command, under the auspices of the elected Consuls acting on behalf of the new Senate.”
He sat back down, and the hostility in the room was now evident. Spartan had been invited to provide experience from the lower end of the scale, but it was apparent that this discussion was actually just a brawl between those at 
the top of the military, each vying for power. One of the senators, a middle-aged woman with greying hair, stood to speak. As with other more prominent members of the Senate, she failed to introduce herself. Presumably her 
reputation was well known but not to Spartan.
“The Senate appreciates all that you have shown us, and I thank those of you that have made a long journey to assist. The final vote on the proposed changes to the military structure will take place in the next three days. 
Implementation will be rapid, no matter what decision is made. We have a confusing system at present with substantial duplication of resources and capabilities. Before I call for a recess, I would like to mention one question 
put forward by Consul Hamis to the Senate. It is a minor detail, but if our ground forces are combined, what is the proposed name to be?”
Spartan knew right away that this point, probably more than any other, would cause massive trouble between those present. No man or woman would want to see an end to their traditions, and even worse would be for them to be 
ridden roughshod by one of their competitors. He was certainly familiar with Consul Hamis. He had been the Leader of the House back on Kerberos, and for the last days of the Confederacy had been the Acting President of the 
remaining colonies. Now the Doctor was one of the two most power people in the Alliance. The new position of Consul replaced the impotent figurehead of President and gave each half of the Alliance a strong individual that could 
veto the power of the other.
Politics, I thought they wanted my input. Instead, they spend their time arguing. Nothing changes.
The Senator remained standing, even though the rest of the Chamber was busy talking, some even shouting. She lifted her hands, and the Magistrate was forced to shout to force them to quieten down.
“We will have a recess of one hour and then examine the proposals on shipping, weapons procurement and ship dispersal,” said the Magistrate before looking back at the Senator.
“Was there something you wished to add?”
The Senator nodded towards Spartan.
“I would like to speak with the Lieutenant after the meeting, that is all.”
The Magistrate nodded and brought down her small hammer.
“Meeting adjourned.”
* * *
Spartan waited outside the side entrance to the new Senate Chamber. He’d been stood there for almost fifteen minutes and was becoming impatient. One by one, those inside came out. Some had chatted with him, but most moved passed 
him quickly, doing their best to avoid eye contact. The door opened once more, but this time it was Rear Admiral Churchill. He stopped and shook Spartan’s hand.
“Lieutenant, it is good to see a familiar face again. I’m pretty sure you have the same contempt for this kind of horse-trading as I do. You heard the news on the Crusader, then?”
Spartan shook his head.
“No, Sir, not since the recovery of the bodies.”
The Admiral nodded at the mention of the casualties. It was almost as though he had forgotten, or perhaps he was merely trying to forget what had happened to them. He paused solemnly before continuing.
“Yes, that was a terrible time, but it’s not what I meant. You’re probably aware the Alliance is in the early stages of planning the next series of ships to replace our losses in the war? There are very few ships left in the 
fleet that are not needing major repair, rebuilding or even scrapping. There are also a lot of people out of work following the collapse of much of the private sector economy. One of the largest Alliance projects is a series of 
substantial public schemes to repair infrastructure and employ displaced citizens. Military numbers might be going down, but the bases, shipyards and ships will all be improved as part of these civic programmes.”
He noticed Spartan appeared to be surprised at the news.
“I know, it seems odd to be doing this when we are still talking about the planning stages. Don’t forget, the civilian government has mouths to feed and citizens to placate. The shipyards themselves need thousands of people to 
get them back into shape, and people with something to do is the highest priority. As for the ships, right now they’re at the preliminary stages. But to get back to my original point, one thing I do know is they are going to be 
naming new ships and classes after our losses in the war. Crusader is at the top of the list and will be back, and rumour has it, so will the Admiral.”
“The Admiral? As in Jarvis?” he asked in surprise.
“Indeed, the very same. She may have died in the last hours of the War, but her name will live on in the Navy. She won’t be forgotten, Spartan.”
He smiled and started to move away but turned back to him with a thoughtful look on his face.
“Listen, you’ve had plenty of experience on our ships. I’m meeting the planners for a short discussion on the new ships’ ideas tomorrow. Interested in coming along? You’ve defended them and boarded them. Your insight could be 
useful and might give them ideas their researchers haven’t come up with yet.”
Spartan nodded but then remembered he already had plans for the next day and then even more meetings at the Chamber.
“Sir, I have a prior engagement with the Jötnar and at least three more sessions here, perhaps another time?”
“Jötnar? They’re here?” he asked with a mischievous smile. “I can’t imagine that would make them very popular. Well, the comments of the Jötnar would be equally important. I will be working with the planners and designers for 
the next two weeks. Pop down when you and your comrades have a moment. If you can persuade them to come along as well, I would appreciate it. Changes are simple at this stage, but give it another six months, and we’ll be stuck 
to the designs.”
Spartan looked a little confused at all of what the Admiral was telling him.
“Admiral, I don’t understand. How can we plan or design anything when we have no idea of what our future military will even look like?” he said before realising the door was open, and the female senator was stood just two metres 
away.
“Admiral,” she said politely and looked to Spartan. There were only the three of them present as she continued.
“Lieutenant Spartan, it amuses me that you think this discussion was anything more than a showpiece. The decision was made almost three months ago. This is a mere formality and a face-saving opportunity for those with personal 
disagreements, mainly in the infantry. The vote in three days will ratify the work that has already started.”
Spartan looked to the Admiral who was unperplexed at her comments. The Senator continued to speak with a serious and direct tone towards Spartan.
“But that isn’t what I wanted to speak to you about.”
She turned to the Admiral who was busy nodding in agreement.
“Yes, I expect little to change from now till the vote,” he said, confirming what the Senator had just said.
“I am heading to the engineering department for the preliminary naval design briefing. If you and your comrades could be there tomorrow to provide additional input, I would appreciate it.”
Spartan saluted to the Admiral who then turned and moved away along the corridor to leave him with the Senator. As he marched away, a pair of marine guards appeared from a nearby alcove and took up position behind him. Both wore 
their dress uniforms, but Spartan could tell they were wearing light armour beneath the slightly oversized uniforms.
They’re armed for trouble, I wonder if we’re expecting any?
His attention was brought back into focus by the Senator who was waiting patiently for him to turn back to face her.
“We haven’t been properly introduced, Spartan. I am Senator Maria Hobbs and the primary representative of Euryale colony.”
“Hobbs?” asked Spartan, doing his best not to spit out the name of the Confederate officer who had done so much to discredit him. She was one of the reasons they had lost so many people, and also one of the traitors that had met 
their death on this very planet. He hoped to the Gods this senator wasn’t related to her.
“No, I am not related to the Marine Corps officer. I am well aware of her reputation and of her relationship towards you and your unit. She was a disgrace to the Corps and to the Confederacy. My only regret was that she didn’t 
meet with an accident when she was on Euryale.”
Spartan sighed in relief, that was one less thing for him to worry about. He remembered Euryale. It had been a bloody fight both on the ground and in space. It was the event that had nearly cost him his career when after the 
main fighting. He had left his unit to rescue the Jötnar that were trapped on an enemy ship. It had proven to be the right decision, but Hobbs had ensured he suffered for it. The Senator watched him thinking and seemed almost 
amused.
“Yes, she was certainly your nemesis, but I assure you, that is a mere coincidence,” she explained with a smile.
Spartan relaxed at her comments. It was clear the woman had nothing to do with the other Hobbs. If nothing else, she had a pleasant manner, something the other officer never had, even when things went her way.
“You are probably unaware that I am running the Select Committee for the Biomechs. The term may be unpopular amongst those with experience of the Jötnar, but it is the catchall for all synthetics. The mutated beasts seen on 
Prime or the synthetic constructions on Prometheus have been lumped into the same category. Now, I know you have substantial experience with them all, especially their leader, Gun.”
Spartan smiled at her.
“That is an understatement. They joined us during the breakout on Prometheus early in the War. Gun is a close friend and an honourable man. His people might not be the same as us, but they did their bit. They never chose this 
life, but we have a responsibility for them now.”
Senator Hobbs was a little surprised at the intensity and warmth Spartan had for the creatures. Few in the Centauri Alliance saw them as any more than pet Biomechs that could just as easily turn on them, as help them.
“I appreciate that a man of your experience and expertise is in great demand during this summit. You already have multiple meetings lined up, but if you could look over a report concerning the Jötnar, it would help me greatly. I 
don’t need you to attend our meetings, but any input you could offer would prove invaluable, and it will be of help to the Jötnar. I’m sure you are aware they have many enemies and critics in every part of the Alliance.”
Spartan shook his head.
“I would have thought that here, on Terra Nova itself, that the people would know better. They bled and died not far from here to end the War. A war they never started.”
She said nothing but looked at him. Spartan considered turning away, but deep down he was worried about his friends and the racism he continued to encounter towards them.
Maybe she can help them.
“Okay, no problem, I would be happy to help. What area are you working on, specifically?”
“Welfare, mainly. But you’ll see in the report that the Senate has a great many concerns about all of the artificial life we have seen in the last few years. Few trust the Jötnar, and most want the Biomechs wiped out. I would 
add that I am not one of them. I am a firm believer in the right to exist for all sentient beings in our juvenile Alliance.”
Spartan was a little taken back at the thought of annihilating the species. It was abhorrent, even to him. Especially as he knew deep down that most citizens saw little, if any, difference between those that fought for the Union 
and those now known as the Jötnar. If it ever came to something like that, he knew he would be forced to side with the Jötnar. He could never allow their arbitrary extermination.
“I see, well, please send it to my account, and I will be in touch.”
The Senator nodded in appreciation and walked away. Spartan called out before she vanished from view.
“Senator Maria Hobbs!” he called.
She turned back to look at him.
“Is the Select Committee going to renege on the promises made to the Jötnar?” he asked, but he knew in his heart that they were all politicians and businessmen. If it were convenient, they would quite happily turn their backs on 
those that had helped win the War for them.
The Senator tapped her datapad and lowered it back to her belt. Spartan’s own datapad beeped, as a file arrived, presumably the report from the Senator.
“Read the report, Lieutenant. It’s all in there.”
And with that short comment, she was gone. Spartan stood still and felt he was in the middle of a firefight. He was nothing but a lowly lieutenant, yet since his arrival, he’d been bombarded with arguments, requests and 
schedules from all manner of people. He would much rather have been back on the Santa Cruz and working with the ASOG teams. He quickly checked the time and assessed how long he had to get to the Admiral. He could make it to 
Khan, but he wouldn’t have long.
Screw this! I’m not going anywhere till I’ve had a drink.
He glanced down to his datapad device and brought up a map of the immediate area. The bar he intended on meeting Khan at was just a few more minutes away. He turned back to the door and heard somebody approaching.
I’m out of here!
He moved away in the direction of the Senator as quickly as he could without being too obvious. Once away from the Chamber, he slowed down and allowed himself to take in the splendour and beauty of the great hallways and 
corridors. The floors were all marble and artwork, dating back hundreds, perhaps thousands of years ago, filled any large space. He rounded a corner to find a large open space with a lavish red-carpeted staircase moving to the 
next level. What really made him stop dead in his tracks was a large metal sculpture of ancient design of a man. He walked around to look at it in awe of the detail but also of the simplicity. It was old metal, probably bronze 
due to the green patination and depicted a naked man, protected by nothing more than a large round shield and helmet. In his right hand was a long spear, perhaps three metres long, and pointing up the staircase. He circled the 
figure until he stopped at the front and noticed a simple plaque at the base that read ¼¿»|½ »±².
What the hell is that?
One of the Terra Nova Guards spotted him and walked over to stand to his right.
“Lieutenant?” asked the man.
Spartan looked over to the immaculately dressed soldier.
“Yes?” he replied.
“The plaque. It reads Molon labe. In English it means ‘Come and take them’.
Spartan looked back to the plaque but failed to see how the odd shapes could even represent the sounds, let alone the words of the phrase. He looked back to the soldier to see him smiling. He almost said something he would 
regret but noted the friendliness in the man’s face.
“It is Ancient Greek, that’s what the researcher tell me anyway,” he explained.
Spartan smiled. The man was being polite after all.
“This is one of the oldest relics from Old Earth. It is of a man called Leonidas who led his people in a last stand against a million soldiers of the Persian Empire. The phrase is his response of defiance to the demands of the 
enemy to surrender their arms. His small force of just three hundred warriors fought them for days before being killed.”
Spartan looked back to the figure. His body was sculptured like an athlete, and he was obviously a warrior of skill and prowess. He was sure the helmet was of a design he had seen before. Without looking away, he continued to 
speak with the soldier.
“These people, do we know what they called themselves?”
“Of course, Lieutenant. They’re called Lacedaemonians after their territory in Greece, but most people named them after their city of Sparta. That’s why we still know them as the Spartans.”
With that last comment, he almost choked.
CHAPTER FIVE
After the robotic mules of the Marine Corps came a whole array of machines intended to reduce the number of military personnel. First were the supply drones, then the reconnaissance vehicles and then spacecraft. There were 
short-lived attempts to use Union prisoners in non-combat roles but sabotage and non-compliance made them even less useful than keeping than doing the work with machines. With the severe manpower shortages, the Alliance would 
become more and more reliant upon the synthetic citizens and machines it detested so much.
History of Slave Labour
With a final burst of its lateral manoeuvring thrusters, the Alliance Marine Corps heavy transport ANS Santa Maria moved into its orbital holding pattern. The massive warship contained two rotating cylindrical sections that 
simulated Earth’s gravity. Large internal storage hangars carried landing shuttles and utility craft for military and civilian operations. The ship carried light gun batteries that were mounted on the rotating cylindrical 
sections. These were kinetic railguns capable of smashing through any current armour. A veteran of the Uprising in Proxima Centauri, the ship still bore a number of scars from the fighting at the Anomaly Spacebridge and in orbit 
around Terra Nova.
General Rivers watched their progress from the CIC (Combat Information Centre) situated in the heart of the great ship. As one of the few surviving senior commanders from the War, he was the Alliance’s most experienced 
tactician. He was a hero to those on Kerberos and the other liberated colonies in Proxima Centauri.
“General, we’re picking up no traces of the Atlantic Star. No fuel spills, no debris and certainly no distress beacons of any kind. She must have burned up in the atmosphere,” suggested Captain George Cornwall.
He was the tall, grey haired commander of the Santa Maria, and it was his first combat mission in his new post. He’d transferred to the ship, following her recent refit at Prometheus, along with the rest of the replacement crew. 
Though far less experienced that an old warhorse like the General, he had served as a heavy cruiser captain under Rear Admiral Churchill during the War and was known to be a bold commander and a rising star in the Alliance Navy.
General Rivers glared at the viewscreen, as if by looking harder, he could force a sign of the ship to appear. It wasn’t just that a vessel had vanished. It was the implication that the enemy could annihilate such a large 
civilian ship when they were broken and beaten. Even worse, they had done it out here, in the vicinity of one of the most unpleasant planets in the Alliance. He looked back to the Captain.
“Maybe, maybe not. Don’t forget, Hyperion is well supported by moons, so we will have to scan every square inch of this place. What is the status of the automated supply post?”
The Captain took a few seconds as he checked the readings on the main screen.
“The supply post is showing as functioning, no security warnings or alerts. Computers are reporting the fuel supply is down thirteen percent, and the log shows the Atlantic Star took on supplies as expected.”
General Rivers nodded and continued to monitor the situation.
So she definitely was here, and the only other information we have is her distress signal. Either she was destroyed, or she was taken somewhere else.
Captain Cornwall altered the view of the sector and zoomed out to show the planet and its moons. He pointed to the largest of the satellites.
“What if the signal was forged, and the ship simply hijacked and taken somewhere else? A well-trained crew could move the ship into orbit around one of the larger moons.”
General Rivers looked at the map for a few seconds. It was true, the ship could have been moved, that didn’t explain why though.
What is so special about the Atlantic Star? She had a large civilian crew and a number of specialists but no major hardware, supplies or equipment.
He walked towards the Captain and examined the moons once more.
“Captain, if you were running an insurgent operation in this area, why would you attack a civilian ship, and what would you do with it?”
The Captain rubbed his chin for a moment as he considered the possibilities.
“Well, there are only two reasons I can think of. The most likely is that they saw something they shouldn’t have, or perhaps they would have detected something had they stayed any longer. The only other option would be that they 
needed the resources from the ship.”
General Rivers nodded in agreement.
“Yes, my gut instinct tells me they are up to something in this region. I’ve seen how they work, and they are the masters at hiding facilities and operations right under our noses. Remember Prometheus?”
“Or Terra Nova,” added the Captain.
Yes, that is true. An entire Artificial Intelligence Core that was based under the Palace of the Capital for decades. If they could hide that, what couldn’t they hide?
“Captain, keep your crew at maximum readiness. We need to know what’s going on here, and fast. I will brief our boarding parties, and they will be ready if and when you find something.”
“Yes, General,” he answered and the turned back to his crew.
He was needed to oversee the initial scouting procedures to be carried out in the sector. It took time to even prep the craft, let alone launch and send them to their destinations. The General watched as the Captain and his 
executive officer coordinated the large-scale operation. They were fast and efficient, and he was reminded of the quick thinking Admiral Jarvis back when they had planned and carried out operations in the War. Compared to those 
days, this operation seemed like a picnic. Even so, he knew what was at stake, and as always, preparation was paramount.
Satisfied that the operation was proceeding smooth, General Rivers nodded and then left the CIC and marched down the main corridor. His marine bodyguard followed him closely behind as they made quick progress. It took just a few 
minutes to reach the briefing room where a number of officers were waiting. As he entered, the assembled crowd stood smartly to attention. The ship was easily capable of carrying over a thousand fully armed men. For this 
operation the number had been slashed to just three companies of marines from the old 2nd Marine battalion, veteran soldiers that had served on the sister ship Bunker Hill. There were also a number of engineers plus a single 
ASOG Reconnaissance eight-man troop, commanded by none other than Lieutenant Spartan’s wife, Sergeant Teresa Morato. He moved to his customary spot at the front of the briefing room and looked out to the group of no more than 
fifty people, indicating for them to sit.
“Marines, as you no doubt already know, we are now orbiting around the planet Hyperion, and our mission to discover the fate of the Atlantic Star is now underway. I know some of you may have known passengers on the ship, and I 
would remind you now that it is imperative you focus on the mission. The only way you can help them is to keep our plan running smoothly.”
Teresa looked over to Sergeant Lovett and could see his face tightening up already. He saw her looking and did his best to smile back. She turned back to the General to see a three-dimensional model projected to his side, 
showing the planet. It looked much like Earth from space but slightly greener and with far less definition to the large land masses.
“Hyperion is a large forest world. It has higher gravity than you’re used to and a thicker atmosphere. You will need breathing gear and lighter loads than normal. It is a world richly abundant with plant life and contains an 
almost impenetrable atmosphere, thicker than any other inhabited planet in the Alliance. There is a good possibility we will need to send drones to the moons but no immediate requirement to land ground forces. There is also a 
strong likelihood we might need to send units to the moons around us.”
The large number of moons flashed on the moving model, drawing attention to them.
“You have all been trained to operate on low or zero-g objects, so keep it in mind. As for Hyperion, well, it is a mist-covered pea soup of a planet. Comms are difficult, and orbital scanning is nigh on impossible. If we want to 
scout the planet, we will need to drop recon birds into the lower atmosphere.”
The model changed to the layout of the ship and the complement of marines on board.
“First and Second Company will prepare for planet fall within the next hour. Third Company and the Engineers will be held in reserve. Any questions?”
Teresa didn’t bother looking around and simply thrust her hand up. The General nodded in her direction.
“Sir. What are we expecting to find?” she asked.
General Rivers nodded and tapped several buttons to zoom in to the planet’s surface.
“That is a dammed good question. In short, we have no idea. Maybe nothing. Alternatively, we could end up with a Zealot training facility, underground factories or simply a black market trading post. All we know is that Hyperion 
is the perfect place to hide something, and that we have no current trace of the ship.”
He paused and saw another hand lifted up. It was a short black marine from the Third Company.
“General. What about the planet itself? How much do we know?”
“Yes, Hyperion is infamous in folklore for its unusual atmosphere and climate. There are no known hostile life forms on the planet, but in the last hundred years traders and scientists have left invasive species. I have reports 
on seventeen seeding operations by Confed Bio-Teams to seed the oceans and some of the landmasses with a variety of non-destructive species. According to my report here, they should present no obstacle to our operation. In 
answer to your question, son, I don’t think there are any monsters down there!”
Laughter spread quickly through the hall, but he noticed at least some of it was nervous. The rumours of beasts on Hyperion were well documented and could be traced back to the first unmanned landers that explored parts of the 
planet. It was rich in life, but nothing had ever been confirmed to match some of the myths of the last generations. Hyperion had been named thus, due to being one of the closer planets to largest of the two stars, Alpha 
Centauri A, and showed as the brightest object in the sky of its close cousin Terra Nova. The system itself was a complex one that included the binary stars plus the large collection of thirteen planets spread between them.
General Rivers looked to his group of assembled officers and marines. He had given this kind of briefing many times before, but rarely had he found himself with so little to actually say. He’d never visited the planet and, and 
for some reason, he’d never wanted to although he couldn’t understand why.
Hyperion, what secrets are you keeping from me?
As he considered the planet below, he smiled to himself at the bizarre notion of naming the planet for Hyperion, the lord of light, and the Titan of the east. The reality was that the planet was a dark, wet and mist-covered 
world. The exact opposite of what its name suggested. The noise started to quieten, and he changed the display back to the view from orbit.
“We might not be assaulting a city or boarding a battleship, but this planet could easily swallow up an entire battalion. Remember, a group of skilled enemy terrorists managed to board a modern liner and destroyed her with the 
apparent loss of fifteen hundred souls. We have a job to do here, and I expect nothing but utmost professionalism from every single one of you.”
He was about to continue, but one of his aides approached and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.
“General, the ship’s scanners are picking up something. Apparently, it is heading our way. The Captain wishes to see you in the CIC.”
General Rivers turned back to the assembled marines.
“Good hunting!” he said finally and then turned, and immediately making for the door. One of his more junior commanders marched from the side to take his place. In that brief moment, Sergeant Lovett stepped closer to Teresa, a 
look of hope in his eyes.
“What was that? Do you think they found something already?” he asked.
Teresa shrugged.
“I have no idea. Focus on your job, Lovett. If we can do anything for them, we will. Got that?”
He nodded slowly, but Teresa could see his mind was elsewhere. Her thoughts wandered to the planet below, and she imagined a dozen scenarios based on the terrors she had experienced through the War. The last image before she 
looked back to the commanding officer was of the dreaded Biomechs looming out of a mist-shrouded jungle. Her spine shivered at the very thought.
* * *
General Rivers marched into the CIC as quickly as he had left it. He moved directly to the centre of the room where the Captain was stood and busily discussing something with his executive officer. He spotted the General’s 
approached and turned to face him.
“Sorry for interrupting your briefing, General, but I thought you should see this.”
The video feed magnified the small vessel so that it stretched out to several metres in length. General Rivers marched to the main screen and examined the craft in detail. For a moment it looked as if he was ignoring the 
Captain. The rest of the CIC was buzzing with activity as the two-dozen men and women managed the ship, the automated drones and monitored the planet below.
The ship’s XO, Commander Petersburg, moved a dozen images of similar vessels up onto the adjacent display. General Rivers looked at him, but he was unfamiliar. He made it his job to know those that worked around him, but all he 
knew of the man was what he had read in the man’s dossier. Though experienced, the man had served on the Confederate Navy in Alpha Centauri and managed to avoid a single battle in the War. There was no suggestion he had 
deliberately avoided combat, it happened to many a good officer, but it was still a clear mark on his record. As far as General Rivers was concerned, the man was an extremely efficient career officer, and that could be just what 
the ship needed right now, a measure of direction and discipline.
“Captain, it’s a Centaur class lifeboat, and standard issue on most large civilian ships. Shall I use the tugs to bring it alongside us?”
General Rivers seemed intrigued by the vessel and moved even closer to examine the marking and scorch marks on the hull before finally turning to face the man.
“That’s no civilian ship. I’ve seen the same craft before but not in this sector.”
Captain Cornwall moved to the General and looked back to the XO who simply shook his head in confusion. He turned back to the General who had seen the exchange between them.
“Where have you seen this?”
The General nodded. “You recall the fighting at the Titan Naval Station, right back at the start of the War?”
“Only by reputation, General, both myself and my XO were in Alpha Centauri at the time. We were going through our own problems at that point. Why? There would have been many craft like this one on almost any station or ship in 
the Confederacy.”
General Rivers moved the image to one side and brought up a series of grainy images from the epic battle around Prime. It had been one of the most violent incidents in the first year of the War when the main station had been 
overrun and held hostage by the Zealots. He moved through the images until coming to the Battleship CCS Victorious.
“The ship the Zealots captured? Didn’t Admiral Jarvis assist in crippling her?”
“Assist? No, she fought the Victorious in a long and bloody duel that resulted in her destruction. What I’m more interested in right now though is this.”
The image changed to a different shot of the battleship as she was wracked with hundreds of flashes and sparks. They were the obvious signs of the death throes of a ship. He enlarged a shape near the stern of the ship to show a 
small craft, and it looked identical to the small transport that was approaching them.
“That my friends isn’t a lifeboat, it’s a standard T9 armoured transport, the same kind of boat we use for transporting marines. Yes, it is based on the model used as a large civilian lifeboat, but you’ll notice the improved 
armour modifications here and here. Plus, look at the front. The armour has been roughly reinforced. This boat is used for transporting Biomechs, and I would put money on that lifeboat out there being used for the same job,” he 
added and pointed his hand off to the main screen.
The XO put the two sets of images next to each other. Side by side they shared a number of similarities, but it was clear they were not identical.
“Okay, what do you suggest?” asked the Captain.
“I know somebody here that’s got more experience with Biomechs than anybody else outside of Terra Nova. Get Sergeant Morato up here on the double.”
The XO moved his eyes to check with the Captain before walking away to use his communications gear. The Captain looked back at the live video feed of the distant boat.
“Okay, General, I assume you have a plan?”
General Rivers simply smiled back.
“A simple one. We drop a squad of the Alliance’s finest on her and search every corner.”
The Captain inhaled through his nose as he tried to imagine the interior of the craft. He’d seen images from the War but as yet had never encountered the enemy at first hand, only ever the Union ships.
“And if we find Biomechs?” he asked.
General Rivers seemed to relax a little. His shoulder dropped a fraction and his breathing slowed. He looked directly at the Captain with a look of satisfaction.
“Then we do what we always have done. We board her, draw our weapons and make them forget they ever thought about causing us harm.”
* * *
Five days had now passed on Terra Nova, and Spartan’s brain felt as if it would explode. Meetings with everybody from civil rights groups, city architects and a dozen different military officials had filled his schedule. The 
only good thing was that he’d been able to spend some time checking the news and border reports to start getting a better picture of how things were in the Alliance. It was clear the damage to most of the colonies was massive. A 
Mixture of war, piracy and mass population relocation had left many moons and worlds stripped bare. The casualty figures were in the millions, and thousands were still unaccounted for. With the collapse of Confederate control on 
Carthago, the planet had gone through its own short uprising that resulted in Union soldiers using atomics on three cities. Only Terra Nova seemed to have escaped the mass damage, but even there at least one in ten of the 
population had vanished.
“Spartan, what has changed?” asked Khan with an unusually serious tone.
He took a long gulp from the glass and rubbed his forehead.
“What do you mean?”
Khan pulled his head back as if confused at Spartan’s lack of understanding.
“Your vote, for the changes in military.”
“Oh, I see,” he replied, now understanding the question. He still found it intriguing that the Jötnar, a race of creatures with a sometimes childish curiosity, could be interested in administrative details. Spartan was convinced 
they were becoming more sophisticated with every passing month.
“Well, the vote passed easily, and the changes to the military will be phased in over three months. At the same time, they will start looking at replacement ships and equipment to cover our losses in the War.”
Khan nodded, showing he was following the conversation.
“Is this good?”
Spartan took another sip and considered the question.
Good point, my friend, is it good?
“Well, I agree with most of what they are trying to do. We definitely need to fix the problems in the military that made it so easy for us to fight each other. I’m not happy with the reductions in numbers or equipment, and I’m 
not really happy at the merger of the Army and Marines. There will be lots of arguments over this.”
This part Khan seemed to understand well.
“Yes, warriors are a proud people. Removing the Army will not be popular, I think.”
You’ve got that right, thought Spartan.
He recalled the arguments in the Senate just hours before the final vote. With one decision, the Confederate Army was disbanded. All militia units were officially struck off, even those with outstanding war records. In their 
place, a small number of part-time Marine Reserve units would be established. Each of these would train personnel with one session a month. Almost all the Regular Army units were to amalgamate with current Marine Corps units, 
and several extra units would be established. The end result was an enlarged Marine Corps with heavier equipment and more closely tied in with the Navy. Gone were the days of large Army formations stationed on planets. Local 
security was now the job of the local police and intelligence forces.
Don’t I have something scheduled for later?
His thinking about the Marine Corps and the fleet reminded him of the Admiral and his promise. He brought up his notes on his datapad device and found the last message about visiting the ship designers with the Admiral. He’d 
managed to put it off for over a week, but any longer and there would be repercussions.
How long have I got? He wondered before groaning upon seeing he had less than two hours. Damn, what can I add to a discussion on shipbuilding?
An image formed in his mind of the Santa Cruz, the ship he had probably spent the most harrowing of his time on. The more he thought about the ship, the less he could remember any details he thought might be of use. What could 
he add when it came to engines, armour, cabins or facilities? He sighed at the thought of being stuck in a room where he was forced to talk about such things. A noise distracted him, and it took a few seconds to realise it was 
the Jötnar sat opposite him talking.
“Spartan?” she asked, evidently not the first time.
“Uh, yes?” he replied.
“Spartan, what do you think then?” asked Osk.
Spartan turned to see her showing him an image of a heavily modified L48 rifle of the type Spartan had used extensively in the War. The grip and stock were much larger than normal and seemingly altered for use by the oversized 
hands of the Jötnar. He had to force himself not to laugh at the completely different levels of conversation between the juvenile and the mature Jötnar. But it gave him a thought, and the more he considered it, the more he 
realised how they changed over time. Then he noticed her looking at him, waiting patiently for his response on what must be an important issue to her. He looked at the weapon for a few seconds, leaned back and looked at her.
“Very nice, I’ve not seen this version before, and L48 if I’m not mistaken, but heavily modified. Who’s working on these weapons?”
Khan leaned over the counter with a large glass of a dark red liquid. He threw back a mouthful before speaking.
“Our own engineers,” he said with obvious pride.
Spartan raised an eyebrow, both impressed and surprised to hear the Jötnar had come on so far that not only did they understand the use of the equipment, but that they were now actively involved in the manufacture and 
modification of weapons.
“Jötnar engineers and Jötnar females. Things are changing for your people.”
“Indeed. Commander Anderson had negotiated much of the old site for our use. We’ve been very busy!” he replied and threw back half the contents of the glass.
Spartan’s mind was rushing ahead as he imagined hundreds, perhaps thousands of these creatures, working away in the hot underground environment of Prometheus. Anderson must have pushed hard to allow them to use the space, 
especially as large parts of the complex were being used to manufacture Alliance equipment up to the size of small ships.
“What about the Alliance shipyards and factories?” he asked.
Khan looked confused at the question.
“Jötnar are working in them as well.”
Spartan said nothing for a while as he sat there with the two Jötnar. The situation on Prometheus was confusing to him. It seemed the Jötnar had been allotted space on the planet as well as equipment and facilities. Perhaps as 
part payment, they were working with Commander Anderson and his Alliance engineers. The thought of the facilities brought back the report he said he would look at. It had been days ago, and so far he’d tried to read it several 
times before going to sleep. Unfortunately, at almost eleven hundred pages, it was just too much to digest along with everything else he had to deal with. He opened it up and skimmed through the table of contents. There were 
columns of unintelligible technical points, but one caught his eye. It was ‘Biomech Internment Schedule’.
“Hey, Khan. What’s happening with the Biomech camps on Prometheus?”
Khan looked back to him with an expressionless look.
“The old ones are locked up. Young ones are being trained by other Jötnar.”
“Trained?” replied Spartan, now intrigued by the idea.
“Yes, trained. Some for warriors, others for work in factories, making food, helping Alliance build things.”
Spartan looked back to the report and read a little further. There were many tables of figures with most outlining the numbers of surviving Biomechs and their internment camps throughout the Alliance. Prometheus was the home to 
over ten thousand, but other sites were holding just as many. A quick scan of all the ships, stations and colonies brought him to a staggering figure. He looked back to Khan.
“Do you know many Biomechs and Jötnar are left in the Alliance?”
Khan shrugged.
“No. When a Biomech understands Jötnar, they can join us. Then they are Jötnar, like me. Gun said we have more Jötnar on Prometheus than all the marines,” he explained and then grinned to Spartan. “So says Ko’mandor Gun.”
Spartan looked back to the document and read further. The bit that gave him a sick feeling was when he reached a section on the early Biomechs. Two new terms were being touted, and it concerned him. Rather than the universal and 
easily understood Biomech, they were now being known as mutations or experiments. Both implied something dangerous, and the recommendations in most cases were destruction or testing of the specimens. It was the easy language of 
those that treated the creatures with a casual disregard.
Bastards, he thought with disgust.
“Hey, you two want to go to this meeting with the Admiral? He wants to talk about ship designs.”
To his surprise they both nodded furiously in agreement. He was a little confused and unsure as to what to say. If it were anybody else, he would have assumed they were joking, but humour was an art the Jötnar were still 
learning to use.
“Uh, okay. Finish your drinks and we’ll head over there.”
* * *
The Alliance Naval Architects Department was like no other place Spartan has visited before. The underground rail system had taken them on the short ten-minute journey to the complex deep inside the research and development wing 
of the Military Academy. Gone were the old fashioned marble buildings, to be replaced by stone and glass. Scores of uniformed personnel watched him as the decorated Lieutenant marched past with two Jötnar in tow. This particular 
part of the department consisted of a long, wide glass corridor with glass rooms off to each side. They walked briskly to a set of tall double doors at the far end. Once inside, he could see the size of the main foyer, with its 
dozens of personnel, computers and scale models of scores of different ship designs.
“Where now?” asked Khan who was becoming impatient.
In the centre of the room was a circular desk manned by three women, each of them impeccably dressed in their new style dark blue Alliance uniforms. Spartan approached the desk and beckoned for the two Jötnar to follow. As he 
reached it, the nearest looked up at him and smiled before spotting the two creatures. Her smile turned quickly to discomfort. Khan started to laugh.
“Looks like she hasn’t met my people before!”
Osk chortled in amusement at her discomfort, and Spartan was forced to interject before it got out of control.
“These are official representatives of our allies, the Jötnar. This is Captain Khan and this is Osk. I am Lieutenant...”
“Spartan?” she interrupted in a clipped and almost artificial voice. She smiled at him and touched her hair with her left hand.
“We’ve heard of your...reputation, Lieutenant. Perhaps you would like a refreshment?”
She stood to go and get him something, but Spartan lifted his hand to refuse.
“Thank you, but our time is limited. Can we see the Admiral?”
The young woman looked disappointed, as did her two comrades who both watched him with interest.
What the hell is going on in this place? He wondered.
She pressed several buttons on her computer system while continuing to smile at him. It didn’t take long before her face changed to evident disappointment.
“Oh, the Admiral would like to see you immediately in the simulation room.”
Spartan raised an eyebrow.
“Which is where?”
The woman laughed nervously, but Spartan could see it was nothing but clumsy flirting. She lifted her left hand and pointed to a long glass entrance in a dark corner. Spartan nodded politely and made his way to the door.
“If I can help you with anything at all, please come and see me,” she added as he moved away.
Spartan shook his head in amusement at the emphasis on the word ‘anything’. He made it to the door only for a green beam to shine down and scan him and his two Jötnar comrades. It only took a few seconds, and with a low beep the 
doors opened to reveal blackness. Spartan stepped inside and the Jötnar followed closely behind. No sooner were they inside did the door hiss shut behind and the lights altered slightly. Spartan moved forward and through a 
generated black wall into a long room. Inside was a sunken space, almost like a small stage. Around it sat a dozen men and women. Some wore military uniforms, others lab coats, and two wore suits.
“Lieutenant, glad you could make it!” said Admiral Churchill with genuine pleasure.
The two men shook hands, and Spartan turned to introduce the two Jötnar. The Admiral shook both of their hands, indicating for them to join him to a raised seating area overlooking the sunken stage area. Once sat down, he spoke 
in almost hushed tones.
“You might have already guessed that I didn’t ask you here to just talk about ship modifications.”
Spartan looked even more confused than the Jötnar at this comment. He moved back slightly in his seat before replying.
“Uh, well, I’m not quite sure what you mean, Admiral.”
“Well, I have been commissioned by the Senate to come up with a new class of ship, a craft that will become a universal warship for use in all kinds of operations. The Navy is to have its capital ships slashed to a total of 
thirty. That is a fraction of the size we are used to. Instead of battleships, cruisers and transports, they want a more economical class that can engage other ships, land troops and reinforce ground operations.”
Spartan was shocked at the number.
“Thirty ships? I thought we had a Navy of nearly three hundred ships?”
The Admiral nodded.
“Yes, but over half are due to be decommissioned due to age or damage, and that number also includes small vessels like destroyers and frigates. The smaller craft are not the issue; the plan is to rush a new vessel into 
production in the next twelve months to replace cruisers, marine transports and battleships. Any slower, and we’ll be forced to rely on broken down and failing vessels. Nine ships are being decommissioned this very month. We 
need replacements and fast. If we build different classes, we’ll face a major capability gap. I don’t need the best, but I need as good as we can get at everything, and fast.”
He looked at the three of them, and each looked as confused as the next.
“The basic recommendations have always been agreed by Navy High Command, a ship of about the size of an Achilles class cruiser with similar firepower. More powerful engines and the capacity to carries up to five hundred marines 
or a similar sized flight group. A flight deck to handle the landing craft when used for marines or gunboats, and fighters when configured for carrier operations.”
Spartan looked both impressed and surprised at the information.
“That is, well, optimistic. Can you deliver that level of miniaturisation into a single ship in the time you have?”
“We have to. The design will be flexible so that each ship can simply alter its crew and craft on board depending on the mission. So some can be used as pure marine transports, like Santa Maria, while others will operate 
aircraft and perform as carriers.”
“I assume they can do both with a smaller unit of marines and aircraft as well?”
“Exactly, you understand the plan, Lieutenant. Now, what I need is any advice you can offer as experienced ground troops. What worked and what didn’t aboard the Santa Cruz? I already have information from scores of experienced 
Navy personnel, but now I have one of the Alliance’s most respected marines and two of our best cousins, the vaunted warrior Jötnar.”
“Yes!” roared Khan with undeniable pleasure.
Spartan looked at the Admiral and did his very best not to look too happy at being offered the chance to play a part in something so important. He looked at the holographic models being shown in the centre of the room and then 
to the Admiral.
“Okay, so what can I tell you?”
“Straight to the point, I like it. Tell me about Santa Maria and Santa Cruz. Then I want to hear about that old warhorse, the Yorkdale.”
The mere mention of Khan’s old military transport caught his ear and his attention. It didn’t take long before the four of them were arguing away at the merits and failures of the ships and the units stationed on them.
CHAPTER SIX
The fighting that engulfed the Proxima System proved once and for all that the divisions in the Confederate Military were a major weakness. Marines, soldiers and militia fought each other while Union soldiers and their Zealot 
soldiers ran amok. It was the violent lessons learnt on the scores of battlefields in the war that paved the way for the new order, the Alliance Military with her modern fleets and well trained marines. The days of politicians 
leading colonial army militia into battle died with the end of the Proxima Emergency.
Reports of the Proxima Emergency
Sergeant Morato and her team waited patiently inside the Marine Corps landing craft. In the zero-g environment, they were forced to rely on the straps and clamps to stay still while the craft manoeuvred alongside the suspicious 
transport. The medium-sized vessel was the standard craft used to insert marines into battle and was big enough to land a large unit directly into battle. On this occasion, however, it was just a single marine platoon led by a 
young Lieutenant Harper and her eight-man ASOG reconnaissance troop. The name was something of a misnomer, as the recon part of the ASOG teams contained the best-trained and experienced members of the ASOG unit. As well as being 
expert fighters, they were required to be the best at survival techniques, infiltration and a host of other specialisations.
“Sergeant, your troop ready?” asked the Lieutenant, a slight tremble in his voice betraying his frayed nerves.
“No problem here. We go in first, and I’ll give you the signal to follow. Remember, watch for friendlies. We don’t want any accidents in there.”
Teresa watched him nod in agreement before he turned back to the thirty marines in his platoon. With the significant downsizing of many units, it was only the most experienced and mentally stable that was left. So many had been 
granted long-term leave, and even more moved back to their home colonies to assist in the recovery effort. He gave them a quick pep talk, but it seemed they were all ready and competent. If they were anything like her, they just 
wanted to get on with the operation. Teresa did wonder why she hadn’t feigned mental instability to get out of another tour, but it was just against her nature. She had fought hard to get where she was now, just like Spartan.
I hate the waiting!
All of his men wore the dark grey PDS armoured suits as worn by marines for a good number of years now. Each of them was encased in close fitting armour and carried L48 carbines with the small-calibre box fitted. When in 
space-borne operations, it was critical for combat units to avoid large calibre weapons as they could easily penetrate the ship’s armoured skin and depressurise an entire section. The optional modification gave them more 
ammunition, a higher rate of fire and a safer round. Teresa looked back to her own unit but said nothing; they knew what had to be done. She and Lovett had done this kind of thing a hundred times before. The other six were 
almost as experienced.
“Okay, make sure you keep your weapons on low mode. I don’t want to get blown out into space, alright?” she said with a cheesy grin.
The other marines present thought she was being serious, but the rest of her unit knew a joke when they heard it. Unlike the marines, they were carrying the L52 Mark II Assault Carbines, much to the envy of the marines. These 
weapons could destroy large chunks of the transport if not handled correctly, but that wasn’t a concern to Teresa. If these experienced men and women couldn’t control their weapons, nobody could. They wore exactly the same 
armour as the marines with one simple exception; the grey paint had been interspersed with black tiger stripes. It was a minor detail, but it made the distinction between ASOG and marine very clear. A scraping sound indicated 
they had made contact with the target. The impact shook the marines inside, but it was nothing serious.
“Here we go. Remember, watch for friendlies!” said Teresa.
Almost in perfect synchronisation each of the ASOG fighters activated their visors. With a quick buzz, the fronts of their helmets clamped shut to encase them in an airtight suit. The PDS armour was proof against light small 
arms but not designed for complete protection against heavier weapons. Unlike the massive power assisted suits of the Vanguards, they were more a replacement for the earlier body armour and webbing carried by soldiers and then 
marines.
“Five seconds,” said the co-pilot in a quiet voice over their suits’ intercoms. The interior lighting had already switched to red, and they all clung to the rails in case of a sudden impact. Then came the final crunch. The 
external hatch slid open, and the automated coupler unit created a bonded vacuum seal between the two craft. It took seconds for the procedure to complete and was followed by the diamond-edged cutters that proceeded to take away 
the target’s exterior hatch. Teresa watched the action from a live external feed taken by the landing craft. She could see the glowing metal where the cutter was busy at work but not much else.
What are we gonna find in there?
In answer there was a much louder clunk as a chunk of metal drifted against their own airlock, a slight hiss, and the interior hatch slid open. That was her signal and without hesitating, she pulled herself away from the wall 
and kicked. The weightless drifting was an odd sensation, and she was acutely aware that without contact to the walls, she had no control. Her head and arms entered the airlock first, and she failed to find the nearest rung. As 
soon as she made contact, she made four hard pulls and was inside the vessel. The rest of her unit followed. In less than thirty seconds, they were aboard and inside what appeared to be a large storage area. They spread out, 
each using one hand and their legs to manoeuvre around the floor, ceiling and walls while keeping the right arm free to handle their rifles.
“Talk to me, Sergeant, what have you got?” asked the impatient Lieutenant still waiting on the landing craft.
Teresa had already switched to thermal imaging and then infrared, but so far this section seemed empty. A quick glance at her team confirmed they had found the same.
“Nothing in the landing area, Sir. We’re moving to the crew section.”
She pulled herself along what looked like the ceiling to the next section. From the external shape the crew on the Santa Maria had sketched for her, they were about a quarter the way inside. The craft was easily double the size 
of the landing craft, and Teresa estimated it could carry about two hundred people or a large amount of cargo.
Corporal Smith, a veteran of the Euryale campaign, lifted his hand, the common signal for the team to stop. They all waited, completely motionless save for their breathing inside their suits.
“I’ve got readings in the habitation section,” he explained over the suit’s sound system.
Teresa checked her own data that was being collected from her comrade’s suit. The networked integration was one of the new features of the PDS armour and being trialled by some of the ASOG troops scattered through the sector.
“Yeah, I see it. Looks like two-dozen tangos in the next section. Wait...one is moving.”
On her HUD she could see the shape of the heat blooms as they were projected inside her visor. If she altered the power mode on her rifle, she would be able to blast through the separating wall and destroy the target. 
Unfortunately, a high-power blast would breach the hull, depressurize the craft, and kill whatever was in the room.
“They could be survivors from the Atlantic Star. Move on!”
Corporal Smith moved through the small connecting corridor and into the multi-room habitation area. It was laid out like most transports with lines of seats, but with the lack of power or lighting, it was hard to tell what was 
inside. Teresa entered the first section and moved alongside her Corporal. Both lifted their rifles and scanned the area. At the far end, about ten metres away, were five people. None appeared armed although it wasn’t easy to 
tell by using the thermal and infrared overlay alone.
“Alliance Navy, who are you?” she asked.
Her thermal imaging sensor overloaded and quickly deactivated as the internal lights switched on and bathed the habitation area with light. At the same time, three more of her team arrived and spread out with their weapons at 
the ready. At the end of the space stood a bearded man with long robes and a beautifully detailed sash. On either side of him stood two creatures, much like the Biomechs she’d seen before. But these were different, smaller in 
stature and less animalistic in look. They carried firearms but of a pattern she was completely unfamiliar with. There was one thing they all had in common, the colour red. All five carried blood red symbols of a snake goddess 
emblazoned on their chests. Two of her men moved ahead only for a fifth guard to appear. He swung a mace type device that embedded in the man’s shoulder. The armour managed to absorb the impact but still sent him spinning out of 
control. Teresa twisted slightly and placed the central figure in her sights.
“Hold your fire!” she barked.
The man lifted both his hands, but she couldn’t tell if they were the common sign of surrender or simply to get attention. Either way, his guards lowered their weapons a short distance, and the stray guard moved back to the side 
wall while two of Teresa’s team pulled the wounded man back behind them.
“Greetings, soldiers. My name is Pontus, and I bring a message of peace and reconciliation on behalf of my brothers. I wish to speak with your Captain.”
Corporal Smith looked to Teresa, and she could just about see his bemused expression through the smoked visor. He raised an eyebrow and looked back to the man. She didn’t recognise the name Pontus, but these were clearly not 
Alliance citizens, and the symbols were very similar to the Echidna iconography she had seen so many times before.
“What do you want? Where is the Atlantic Star?” she demanded in a firm voice.
The man smiled and reached into his pocket. The ASOG troopers turned their aim directly to him, but Teresa lifted her hand to halt their eagerness. From the folds of his robe, he removed what appeared to be an identity chit. He 
smiled and pushed it away towards Teresa. In the zero-g environment it moved in a perfectly straight line but slow as if being draw by an invisible cord. It took nearly five seconds to reach her, a time that increased the 
tension ten-fold in the habitation area. She reached out and caught it, then pulled the chit up to her visor. She examined it carefully before looking back to him.
“I have large numbers of the survivors. A tragic accident, you might say. Now, bring me to your Captain so that we might discuss the issue.”
Sergeant Morato nodded to her unit who moved in closer around the man. His guards lifted their weapons and directed them at her. The troopers stopped their movement forward, but kept the enemy in their sights. Pontus smiled at 
her.
“That is quite far enough. Now, I am waiting.”
She looked at him for a few more seconds and finally contacting the Lieutenant.
“Sir, we’ve got a security chit from the crew on board the Atlantic Star. We also have guests.”
There was a short crackle from the communications gear, and only a few of the words made it back to her. She changed the coding and tried again.
“Sir, I have a man here called Pontus. He says he is a brother, that’s how Typhon described him and his comrades on Terra Nova. He says he wants to see the Captain. Oh, and apparently, he has survivors from the Atlantic Star.”
Still there was no answer. She was about to make arrangements when two of the marines appeared along with Lieutenant Harper. Once next to her, he tapped a button and opened the visor of his helmet. Teresa shook her head angrily 
at the reckless stupidity of doing that. The PDS suits lacked the sensors to check the immediate atmosphere, and he had little to no protection against biological agents. He looked to Pontus and back to her.
“Comms are non-functioning. Must be something to do with the interference from the atmosphere. Who is this?”
She maintained her aim on Pontus but leaned in close to him so Pontus and his guards would be unable to hear her. The Lieutenant looked just as much worried, as he was surprised, to see the man on the vessel.
“Sir, I think he might have some kind of relationship with Typhon and the Zealots. He describes himself as one of the brothers, and he’s got a Biomech guard.”
The young Lieutenant examined the man from a distance and was intrigued by his armoured bodyguards. With a hand gesture, he ordered his own men to take up flanking positions.
“What does he want, and why the hell is he here?”
“He said he’s called Pontus, and he wants to talk with the Captain.”
The Lieutenant shook his head at the suggestion.
“Does he now? Why would I even consider this offer? He might be carrying a weapon, or a bomb of some kind.”
As they talked, the man stood silent, watching them both with a bemused expression on his face. He seemed to become more and more exasperated by their talking until he finally interrupted them.
“I can see that neither of you is in charge of this little endeavour. It is very simple. Either you bring me aboard your ship to meet with your Captain, or my pilot will detonate our engines. He looked to his left hand where he 
carried some kind of time device.
“I will give you thirty seconds to decide.”
Teresa looked to the Lieutenant for a decision, but he seemed uncertain as to what he should do. He tried once again to contact the Santa Maria, but their communications had dropped from the odd lost data packet to 
disconnection. The system reported a total signal loss at a distance of more than a few metres.
“Sir, something is going on here. I recommend we leave this craft immediately.”
Pontus shook his head.
“Twenty seconds. If anybody leaves this vessel, I will have the engines detonated. I have no wish to cause harm, merely to speak with your Captain. You may search me, and my guards will stay here during my visit. What do you 
say?”
* * *
General Rivers waited patiently in the briefing room. A dozen heavily armed guards stood nearby and outside were another three squads, all ready to jump in with a single word. He heard footsteps approaching and looked to his 
personal guards. They were ready for trouble. From the right hand door the familiar shape of Sergeant Teresa Morato appeared.
“Sir, he’ll be here in less than a minute.”
“Good,” he replied, more relieved at the end of the waiting than anything else.
The lights in the room flickered and returned to normal.
“Is it just me, or are we experiencing more than the usual level of equipment failures and disruption right now?” he asked rhetorically. As if to answer his question, the figure of the ship’s executive officer entered the room. 
He saluted quickly to the General before speaking excitedly.
“Sir, our ship-to-ship comms are still functioning. We cannot reach Alliance Fleet Headquarters though. The Captain is concerned that the transport may be carrying some kind of device. He is withdrawing the ship to high orbit 
and away from the craft, just in case.”
“Good,” replied the General.
But there was no more time, as four marine guards entered, closely followed by the flowing robes of the stranger, Pontus. He marched directly to the General and stopped in front of him. He held out his hand, but the General 
ignored his attempt at mock friendship.
“General Rivers, your reputation amongst my brothers is well known. It is an honour.”
He chose to ignore the obvious slight and stepped next to the executive officer.
“I presume you are the ship’s second in command. What might your name be?”
General Rivers lifted his hand to stop the XO from speaking.
“Pontus, that is your name? I have questions for you.”
He smiled at the words, his face betraying a cockiness and arrogance that sent a shiver down the General’s spine. He stepped back and looked around at the almost completely empty briefing room. It had been stripped of anything 
of note apart from a small number of the old recruiting posters at the start of the War. One showed a burning city with dozens of civilian bodies littering the ground. The title read Remember New Carlos.
“On behalf of my brothers, I have a short statement to make,” he explained.
General Rivers signalled to one of the marines who stepped beside him with a video recording unit. Pontus looked at it and to the General.
“Hyperion is ours and has been for nearly thirty years. A day of reckoning is coming, a day that will render you and your friends irrelevant. My master informs me that no ship may enter within half a million kilometres of this 
planet without facing severe consequences. You have already forfeit these ships, and what we do with your lives is another matter.”
The General gave a short signal with his right hand, and two marines leapt forward and grabbed the man, shackling him between them. He then marched close to him and pushed his face directly in front of the man’s.
“How dare you threaten an Alliance ship! Tell me, who are you and what are you doing here? The War is over. The Echidna Union was destroyed, and your Zealot friends have vanished like the cowards we both know they really are.”
The last line seemed to rankle Pontus more than anything else. His amusement changed to bitterness, and his tone altered to a higher pitch.
“You will unhand me and listen to my terms, or face the consequences. If you do not then...”
He was cut short by a quick uppercut from General Rivers that landed under his ribs. Pontus dropped to his knees, his chest heaving from the pain. As he lay there, General Rivers called over four marines from outside. They moved 
in and attached security poles to their enemy’s arms and shoulders.
“Throw him in the brig.”
They dragged him out through the door, and as he vanished, he could hear the man shouting as loudly as he could.
“You have ten minutes, General, then you will reap the consequences of your actions. Trust me, my brothers will make you and the crew of your ships suffer like never before.”
He said something else, but by now he was too far away for anybody in the room to actually hear him anymore. The XO looked at the General with a confused expression on his face.
“What do you think he meant?” he asked.
The General scratched his chin and then made for the door.
“I don’t know, but knowing our friends, it can’t be good. We need to get to the Captain and fast, come on!”
It didn’t take long for the two officers and their entourage to run the short distance between the two important parts of the ship. When they arrived in the CIC, it was clear something bad had happened. At least half of the 
computers were showing nothing but diagnostic screens, and two flashed on and off repeatedly. The mainscreen was functioning and showed an image of the small taskforce of five ships as it made slow progress in moving further 
from the small vessel.
“We need to get away from that craft and fast!” he snapped.
“It takes time to shift orbit,” explained the Captain who was already busy discussing the problems with his chief engineer.
“Screw the orbit, just move us away from them, and fast!”
The internal alarms triggered, and there was only a brief warning to those on the ship before the engines triggered. Any change in acceleration would act as an additional force on the ship and cause a variety of complications to 
those not strapped in. Even the rotating artificial gravity sections would be affected; the occupants would hit by multiple forces pulling in them. The alarms continued as the engines burned and pushed the heavy warship into a 
higher orbit. The four escorting cruisers were at different levels, and two were in a lower orbit as they oversaw the scanning of the planet’s surface.
“Captain, I’m detecting an energy signature from the northern continent. It is something massive, Sir,” said the tactical officer.
Captain Cornwall’s gut instinct told him something was coming. He wished he had some kind of functional shield he could activate, but in this age, it was armour and defensive weapons. He glanced at the XO who was waiting for the 
command. All it took was a nod, and Commander Petersburg dove into his procedures.
“This is the XO. Battlestations, this is not a drill. All crew to your stations, prepare for battle!”
The familiar red lighting and low level siren echoed through every part of Santa Maria as the ship moved to a battle ready state. The crew were fast, very fast. Captain Cornwall watched as security and medical teams reported in, 
and the weapons crew activated the many weapon systems on board. Like most ships in the old Confederate fleet, she was equipped with different weapons for different situations. Her main guns were medium-calibre railguns that 
were fitted into the rotating sections of the ship. They were deadly against medium to large targets. For close defence, she had been retrofitted in the War with additional point defence systems. These were small-automated 
turrets with multi-barrelled Gatling guns. Though primitive compared to the railguns, they were cheap and easy to install and gave decent protection from missiles, rockets and other projectiles.
“What did he want anyway?” asked the Captain in the brief lull before whatever was about to happen.
“He wants to speak with you, or we will face the consequences. He said our ships were already forfeit, and all that was left to discuss was what to do with those on board.”
Captain Cornwall considered his words as the rest of the deck crew went about their duties in preparing the ship.
“Did he now? Well, there’s no way in damnation I am giving up our ships.”
The General nodded in agreement, moved to a chair on the right, and started to pull on the straps. It was a requirement when in battle to put them on, and he had no desire to fly around the CIC and crash into people or equipment.
“Captain, all stations reported in. We’re ready for battle,” said the XO.
Captain Cornwall had strapped himself into his chair and checked the tactical disposition of his force on one of the smaller side displays. Two of the cruisers were already a good distance away, and the third was the same 
distance as his ship. What concerned him though was ANS Thunderer was still very low and moving away from Pontus’ vessel more slowly that the others.
“What’s the hold up with Thunderer?” he asked.
“Sir, emergency contact by the chief science officer on Thunderer. He says they are losing power to main systems. Something about an energy burst from the surface, Sir,” said Lieutenant Nilsson from her communications desk. She 
was one of the many experienced officers from the destroyed battlecruiser Crusader that had found new homes throughout the fleet.
Proximity alarms sounded even louder than the battlestations alarm. The XO looked at the displays and back to the Captain while simultaneously lifting the microphone.
“This is the XO. Brace for impact!”
Captain Cornwall watched the mainscreen with dread as what looked like a green pulse of energy moved up from the surface and towards his ships. For a second, he thought it was heading for the Santa Maria, but instead it altered 
course by a few degrees and hurtled towards Thunderer.
“What the hell is that?” he demanded.
“Unknown, Sir. Its energy signature is off the charts,” replied the tactical officer.
There was no more time for analysis. What happened next only took less than ten seconds, but to those on the bridge watching it appeared an eternity. First the energy pulse rushed towards Thunderer. The point defence systems did 
their work, and streams of projectiles ripped into the object, yet still it came. It collided towards the rear of the cruiser and flashed with intensity of a low yield nuclear device. With no air to carry a shockwave, there was 
no sound or blast inside the Santa Maria, but the damage was obvious. As the light flash quickly dissipated, it revealed the wreck of the cruiser, split into three by the blast of energy that was more powerful than any weapon 
they had seen before.
“Gods, what is that thing?” muttered the Captain.
The three large chunks of the cruiser drifted out of control, yet they remained in orbit. Each of the crew watched as small numbers of lifeboats tried to escape the carnage. Molten metal and debris littered their path and for 
every two boats that got away, one was trapped or destroyed by the field of rubble.
“Engines all ahead, get us out of here!” demanded the XO to the rest of the crew.
He seemed unscathed by the terrible event that had just occurred, but in reality he was just doing what he had trained to do for years. When trouble hit the ship, it was his job to operate on autopilot, and to ensure the safety 
of the ship and the crew, no matter what was happening around them. He was forced to shout several times to snap the crew out of their daze. Over the speakers was the sound of crackling and static on the open channel. At least 
three of the lifeboats called out in desperation before Lieutenant Nilsson cut the feed; there was little need to spread the terrible sound to anybody other than those that could help in some way.
“All crew accounted for, Captain, looks like just the one shot against Thunderer,” explained the tactical officer.
The rumble of the engines increased as the Marine Transport pushed away from their current position with all the power that could be forced from the smaller engines. The large ship was equipped with powerful engines for long 
distance travel, but it took time to prepare and fire them up as well as a large number of internal procedures that must be carried out prior to them being activated.
“Is this what that bastard in the brig threatened?” he snapped, his rage almost uncontrollable.
“He didn’t give specifics,” said a resolute General Rivers who until now had kept quiet. His job was to command the overall operation and to plan the ground phase of any missions. The running of the ships was out of his 
jurisdiction and his knowledge.
“That was clearly a message, though. Can they hit us again?” he added.
The tactical officer already had three screens showing the weapon and pages of data from the attack. He looked over his shoulder for a brief moment.
“So far it seems to be a magnetically shielded fusion bomb. It must be controllable though and big, very big. At least the size of a shuttle and well armoured. Based on the rate of assent and its ability to track and hit a 
cruiser moving at speed, I suggest we need to leave orbit and fast. I cannot give you an accurate limit to its range.”
Two of the displays shut off, and the rumble from the engines stopped. Captain Cornwall looked over to the status indicators to his right. They showed that two of the powerplants had shutdown, and a large number of systems were 
following.
“What in damnation is happening to my ship?” he demanded.
General Rivers looked at the screen and to the Captain.
“I think it’s time we had a little chat with our guest, don’t you?”
As if to emphases his point, the mainscreen flickered and went black. The few computer systems remaining showed garbage or corrupted data and imagery. Even more worrying was the fact that remaining power system was starting to 
overheat due to the heavy requirements now being placed on it. The Captain starting issuing orders via the computer system while simultaneously calling over to General Rivers.
“General, we’ve got problems here. Can you get down to the brig and negotiate something, anything? We can’t afford to lose another ship out here.”
General Rivers was already on his feet and holding one of the many side rails to stop him from falling. He tapped his communications unit and reached Sergeant Morato.
“Get your entire troop down to the brig. We have things to discuss with Mr Pontus.”
He dragged himself to the door and looked back briefly at the confusion in the CIC. It reminded him of the worst moment in the middle of battles, especially some of the situations he and the Admiral had been involved in. The 
Captain was competent, but he was in no way a match for the old Admiral Jarvis. He sighed and dragged himself out into the corridor.
“Come with me, to the brig!” he said to his waiting guards.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The status of Earth reached its lowest point with the founding of the Centauri Alliance. With each colony now providing senators to the Terra Nova, the old worlds became less and less significant. With the first colonies 
established at Epsilon Eridani, Gliese 876 and Procyon the significance of Earth would not change until the great scouring, an event that made even the Great Uprising pale into insignificance.
The Decline of Earth
Pontus waited in his cell and listened with pleasure at the sound of the shouting and confusion aboard the Santa Maria. He’d expected no better than to be placed in the most secure part of the ship, and the shouting from some of 
the crew about the loss of a cruiser merely improved his mood. The cell itself was basic and protected by a strong, triple-bolted security system that was monitored by a central command station. The two marine guards stationed 
at his door wore their armoured suits and carried the by now well-known L48 rifles. He sneered at them as he remembered some of the more bloody encounters he faced in the last decade with men just like them.
Insects, worthless non-believers with nothing to commend them other than blind obedience to their parasitic capitalism. They even refuse the salvation of our holy mother, Echidna, she that is many.
He lowered his head reverently at the mere thought of his God and master.
By the time General Rivers and his entourage arrived, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. The Marine officer evidently wasn’t wasting time as he ordered the door to be opened and marched right in to face him. Pontus was tempted 
to strike. It was probably the best opportunity he’d come across to remove this troublesome man, but he had his orders.
“General Rivers, how nice to see you. I trust you now understand the gravity of our meeting? I was not joking.”
He spotted the movement of the man’s arm, and his stomach muscles tenses up at the expected blow. He could have avoided it if he wanted, but it would have been futile. The General was surrounded by loyal guards, and all probably 
desperate to strike him down. No, he took the attack and dropped down to his knees and wheezed. They waited for him to recover and stand back up before any of them spoke. One marine leaned in and whispered into his ear. The 
General looked even angrier but resisted striking again.
“Ah, I see,” he said with obvious relish. One of the marines took a step closer, but his Lieutenant grabbed his shoulder and pulled him off. Pontus smiled as though thanking him before continuing.
“By now you will understand that I was being entirely truthful with you. I have no interest in seeing your people suffer. Be under no illusions though, Echidna will not let your ships leave this system, and any further attempts 
to circumvent her will, will have severe consequences for the rest of your little fleet.”
General Rivers shook his head angrily.
“Hyperion is an Alliance world and nothing to do with your group of terrorists. You will surrender your forces immediately, or we will be forced to direct tactical atomics onto the surface.”
Pontus merely chortled at the suggestion. The General recognised the self-importance he had seen on other members of the cult and knew the man could not be reasoned with. He decided to try and learn as much as he could.
“Who are you, Pontus? What are you doing out here?”
Pontus nodded and scratched his cheek as he considered the questions.
“I am one of the Children of Echidna, like my brother Typhon. We serve her and await her coming.”
He grinned at the obvious confusion in the face of the General.
“She needs workers to finish our great temple, and your war has provided workers in the thousands for us.”
Alarms triggered inside the ship, and a marine ran inside the brig section with obvious terror on his face. A crewman carrying a mobile engineer’s datapad, a large device that allowed remote access to certain management parts of 
the ship, followed him. The sound of what appeared to be gunfire came from a long distance inside the hull of the ship.
“Sir! We need to move you, now!” he said, grabbing the General. The General easily brushed the man’s arm aside and looked back to the sneering face of Pontus. He stepped closer and pointed his right hand at his face.
“What do you want from us?”
Before he could speak, the marine tried to grab him again, but this time was stopped by a marine guard. The two started a rowdy disagreement while the General concentrated on the prisoner.
“Echidna needs labour, and the people on your remaining ships will be a useful asset. Stay in orbit, and wait for our transports to arrive to take you to the surface. My guards are coming for me. Refusal to let me leave, or any 
attempt to leave your current position, and your ships will meet the same as your first cruiser.”
General Rivers’ guard moved closer, but the Sergeant of his guard unit leaned in and whispered.
“Sir, we have a major situation here. Machines in the secondary landing bay, looks like a boarding party of some kind. We need to get you out of here.”
General Rivers looked to Pontus, but the Sergeant looked adamant.
“Sir, now!” he said as firmly as he dared.
The General stepped back and towards the door. A group of marines, all in their PDS armour and carrying carbines ran past him and took up positions at the end of the corridor. He was convinced he could hear the metallic clunk of 
machines moving, but it could easily have been his imagination. The engineer turned his device around to show him.
“Sir, look. They are remotely shutting down our systems, one by one. Weapons and propulsion are down. Life support and gravity will be next.”
He looked back to the guards in the brig and nodded to the man at the security station.
“Release him,” he ordered, turning to the other guards.
“You will put him in irons. He’s coming with us to the secondary landing bay.”
The marines and crew went about their business to release and shackle Pontus while General Rivers assessed the situation. He looked carefully at the systems failure on the engineer’s equipment.
“I don’t understand. Most of these systems are hardwired. How are they gaining access and controlling them?”
The engineer shrugged.
“The only option is that they have something or someone on the inside. I have been locking down the subsystems one at a time and posting crew to manage them at each station. It takes time, but so far I’ve completely isolated the 
last remaining powerplant.”
Pontus was now out of his cell, fitted with restraints and a locked collar attached to a metal rod.
“How long until you can lock down the entire ship?” he asked.
At least three hours, and that’s assuming I can reach the main conduit here,” he explained while pointing to the section of the ship.
Captain Carlos, commander of the First Company and four more of his marines arrived and ran to the doorway. He was a decorated veteran of Euryale and as loyal and experienced an officer as existed in the Corps.
“Sir, the Captain sent me to retrieve you and bring you back to the CIC before we lose control of the ship.”
General Rivers shook his head and pointed to the map. It showed a bright green schematic of the ship and its primary systems. He tapped the primary conduit.
“No, either we regain control of our systems or we start falling into the atmosphere. This conduit is on the other side of the secondary landing bay, right?”
The engineer nodded.
“I thought so. Right, you all come with me, and get Pontus out at the front. If they want something to shoot at, they can have him.”
He looked back to the engineer.
“Can you reach the CIC on that thing?”
The man shook his head furiously.
“No, Sir. After they breached the habitation seals, we lost all internal communications, and that includes data access to all networked and connected systems. That’s why the Captain sent out engineering teams like us to restore 
and protect what’s left.”
“I see,” he replied slowly.
He looked back at his men as he formulated a quick plan in his head. It seemed simple to him. Either they ejected the boarding party and restored their systems, or they let Pontus and his people leave to achieve the same. Either 
way, he was going to be there and if possible, he would make the man pay.
“Right, to the secondary landing bay, now!” he growled.
With that order, the first small group of marines pushed off ahead. They took the shackled Pontus with them and pushed him out to the front like a mine detector. About ten metres further back was the General and his personal 
guard unit. They made quick progress as they worked their way there. Unlike the main bays, this one was actually located in the retaining habitation ring. It was very difficult to actually land inside but perfect for the launch 
of small lifeboats. General Rivers assumed the only possible way of landing there successfully would be a forced entry with drones of some kind. The only surprising thing was that none of the compartments had explosively 
decompressed. They moved passed two crew, one was bleeding was a gash on the shoulder.
“What’s happening back there?” asked one of his marines.
“Machines, in the habitation ring, and they’re killing anybody they find. They...they are coming this way!” said the young woman, her voice trembling.
The marine looked up to the General, half expecting him to order a retreat. Instead, the veteran commander simply shook his head and nodded in the direction of the sound. All that changed was that he reached down and pulled out 
his Marine Corps issue pistol and pulled back the slide.
“We’re ending this, now!”
The marine nodded, and with that the entire party continued on and towards the sounds of screaming and violence. General Rivers felt his pulse quickening and although he might hate to admit it, the thought of getting back into 
action made him feel alive again. It was only when he rounded the last bend to reach the double width access corridor, could he appreciate the carnage and violence the machines had caused. At least a dozen shredded bodies lay 
strewn about the floor. Heads and limbs had been torn off, and all that remained were three metal machines, like some monsters from ancient myth. Like mechanical spiders, the things were larger than a man but featured no 
discernible head. Their eight limbs were thicker than a man’s legs, yet more fully articulated and ended in scythe shaped toes. At the sight of the marines and Pontus, they stopped and froze completely as if they had been 
switched off. The nearest of them was bathed in red blood, presumably one of its many victims.
“Let me leave, and they will come with me. Resist, and they will carry on their fine work aboard your ship. Your choice, General.”
At the last words from Pontus, the three machines lifted up four of their eight legs and extended their razor sharp talons towards the General and his men.
“What the hell are these things?” cried one his men only to be berated by Captain Carlos. He leaned in towards the General.
“Sir, what do you want us to do?” he asked.
General Rivers looked to Pontus and then the blood splattered machines that waited for their order to continue on with their violent rampage. What he wanted to do was to lift his pistol and blast the things apart. His gut 
instinct reminded him of the failures on their ship and the hundreds of men and woman that had already died. He lifted his pistol and pointed it to the forehead of Pontus. The man looked back, and his expression changed from 
surprise to amusement. Pontus could see the General was torn between what he should do, and either through malice or just simple amusement, he decided to play one final card.
“Oh, one last thing General. Either you or your Captain will accompany me to the surface. Now, release me!”
General Rivers glared at the man, his right hand twitching with desire to blast the hated enemy. The machines nearby moved towards the marines. It was very slow, almost creepy in nature, but they were drawing the confrontation 
to a head.
“You have sixty seconds to make your decision, General. Or my metal friends here will send a coded signal to our ground base to use our weapon against your pitiful little fleet.
The young engineer from the CIC spoke into his left ear.
“Sir, before I left, we detected additional signatures from the planet that matched the last weapon impact. It is likely they can do it again.”
That wasn’t the news he wanted to hear. Now he was stuck in a small space with a dozen armed marines, three robotic machines, and a psychotic terrorist facing him. Sparks from one of the malfunctioning display terminals on the 
wall snapped him out of it. With just seconds remaining, he needed to make a decision.
Do I let him this bastard go and let him take me with him? Or do I end this now, and put a bullet in his skull?
He looked at Pontus and tried to work out if the man was bluffing? Could he trust this man to keep his word, and was he prepared to die? The more he looked into the man’s face the more he knew this man was happy to die. It might 
even be what he really wanted.
Bastard!
* * *
Spartan was in the greatest battle of his life. The area was more than a bit like that of a professional fighting ring, and its walls seemed to be carved out of solid rock. The only light came in through a narrow hole in the 
distant roof, bathing the floor in a pale blue sheen. A dozen bodies lay around him, and yet four more Biomech gladiators stepped in for him to fight. It seemed nothing he did would stop the unrelenting hordes of enemies.
“Die!” he roared and rushed forward to the nearest creature.
In his right hand he carried a great axe, and in his left a small metal buckler. He reached the first and smashed its weapon out of the way to leave the creature’s head exposed. In a quick movement, he twisted his hip and 
brought down the axe with such force that the monster exploded in blood and gore that drenched him from head to toe. He pulled the weapon from its body to reveal nothing but a pool of blood and gore. A loud roar and buzz made 
look up to see a great black shape rushing for him. It made a terrible buzzing sound and stopped him in his tracks. He shook his head and shouted only for his voice to seem weak and muffled. He opened his eyes to the sight of 
the flashing light, and the buzzer on his video comms unit droning continually. For the briefest of moment, Spartan almost struck it with his fist.
He’d been in the middle of a dream, a violent reimagining of one of his gladiatorial contests back from before he had been a marine. The tone was loud, and the slowly increasing internal lights made him lift his hand to his face.
What the hell is going on now? Somebody forgot a meeting appointment?
He looked to his left and could see the blinking unit next to his bed. A bright red light flashed several times a second to remind him somebody wished to speak. He slid over the bed and lowered his feet to the floor. The 
coldness made him jump as shivers ran up through his muscles.
Here we go again.
Spartan tapped the button, and the black, featureless face of the unit changed to that of a naval officer. He rubbed his tired eyes and tried to focus.
“Lieutenant, Admiral Churchill here. I need you in the Defence Committee room in fifteen minutes. We have a major situation developing.”
Spartan shook his head, partly out of confusion and also in surprise. He was after all merely a low ranking officer. Strategy and operational planning were not something he was ever involved in. His brain went into overdrive as 
he considered the kind of problems that could occur on Terra Nova that might require his special skills. Perhaps somebody had been kidnapped, or a terrorist was threatening to blow up a building?
“What is it, Sir?” he asked, his voice still dreary.
“Not over the official channel. Fifteen minutes, Spartan, and don’t be late. This is important!”
The signal cut out completely, leaving Spartan alone in his room and wondering what was going on. He looked about, noting it was still dark.
The time?
A quick glance to the clock on the wall showed it was only just past three o’clock in the morning. That might explain the dull ringing in his head. It was certainly more likely than the fact he’d taken a mace impact to the jaw 
while fighting in the arena. He slid out of bed and to the bathroom to get ready. After starting to wash his face, his brain started to wake up, and the gravity of what the Admiral had said worried him. He wiped his face and 
grabbed his combat fatigues and gear without even thinking. It took less than two minutes for him to leave the room and make his way to the elevators. Inside, a soldier from the Terra Nova Guards saluted. The decision may have 
been made to scrap the Army in its entirety, yet this one paradox remained in the capital.
“Where to, Sir?” asked the man.
“Defence Committee,” he replied, much to the surprise of the soldier.
He paused, but upon seeing Spartan’s expression, turned and pressed a button. It was a fast device and took him below the ground a substantial distance before slowing to a halt. The doors hissed open to reveal the main foyer and 
a number of high-ranking officials from the Navy and Marine Corps. There were also a significant number of politicians, but he recognised none of them. He stepped forward only to find Khan step from out of the crowd.
“Spartan, what’s going on here?” he asked.
Spartan couldn’t work out what was more surprising. The fact that he had been called to such an important meeting, or that Khan had also been brought there. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.
“Beats me, come on, let’s get in there, looks like they are starting.”
They moved along with the others into the committee room, a place much like the room he had been in to look at ship designs. When they were all inside, the door shut and a high-pitched squeal reverberated through the room. Khan 
winced at the sound.
“What’s that for?”
“Sensor sweeper, checking for bugs I would think.”
The audience of no more than thirty people quietened down as Defence Secretary Howalt Sones stood up to speak. Spartan recognised him from the Senate’s debates concerning the future of the Alliance military. His face was grave, 
and Spartan’s stomach lurched at the feeling he was about to hear something very bad.
“Thank you for all coming so quickly. I will get directly to the point. A situation is brewing in the Hyperion Sector.”
He pressed a button, and the centre of the room lit up with a model of the planet and its moons. Spartan’s pulse, on the other hand, had already increased significantly. Teresa was on board the Santa Maria, and their mission was 
in that part of space as well.
Please tell me nothing has happened to her.
“I have important news concerning the recent deployment of the Hyperion Taskforce. This powerful group of ships and marines was sent to investigate the disappearance of the civilian liner, Atlantic Star. As you are undoubtedly 
aware, the force is substantial and consists of five capital ships, including four cruisers and the marine heavy transport ANS Santa Maria. As well as thousands of crew, these ships are carrying three full companies of marines 
plus a single ASOG. It is much more than a simple reconnaissance mission. They are operating under the command of General Rivers, a man whose reputation is known by you all. They have the ships, equipment and troops to search, 
investigate and if necessary, destroy any Zealot presence.”
The model changed to one of the taskforce. The cruisers were substantial, but it was the bulk of the heavy transport that took up most of the space. A transport was a bit of a misnomer, as she was more an amphibious assault ship 
with the troops and firepower to get large numbers of warriors into and out of action in a short time. Defence Secretary Howalt Sones paused as though for effect and switched off the unit.
“As of fifty-two minutes ago, we have lost contact with the taskforce. The last messages received were that the force had spotted a small lifeboat. Less than a minute later, the signals from all five ships vanished. Navy 
engineers have already confirmed this cannot be caused by the destruction of one of the ships. Even with just seconds left our vessels eject black boxes and transmit distress signals. Something out there blocked their signals 
completely, and it has stayed that way.”
Spartan almost vomited at the news. Hyperion was almost two weeks away using a ship with sufficient power and waiting at full readiness. Anything could have happened to them by now, and there was nothing that could be done for 
days. He lifted his hand to speak, but the Defence Secretary continued speaking.
“Our top scientists are working on this, but so far the list of options I have been given range from one of the many solar storms that can lash Hyperion through to sabotage, engine powerplant failure or mutiny. We will continue 
to monitor the situation, and I will inform you as and when the situation changes.”
Spartan stood up, no longer willing to wait on protocol.
“Sir, there are thousands of men and women out there, we cannot just sit and…”
The Defence Secretary lifted his hands and spoke over him, using the volume of the sound amplification to drown him out.
“I appreciate your concern, Lieutenant, as does every man and woman here. I have convened an emergency meeting of the Senate to take place in six hours. In the meantime, I suggest you assist Admiral Churchill in his efforts to 
identify the possible solutions to this problem.”
Spartan looked over to the Admiral and could see him looking right back, shaking his head slowly. He cast his head to the right as if indicating he wanted Spartan to look at something he was hiding. Then Spartan worked it out.
I see, he wants me to meet him, probably right after this meeting.
* * *
Captain George Cornwall couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was already slumped into his chair, but the news that the General had been taken from the ship was almost impossible to believe. Just one hour earlier, the ship 
had been fine, and the only anomaly was the lifeboat moving towards them. Now they were trapped in orbit by the demands of a madman, a man that had an important hostage and a weapon capable of both disabling and destroying any 
vessel under his command. He sighed and looked around his CIC. All systems were now back online as well as the secondary powerplants.
“So let me get this straight?” he said to his XO.
“My marines have let the General be taken as a hostage in exchange for not destroying our ships? What are we supposed to do now?”
The XO turned to the marines, specifically Captain Carlos who had seen the General leave along with Pontus.
“Did the General give any indication as to what he was doing? Any kind of plan?”
Captain Carlos looked distinctly unimpressed with the questioning.
“He had seconds to make a decision. Kill Pontus and we all die, or he went to buy us some time. Pontus said he would be sending craft to take off the crew and bring them down to the surface. Any attempts to leave or refuse will 
meet the same fate as with Thunderer.”
Captain Cornwall rubbed his glistening forehead, the fear and worry now very obvious on his brow. The marine officer could sympathise with him, but it was hardly as though they were left with a large number of options. The XO 
moved back to the Captain, but even he looked confused at the situation.
“Sir, our engineers have checked and checked again on their weapon. We cannot withstand even a single strike. Our armour is no thicker or more durable than that fitted to the cruisers. Our only advantage is our greater number of 
point defence turrets.”
The Captain shook his head.
“Like they did anything with Thunderer.”
He sat back and examined the disposition of the remaining four ships. He had something in mind, that much the XO could see, but what? The force was still powerful, and the marine complement on board Santa Maria gave them a 
fighting edge. Assuming a single one of them could actually find somebody or something to fight. The Captain looked back at them.
“What about these machines? Are they something we’ve seen before?”
The Marine officer shook his head.
“No, sir, this is something new. The technology is far from unique, but I’ve not seen that level of autonomous behaviour and speed in a combat ready piece of equipment. They were fast, accurate and followed Pontus’ commands 
instantly. I would suggest a mental or a visual control system tied in directly to the man. It was something exceptional and deadly. The closest I’ve seen is with a pre-programmed sparring drone.”
He looked back to the display and took one more deep breath before continuing.
“They don’t have any craft in the area right now. We could attempt to split the fleet, different heights and speed. We might lose one ship, but it would maintain the attention of their weapon so that the others could escape.”
The XO shook his head vehemently.
“What about their technology? They were able to jam our communications and shutdown our systems remotely. If we try and split up, what’s to stop them doing the same?”
Captain Cornwall pointed to the display and the projected trajectories from the remaining ships. He tapped the shape of the Santa Maria and expanded out to show the increasing radius between the others.
“If we activate our long range engines to full burn, we can be out of the gravitational field of Hyperion in mere seconds. The others could do the same. The only other option I can see is we abandon the ships.”
The door to the CIC opened and in walked Sergeant Morato and three of her ASOG troop. She approached the Marine Captain and saluted.
“Sir. We’ve cleared all access points from the breach, and there’s nobody else on board. We found this during our sweep.”
She held up a small metallic object about the size of a man’s fist. At least half of its surface resembled a shell with slightly recessed contours on its smooth finish. The other half was ribbed and heavily indented before it 
reached a broken inlet pipe of some kind. Burn damage had marked in the rougher side, and it was heavily scored. The XO took it and examined it carefully before passing it to the Captain.
“So?” he asked dismissively.
The Captain looked at it but only for a moment before looking back to the Sergeant.
“Well?” he asked though without the rudeness of the XO.
“It’s a mobile communication node, like some of the gear we’ve found the Zealots using to communicate underground. I would guess somebody on board has been speaking with a person on the surface below or another ship.”
Captain Cornwall looked devastated at the implication.
“That is a serious accusation, Sergeant, and you have very little evidence to back it up. Right now, I have more important things to worry about than finding the odd trinket and piece of scrap on my ship.”
He turned to his right and nodded to the XO.
“Get us ready, we move out in five minutes. I don’t want to give these bastards any more time than we have to.”
The XO nodded in agreement and moved back to the mainscreen. He picked up the microphone and proceeded to manage the men and women on the ship for a potential high-energy sprint from the planet.
“Tactical, I need a full time and velocity assessment of their weapon. How long do we have from warning to impact?”
“Sir,” replied the man, turning back to his console.
“Captain!” exclaimed a desperate sounding Sergeant Morato. “If we have a mole on board, then they could tell Pontus of our intentions. So far he has kept every one of his...”
“Enough, Sergeant. Take your troop and station them near the landing bay. We may need you again should Pontus and his robotic friends attempt to board our ship again.”
He moved to Captain Carlos of the First Company.
“Captain, get your men ready for potential action. I don’t know what’s coming, but three companies of marines could be quite a useful edge.”
He saluted, making for the door as the Captain called out one last time.
“Oh, and make sure everybody is in zero-g gear. Just in case.”
With the marines now gone, he turned back to see his crew moving about their business in the CIC. According to the diagnostic systems, the ship’s power was up to almost eighty percent, and all the main stations were reporting in 
manually on the communications system. He recalled some of the stories from the Great War where some ship’s had been forced to run on oral commands than computer systems. It was slow and manpower intensive but alleviated the 
problem of hacked or damaged computer equipment.
She’s getting back to normal. All that remains is can I get her out of here before that bastard does something else!
CHAPTER EIGHT
With the creation of the new Alliance Military came a more professional and better-equipped fighting force. Gone were the days of militia, Army and Marine forces and instead the Navy and Marines would provide all the fighting 
power. The enlarged Marines were equipped with a mixture of weapons, but one lesson they had learned from the Proxima Emergency was the importance of close quarter training. Sergeant Spartan of the Vanguards had led the way, and 
never again would humanity’s ground forces forget their skills with blades.
Edged weapons in the Emergency
The journey through the thick atmosphere did nothing to improve General Rivers’ mood. The gloating Pontus and his entourage of machines and Zealots said nothing, but the look of amusement on the face on Pontus told him all he 
needed to know. He considered saying nothing, but it seemed they thought they’d already won. It was an opportunity. At least he hoped so.
“So, Pontus. You have me, what are you planning next?”
Pontus said nothing.
“That’s it, then? You don’t even have the guts to tell me your cunning plan?”
One of the Zealots leaned over and whispered into Pontus’ ear. The two laughed, but again no one answered his question. General Rivers decided on a different tact.
“I’ll have to speak with your master then as you’re obviously incapable of answering even the most basic of questions. Just another lackey like Typhon.”
The mention of Pontus’ brother seemed to strike a nerve.
“You and your people can join the rest of your slaves. The ones that are left, anyway,” spat Pontus.
The craft shook violently, and Rivers felt his side strike the sides of the small craft. It was a small vessel, much smaller than an Alliance shuttle.
Probably taken from one of our civilian ships. He thought angrily.
That was when he felt the backup pistol fitted into his jacket. He’d completely forgotten about it, as in the last year he’d had little opportunity to make use of it. He slid his right hand down and checked to ensure he wasn’t 
mistaken. The hardened plastic of the small hilt confirmed that it was a P12 high velocity coil-pistol, a variant of the more powerful carbines and rifles used by the ASOG units. Pontus looked at him suspiciously, and for a 
moment he worried he’d been spotted.
“My people won’t leave me behind you know? They will hunt your friends down, just like I’ve been doing, and kill each of you, one at a time.”
Pontus shook his head slowly but said no more. But it had given him a window, and even this small group of fanatical Zealots hadn’t noticed him slide his hand into the internal pocket of his jacket. He tapped the side and 
accidently pressed the high-power option. It buzzed and caught one of the men’s attention.
“What was that?” asked Pontus.
The nearest Zealot shook his head and looked about before settling his eyes on the General.
“It must have been him.”
Pontus struck the man across the face angrily.
“What? Why was he not searched? Do it now!”
General rivers knew this was it. He had one chance, and he took it. He grabbed the pistol grip, twisting his wrist so that he could point it at Pontus. The enemy spotted him and unclipped his safety belt just in time. The blast 
was deafening in the confines of the craft. The impact tore though the nearest Zealot but also punched through the separating wall and into the pilot, killing both instantly. Alarms blasted and the craft spun out of control, 
throwing anybody not strapped down around the interior of the vessel.
What the hell have you done! He thought with sickening amusement.
* * *
From space, the group of warships gave the impression they were idly orbiting the planet. The calm exterior hid the movement and procedures being carried out to ready the ships for what was to come. Marines fitted on their 
armour and checked their weapons while the crew double and triple-checked their systems while fitting on emergency gear and life-support equipment. Every one of them was ready for whatever terrible event might occur.
“Sir, all compartments report ready for full burn. Marines are equipped and ready for battle. Cruisers Bellerophon, Minotaur and Defence all report they are also ready to power up on your command,” said the XO.
Captain Cornwall placed his chin in his hand and looked at the video feed of the planet below. His gut told him to fire the engines, but nagging doubts wracked his body at the previous loss of Thunderer. If they were able to hit 
Santa Maria, the losses would be catastrophic.
Indecision is the killer of ships. He remembered from decades ago during his academy days.
Even though he had made up his mind, he was still wracked by doubt. The object Sergeant Morato had shown him was suspicious, but he had neither the time nor resources to throw at it when faced with such a deadly danger on the 
planet. That reminded him. He looked back down to the surface of the mist-covered jungle world and tried to look through the haze to get some idea of what was there.
What are you doing down there?
He inhaled and tightened his belt on his commander’s chair.
It’s time.
The microphone was already in his hand, and the crew were sat, monitoring their data streams but also waiting for the order. The rotating sections on all four ships were still moving, even though all crew and marines were 
strapped in and waiting for the inevitable acceleration of the main engines being activated. When powered up, they would maintain a contact acceleration of the same order as Earth’s gravity. The engines would then only cut prior 
to rotation and the reverse burn, but on this occasion the course was much shorter and designed to take them a day out from the deadly planet.
“This is the Captain, prepare for...” was as far as he got before alarms triggered.
As before, some of the systems shut down, but unlike the last time the internal communications remained active.
“Status report, all stations!” barked the XO.
Reports flooded in from each section, and as each one arrived, it was obvious they had problems.
“Sir, engines are not responding, neither is navigation. Minotaur reports her engines are operational.”
“Tell her to go. Everybody else, find out what the hell is going on!”
The fear in his voice was clear and did nothing to instil confidence in the shaken crew. They checked their stations, but there was little that could be done from the CIC, it would require small teams to trace the faults. Either 
way, his attention was diverted from the current problems by a shout from the tactical officer.
“Sir, the weapon signature on the planet has just activated.”
“What?” cried Captain Cornwall, but in his heart he knew exactly what was about to happen.
“I’m picking up seven blooms, exactly the same as before.”
Seven? What can we do against such power?
On the main screen a bright flash was all that remained of where ANS Minotaur had been as her powerful engines ignited. The great warship quickly accelerated and blasted out of orbit and away from the danger of the planet. The 
sight of the ship escaping the torment of the ground weapons sent a pang of relief through Captain Cornwall’s body. He looked back to his CIC and was brought instantly back to the situation at hand. The XO was straining to lean 
over to speak to the tactical officer. Both of their voices were loud in desperation, not anger. He looked back towards him.
“Captain, we have two minutes until impact! We’ve got three ships with no power, and Bellerophon’s life support has just cut out,” said the XO.
Two minutes!
“Listen up!” he called out to his crew. “We have seconds to make a decision. If anybody has any kind of a plan, now is the time.”
There was silence, just the sounds of alarms, and the continuous audio traffic from those stations still functioning and the other ships in orbit. Captain Cornwall looked to his XO to see nothing but his second in command 
shaking his head.
That’s it then, all we can do is sit and take the punishment.
“Sir, I have the source of the weapons on the surface, and they are based in a hexagonal shape around this one point. We could go to the surface?” suggested the tactical officer.
“The engines are out. We can’t manoeuvre, and this ship would burn up on re-entry.”
The XO nodded at the suggestion.
“He’s right, Sir. If we head to the boats, we could evacuate the ship and land as close as we can to the weapon sites.”
The Captain looked as though he’d just woken up.
“Yes, we could then disable or destroy them, and potentially find the source of the ship control or communication.”
He looked over to the tactical officer. “How much time do we have?”
“Seventy-two seconds, Sir.”
This is going to be close!
He nodded to the XO and pulled at his straps. Luckily, the artificial gravity was still operating, and that would speed up the escape.
“This is the XO, abandon ship! This is not a drill! Commence evacuation procedures. You have less than one minute to leave the ship. Landing zones are being sent to the nav units on all boats. I repeat. This is not a drill. 
Evacuate the ship!”
With that, he unstrapped himself and made for the nearest escape lifeboats. In case of emergencies there were pods and boats situated at key areas along the outer skin of the rotating section. While the pods were very small, the 
lifeboats could carry up to twenty people. By the time Lieutenant Nilsson, the ship’s communication officer reached the nearest boat, she could already feel the reverberation through the metal plating of them ejecting from the 
ship. Their powerful retro-thrusters would blast the side of the hull as they moved away as quickly as possible. As she reached the door, she glanced back to see just three people left behind, and they were also moving for the 
door. The Captain and the XO were barking orders, and one marine guard was doing his best to manhandle them from the CIC towards the last lifeboat.
“Captain!” she shouted as loudly as she could.
He looked over to her, a look of disappointment on his brow.
“Get off the ship, Sir!” she added and turned and threw herself into the escape pod. The door hissed behind her and with just a three second warning, the unit unbuckled from the ship and fired its engines. Her breath was forced 
from her lungs as the brief moment of acceleration forced her into her seat. Two other crew were already inside, and all of them groaned at the feeling. Then as quickly as it had started, the engine cut and the pod used its 
micro-thrusters to manoeuvre. She pulled her head around and looked out through the auto-block glass porthole. It was very small, not much bigger than her head and triple plated for protection. She could see the Santa Maria as 
well as the other two cruisers that appeared complete dead in space. Scores of small shapes continued to blast away from the cruisers as well as a two larger landing craft that were following close behind her lifepod.
“Look!” said the young ensign sat opposite. He looked barely old enough to serve, and yet his face betrayed exposure to terrible events. She recognised him as one of the new replacements that had joined Santa Maria’s crew at the 
same time as her. She watched his gaze and looked through the other porthole to see the glowing orbs of energy coming up from the surface. They must have been more than halfway to the ship now and showed no sign of slowing down 
or changing direction.
Gods no!
As she watched, even more life pods continued to eject from Bellerophon’s hull. They were taking too long, probably due to the loss of power to their habitation unit. With little or no gravity, it would take them much longer to 
reach the boats. In the seconds it had taken her to watch the ship, the projectiles had reached a height of just a few kilometres from the ships. They were out of time. As the glowing orbs reached a thousand metres, the 
automated point-defence turrets opened fired. Thousands of metal shards were showered on the approaching objects, yet they seemed to achieve nothing, and the seven shapes slammed into the remaining taskforce.
“Come on, get out!” she shouted uncontrollably.
Bellerophon never stood a chance. The first orb struck her underside and towards the bow. With a bright flash, a chunk the size of a landing craft was blown off, and the bow of the ship tore off into space. The cruiser might 
have survived had the second not struck her centre. Fuel cells or ammunition must have been struck because the entire vessel vanished in a bright orange flare of energy that quickly dissipated to reveal large chunks of drifting 
debris. Lieutenant Nilsson turned away, unable to watch the rest of the assault upon the now defenceless and powerless ships.
* * *
Spartan paced outside Admiral Churchill’s office with his patience now reaching breaking point. He considered booting open the door but was saved from the indignity by it opening from the inside. A marine guard beckoned for him 
to enter. Spartan needed no further encouragement and was inside and stood in front of the Admiral before he even had time to turn around.
“That will be all, Lieutenant,” he said to the guard who saluted and stepped outside. Spartan tried to speak, but the Admiral lifted his hand for him to be silent.
“I know, Spartan, I know exactly what you are thinking and what you want. Hell, I agree with you, but not even I can force ships to be sent to the area for a rescue mission.”
“But, Sir! You’re an Admiral!” answered Spartan bitterly.
“Yes, I am, but even an Admiral has to work through the chain of command, and I have been given instruction that I am not to conduct ship-based operations without the express authorisation of the Defence Secretary.”
Spartan tied to speak, but Admiral Churchill lifted his hand once more and walked to his personal computer unit. He turned the display around to face him. It showed the ANS Santa Cruz, one of his old ships in orbit. Spartan 
looked at the image for a few seconds. The shape brought back memories of the war, but also more recently, of the special operations he had been running. The Admiral turned back around but kept the image up on the screen.
“The Senate is doing what it does best, talking. At some point, it might be today, it might be next month, but eventually, they will send a force to investigate. Don’t forget, we have lost a major civilian ship and now 
potentially a complete five-ship taskforce. They will just say, in fact they are already saying, we can’t just throw another ship into the same situation. Right now, the assumption is still that the area is dangerous to enter 
due to the frequent solar flares. My opinion of that? It’s all bullshit. You know as well as I do that our ships can stand a beating. Even the storms of Prometheus weren’t enough to hold back Confed ships, not back in the day!”
He spotted Spartan desperately trying to speak and once more had to nod to let him finish first.
“Now, I want you to take a team of specialists, perhaps a few with the right kind of reputation to run an inspection of the Santa Cruz and kick her into shape. You will appreciate that a number of exchange platoons are currently 
settling in, and she’s not expected back in the line for at least another six months. Major Daniels was supposed to be taking leave, but I have asked him to join you for a shakedown crew due to the current crisis. It is 
dangerous with us having no rapid reaction force. I have decided to post a number of training ships not far from here to help ready crews and troops for potential security issues. You run a series of readiness drills, you never 
know when the order might arise to leave orbit, and there are plenty of destinations that would be perfect for the training of these men and women.”
Spartan could easily read between the lines of the somewhat distinctly unsubtle approach put forward by the Admiral. In his experience, it was often best to give politicians well-prepared solutions to problems. A ship with a 
team of the best people and equipment, and already waiting in orbit, would be a priority for use in any kind of reconnaissance or rescue operation.
“You’re probably aware we are well down on our numbers right now. Most of our senior officers are on leave, retired on in training. The War really hit us hard, and it will be at least another nine months before we’re back to 
anything like full strength. Our ships are spread thin and crew numbers are low. It is in my power to grant you a temporary promotion, and for this operation I think you’re going to need it. As of twenty minutes ago you are now 
Captain Spartan, second in command of the 2nd Alliance Special Operations Group, with duties to help increase fleet readiness in case of emergencies.”
He moved a file over to Spartan’s datapad, and a low beep indicated the arrival of the high-level encoded material.
“That is authorisation for temporary transfer of non-commissioned Alliance military personnel for the training mission under the supervision of Major Daniels. Now, get moving, Spartan, and get boots on that ship...fast. When I 
am able, I will give the order for your deployment. I have already transferred the information on your new mission to the Major, and he will be in touch shortly.”
* * *
Teresa had been lucky. Of the craft that had left the Santa Maria, hers had been the last and the most at risk when the enemy weapons struck the nearby cruisers. She’d seen one landing craft destroyed completely by a direct 
impact that scattered the craft in chunk of shattered metal. She could only hope and pray that the majority of the crew and marines had made it out before the end.
“You okay?” asked Sergeant Lovett.
It was odd, but since the devastation of the small fleet, he seemed to have awakened. It was as if the pain, desperation and tragedy had forced him out of his stupor and back to being the marine she was used to. She was well 
aware of his loss, but right now they had their own problems.
“Yeah, I’ll live. Don’t know about the rest of the marines though. We’ve just lost a lot of good people. Did you see what happened to the Santa Maria?”
Sergeant Lovett shook his head.
“No, last thing I saw was the cruisers getting hit. They were all blasting away with their turrets. You think she could have survived?”
Teresa looked at the window, but there was nothing but the flames of re-entry. She looked back to the number of computer screens, but all of them were showing the same image, digital distortion of the planet’s thick atmosphere.
“Make sure you’re strapped in, people. We’re coming in to the marked landing zone, and we’re coming in hot.”
Sergeant Lovett looked surprised.
“What? Why the rush?”
With almost perfect timing, they broke through and to the cloudy skies of the planet. The landing craft bumped and buffeted through the thick air, and moisture hissed over the superheated exterior of the vessel. At the same 
time, the built-in countermeasures suite activated.
“What the hell, now what?” asked one of the marines further back in the craft.
Teresa checked her straps and looked up to the fixed weapon rack above her.
“It means we’ve been detected. If they have surface to air weapon systems, we can expect them any moment. Why do you think we came in so fast?”
A fast sequence of flashes rippled from the sides of the craft as it released scores of superheated flares to distract any head tracking weapon systems. Almost simultaneously, a dull crump shook the landing craft and threw one 
man against the ceiling.
“You heard the pilot, make sure you’re strapped in. This is going to get ugly!” shouted Teresa.
On cue, part of the port armour plating ripped off to expose the side of the landing craft. Howling winds screamed in and sucked out anything not bolted or welded down. Teresa stretched out her arms and grabbed the rails above 
her for extra grip. Through the breach she could see yellow streaks of gunfire flashing around them.
“Will this never end!” she muttered under her breath.
More alarms sounded through the craft but were entirely pointless. Shells and bullets ripped into the flanks until holes started to appear in the metal. Teresa had been in crashes before, and she remembered the jokes she’d 
shared with Spartan about how few successful landings either of them had ever made. As far as she was concerned, any landing from space was usually destined to end with them being shot down. She looked about the cabin with a 
calm stoicism that would have done Spartan proud.
“Marines, remember your training. Keep your heads down and hands up. When we hit the ground, I want a fast dispersal. Get your arses out of here and establish a secure perimeter. Do not stay inside under any circumstances, or 
you’re likely to find yourselves in the middle of a burning bird.”
The men and women nodded to her, but she saw a few look past her and to the breach. It was understandable, but she knew that any marine not focused on the mission was a liability.
“Hey, Corporal! Yes, you! Get your eyes away from there and check your gear. We’re landing soon.”
The woman stared at Teresa for a little while longer, and as if she’d been struck about the head, woke up. She looked down to her right and went through her equipment checks. A crackle and a quiet voice in her helmet was the 
first contact she’d had off the boat since they’d left. She tapped a button to increase the volume.
“Sergeant Morato, report in,” said the voice, but with the crackling and howling noise it was hard to identify, even with the noise reduction filters.
“This is Morato. I have one uninjured bird, setting down on the landing site. Who is this?” she answered.
“Excellent. Captain Carlos here. We’ve just landed three hundred metres north of the landing coordinates. The enemy strongpoint is somewhere within fifty kilometres from here. Watch yourselves, there are...” his voice was 
drowned out by the sounds of shouting and then it cut.
Always the damned same!
“Thirty seconds!” called out the pilot.
Teresa knew that the lack of information from the cockpit wasn’t down to negligence. With the damage sustained and ground fire coming up at them, she had no doubts the two pilots were under immense strain just trying to get them 
on the ground safely. The readout in her helmet showed the current atmospheric pressure was with acceptable tolerances, but she couldn’t remember off the top of her head what the air situation was on the ground. Her suit showed 
a ninety-seven percent level for now, and that was more than enough for a day’s normal use.
“Brace!” shouted the pilot, but it was too little too late. The landing craft struck the ground harder than any landing Teresa had ever experienced. The initial impact would have broken her back had she not been encased in the 
protective PDS suit. The breach of the side of the hull ripped open and tore away to split the landing craft into two sections. She felt her body being thrown about and then it stopped. Internal sensors flashed on her suit to 
warn her about the pressure changes and a slight leak in her leg armour. It required no attention, as the suit was capable of projecting small amounts of adhesive to the damaged section. It was quickly fixed and would last for a 
number of hours.
“Okay, we’re down, now it’s time to get out!” she said and pulled the lever that maintained the seat locks. The belts snapped off, and she slid out of the seat and towards the ceiling of the landing craft. It hadn’t even 
occurred to her she was upside down. Just in time, she lifted her hands and crashed heavily into the metalwork. Incredibly, nothing was hurt and she rolled over, looking about the craft. This section consisted of two-thirds of 
the cabin, and already a large part was filling with muddy water. Outside the craft were lines of thick trees, but they must have found one of the few reasonably open clearings. Even so, the ground was waterlogged and maybe a 
metre deep in places. Tree stumps and foliage made establishing who was where almost impossible. To make matters worse, a wisp of fog hung over the ground like a permanently running smoke generator.
“Sergeant!” called out a marine to her left.
She turned around and spotted a dozen marines already pulling gear from the wreckage and helping to pull the wounded from the twisted metal. She noticed four had stopped moving, and one was pinned to his seat with two snapped 
metal bars pushing through his chest. The sight of the body reminded her of Sergeant Lovett and his never-ending question to find his fiancée.
“Lovett!” she shouted, half-expecting to find his to be one of the bodies. She was pleasantly surprised to be replied by a hand tapping her shoulder.
“Here.”
She looked around to see the familiar face of the Sergeant covered in mud. Scratch marks ran down his armour, yet there were no signs of major damage and more importantly, no signs of blood.
“Good. How many made it?” she asked, almost dreading to find the answer.
“Thirty-two came down, twenty-three made it out in one piece, including the two of us. The front section took one hell of a pounding in the landing.”
She made to move forward to check, but he held her back.
“Trust me, it’s a mess up there. Leave it to the medics. We need to protect what we have left.”
Teresa wanted to see the damage, but the two of them had seen plenty of action and the consequences of that. There was nothing interesting or glorious about the smashed bodies of their friends and comrades. Either way, her 
interest was overridden by the sound of gunfire to the west of their position. She listened for a second, instantly recognising two distinct tones.
“They’re ours!” she said firmly and looked to the marines who continued to drag equipment from the shattered remains of the landing craft. The gunfire from an L48 rifle had a very distinctive sound due to its large calibre 
ammunition and high velocity. Most of the sounds came from these with the odd thud from L52 Mark II Assault Carbines that were carried by the ASOG troops; the sounds from the coil weapons was unlike any other kind of firearm.
“Only ours, though?” asked Sergeant Lovett rhetorically.
The internal comms inside Sergeant Morato’s suit crackled again, and the signal was able to burn through whatever had been causing the interference. This time it wasn’t the Captain, It was the XO from the Santa Maria.
“Commander Petersburg here. All units rendezvous at the second landing site. We are under attack and need immediate assistance. Hostiles are in the area. I repeat. Hostiles are overrunning our perimeter.”
Crap! Teresa thought.
She, Lovett and another twenty-one marines and ASOG troopers wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. The last two were already out of the craft and carrying one of the destroyed landing craft’s pintle-mounted machineguns. 
Luckily, the Marine Corps had the foresight to modify the weapons mount system so that the gun could be detached upon landing for such an eventuality. She was pleased to see her six troopers were all safe, but of the marines she 
could identify only half. All were junior ranks, mostly privates with the odd corporal thrown in.
“Okay, here’s the plan. We’ll form into two units, one under me, and the other under Sergeant Lovett, here,” she explained while pointing to her old friend.
“Split up, half with each of us. Carry as much of the gear as you can. We need to get to the Commander and fast.”
A series of quick acknowledgements greeted her followed by a flurry of activity. Each strapped on what they could, and half of the marines lifted up the salvaged containers in pairs. It took just seconds for them to be ready to 
move out from the vulnerable landing zone. Its only advantage was the open space that provided a killing ground for their firearms.
“Good, let’s go!” called out Teresa.
The two groups of ASOG troopers moved out in front of the marines in four pairs. They moved fast and with their carbines held up to their shoulders. They trained for rapid deployment and were easily able to cover the ground 
quickly while protecting the unit. Behind them snaked the two columns of marines, half carrying equipment, and the other half checking the area for signs of the enemy. On her display in her PDS suit, Teresa identified the 
position of the Commander. It was almost four hundred metres from their position and through the thick jungle. They moved to the treeline, and as soon as she stepped inside, the available light cut in half. Her suit was equipped 
with light amplification imagery and easily adjusted.
“Watch your corners and expect trouble. There’s something out here, and it ain’t friendly.”
* * *
Spartan entered the bar to find Khan and a dozen others of his contacts waiting for him. The regulars that had been inside must have left in the last hour as no other soul was waiting, other than a single barman handing out a 
continuous supply of glasses. He walked into the middle of the room and looked at each of them. Most were marines, men and women he’d served with, but a few were there by reputation alone. Khan had brought Osk plus another of 
his brethren that he’d not seen before. Major Daniels sat in the corner, flanked by two sergeants. To his surprise there were also two soldiers from the Terra Nova Guards, both decorated men in their late thirties.
“Captain,” announced the Major, spotting Spartan’s arrival.
Spartan approached him and saluted.
“Sir. Do you think you could have found anywhere a little less conspicuous?”
Daniels smiled at him. The two went back a long way, and although their first encounters had been more confrontational, they’d learnt to respect and trust each other. He pointed to the Terra Novans.
“I didn’t have time to do much. The message from the Admiral got to me less than thirty minutes ago. The Santa Cruz already knows I am bringing a training crew with some of the finest and most specialised people in the 
Confederacy.”
“Ahem,” coughed one of the marines sarcastically.
Daniels smiled at the reminder.
“Yes, as I was saying, the most specialised people in the Alliance. I have your recommended PT instructors from the Marine Corps, tech specialists from Prometheus, and underground warfare experts from Carthago.”
Even Spartan looked impressed as the Major pointed out each of the individuals. As he reached the tech specialist, he was sure he recognised a face.
“Kowalski? What are you doing here?”
An old friend of his and Teresa’s, Kowalski had been working on Prometheus since before the final battle at Terra Nova. He was a marine and also one of the best hackers and computer experts in the military.
“Commander Anderson sent me and a team to request additional equipment and personnel for back on Prometheus. There are big changes happening there.”
“Yeah, I heard. Who else did you bring?”
The door opened behind him and another four people entered, including the large hulk of a familiar looking Jötnar. He pushed passed the others and grabbed Spartan, pulling him close to his vast body.
“Spartan!” he growled in a voice that anybody else would think was that of a creature about to try and kill him. Unable to breathe, let alone speak, Spartan was forced to wait until he released his grip and stepped back.
“Gun? You’re here with Kowalski?”
His old friend and leader of the Jötnar nodded.
“Not just me, I brought a whole squad of my brothers. Have you not heard? We have our own underground city on Prometheus. We called it the Arsenal.”
Spartan grinned at the name.
“Why am I not surprised?” he said in amusement.
Major Daniels stood up and shook the hands of the recently arrived.
“Okay, time is of the essence. Remember, this is an official training operation. The Jötnar are here to test the troops on the Santa Cruz for their Biomech combat drills, and the rest of you have your own duties. Under no 
circumstances imply we are there for any other reason. Understood?”
The assembled men, women and Jötnar nodded in agreement.
“Good, take separate shuttles. I will see you all in due course aboard the old girl. Good luck to you all.”
One of the marine instructors opened the door and stepped out, the rest followed in ones and twos. Gun approached Khan, Osk and Spartan and leaned in close.
“I have things I want to talk to you all about, when we’re up there,” he said, his hand pointing to the ceiling.
“Is this good or bad things you want to talk about?” asked Spartan.
Gun grinned, and Spartan instantly recognised it as one of those grins he gave when he was about to smash something up.
Oh, great, just what I need.
CHAPTER NINE
The events at Hyperion proved once and for all the importance of autonomous robotics. Their ability to operate independently and without biological support constraints made them deadly in space. Loyal, reliable and powerful, it 
was inevitable that the next logical development in weapons and ship technology would come in the form of the robot. Little did humanity realise that their inspiration would come from the very Devil they sought to eradicate, 
Echidna herself.
Robots in Space
The journey into orbit was a rarity for Spartan, and one that didn’t require him to crash or board a ship under incoming fire. It was almost pleasant, apart from the issue of arriving with the hidden intention of prepping the 
crew and troops on board for a possible mission to Hyperion. They had split up after their short chat on Terra Nova and only a handful travelled with him to the ship. Next to him were the Major, Khan and Gun. Gun still wore his 
eye-patch even though Spartan knew he had been fitted out with a replacement back on Prometheus over a year ago. The other Jötnar were travelling with the marines and Terra Nova guards in a transport due to land in the next six 
hours. The Major had organised it this way so they could discuss the plan en route.
“You’ll be pleased to know the Admiral has arranged for several other ships to make their way here under the auspices of conducting a training scenario with the Cruz.”
“Good, how many ships?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I know the assault cruisers Royal Oak and Ark Royal are both heading this way from operations at Carthago. A handful of destroyers have been sent from the escort at the Anomaly as well. I’d say three to 
four days, and we’ll have anything up to ten ships including the Cruz.”
“Can’t we just get underway immediately? Orders be damned!”
“No, Spartan, no chance. There’s one thing high command loves more than trouble and that’s somebody that break the rules, you know that. Most of the captains would refuse to go, especially when they hear that every ship that has 
been sent there has vanished. Did the Admiral tell you that he persuaded the Senate to send three of the new drone frigates to investigate?”
“No he didn’t, that’s something at least. Let’s hope they tell us something before they can be jammed.”
“Agreed,” replied the Major who sat back and gazed out of the window at the peaceful skies of Terra Nova below them. “You know, every time I do this run it reminds me of the last attack by the Crusader. What a ship.”
“What an Admiral,” added Spartan ruefully. “A lot of good people died in those last hours.”
Spartan looked down to the planet, but all that he remembered was the landing under fire. It had been violent and deadly before he even set foot on the planet. The ground battle itself had been short and bloody, but it had ended 
the War. He spotted Gun looking at him and remembered his request in the bar.
“Okay, we’re here now. What did you want you say?” asked Spartan.
Gun looked to Khan and back to the two marine officers. The two Jötnar looked strange as they sat in their shuttle seats. They had been equipped with extended straps for the seating of the kind usually used for pregnant women. 
Their girth was substantial as was their height.
“Since the war, my people have been given areas on Prometheus to live. We don’t mind the heat, but we are running out of space. We’ve used all the space Anderson can afford to give us, but the only area left is the new shipyard, 
and this is being used on new Alliance ships.”
Spartan lifted up his hands.
“Gun, there’s no way the Alliance is going to give you full control of the planet. They are building more factories and shipyards, and it’s going to be one of the largest manufacturing sites in the entire Alliance.”
Gun nodded.
“I know, but isn’t enough. Our problem is growing with each new Biomech sent to us. The people on Terra Nova and Prime have forgotten us, and now our space is being used as a dumping ground for any enemies of the Alliance that 
you find.”
“I see. Well, what about Anderson? I thought he had been helping you?” asked the Major.
“Anderson is a true friend of my people. With the room running out, he has been helping us to convert three ships as replacements for the Yorkdale, but it won’t be enough, and the Alliance will never grant us permission to 
manage and run our own ships in their territory.”
Major Daniels nodded at the news and looked to Spartan.
“I heard something about a container ship being requisitioned for storage use by Anderson. I didn’t know it was going quite this way though. He’s a canny operator, I’ll give him that.”
“Okay, I assume there is a question somewhere, Gun?” he asked, still unclear as to the point that was being made.
“The Senate still have not approved Jötnar as citizens of the Alliance. The agreement between Dr Hamis and us has been thrown away. With our new females and the Biomechs sent to us for...”
“Re-education!” added an angry sounding Khan.
Gun grinned at the word.
“Yes, with them our numbers are growing. We have thousands, and they are getting restless.”
Oh great, thousands of bored Jötnar with a grudge. I can see what’s coming.
“If something isn’t done, and soon, my people will force me to take action. I don’t want to do this, so I ask you, Spartan, my friend, to speak with the Senate. We fought for your people, and we still build their ships and clear 
up their mess.”
Spartan reached out and placed his hand on his old friend’s shoulder.
“It’s alright, Gun. You keep your people in line, and I will make sure they resolve this once and for all.”
Major Daniels had been listening to the conversation intently. He knew Gun well, and they had also served together back when the Yorkdale had been an armoured transport used exclusively by the 1st Jötnar Assault Battalion. A 
unit made up of thousands of battle hardened Jötnar, each equipped with heavy weapons and armour.
“I agree with Spartan. When we get back, I’ll throw my support into your cause. I argued against the disbanding of the Jötnar Assault Battalion when it was decided six months ago. I know the public were against the idea of 
Jötnar troops but that’s only because of prejudice against Biomechs in general. One way or another, your people will have the space and life they deserve.”
Gun looked to Khan who barely even considered the plan before agreeing.
“Okay, deal. Now, back to this secret mission. Whose head do you want thumped and when?”
Spartan shook his head with amusement and settled back to watch their approach. The ANS Santa Cruz had just come into view, and it was a sight he never tired of watching. The ship was massive, and the rotating sections moved at 
quite a rate. Three thunderbolt fighters moved passed in formation as they maintained a permanent Combat Air Patrol around the ship.
Yes, you protect this ship, but it’s not like we have many available right now, is it?
* * *
Sergeant Morato’s first view of the crashed lifeboat was of the shattered body of the ship’s captain. Much like her own craft, this one was shredded with anti-aircraft fire from the descent to the planet. She’d assaulted moons, 
stations and urban settlements before but never under such concentrated and effective gunfire. She looked briefly at Captain George Cornwall, but the sight of his bloodied and broken body snapped her into action.
“Commander?” she called out on the close-ranged secure channel.
Her ASOG troops had already spread out around the crash site, but apart from a few bodies, there was no sign of the Commander or the rest of the unit.
“Commander Petersburg, please respond?” she asked again but once more was met by the digital coldness of silence. Gone were the days of analogue static.
The two columns of marines arrived, carrying their wounded plus all the equipment they had salvaged. The one good thing about the crash site of the second vessel, however, was that it was near a raised, rocky bank next to a 
gently flowing river. The woodland was less thick here and gave better visibility.
Corporal Jenkins spoke to some of the marines from his unit and then walked over to the two sergeants. His armour was scratched and muddied from the landing and trudging through the filthy, waterlogged ground they had landed in. 
As he moved towards them, something caught his attention. Sergeant Lovett turned his head and spotted a dark shape in the trees. The marines might not recognise it but he certainly did.
“Biomechs!” he cried and on cue, the eight ASOG troops dropped to their knees with their carbines raised and ready for battle.
It was in the direction none of them had expected when a dozen Biomechs lifted themselves from the water. They looked much like the synthetic Jötnar he had seen before. They carried the metal armour often seen worn by the 
creatures in the service of the Union and their Zealot friends. The first to leave the water pounded forward and towards the crashed lifeboat. Sergeant Morato and two ASOG troopers lay directly in its path. It screamed as it ran 
forward until silenced by high-power shots from their triple-barrelled L52 Mark II Assault Carbines. As its body slumped to the ground, the other eleven creatures surged forward in a loose line. The marines and troopers opened 
fire, sending streaks of ammunition from their weapons. Four more were brought down but the rest kept moving forward.
“Take cover!” shouted Sergeant Morato, but it was already too late. The creatures crashed into their positions, moved past, and disappeared into the treeline behind them. One marine was sent to the ground by the impact of the 
last charging Biomech and was saved from being painfully crushed by two ASOG troopers smashing it away with the butts of their carbines. Then just as quickly as it had started, they were gone.
Teresa lifted herself from her position and scanned the area around where they stood. No more Biomechs appeared to be there, but she stayed where she was to double-check. The thermal imaging showed the shapes of the marines plus 
subtle changes in the scrub and foliage. She turned to speak to Sergeant Lovett but then detected a small heat bloom to the west.
“Stay down, possible hostiles, two-hundred metres to the west!” she called out.
The small group of kept low and held their weapons ready, expecting yet another Biomech assault.
“Please respond, this is Captain Carlos, 1st Company. I have wounded marines with me.”
Teresa breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of the officer. She lifted herself up and walked slowly in the direction of the approaching force. The IFF system on her suit identified the nearest to be friendly, but the others 
were not yet in range. She turned back to her own forces that were still staying low and expecting trouble.
“Hold your fire, possible friendlies entering the area.”
Four marines moved out of the treeline first and behind them came a group of navy crewmen. Teresa didn’t recognise them, but they could easily have come from one of the cruisers. She looked at them carefully until recognising 
the armoured form of Captain Carlos. The rest of his group entered the clearing as he moved directly to Teresa. His armour was almost the same as his men with just subtle differences in insignia and a marking on the side of his 
helmet.
“Sergeant, is this it? Where is the Captain and the XO?” he asked quickly, wasting no time on pleasantries.
Teresa shook her head and waved her left arm out to her depleted force.
“This is it, Sir, twenty-three marines, including eight ASOGs. We salvaged what we could from our bird and headed here at the request of Commander Petersburg.”
He looked at the crashed lifeboat and noted the markings from the Santa Maria.
“What about you, Sir?” she asked, almost dreading the answer.
“My people are spread out. A few were shot down near the source of their signal. The rest are anywhere between here and a radius of nearly three hundred klicks.”
“Three hundred?” exclaimed Sergeant Lovett.
The Captain nodded slowly at his comment.
“Yeah, we took a lot of fire on the way down...a lot. I picked up over a dozen of the cruisers’ lifeboats and pods heading to the west coast. They’ll have to look after themselves for now. They are weeks away from us. I’ve got 
two platoons of marines and about the same number of navy crew from the cruisers.”
As he continued to explain their situation, the rest of his unit arrived and spread out around the clearing. The navy crew carried a number of containers from their craft with emergency supplies and survival gear. It wasn’t much 
from what Teresa could see but was better than nothing. One of the marine sergeants ran over and saluted.
“Sir, just got word from Lieutenant Eastwood. His platoon is heading this way. They all made it down in one piece, but their boat’s a write-off.”
“Good...very good,” he said, considering their current predicament.
“Okay, what do we know so far?” he asked.
“Well, until your extra platoon arrives we’ve got, what, about a hundred and fifty people with weapons and gear for just over half of them. Food and supplies from the ships, plus a small amounts of survival gear and two sets of 
engineering kit,” explained Sergeant Lovett.
“Sir, have you seen this?” asked Corporal Jenson, one of Teresa’s ASOG troopers.
She turned to look at the man who was pulling at a piece of metal inside the wrecked vessel.
“What is it?” asked Captain Carlos.
With another tug, part of an armoured suit popped out, much to the surprise of everybody there. Teresa instantly recognised the shape.
“It’s a CES suit, you know, Combat Engineer kit. Is it operational?”
The Corporal vanished back inside for a few more seconds before lifting his head back out.
“No damage, it looks intact to me, Sir.”
The Captain nodded at the news and glanced around the site. It was a large area, several hundred metres in diameter with the treeline on three sides and the gently flowing river to their backs. The crashed boat took up space on 
the one side near the western treeline. The three of them waited patiently as he examined the situation.
“Okay, this is the way I see it. We’re spread out and weak right now. We dig in, establish a defensive position, and then get as many as we can to this location. When we’re dug in, we’ll send out patrols to look for survivors, 
and see if we can find out what the hell is going on here.”
Sergeant Lovett nodded in agreement, but Teresa looked less sure.
“Sir, what about a rescue attempt? The Alliance will surely send more ships, and when they do, those weapons will do the same. We have to find a way to either disable them or get a signal to the fleet.”
“True,” replied the Captain. But for some reason, his attention was drawn to the carcasses of the Biomechs littering the open space. In particular, he was interested in the one that had fallen just metres from the boat.
“Did they attack you?” he asked to the surprise of both Sergeants Lovett and Morato.
“Of course, they came right out of the water and rushed our position,” Sergeant Lovett answered. Teresa gave the Captain a confused look but saw the last Biomech that had moved past their position and had been heading to the 
trees.
“They tried to reach the trees? Why?” Captain Carlos asked.
Teresa looked at the body and back to the river. Now she was truly dumbfounded. She walked back to the body and examined it carefully. The shape, the armour, they were all exactly as she had seen before. They were definitely the 
monsters created by the Zealots to fight in the war that had split the Confederacy. Then she saw it. Their weapons! She turned around and pointed to the creatures’ arms.
“Look, no weapons.”
Captain Carlos nodded, finally understanding what was going on.
“They weren’t attacking your position. They were running through it.”
All of them turned and looked back to the water; the barrier that had at first seemed to offer safety now looked as dangerous as the trees around them. Sergeant Lovett walked to the edge of the water and bent down to place his 
right hand into its depths. The suit protected him from any unusual chemicals or temperature levels, not that it mattered though as the water was perfectly fine. He looked back at them both.
“If they were running this way, then something must have been chasing them.”
Sergeant Morato and Captain Carlos looked at each other, neither saying anything for a few seconds.
“Sergeant, bring your people here. We need to construct a strong defensive position and fast. We’re also going to need to get power, air and water filtration sorted out. I don’t know about you, but I’m already getting to the 
limit of my air supply down here. If anything else comes this way, we need to be able to spot them. I need your ASOG team to recce the area for any signs of what might have chased them here. Understood?”
She saluted smartly.
“Yes, Sir!”
She walked away but only made it a few metres when the Captain called her again.
“Sergeant, any idea what happened to the XO and his people?”
She shrugged. “No, Sir, he called me and said to get here. Then we heard signs of a firefight, and he was gone. Either they left the area or something took them.”
He nodded in agreement and she turned away to move back to her team.
* * *
Spartan was starting to lose his patience. They’d been on the Santa Cruz now for two full days and still no word from the Senate. Three times he had tried to get to the ship’s captain to try and persuade him to leave, but Major 
Daniels always seemed to find him before he could make contact. The only concession that had been made was that the ship had spent most of the time travelling to rendezvous with several other ships in deep space to conduct 
military manoeuvres. But today was not for planning a rescue, no; today was simple close quarter training for the units stationed aboard. He walked into the training hall to find two lines of marines waiting patiently. In front 
of them stood a marine drill instructor busy extolling the virtues of the M11 bayonet. As he entered, the man stopped, turned and saluted.
“Officer on deck!” he barked.
Every marine present stood up smartly to attention. As he moved closer, he recognised his old instructor back from when he had been a raw recruit. It seemed like it had been years and years since they’d met.
“Spartan the gladiator!” he said with a glint in his eye.
“Sergeant,” replied Spartan, doing his absolute best not to laugh in front of the assembled men and women. Only one platoon on the ship was made up of veterans, the rest were either experienced marines from Carthago or new 
recruits. Either way, none of them had seen combat of the intensity that Spartan had faced. Spartan nodded to his old instructor to continue and then moved to the side to watch.
“You’ll note that unlike the rest of you maggots, the Captain here has been in the trenches, and he’s seen the blood and guts. Since the War started, men like the Captain and myself have been in action against rebels, Union 
soldiers, Zealots and even Biomechs. Hell, the Captain was one of the first people to even see a Biomech during the Siege of the Titan Naval Station.”
He turned around and looked towards Spartan.
“Captain, they’ve all completed their basic training. I understand you and your team are here to pass on your experience with our enemies. Do you have anything to say?”
Spartan looked at the dozens of marines and realised he’d prepared nothing for the training session. Though he had a wealth of knowledge and experience, he’d been so caught up in getting information on Hyperion that he’d done 
nothing on the ship. As he looked at their faces, he was reminded of those he’d lost in countless battles. It was his duty to ensure as many of them came home. He considered talking about weapons, but a perfect distraction came 
when Ko’mandor Gun entered the hall. An audible sigh of surprise and excitement spread at the sight of the great creature. Gun ignored procedure and simply marched directly to Spartan. It gave him an idea.
“Yes, I have a few things to say,” he said, took a few steps forward towards the marines to cut off Gun. His old friend stopped and tilted his head in confusion and looked back to the marines before moving to Spartan.
“Ah, bad time, Captain?”
“No, you’re just in time, actually.”
Spartan moved out into the middle of the hall with Gun beside him. He stopped, looking up and down the eager faces of the new marines. About a two-thirds were male, most in their late twenties. The women were of a similar age, 
but he knew from the paperwork that a good number had come from the troubles on Carthago, the same planet Teresa was from.
“How many of you have seen a Biomech before?” he asked.
About half of them lifted their hands.
“How many of you have seen one in the flesh before?” he asked.
Only one hand stayed up. It was a short, black woman in her mid-thirties with dark hair and muscular frame. Of all those around her, she seemed the calmest and the least excited at the sight of Gun.
“Tell me what you saw.”
“Sir! Yes, Sir. I was working at the Tech School at New Carlos, back on Prime when the trouble started. My family paid for my entire class to leave the school and transfer to Terra Nova.”
Spartan nodded at the story so far.
“Go on.”
“Well, we were leaving orbit and heading for the usual nav-point prior to starting the long trip home when we were hit. It was a corsair raider, one of the Zealots I think. It was over fast, really fast. They boarded our ship 
and took us prisoner before shipping us away. You see, it wasn’t just Zealots. When they took our ship, they sent in Biomechs...like him,” she said with her hand pointing out to Gun.
“A month later and half of us were already dead. It wasn’t until a tip-off from the Kerberos Underground that led a rescue team to the Rim where we were being held. So yes, I have seen Biomechs before, Sir, and I’ve seen how 
they perform in battle. They are tough, merciless and deadly in combat.”
Spartan rested his chin in his hand and thought on her words.
“I’ve heard many stories like this one before, and each one is a tragedy. Biomechs overran Prime and were used on dozens of colonies as shock troops. There are different models and different generations. The earliest and 
simplest were bastardised creations, combining the body parts of all manner of creatures. These were mindless monsters but deadly nonetheless. Later came the partly, and then finally the fully, synthetic Biomechs. It is critical 
that you understand the differences between them. Questions?”
He should have known better than to thrown in a statement like that to marines. The Biomechs had a fearsome reputation, and there was probably nothing more contentious in the Alliance than the future of the Biomechs. The first 
person to raise his hand was a tall, thin looking man with a deep scar marking his cheek.
“Sir, I don’t wish to sound rude, but why are they alive? Haven’t we suffered enough?”
Gun stepped in front of Spartan and stared at the man. Spartan tried to intervene, but it was useless. Gun wanted to say something, and he already knew from experience that you never tried to put barrier in front of him.
“Biomechs are not evil, marine. They were created just like humans with in vitro. Would you demand the death or destruction of children born in a lab or hospital?”
Spartan was surprised; the words were more complex and eloquent than anything he’d heard from a Jötnar before. Even so, he spotted a chance to intercede and grabbed it before the conversation could start to slip.
“That’s a good point. The Jötnar exist and so do the other Biomechs, and we can’t change that. The Jötnar have proven their worth and their loyalty time and time again. There are few warriors in the Alliance that can stand 
toe-to-toe with them, and that’s why they are here. Ask any marine that’s served with the Jötnar, and they will tell you the same.”
He looked at them and could see a great gulf of a difference between their views on Gun. He knew it should make little difference to him, but he still found it painful.
“Okay, who thinks they’ve got what it takes to bring him down?” he asked, trying to calm the mood. Incredibly, not a single marine lifted their hands.
“Nobody?” he asked in surprise.
“Are you sure these are Alliance marines?” asked Gun, though he was sure he was actually being serious.
The drill instructor walked over to Spartan and leaned in closer.
“Sir, they’ve heard the rumours about the Jötnar.”
Spartan looked to Gun who just shrugged and then back to the Sergeant.
“What rumours?”
“They kill in training and battle. Why do you think they won’t practice?”
Spartan couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
No wonder Gun and his people are getting such a hard time.
“I see, so you are marines that will back down when presented with a fight. I can’t explain how disappointed this makes me feel. What will happen when you face a Biomech ambush or a full frontal assault? Sure, you can just blast 
away with your standard issue firearm, but what if it jams, runs out of ammo, or they just happen to smash their way through?”
He walked the entire length of the line of marines to where the crates of training equipment sat. He bent down and lifted the lid to reveal all manner of blunted fighting sticks, knives, bayonets and rubberised rifles and 
carbines. He looked over to his shoulder to Gun.
“Ko’mandor, what weapon do you prefer for close encounters?” he asked while presenting a variety of simulators.
Gun grinned, knowing full well what was coming next.
“Knives!” he said with a chortle.
Spartan reached in and took out two long training blades, each about a metre in length, and tossed them over to Gun. The Biomech caught them both, one in each hand and twirled them around in a pointless but amusing fashion. 
Spartan reached in and pulled out an L48 dummy rifle with a rubberised M11 bayonet already moulded into the shape. He then smashed down the lid and walked back into the middle.
“Being as none of you marines will stand for the challenge, I will take it myself.”
The embarrassment and humiliation of the group was complete, but that wasn’t Spartan’s intent. All he wanted to do was to encourage those on the fringes to do something, anything. A woman at the back lifting her hand finally 
rewarded him.
“Sir, I’ll help you,” she said.
Spartan smiled. “Good, so there is a marine in here after all.”
The instructor laughed at that comment.
The woman moved out from the lines of marines and stood in front of him. He looked up and down at her, examining her poise and physique in detail.
“Your name, marine?” he asked.
“Private Kathy Pezal, Sir!” she barked in reply.
She was tall with short, golden hair and narrow black eyes that gave little away. Like all the marines, she was fit and her body toned in the right places. She reminded him a little of Teresa back when he’d first met her on the 
way to the Santa Maria.
“You think you can bring him down?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
She looked at Gun who was busy pacing back and forth in the hall. Every few seconds, he would push forward into a mock cut or stab with the weapons. Private Pezal gulped as discretely as she could before looking back to Spartan.
“No, Sir. I will do my best though.”
Spartan smiled at her comment, but his face quickly returned to his default grim expression, one he seemed to have worked on for such encounters.
“I see. So you will stand and fight a monster like him even though you know you will lose? What would help you win?”
She looked about the room and pointed to the others.
“More marines, Sir!”
Spartan nodded and indicated for her to return to the line.
“Excellent, and that is what I wanted to hear. Do you know what the very first lesson was that I received from your own drill instructor here? He told me that I worked alone, and that I wasn’t part of a team. I might have had 
the body of a warrior, but this drill instructor told me I might look like a marine, but a marine I was not!”
Spartan looked to his old instructor and saw the man was nodding with agreement at his words.
“A marine is a rifleman, and we all know that, but a marine must work with his brothers and sisters. One marine is deadly, but a squad is almost invincible in battle. If you’re fighting a monster like my loyal friend Gun here, 
you need friends.”
He stepped up to Gun and jabbed with the bayonet fitted to his training rifle. Gun parried it and then stabbed Spartan gently in the chest. Even so, the impact knocked him a little and it took a second to get his breath back.
“Private Kathy Pezal, grab a training rifle and stand here!” he said.
She was fast, and in seconds stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder with their bayoneted rifles.
“Now, if I stab, and Gun responds as before, my fellow marine can then stab him while he is engaged. Like this.”
This time, as Gun’s counterattack came in, Private Pezal’s own bayonet struck Gun in the chest. Spartan turned to the others and placed a hand on the Private’s shoulder.
“This is how we take on Biomechs, the same way we take on any threat. We rely on our friends and use of skill, training and determination to overcome the odds.”
CHAPTER TEN
Mutation returned to the forefront of discussion, following tests on the final batch of Jötnar at Prometheus. Many opposed their conception, but the ethical arguments were halted by the final agreement between the Confederacy 
and the Jötnar prior to the former’s dissolution. The introduction of minor changes in the software produced a number of unexpected results before the project was shutdown. Variations in size, shape, sex and intelligence were 
just some of the reported changes and created new strengths and weaknesses in the race.
Lessons on Mutation
Spartan and a group of marines were busy on the target range when the news arrived. It started with the arrival of a private carrying a rubberised datapad of the type usually carried by Spartan. Before he had finished reading 
the rest of the message, another group of recruits had already arrived at the door to tell him. Each was acutely aware of the missing ships near Hyperion, and most knew of Sergeant Morato’s disappearance. Private Kathy Pezal 
entered the target range and saluted to Spartan.
“Sir, we heard the news,” she exclaimed excitedly.
Spartan was only three-quarters through the file but already had run through the critical parts of the report. He tried to read the last bit, but the small group of marines were waiting impatiently. Eventually, he would have to 
say something. He lowered the device and looked at her.
“Yes, I’ve heard. ANS Minotaur has just sent out an unencoded distress signal about Hyperion.”
“Yes, but have you seen the videocast from Terra Nova? They have footage from the Minotaur in orbit.”
“What?” he replied, surprised.
Spartan cleared his weapon and moved to the range officer who took the weapon and his unused ammunition. Two of the marines spotted him get up and moved to follow him.
“What is it, Sir?” asked the elder of the corporals.
“There’s video of the trouble at Hyperion. I’m going to the CIC. You carry on with your work.”
With that he was gone and out through the door. It took some time to head through the many sections of the vast ship to reach the heart of the vessel. As he walked, he checked the details of the information that was being sent 
down through the military channels. With one of the reports was a section about enemy jamming and unidentified weapons, but much of the specific information had been redacted. After a few more minutes, he arrived to find most of 
the senior officers also there to see the Captain. He waited briefly while the marine guards checked those at the door before he could enter the CIC. The security was much more stringent than normal, and he noted one of the 
lieutenants was even turned away.
“Captain Spartan, here to see the Major,” he explained to the sergeant. They both knew each other well, but even so the man checked on his internal communications gear before waving him through. He entered the large room to the 
sight of Major Daniels, Captain Schaffer, and his executive officer Commander Malone. But what caught his eye was the series of still images of what appeared to be a large battle. Major Daniels spotted his entry and turned from 
the two naval officers.
“Captain, I was about to call you to join us. I take it you’ve heard the news?”
“Yes, Sir, the ANS Minotaur has just made contact, something about an attack at Hyperion and some unusual weapons. The news reports are pretty vague, and the military feeds are not much better.”
“That’s about it, publically. Come and look at this.”
Major Daniels beckoned him closer to view the images on the main screen. It was currently frozen on a still of a bright flash, but with a quick nod one of the tech officers moved the feed back to the start. The video was quite 
shaky and appeared to be from one of the external feeds. It showed the circular shape of a planet.
“That’s Hyperion, by the way,” explained Captain Schaffer.
Spartan nodded, keeping his attention on the video. The shapes of four other ships were clear to the right, especially the great bulk of the Marine Transport, ANS Santa Maria the sister ship of ANS Santa Cruz. The depth of field 
changed drastically and distorted the video.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“It’s the acceleration. The cruiser is pulling away from the planet, and the camera is trying to maintain the image using optical zooming. It is only enough for fifty-three seconds, and then the camera is at its limit. Watch for 
the forty-two second mark.”
Spartan looked back at the video and kept an eye on the time-code at the bottom left. Although it was running in real-time, the feed seemed to slow down as it reached the mentioned time. Spartan squinted at the distorted shapes 
of the ships. They jumped and twisted, and then he spotted. The bright colour orbs of light that were rushing up to the taskforce like shells from ground based cannon. The last few seconds showed very little as the ships shrunk 
to blurred dots along with weapons. He looked back to the Captain.
“I don’t understand, what was that?” he asked with a confused look.
The Captain pressed a button and changed the view to that of a video stream sent directly from the Captain of ANS Minotaur. The Captain looked shaken, and the crease lines on her face easily betraying the pressure and 
responsibility she must have felt for leaving the other ships behind.
“This is Captain Lewis of the ANS Minotaur. We have just escaped heavy ground fire from Hyperion and are requesting all and any Alliance help. Hostile forces are blockading the planet, and they have erected a wide area signal 
block. ANS Thunderer has been destroyed with the loss of all crew, and the status of the rest of the Hyperion Taskforce in unknown.”
Spartan felt nausea building up at the thought of what had happened to the ships. He’d assumed there had been trouble but nothing the marines and ships couldn’t handle. According to this new information, there was a good chance 
the ships could be damaged or even destroyed. Major Daniels spoke before he could ask any questions.
“So we know one cruiser is down and one escaped, that leaves two more and the Santa Maria unaccounted for. Did Captain Lewis have any more information on what happened?”
The XO shook his head, speaking on behalf of the Captain who had turned to look at the starcharts.
“No, the Minotaur is still suffering periodic power losses. The last message she sent contained her full log prior to their escape. Seems they were disabled by something from the planet, and there is some kind of base and 
compound on the surface.”
Major Daniels turned back to Spartan.
“I know what you’re thinking, and I’m working on it. Good news is the reconnaissance drones should be there vey soon, so I expect we’ll be getting our marching orders soon.”
Captain Schaffer nodded in agreement.
“Yes, and the rest of the fleet are not far away either. The destroyer group from the Anomaly arrived two hours ago and have already adopted an escort posture around us. Both Assault Cruisers are due to arrive in ten or eleven 
hours. It’s a good-sized force by any measure. I’ve contact from Admiral Churchill, and he is already en route with three more ships from Terra Nova, including a ship I’m not familiar with. The Tamarisk I think he called it.”
Spartan’s interest piqued at the name of the ship. It was a small vessel, a Q-Ship by all accounts, and one used by Commander Anderson and a small team to effect a rescue of him and the General back on Prometheus. Captain 
Schaffer noticed his look of recognition.
“You’ve heard of her?” he asked.
Spartan nodded but said no more.
“Sir!” called out a science technician from behind his terminal.
“What is it?” replied the XO, his tone implying irritation at the interruption.
“We have an encoded transmission from the reconnaissance drones. One made it to Hyperion and scanned for seven minutes before being destroyed.”
“Send it here,” said the XO.
It took only a few seconds before the screen filled with detailed information from the drone. It didn’t take long for such a vessel to start its analysis, and it had transmitted from the minute it arrived. Detailed information 
on debris and planetary surface scans indicated there had been a space battle, but there was nothing useful from the planet. What was interesting was the set of long-range images of a group of ships in orbit. The officers 
examined them in detail, trying to establish which ships they were and what exactly was going on around the planet.
“Is that the Santa Maria?” asked Spartan as he did his best not to sound too desperate.
The technician was already working hard on the imagery and sent over a cleaned up version that clearly showed a crippled cruiser and a badly damaged marine transport. Both were still in orbit, but there were no signs of power or 
life.
“What the hell is that?” asked the XO as he pointed to three shapes on the port side of the great transport.
Once enlarged, the nearest looked like a vessel the size of a landing craft or naval tug. Though big, it was dwarfed by the size of Santa Maria and the unidentified cruiser. More interesting though, its shape closely resembled 
that of a large metallic bug. The group of officers squinted as they stared at the bizarre object.
The communications officer interrupted their amazement with critical news.
“Captain, incoming message from Admiral Churchill. He says it is urgent. It’s about Hyperion.”
Captain Schaffer glanced over to Major Daniels and nodded as if it was a message he expected. Even the XO seemed unsurprised at the news.
“Here we have it,” said the XO grimly.
Captain Schaffer nodded to him and then looked to the communications officer.
“Put him on the main screen.”
The face of the Admiral appeared almost immediately. He was inside a CIC much like on board ANS Santa Cruz, but none of them recognised the crew in the background.
“I will be there shortly. I have just received orders from Alliance High Command. Video and imagery has leaked to the press about our missing ships and also that we have a potential hostage situation on the planet. Rumours are 
spreading that the Zealots have captured General Rivers. It’s being played as a demonstration of Alliance incompetence. Our orders are simple, recce the system and launch a rescue mission if it is deemed safe enough. The fleet 
will be assembled in eleven hours, so that’s how long you have until we leave this area. It will be a ten-day journey from your current position.”
Captain Schaffer rubbed his cheek as he listened to the news. It was hardly unexpected, but he was concerned at the almost total lack of information.
“Admiral, do we have any more news on what happened out there? The last signal from ANS Minotaur was sparse at best. Do we have no intel on the area?”
Admiral Churchill looked behind him as if he expected to be watched and then leaned in as if to whisper.
“I will explain further when aboard your ship, Captain. Needless to say, there are concerns about Hyperion, concerns that go beyond hostages, ships or even the General.”
He straightened himself up before continuing.
“Get your ship ready. Once the taskforce is assembled, we will be off at full burn. Check your systems, we cannot afford to make even a single mistake. This isn’t as large a fleet as I hoped, but it will have to do. One marine 
transport, four cruisers, five destroyers and the Tamarisk, make ten vessels in total. It’s not like the fleet is back in the War, but it is still a formidable force. Is Major Daniels there?”
The Major moved from the right so that he was in view of the camera, and the Admiral could see him. Spartan stepped in as well, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.
“Ah, good, I see that wherever the Major is, I will also find Captain Spartan. I take it you have heard the same information as the rest of us?”
Major Daniels nodded.
“I thought as much. Make sure your troops are ready for battle. I understand you have been training four companies of ground troops. Check their jungle fighting and survival skills, Major. Something tells me they will need them. 
I have also arranged for a company of Terra Novan soldiers to join us. They are green but well trained. That should give us around five hundred ground troops plus your experienced officers and Gun’s unit of Jötnar. There are 
also a number of technical specialists along to assist. I have several intelligence specialists from Kerberos, as well as a Navy weapons research team to provide scientific and technical support.”
“Sir,” replied Major Daniels.
Admiral Churchill checked something on one of his screens and looked back at the camera. In the short delay, Spartan leaned close to Major Daniels and whispered as quietly as he could.
“Do you get the impression the Admiral has spent the last few days assembling a lot of people for this mission?”
The Major didn’t have time to answer, and all he could do was gently nod as the Admiral continued his short briefing.
“I therefore confirm that by order of Defence Secretary Howalt Sones, and on behalf of the Senate of the Centauri Alliance, I have been placed in supreme command of this force. From seventeen hundred hours today, Operation Sol 
Invictus is a go. Hyperion is our destination. The eyes of the Alliance are on us, and that is why I must bring you one additional detail. It isn’t what I wanted, but we have been asked to bring a media crew along with us to 
document the mission. It’s a three-man unit, and they have been vetted by Alliance Intelligence.”
With that final statement, his video communication ended, and the screen changed back to a wide-angled view of the small fleet of destroyers stationed around ANS Santa Cruz. Captain Schaffer took in a long breath before speaking.
“The press, on our ships?” he muttered, evidently unimpressed with the news.
“Well, this is it then, gentlemen. To your stations and prepare your forces. We might only be a day out from Terra Nova, but that will at least cut some of our journey time. I need everything ready, so when the second the fleet 
is assembled, and the Admiral on board, we can leave. A lot can happen in ten days. I just hope that if anybody is still alive on Hyperion, they can hold out for another ten days.”
The officers saluted, and Major Daniels and Captain Spartan left the CIC to enter the main corridor. They walked in silence back towards the main marine habitation areas before the Major spoke with a clam but concerned voice.
“I know Teresa is out there. But she’s not on her own. She’s with friends, and if the General is still alive, I can promise you he will be working on a plan. If anybody can survive for weeks in the wilderness and surrounded by 
Zealots, it’s Teresa.”
Spartan did his best to smile in agreement, but deep down he was worried, very worried.
* * *
General Rivers woke up to the feeling of the worst headache he’d ever experienced. There was something strapped to his face, and his first instinct was to rip it off. As it came off, he could smell the rich air of Hyperion, 
thick with hints of vegetation and dampness. The humidity felt like a warm fog in his throat. He inhaled, but the air seemed thin and stretched out. His vision started to blur, but he heard somebody’s voice, and the mask was 
replaced on his head.
“Keep it on, Sir. The air isn’t great around here. You’ll get used to it.”
His eyesight started to return, and he could see trees moving past him and up into the air. It took a few more seconds before he realised he was lying prone on a makeshift sled and being dragged through the woodland.
“Soldier,” he called out weakly, “what happened? Where is Pontus?”
The soldier, a man in his filthy PDS armoured suit, leaned closer to speak.
“General, we were forced to abandon ship because of the ground fire. I think one cruiser escaped. We tracked your beacon on the way down and ditched some twenty klicks from here. We found you and three Zealot bodies over a 
kilometre from the crash site. There were some Biomechs in the area but we moved them on fast, Sir.”
General Rivers shook his head, desperately trying to remember what had happened. Brief images of the struggle in the craft and a fight in a swamp came to him but no specifics. Pain behind his eyes returned and he slumped back 
and took several more breaths before speaking again.
“Where are we going?”
“Well, Sir, we’re heading for the rendezvous point under Captain Carlos. They’ve established a fortified compound until rescue gets here.”
Compound? He was now totally confused as to where he was.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“Sir? Hyperion. The boats and pods are scattered all over. We ditched four days ago, and it’s taken us this long to cover the ground.”
“We?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir, we crashed with thirty-one crew from Santa Maria. Your guards made it as well. They are up ahead with the designated scouts.”
His mind was starting to clear. Something must have happened on their journey through the atmosphere because he didn’t recall ever setting foot on Hyperion.
“What happened to me?”
“Not sure, Sir. We were hit coming through the atmosphere. Luckily, we didn’t burn up coming down. We lost half the crew when we ditched. So far, we know Captain Carlos, Sergeant Morato of the ASOGs and about two hundred marines 
and crew are heading for the compound.”
A high-pitched scream came from the woodland as if somebody or something wanted to speak to them. He noted the posture of the people about him as the crewmen with their masks and the small number of marines levelled their 
weapons to the mist clouded trees.
“What’s happening?” he demanded.
“It’s the jungle, Sir. There are Biomechs out there, but they haven’t attacked us. They are watching and following though. We managed to kill one, and they are definitely Zealot controlled. They even have the Echidna markings on 
their armour.”
General Rivers slumped back onto his crude sled and tried to understand exactly what was going on. The dispersed landing was one thing, but he still didn’t understand why they were all travelling so far when commonsense dictated 
they stayed near the landing sites and waited for help.
“Okay, ten minutes break. Send out pickets, watch yourselves out there!” called out an unfamiliar voice. The tone shifted, but it could just as easily have been his hearing as it was to being their voice.
The group stopped, and he found his sled was being rested against a fallen tree. He could see the others moving about now and was surprised to see a few working without their respirators or PDS suits. Most slumped to the ground 
where they stood, but at least three or four slung their weapons and moved out to the perimeter to check for signs of the enemy. He looked about to try and find a friendly face, but they all looked like faceless crewmen. One 
person appeared to be in charge of the group but was too far away to be seen. He lifted his hand out and touched his face. He could feel the thin plastic mask, but there was no other armour or obvious wound. He pulled his hand 
back and spotted the officer in charge move passed him.
“You, Sir!” he called out. The louder he spoke the more his head hurt, and he winced at the pain.
“General, how are you feeling?” asked the officer. The tone of voice had already dropped in volume but also changed in pitch. He was as surprised to see it was a woman as he was to see the firm voice wasn’t a marine, but in fact 
Lieutenant Nilsson from the Santa Maria. The ship’s communications officer looked as though she had taken charge of the survivors.
“Lieutenant Nilsson?” he asked in surprise.
“Yes, Sir. I’m the next more senior here. The rest of the officers were killed at the next crash site. We’re heading for the compound to the south. It’s the designated rally point.”
She moved much closer now, and he easily recognised her face. He remembered her from back on the Crusader, the old battlecruiser that he and Admiral Jarvis had shared for so many months in the War. His head was hurting, but 
already his mind was racing ahead and trying to collate all the information that he had heard so far. Lieutenant Nilsson sat next to him and reached out to check the dressing on his head.
“How is it?” he asked.
“You’ll be fine, Sir, just a bad case of concussion to deal with now.”
He noticed she wasn’t wearing a respirator and seemed to be managing fine.
“What is the problem with the air?” he asked.
“It’s the air mix, not quite what we’re used to. It takes a few days for your body to adapt. You’ve been on the oxygen since we found you. I couldn’t afford to lose you, Sir. Your mixture is already cut down to half, and by 
tomorrow you should be able to breathe normally. It’s still not easy, a bit like breathing at high altitude back on Prime. Takes a while for your blood to oxygenate and lungs to catch up.”
General Rivers nodded; he was finally starting to get a picture as to what was going on. He had no doubt in the officer’s ability to lead the party or even with her survival skills. But what she lacked was the big picture, that 
of the mission. Deep down he knew there was something on this planet, and as the General in command of the operation it was his job, no, his duty, to ensure the mission succeeded.
“The mission?” he asked.
A whistle interrupted them both. It was low tech but instantly gained the attention of the small group. The young Lieutenant signalled for the General to keep his head down, and then she took cover. There was a rustling sound in 
the woods and he could see a group of dark shapes moving towards them. Half a dozen L48 carbines clicked quietly as those carrying them removed the safeties and prepared for a bloody battle.
“Lieutenant Eastwood, Alliance Marine Corps,” said a nervous but slightly optimistic voice from the shadows.
Lieutenant Nilsson stood up, indicating with her left hand for the others to stay down. She pointed her carbine at the shape and spoke quietly.
“Lieutenant Nilsson, Communications Officer, ANS Santa Maria.”
The foliage ruffled once more, and from the darkness emerged the armoured shapes of six marines, each carrying their weapons at the ready. In front of them stood their commander who opened his visor to show his face.
“Good to meet you, Lieutenant, you made it then? You’ve made quicker progress than we anticipated.”
Lieutenant Nilsson gave a hand signal to her own people to let them know it was safe to move. Her small band emerged from the undergrowth and foliage, and for the first time General Rivers could get a good look at them all. The 
guards were his personal protectors, and it was clear they were the only fully training warriors in the group. One moved over to check on him.
“Sir, good to see you awake. You had us worried,” he said with a grim expression.
“How far away is the compound?” asked Lieutenant Nilsson.
“Less than an hour. Like I said, you made good progress.”
He turned and waved to his team before looking back to her.
“You’ve done your people proud, Lieutenant Nilsson. Let us help you to the base. We’ve got supplies, power and weapons. You might also want...” he stopped when he spotted the sled and the shape of General Rivers.
“General?” he asked in surprise.
Without checking with Lieutenant Nilsson, he walked passed her and directly to the commander. He stood smartly to attention.
“General Rivers, Sir. We were under the impression you’d been taken hostage.”
The General returned the salute and shook his head.
“No, rumours of my demise have been exaggerated. Get me to your compound as quickly as possible. We have business to attend to if we want to get out of here, and more importantly, we have people to help on this forsaken planet.”
* * *
It took the rest of the afternoon for the group of crew and marines to make the journey to the compound. Although the distance could have been no more than seven kilometres, the sodden ground, frequent marsh and swampland and 
over a dozen Biomech sightings compounded it. By the time they arrived at the site itself it was getting dark. Even General Rivers was on his feet when they reached the improved compound. They made it within thirty metres of the 
palisade wall before a marine called down to them.
“Who goes there?” he shouted.
From down on the ground, it wasn’t east to see the man. He was calling from what looked like a control tower. A flaming torch burned quietly away at the rear, and the dark shape of a large firearm protruded from the front and 
towards them. Below the tower was the outer defence of the compound. It was like something from Earth’s ancient history. The outer wall was nearly five metres tall and built entirely from wood. Partially sharpened stakes stuck 
out and away from the wall at regular intervals. Along the top of the wall burned dozens of simple torches. Four guards popped their heads up from the barricade to look down at those outside. It was primitive but effective.
“Lieutenant Eastwood, back from patrol. I have survivors from the fleet, including General Rivers.”
The man in the tower said no more but did swing an electrically powered lamp around to inspect the group. The light bumped between several of them before it was switched off, and the man called down to somebody inside the 
compound.
“Impressive, how long did this all take?” asked General Rivers as he waited to be let in.
“You’d be surprised how quickly people can build something like this in an emergency. The outer wall was up in just over a day. The rest took a little longer. We didn’t have much of a choice. It can get pretty unfriendly at 
night around here.”
General Rivers looked confused.
“Biomechs?”
The Marine Lieutenant shook his head.
“No, Sir, we’ve had the occasional Zealot patrol out here. But with the secure compound, we can make sure they don’t get in amongst us, and we can send out teams to stop them reporting back.”
“Back?” asked the General. “Have you tried following them to see where they are coming from?”
A large wooden door that had been reinforced with sections from the outer skin of a landing craft was dragged open to reveal a bustling camp with scores of people moving about preparing food, checking weapons and working on 
damaged equipment.
“Not yet, Sir. Right now, we’ve been searching for survivors and making sure no Biomechs or Zealots get away alive from here. Once they find us, they will certainly be back and in force.”
The General nodded but didn’t look convinced. They moved inside and quickly spotted the crashed vessel off to one side. More than twenty temporary shelters had been built, and three watchtowers constructed of just wood marked 
the three corners of the triangular site.
“Who is in charge here?” asked the General.
A small party appeared from one of the shelters and moved towards him. They were all Marine Corps personnel, and although they wore their PDS armour, none were wearing helmets. He recognised Captain Carlos immediately.
“Captain, I should have known it would be you,” he said happily.
“General, it’s not much, but it will do for now.”
He looked to the left and to the smiling Teresa. They knew each other after she and a small team had rescued Spartan and him from the Zealots and their allies on Prometheus. It had been a bloody fight that ended in a full-scale 
revolt against their control.
“Sergeant Morato, it appears we are in trouble in foreign lands once more!”
The General turned around and looked at his new home, nodding with satisfaction. There was easily enough space for up to five or six hundred people plus a clearing for anything up to the size of a shuttle and landing craft. He 
turned back to the Captain.
“Okay, I can see you’ve set up a defensible position. Give me a full sitrep. I need to know our numbers, reconnaissance, supplies, and combat effectiveness. Even more importantly, have you been able to make contact off-world or 
with any more survivors?”
Captain Carlos saluted and then gestured towards one of the shelters.
“We’ve set up that one as a temporary command centre. We have produced rough maps of the area and established four small sentry outposts a kilometre away in each direction.
“Excellent work. Show me. Oh, and where are Captain Cornwall and Commander Petersburg?”
They moved off to the shelter while a number of crew and civilians from the ships came over to assist the new arrivals. Lieutenant Nilsson approached Teresa with a worried look on her face.
“Sergeant?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Have you noticed something strange with the wildlife here?”
Teresa nodded in agreement and looked about for somewhere to sit down. She spotted a few empty ammo crates and indicated for the Lieutenant to sit down with her.
“Yes, you could say that. They don’t seem to want to attack us, but they are very interested for some reason.”
Lieutenant Nilsson looked out to the wooden walls and the dark shapes of the trees that lay much further away. She felt as if she was barricaded inside a castle of ancient times.
“We thought they were hunting us, so we killed a few of them. They have the armour and markings of the Zealots, but they only fought us when we attacked them. Is it their programming, or is something else going on?”
Teresa shrugged.
“I don’t know. Spartan keeps telling me that with the Core destroyed all the Biomechs lost their central control and reverted to their core memories and experiences. Maybe these escaped from the Zealots and have been living in 
the wild?”
Wild Biomechs? Thought Lieutenant Nilsson. Is that better or worse that Echidna Zealots?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Anomaly and its secrets were never fully understood during the War. Apart from a fully functioning Spacebridge, the derelict structures seemed unnecessary complications for a natural phenomenon. The discovery of computer 
equipment over three centuries old started a series of philosophical and scientific arguments that raged for months until the discoveries on Hyperion.
Computational Methods Vol. IV
Captain Spartan, Major Daniels and Admiral Churchill looked at the planetary scans from the drones once more. They’d been looking over the information for days now as they tried to formulate a plan, based on the limited 
knowledge of the area. Admiral Churchill walked away from the table for a moment, his forehead in his hand as he thought.
“We’ve only got three more days left, and I’m still not happy about this. When we get there, we will have to be fast. You saw the reports from ANS Minotaur.”
Major Daniels moved several units on the map of the planet and then stood up straight to look over to the Admiral.
“We’re not going to have to take chances with this one, Sir. We have a rough idea of the range of their weapons as well as the electronics and communication jamming gear that they have access to.”
“True, but what about the lack of control on the ships? How did they disable our vessels so effectively?”
There was a short pause as they considered the question. Spartan was the last to speak, but he was sure the two men were looking at the problem in the wrong way.
“Look. They either used technology based on or around Hyperion, or they had inside help. Minotaur suffered the same problems, but when she reached a safe distance not all of her systems were back to normal. It can’t be a signal, 
so they must have got something aboard.”
Admiral Churchill nodded.
“Like those damned AI Hubs we found on our ships before?”
Spartan lifted his eyebrows at the idea and nodded in agreement.
“Could be, how though? That would mean there are still traitors in our ranks and with access to the command and control systems in our ships. We’ve checked our people time and time again.”
Admiral Churchill walked back to the board and brought up the schematics of the ships involved in the original taskforce. There was little in common with each ship, not even their host planets or configuration. Alongside each of 
them were the captains and their senior officers. He ran his finger along them all but could find nothing of note, until he reached the XO of ANS Santa Maria.
“Ah,” he said, almost to himself.
Spartan walked up and looked where he was pointing.
“What is it?”
“Commander Petersburg. He’s the weakest link in the entire fleet. He’s second in command of the flagship and has a history that is well known in the Navy. Experienced, skilled, and rated at the top of his class in the Academy, 
yet he’s managed to avoid open battle every single time.”
Major Daniels rubbed his cheek as he considered the comments.
“I’ve known good men, good officers that by a stroke of luck managed to avoid combat. Sometimes it’s intentional, but most of the time it isn’t. How does this help us? We still don’t know what they did or how they stopped so 
many systems from working?”
Admiral Churchill didn’t seem particular impressed with their thoughts even though they were perfectly justified. He brought back the map of the planet. With the press of two buttons, it zoomed into one particular part of the 
world.
“We know this was the source of the ground fire. I suspect there is a base or site of some kind being used by the enemy. Controlling Hyperion requires total domination of the space around the planet. Our priority is to disable 
the weapons on the planet. Once this is done, we can send in one ship at a time to establish what power or strength the enemy has.”
Major Daniels seemed a little happier at this first suggestion.
“My ground troops have been training for days now, and Spartan and his Jötnar have practiced over a dozen scenarios from frontal assault and hostage rescue through to hand-to-hand with Biomechs. They are ready for whatever you 
want them to do. We’re packing five companies plus change.”
“How about your Vanguards?” asked Admiral Churchill.
Major Daniels nodded at the question.
“Just half a platoon, I’m afraid. There wasn’t time to transfer the gear from Terra Nova. Also, most of the men trained up on the gear are training other units. Still, sixteen is better than none, and they are all experienced.”
All three looked at the map and the flashing zones around the suspected weapon emplacements. He then brought up an additional monitor that showed the ANS Tamarisk. Admiral Churchill waited a little while longer as he examined 
the details before him. As the senior officer, he was responsible for commanding the Taskforce but had also been given tactical command of the ground operation.
“My plan is simple. The fleet will move in to a position not far from where ANS Minotaur made first contact. We know this location is clear from both weapons fire and communication blocking. This is our operating zone, and no 
vessel will leave it unless it meets our agreed criteria.”
He placed his finger on the display and drew a circle around the point in space he had selected. He pointed back to ANS Tamarisk.
“When in position, ANS Tamarisk will advance into medium orbit and drop a strike team down to a position near the ground batteries. It will be small and include the most experienced Special Forces and technical crew to the 
surface.”
Major Daniels shook his head in disapproval.
“Admiral, I appreciate the need to disable their systems, but dropping troops directly onto their weapon position? That would be suicide, Sir. They will detect the ship in orbit and probably destroy it before it can launch 
shuttles. We’ll be dead before we get through the atmosphere.”
The Admiral shook his head, and Spartan watched as he pointed out several of the more unusual features of the ship.
“No, not quite. The Tamarisk is the most advanced special operations vessel we have. It’s taken over a year to fix the damage she sustained during combat at Prometheus. She has the best computers, including an active 
intelligence countermeasures suite that should help if they attempt to take control. Even better though, she carries a complement of three black ops shuttles. After her last mission, she was enlarged to carry more troops and 
equipment. You know the shuttles; they were developed for dropping teams into combat undetected. Each one can carry eight fully armoured marines into battle. After re-entry, you should be able to land before their systems can 
lock on and track you. Unless they are looking in the exact spot, you should be able to land undetected.”
Spartan liked the resources available, but the intelligence from the surface suggested a site that could contain thousands of warriors and unknown weapons and countermeasures.
“Admiral, twenty-four marines against their entire operation?” he said incredulously.
Even Major Daniels looked less than inspired at the idea. He looked at the Tamarisk and her layout with interest. He’d heard rumours of the ship, but following the fighting at Prometheus, most had been classified.
“This ship, what’s so special about her? Won’t they just attack as before?”
At that comment the Admiral smiled.
“No, she is our trump card. The Tamarisk is a heavily modified transport. She matches the specification and configuration of a light transport that is still registered. Even a close scan at fifty metres won’t reveal her extra 
armour, computer equipment or weapons.”
“She’s armed?” asked the Major.
The Admiral simply raised one amused looking eyebrow at his question. He tapped a key that altered the schematic to show the cargo containers spread around the hull. Inside each one were batteries of weapons. She might look like 
a civilian transport, but she had been heavily modified into what was known by the military as a ‘Q’ ship. Hinged plates covered the weapons that were hidden in the containers, and additional armour had also been installed. In 
reality, she had the firepower to take on a ship of the same size, possibly even larger; even more importantly, she had surprise on her side when moving into hostile areas of space.
“Nice,” explained Spartan as he read the details. He was very familiar with the ship but had no idea she was quite as tough as the information revealed. Admiral Churchill turned away from the displays and looked at each of them.
“I will leave the operation of the ground phase of the battle to Major Daniels. Just understand that until the ground-based weapons are disabled, I will not be able to commit Santa Cruz and the five companies of marines and 
Terra Novan Guards. I suggest you pick the best force you can for the operation. Reinforcements will be waiting for instant insertion onto the battlefield. The cavalry will be ready, but when they come in will depend on you.”
* * *
“Contact!” came the radio message on Teresa’s internal communications unit. Although her visor was up, she was still finding it tough to get used to the air on the planet. Those with breathing conditions, especially three of the 
crew with asthma, were forced to reply on the oxygen scrubbers and masks all the time.
“Watch for reinforcements. We don’t move in until we know this is the lot of them.”
The rest of her ASOG troop kept low, training their weapons on the small party of people moving towards them. As they came into view, she instantly recognised the robes of the Zealots. She’s seen them enough times before, and it 
took a great deal of self control to not squeeze off a few rounds there and then. Their level of indoctrination always amazed her, and as they moved closer, she again wondered what could possibly drive them to do the terrible 
things they did.
“Something else is coming, a machine,” said Sergeant Lovett who was position thirty metres off to her right and protecting their flank. Teresa turned her head slowly to check that direction and spotted the machine as it came 
within ten metres of their position.
What the hell is that?
It was unlike anything she had ever seen before. Standing almost five metres tall, it had the shape of a four-legged beast, yet was obviously mechanical. It moved with subtlety and poise that was nothing like the autonomous 
drones used by the marines for resupply and fire-support. On its flanks was a pair of pintle-mounted firearms of an unknown configuration. Its head was shaped into a metallic wedge with cameras and antennae facing in multiple 
directions.
Don’t come any closer!
A shout from behind the scout party drew the attention of the machine. It twisted around with lightning speed. The cameras on its head swivelled like an insects eyes, and the weapon mounts tracked in the direction the sound. Two 
of the Zealots ran back to pursue whatever it was, but the machine was faster. Without hesitation, or offering a warning, it fire a quick burst of gunfire into the jungle. An inhuman scream of pain was silenced by yet another 
burst. The Zealots ran off into the darkness, and behind them followed the hellish machine. After they had moved away, she lifted her body up but only by enough so that she could see the direction they had head in.
“Follow them but stay back. I don’t want to have to fight that thing, not yet!” she said in a firm but measured tone.
The ASOG unit of eight men and women moved out in a loose line to follow the Zealots and their mechanical ally. Teresa was positioned in the centre of the unit. One of her experienced corporals pushed further to the front to 
take the point position. It was slow work, made difficult both by the thick foliage and also the need to stay hidden and undetected. A quick look at her map showed they were now over six hours from the compound and still moving.
They’d better take us somewhere useful, she thought optimistically. The last thing she wanted was to spend days instead of hours traipsing through the jungle while following a deadly beast.
* * *
The compound was almost in pitch darkness, save the odd light from burning torches that ran around the perimeter or at the entrances of most of the shelters. A decision had been made early on to keep the lighting to a minimum, 
so as to avoid unwanted attention. Even so, the place was still busy with two more six-man units preparing their gear to continue to map out the area around them. Captain Carlos stood outside the entrance to the designated 
command shelter and saluted at the approach of General Rivers.
“Any news from the scout teams?” asked the General.
“Just one,” he answered, indicating the General to step inside.
Inside the dark interior, the setting transformed from one of spartan surroundings, woodland and nature to one of electronics, mapping equipment and stored weapons. Two Navy crewmen were busy monitoring the communications 
equipment while supervised by Lieutenant Nilsson. She saluted the approach of the two senior officers.
“I’ve just received another message from Sergeant Morato. She says her unit is tracking a Zealot scout party plus a machine.”
“Machine?” asked General Rivers.
Lieutenant Nilsson handed over a military grade datapad device that showed a grainy but detailed image of the four-legged contraption. He looked at it for a few seconds before handing it to the Captain.
“Any information on what exactly it is? Something like our autonomous resupply mules?”
“Not likely, General, look at the sensors on its front and the weapon mounts. I’d say this is some kind of scout machine, possibly a sentry.”
General Rivers looked unimpressed.
“Autonomous?”
“Unknown, General.”
“I see,” added General Rivers. He then moved over to the scruffy looking map that contained as many revisions as it did actually information. Their compound was clearly marked in the centre, and a number of blocks were 
positioned to represent each of the scouting parties. Sergeant Morato’s ASOG unit was the furthest out by a considerable distance.
“How far out are they now?”
“Uh, about six kilometres so far, and the enemy force is apparently still moving.”
The room flickered slightly as if a strobe light had just been flashed outside. It was followed by another half a dozen before the sound of loud, rolling thunder rippled through the compound.
“Great, that’s all we need,” said Captain Carlos.
Almost immediately, a torrential downpour of hailstones hitting the roof greeted his words. General Rivers shook his head at the arrival of the bad weather.
“Lieutenant Nilsson. I want to know the minute you hear anything new.” He turned to the Captain of the marines.
“Captain Carlos. Get a team out and double-check this site for rain protection, especially the walls. We don’t want flooding. I need our supplies and gear dry and ready for combat. We don’t know how much longer we are going to 
be here.”
* * *
To Teresa it seemed as though they had been following the machine and its Zealot companions for weeks, but it had barely been a whole day. Slogging through the dense foliage was only made bearable by the fact that the machine 
itself had created a loose trail for them to work through. The weather had finally turned against them with over seven hours of torrential rain. Luckily, it had now has eased off for a few hours, but with dawn just breaking, the 
trickle of rain had returned and storms threatening to follow. It was proving to be an exhausting and miserable patrol.
“Sergeant, clearing up ahead,” said Corporal Dalton Nylund as discreetly as he could.
The unit dropped to their knees once more as they waited for the enemy to move a little further away. They had already stopped in almost a dozen similar places, and the lack of cover was a major concern. If the machine turned 
around, or the Zealots retraced their steps, they could catch the troopers in the vulnerable open. This time, however, something was different. Corporal Benedict Alessandro, the unit’s resident paramedic, confirmed Teresa’s 
suspicions.
“Anybody else hearing that?” he asked.
Teresa nodded in his direction. Even though she wore her helmet, the sound of machinery was unmistakable. With a subtle change in reception strength, she amplified the internal speakers of her suit. The sound level increased, 
and she could make out the sound of heavy equipment and even voices.
About damned time!
“Okay, two teams move out into flanking positions but stay in the tree line. Stay down and record everything you see. Do not engage, I repeat, do not engage.”
The two squads, led by Sergeant Lovett and Sergeant Morato moved the short distance to the edge of the jungle canopy and waited for the swirling mist to clear. The strong wind created gaps in the cover every few minutes, but for 
now the visibility had been reduced to no more than twenty metres. With every additional second, Teresa worried. Anything could be in the mist, and they would have no time to withdraw if spotted.
“It’s clearing, stay low,” said Sergeant Lovett from his position off to the left of the ASOG troopers.
It took a few more seconds before the mist started to clear, and then as quickly as it had arrived, it drifted away to the trees, giving them a perfect view for at least several hundred metres. The sight that greeted them all 
almost made Teresa involuntarily gasp. It took all her self-control to stay down and quiet.
Gods, what have we found?
In front of them, at a distance of at least eight metres from the tree line, was the base of a small, rocky mountain. In the centre of it was a wide-open space that must have been carved out over a long period of time. Stone 
structures, including vast columns, supported the roof. A dozen long curved steps led inside. They were almost fifty metres wide, and easily big enough for a small vessel to land directly inside. Inside the structure, she could 
make out multiple sources of blue pulsing energy, much like what she had seen at the AI Core back on Terra Nova. But there was something different about this place. The design and architecture was unlike anything she had ever 
seen before and was surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands, of people who seemed to be working on it.
“Are you seeing this?” asked Sergeant Lovett.
“Uh, yes. Are you recording it all?” she replied slowly.
“Oh yeah.”
As well as the massive artificial structure, there were plumes of black smoke rising from dozens of vents cut directly into the mountain. The smoke mixed with the dense air and fog to create a swirling cloud that covered the 
entire site in low light. It gave the impression of it approaching night even though it was actually in the early hours of the morning.
This place is incredible. Artificially constructed into a mountain, or is it a volcano?
Teresa turned her gaze to the right of the structure and followed a party of about fifty people. They were poorly clothed and dragging sleds full of cut rock behind them. Other parties moved metal girders while small teams used 
welders and cut directly on the exposed parts of the temple. Patrol parties of up to a dozen Zealots marched about the site, but none seemed particularly interested in looking for signs of them. Teresa looked carefully at the 
centre of the mountain, but something seemed to be moving out into the open. It had the same smooth gait of the four-legged machine they had tracked, but this one looked larger. As it moved into the low light, something was 
clicking in her mind, and she fell back in pain.
“Sarge!” called out Corporal Alessandro as Sergeant Lovett dragged him back into the undergrowth.
A terrible screaming sound erupted from inside the structure and buzzed in Teresa’s head. It then reverberated in her skull like a terrible wail. She ducked down and fell to the floor. She tried to touch her head, but the helmet 
blocked her hands. Corporal Alessandro held her down and hit the connecting strips on the helmet to remove her helmet. Sergeant Lovett moved over to check her, shaking his head as the loud screaming sound penetrated his helmet. 
The effect was almost like that of a high –pressure drill being powered up inside the helmet.
“Sergeant Morato, can you hear me?” he asked as he looked down at his fallen comrade. Teresa looked back at him, but already the sound level had dropped, and the pain had fallen to a more reasonable level.
“Sergeant, looks like the workers are feeling it too!” said Corporal Nylund.
He looked up and to the site to see a large number of the workers covering their ears as the large mechanical machine moved out from the safety of the mountain and moved off to the right. It was followed by an escort of six of 
the four-legged machines of a design identical to the one they had been tracking.
“What’s going on?” asked Teresa as she remembered she’d left the internal volume on her helmet at almost maximum so she could track the mechanical sounds. It was no wonder the shrill scream from the machines had caused her so 
much pain.
“Uh, you need to see this,” said Sergeant Lovett.
Teresa shook her head and did her best to clear her mind. The mist was continuing to clear, and as it pulled away from the mountain, the rest of the unit fell silent. Teresa lifted herself up a little from the damp ground and 
looked in the same direction as the others. Her head still pounded, but she was able to forget all of it when she saw the ring of four more mountains, each much like the one they had discovered, and each of them positioned 
around a central structure shaped like a large stone dome. Streaks of blue energy crackled and flashed from pylons attached to the mountains that ran down like the legs of a spider to the central dome. The entire site, including 
the dome and the myriad of buildings around it, was more like a tiny city, but it looked ancient and mostly derelict and deserted. It was massive, probably two hundred metres tall and beautifully carved and designed. It reminded 
her of some of the ancient churches she had seen in images of Old Earth.
“Those mountain structures look like they are sending power of some type directly into that central structure,” explained Corporal Dalton Nylund, their technical specialist.
“Yeah, but power to what?” replied Sergeant Lovett.
As they watched, the dome started to lift itself, supported by dozens of thick pillars. The mechanical machines assembled nearby along with more of their kind until almost thirty of them waited. They all faced the dome and stood 
completely still. As the dome moved up, she could make out a purple orb pulsing and rotating inside it. The orb itself was many metres in diameter and seemed to flash and spin, suspended in mid-air. Sergeant Lovett turned to 
look at her with a look of astonishment on his face.
“What the hell is this place?”
Teresa looked carefully at the site and at her sensor package in her helmet.
“I don’t know, but I’ll tell you this. We aren’t leaving until we know more. What are they building? What are those machines? And lastly, what is going on in that dome?”
They all looked back to the dome that lay between each of the mountains. It was surrounded by a dozen large towers, atop of which were mounted what looked like multi-barrelled weapon systems. Thousands of workers toiled around 
the dome, and it was then that Teresa spotted something odd. She pulled her helmet back on and accessed the optical sensors built into the system. The stabilised telephoto lens gave her a close look at the dome.
“Cracks,” she said quietly. “Whatever is happening, this place is needing a lot of repair work.”
As if to answer her comment, the roof of the dome stopped moving with a loud thud. The reverberation of the massive structure shook the ground around them, and she saw small chunks of dirt and rock tumbled from its flanks. The 
trees around their position also trembled at whatever was happening. She looked back to the dome and noticed even more power seemed to be surging towards the dome itself. The orb grew in intensity, and the people working nearby 
ran for cover or hid as the surge increased.
“Sarge, do we want to be hanging around for this?” asked Corporal Alessandro.
“Just stay down and watch. Anything we learn here could save lives. Just keep recording anything of interest.”
As she looked about, she could see that between the site they were near and the next mountain, lay a large patch of broken ground. Close examination showed that it was ruined buildings or structures of some kind. They were not 
new. In fact, they looked to her more like buildings with a history of hundreds of years, maybe older. But even better, they seemed of little interest to the workers, the Zealots or the machines. Teresa slid back into the thick 
undergrowth and signalled for the others to come closer.
“Okay, here’s the plan. We need intel, and I have a plan on how to get it. See that site to the right, about two hundred metres in from of the dome,” she said while pointing.
The ASOG troopers glanced quickly and returned their attention to her.
“Right, I will take my squad to the ruins and set up a monitoring package to overlook the dome. If we time it right, we can get it positioned and then move back into the jungle. We can use the package to send a navigation pulse 
when the General decides its time to attack.”
“Attack?” asked Sergeant Lovett. “You’re not serious are you? This place is teeming with Zealots.”
“Don’t forget those machines as well.”
Teresa shook her head.
“No, I am quite well aware of that. Aren’t you curious to know where all the Biomechs are? Trust me, the General will want this place shut down.”
“He will do when he sees this,” explained Corporal Nylund, holding out his scanning tool. The others looked at the data but little of it made sense to them. Teresa raised an eyebrow in confusion.
“See those towers around the dome?” he asked.
Teresa nodded.
“Yes, the ones with the weapon batteries fitted?”
“Okay. They aren’t just weapon mounts. They are sending a strong blanketing signal out into space. According to my instruments, it’s the same signal that blocked communications with our ships, and it’s still blocking long-range 
comms on the ground.”
Teresa understood that part perfectly.
“So if we can disable them, we’ll have planet-wide communications and be able to reach anybody in orbit?”
He nodded, and the eight ASOG troopers turned their gaze back the series of artificial mounts, towers and buildings that covered the open space in front of them. Teresa’s excitement at the news on the towers quickly dissipated 
as she realised the enormity of what they had discovered.
What would I give for a unit of Vanguards and a few hundred Jötnar right now!
Her thoughts of the Alliance Biomechs instantly brought back her memories of Spartan. She could only imagine what he was up to right now.
“Right, you know the plan. Sergeant Lovett, your squad will provide overwatch, my squad will plant the gear and signal you when we’re ready to leave. Be careful, we can do without having to fight all of that!”
With that short message, she moved off along the tree line but always staying low and in the cover of the foliage. It took almost four minutes to cover the jungle until they reached the point directly opposite the ruined 
buildings. From there, she could see the small mountain to her left but no sight of the overwatch squad.
Good, she thought. If they were visible, they would be instantly compromised. If they were discovered this close to the enemy compound, they could expect to lose their unit and probably be tracked back to their own base. She 
turned to her right. There was another similar mountain, along with its own array of many pylons and scores of thick pipes and cabling running down to the central dome, hundreds of metres away in the depression to her front. All 
that stood before her and the home of the glowing orb, were scores of ruined structures and buildings. The nearest was only twenty metres from the tree line where she waited.
“No signs of movement in the ruins...wait, I’ve got one contact...” said Corporal Nylund nervously.
“Zealot?” asked Teresa.
“Negative, looks like one of our crew. They’re still wearing their uniform. I recognise the insignia from Santa Maria. Dammit, he’s coming this way.”
“What?” Teresa exclaimed.
They kept low and watched as the figure emerged from the rubble and did his best to scale one of the smaller walls. Off in the distance, two Zealots shouted and pointed in the escapee’s direction. One lifted a weapon and fire 
ineffectually at the man. Corporal Nylund lifted his L52 Mark II carbine, but Teresa placed her hand on the barrel and shook her head.
“No, we can’t give away out position.”
“But Sarge!” exclaimed Private Hughes, the youngest of the squad.
More shots hit near the crewman, and a couple even struck close to the marines. Teresa almost laughed at the ineffective shooting, but the movement of the machines near the dome instantly killed her mood. Only two stepped away 
and faced their direction. For a second, she had a dreadful feeling they might detect the marines. She pulled herself lower to the ground, and the other three did the same. The same high-pitched scream as before blasted across 
the open space, but this time the filters of her helmet managed to reduce it to a painful but manageable level. The energy blast from the machines pintle mounted weapon was much like the coil system used by her carbine, but it 
seemed vastly more powerful. With a loud thud, a great column of dust and debris blasted into the air.
“Stay down!” she called out on the suit’s intercom unit. It was short ranged but could easily manage about a hundred metres with line of sight before the ground-based jammers could have much of an effect. Teresa kept her head to 
the ground, but even with her acoustic dampers on maximum, she could hear and feel the approach of one of the machines. Her head told her to move and to get far away, but she knew that any movement and they were dead. Then just 
as soon as it had started, the machine moved away. She lifted her head just a few centimetres, so she could see to top of the machine as it stomped away and rejoined its comrades near the dome.
“We’re clear.”
The four-man unit resumed their positions and checked for signs of the enemy. The column of dust continued upwards, but nothing remained of the unfortunate crewman that had tried to escape from whatever was taking place at the 
site. A few of the Zealots seemed to take the escape attempt as an opportunity to attack more of the prisoners, but luckily none were actually hurt in any serious way. Teresa checked the horizon, but it looked as clear as it was 
ever likely to be.
“Come on, I don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to,” she said.
The small group moved out from the tree line and down into the remains of whatever had been built in the past. As they moved through the outskirts of the first buildings, it was clear that a number of the structures were 
actually parts of an old temple. In the centre was a square based pyramid with many steps leading to the top. They weaved around it, continuing onwards to the ruined base of a circular structure. There was nothing but mud and 
broken rock in the middle, but along the inner wall of the building were the carved shapes of buildings, people and machines.
“Sergeant, what’s this?” asked Corporal Alessandro.
She stopped but only for a few seconds.
“No idea. Record everything you can see and then join us.”
She continued forward with Corporal Nylund and took up position along the final section of ruins that faced the dome while the other two stayed back to record as much of the markings, images and information as they could in the 
limited time they had. Once in cover, the Corporal removed a monitoring package from his pack on his back and placed it on the ground. While he configured the unit, Teresa placed dust and small rocks around it to camouflage it 
from a cursory glance.
CHAPTER TWELVE
With the end of the War that had torn the old Confederacy apart came a new attitude to the military. Gone were the distinctions between Army, Marines and Navy and instead all were combined into a smaller but more professional 
elite arm. With this change came a requirement for more flexible ships, ones that could operate fighters and landing craft just as often as they carried marines and their heavy equipment. The old days of ships of the line and 
separate transports, died with birth of the Alliance.
Naval Cadet’s Handbook
The arrival of Sergeant Morato’s ASOG team caught almost every one by surprise. General Rivers had assumed the worst and mobilised everybody available, including the Navy crewmen, to defend the compound against the expected 
attack. When they had emerged on the river, moving slowly on an improvised raft, they’d almost been shot to ribbons. Only the quick thinking of Captain Carlos had averted possible disaster. Sergeant Morato walked into the camp 
with the seven troopers to cheers from those inside. General Rivers was already out of his shelter and waiting near the marine fireteam as she moved inside.
“Sergeant, I see the rumours of your demise were much exaggerated.”
Teresa saluted, though it was slower and more ragged than usual.
“Sir, it’s good to be back.”
“We were expecting contact from your team nearly two days ago. Can I assume you found something?”
Teresa grinned through the open visor of her helmet. Her armour was filthy and not one part of it seemed to be the same colour. Mud slid down her legs, and thick scratches ran from her ankles to her armpits. The others looked no 
better. It was as if they had been dredging the river for the last week.
“You could say that, General.”
She turned to her unit and nodded to Corporal Nylund.
“Get the recording gear into the field command post.” She looked back to General Rivers. “This is pretty big, Sir. I think you’ll want all the officers to see this.”
“Is it something we can use?” he asked optimistically.
“It’s more than that, Sir. I think it might be the key to this planet and possibly the entire War.”
At that last point his eyebrows lifted in interest.
* * *
The first view of Hyperion sent a shudder up Spartan’s spine as he watched from the bridge of ANS Tamarisk. Spartan hadn’t spent much time on the ship before. In fact, the last time he’d seen the craft had been when it was 
salvaged following the rescue at Prometheus. There were few reminders of that bloody struggle, and to all intents and purposes, she seemed to have been improved in almost every way. The rest of the Taskforce had already made 
rendezvous with ANS Minotaur and were keeping at least ten hours away from the planet to avoid weapon fire or equipment jamming. Spartan pulled himself away from the bridge and out through to hatch that led to the small CIC. 
Inside waited the small team he had selected specifically for the mission.
I hope to God I’ve chosen the right people.
He’d assembled an odd mixture of forces, including marines, Vanguards, soldiers and Jötnar. From the limited information they had discovered, he knew he had several basic tasks to perform. He had the best marines and scouts in 
the Taskforce to help locate the enemy dispositions and resources; and a mixture of Vanguards and Jötnar to provide combat muscle. What worried him was that they might simply be unable to disable the weapon systems before they 
were overwhelmed. It would take up to six hours for the Taskforce to be able to move into position and start landing the rest of the ground troops. He moved into the middle of the CIC and glanced at the status monitors.
“Captain, all systems are fully operational. Passive jammers are on, and our weapon systems are primed and ready,” said Sergeant Kowalski.
Spartan looked at the small crew with confidence. Most of them had been at the summit on Terra Nova, but a few he had only met prior to their introductions in the Taskforce. Kowalski was a highly experienced marine and a 
computer tech expert with a somewhat shady past. As well as having served on Tamarisk at Prometheus, he was also one of the top specialists on the Prometheus colony under Commander Anderson. Sat next to him, and monitoring the 
remote feeds, was the gruff Agent Johnson from the Kerberos Intelligence Unit. His experience had been in working with the Kerberos Underground during the War. Spartan knew his knowledge and experience of fighting unconventional 
operations would be critical in the fight. His only real experience with most of this team was with the Jötnar and a handful of the Vanguards. Khan watched over them both with a look of bemused interest and boredom. It was an 
odd mix, but Spartan was very familiar with the attitudes of his Jötnar friends.
“How is the assault team?” he asked.
Khan nodded slowly.
“Not bad. Could do with a few more, twenty-four isn’t much for a ground assault.”
“We don’t need to win this thing. We just need to disable their systems, so we can bring in the large ships to coordinate a full-scale operation.”
Khan tilted his head slightly.
“Perhaps, but we don’t have much to go on yet, do we?”
Spartan couldn’t disagree with that. All they knew was that ships had been crippled or destroyed, and that large numbers of pods and lifeboats had made their way to the surface. Deep down, Spartan worried that the entire planet 
could be teeming with Union soldiers or Biomechs. What if it was another of the horrific plants like the one he had seen on Prometheus?
“Uh, you’re gonna want to see this,” said Kowalski in a tone that bordered on excitement.
Spartan leaned in to look at his screen. It showed a topographical map of the surface. Most of the land mass was rocky, and there were several mountain ranges. The quality of the imagery was poor, probably due to the thick 
atmosphere and frequent mist at low level. The most obvious thing was the amount of trees. The bulk of the planet looked like a giant forest.
“I don’t see it, just lots of trees, so?”
Kowalski pointed to three points on the display.
“There, three,” he explained to Spartan, but the icons and data told him nothing of much use.
Kowalski shook his head, once more annoyed that he was going to have to explain the obvious. It was both a gift and a curse that he was forced to endure. At least that was how he rationalised it to himself.
“Well, it seems that so far we have approached without being detected. Our passive system gives off little to no detectable signature, and our radar systems are off. Unless they happen to be looking right here, they will not 
find us.”
Spartan nodded but still looked confused.
“Yes, I read the tech notes on her. An impressive ship, no doubt.”
He then pointed to the screen.
“But what about those points?” he added.
“Oh...right,” replied Kowalski sheepishly. “Well, first of all, I am picking up massive, and I mean massive, energy levels in this mountainous region. The really weird thing is that the power build-up matches the exact same 
signature of the Anomaly.”
Spartan leaned back at the news.
“What does that mean?”
Kowalski shook his head.
“Uh...no idea, but it is interesting. The other thing is these points.”
He tapped three more locations; one of which was quite close to the mountainous region.
“Each of these areas is transmitting a very weak Alliance distress pulse. They are coded to the new frequencies and are shifting based on the new algorithms. I suspect that’s the only reason they haven’t been detected yet.
“Alliance? From the lifeboats?”
Kowalski nodded.
“Yes, Sir. Even more interesting though, is the site closest to the mountains. It has the strongest signal and is positioned near this river. I can’t look any closer. We’d need satellite coverage at lower altitude and with 
advanced optics. The mists and weather conditions down there are cutting visibility down to just a few kilometres.”
“Okay, so we have a few lifeboats. What’s so special about that one?” asked Spartan, still no closer to understanding the point Kowalski was trying to make.
At that last comment, Kowalski grinned so widely his teeth almost seemed to gleam at him.
“It’s a full tactical assessment of the area, along with identity codes for a number of NCOs and officers. Looks like the General is there with Captain Carlos, and at least a dozen more people of note.”
Spartan was about to speak, but Kowalski knew exactly what he was going to say.
“Yes, one of those on the list is Sergeant Morato.”
The mention of her name gave him renewed hope. Although the senior officers kept trying to tell him how likely it was that they would have survived, he knew from experience that ships attacked or destroyed in orbit had a poor 
chance at performing a full evacuation before breaking up. The mere possibility that Teresa was there sent a jolt through his body. Nothing could have motivated him more.
“Can you get a signal down there?” he asked.
Kowalski shook his head.
“No way, Sir. The minute we send any kind of signal, they will know we’re here. All we have is the element of surprise.”
Captain William Lockley pulled himself into the CIC from the bridge. He had been monitoring the feeds and was already up to speed on the situation. A short, slightly overweight man, he had been responsible for defending one of 
the landing zones on Euryale. His combat experience, both on the ground and in space, was unmatched in the fleet.
“We can’t stay here long, Spartan. We have a big enough window to launch all three shuttles in one go. As soon as you’re out of the ship, I will withdraw to the minimum safe distance and await your go transmission.”
Kowalski looked up at him.
“We can spread the shuttles out or land in one place, Sir.”
Spartan looked at the displays and the proposed landing sites. It seemed pretty straightforward to him. Either they landed at one of the crash sites and linked up with any survivors, or they moved directly to the source of the 
massive power levels. In either case, he had no idea what to expect. He was tempted to strike the power source, but his experienced strategic side begged him to not throw away their one chance on such a gamble. He took a quick 
breath and pointed at the landing site.
“Put us there. We need numbers and intel on the possible enemy site. If the General is down there, I can promise you he is probably already halfway through retaking that place.”
“Understood, Captain Spartan. How long until you are ready to leave?”
Spartan looked to the others in the narrow CIC and grinned at them.
“Ten minutes. Just let me get to the shuttles.”
With that, he was already pulling himself along to the grab rails and to the hangar part of the ship. Agent Johnson, Sergeant Kowalski and Captain Lockley returned to their stations and started the release procedures required to 
launch the shuttles. Spartan made quick progress and was at the first airlock before he activated his intercom.
“Khan, load them up, we are leaving.”
“Yes!” roared the Jötnar with approval.
Even Spartan was unable to hide a smile at the Jötnar’s evident excitement. He closed the airlock behind him and continued to move through the gravity-free part of the ship.
One way or another, we finish this, today.
* * *
General Rivers was as speechless as the rest of the officers as they watched the video feeds recorded by Sergeant Morato and her ASOG troop. The quality of the footage was shaky, but the site of the massive structures, machines, 
workers and the great glowing orb left little to the imagination. The General examined the information in detail before turning to Teresa.
“What the hell is this place?”
Corporal Dalton Nylund, the ASOG’s technician lifted his hand and stepped forward. He handed over a heavily modified datapad to him.
“This might help. We found engravings at what looked like a ruined temple of some kind. We didn’t have time to examine it, but we did photograph as much as possible. Our equipment estimated most of the ruins are up to 
two-hundred years old.”
General Rivers examined the first few images before waving over Captain Carlos and two of the Navy officers. The first images showed what looked like an orb, very similar to the one under the dome. This one was in space and 
surrounded by gantries and structures.
“Looks like the Spacebridge at the Anomaly,” one of them said.
“Yes, but look at the sequence. The first one shows this machine with people stood around it. The next is showing more of those dome buildings being constructed. Is this showing what happened in the past?” asked Captain Carlos.
Teresa shook her head as she relooked at the images.
“I don’t know, but the shape of the site is very odd with the mountains and the dome in the centre.”
An engineer from the Santa Maria examined the imagery and scratched his chin.
“I’ll tell you one thing. That isn’t a mountain range. It’s one mountain that’s had the centre excavated. That’s why it looks more like a crater surrounded by mountains.”
General Rivers nodded in agreement.
“Yes, makes sense. So if that’s right, then this orb must have been buried. They must be here to unearth it for some reason.”
“Maybe,” replied Captain Carlos, but he didn’t sound convinced. ”We’ve only had colonies in this region of space for just over three centuries. Why haven’t we come across anything like this before? It also doesn’t explain what 
the Biomechs or the Zealots or doing down here.”
“General, there is more,” explained Teresa.
She pressed a button on the video unit they were using, and it flicked instantly to a live feed of the dome at the heart of the enemy base. Unexpectedly, it was still glowing, and flashes of what looked like electricity crackled 
around it. Hundreds of people hid and cowered around the place as the flashes continued. The room fell silent as those present looked on in surprise. General Rivers spoke quietly but continued watching the feed.
“Good work, Sergeant, this is exactly what we need. Do you have any idea what this thing is designed for, though?”
“No, Sir. We discussed it on the return here. Our thoughts are it could be anything from a massive signal generator to some kind of artificial intelligence hub.”
“Like the one on Terra Nova?” he asked rhetorically.
“Maybe,” Teresa replied. “But one thing I do know, I’ve never seen machines like that before, apart from those that came aboard the Santa Maria. They seem unique to this planet.”
She pointed to the dome.
“My gut instinct tells me this area, the machines, the Zealots and the Biomechs are all linked. Maybe the survivors from the Great War five decades ago hid down here and found the site?”
General Rivers seemed intrigued at the idea.
“Interesting. The Zealots have always been the right hand of somebody else. We thought it was Typhon and his brothers, but to do the things they’ve done they must have had help.”
He turned and looked to the other officers assembled in the cramped room.
“This changes things considerably. Not only is it our duty to fight and survive, but we also need to understand what is happening here. Our mission must change to the capture and study of this site, no matter the cost. I want 
anybody with historical, engineering and scientific knowledge to go over the data recovered by Sergeant Morato’s team, and see what you can piece together. In the meantime, the rest of us need to find a way to get a signal away 
from this planet. We need help, now more than ever.”
There was no more time for discussion as the compound’s klaxons blared. It was loud and painful to hear, filling each of them with dread. They had been installed for emergency use only, as the noise was bound to draw the 
unwelcome attention of the hostile inhabitants of the jungle. The makeshift command centre emptied quickly as they all rushed to their allotted positions. As some of the crew, left General Rivers grabbed two of them.
“No, you both stay. I need answers from this information, and fast.”
He then took one last glance at the feed and moved to Teresa who was already at the doorway and checking her weapon.
“Sergeant, did they follow you back here?” he asked.
Heavy gunfire ripped through the base, and before she had time to answer, the two were out and moving into firing positions along the perimeter. Teresa was still in her filthy PDS suit, whereas the General wore just the chest 
part of his armour.
“No way, Sir, we covered our tracks and followed a zigzag course. They must have tracked electronic signatures or something else. He nodded in agreement but was well aware that even the ASOG troopers were not ghosts.
“Get your people to the walls, Sergeant. We have need of your skills once more.”
She saluted and moved out, indicating for her comrades to follow her to the barricades. Light was already starting to fade in the camp, and with the never-moving mist, it was hard to see what was happening before the enemy 
reached point-blank range. Teresa climbed the crudely constructed ladder and rested her carbine on top of the wall facing the direction of the enemy.
“Gods! she exclaimed.
The terrifying image of scores of Zealots running foolhardily towards their wooden defences almost made her stagger and fall from the crude raised position. She checked the safety on her weapon and joined in with the rest of the 
defenders. Concentrated rifle and carbine gunfire tore them apart before they made it even halfway from the tree line to the fences. But the Zealots weren’t the problem, and even as she helped in gunning them down, she wondered 
if they were being driven to the barricades rather than choosing to attack. Out of the mist, and behind the Zealots, appeared the great metallic machines. The mere sight of them froze her in mid movement. It was hard to make out 
their exact shape, but the size and moving limbs confirmed to her they were the same or certainly very similar to the large four-legged machines at the dome. They made slow progress but inched towards the base like a pair of 
armoured beetles, their powered metal limbs ripping foliage and woodland apart. From deep within their bodies came that terrible screaming sound, and she spotted at least three crewmen fall from the wall in terror at the noise.
They must have found our trail. We spent hours covering it. It just doesn’t make sense.
A long burst of gunfire from the machine to the right quickly snapped her out of her daze, however, especially when the blast ripped open a hole in the barricade and cut down two marines in a burst of blood and metal.
“Kill them!” she screamed, and with one deft movement selected the full-power setting on her carbine. She’d rarely used the weapon on that setting before, but something about those alien-looking machines told her she’d need 
every ounce of firepower at her disposal. She took aim at the nearest and hit it with a single triple-round blast. Unlike the rounds fired from the other firearms, the carbine’s massive advantage in muzzle-velocity, combined 
with the armour-penetrating slug, tore fist-sized holes from the machine. The battle for the compound had begun.
* * *
Threat alarms blasted through the interior of the shuttle as ground-based sensors tried to identify the three craft. Their rapid descent through the atmosphere would have been relatively easy to detect, but the craft had been 
specially designed to give off no obvious signatures. Spartan just hoped they would be picked up as meteors or even better, missed completely. Either way, they were almost past this stage of their descent, and the design and 
build of the shuttles would make them all but impossible to detect as they dropped down to their selected landing zones.
“Lieutenant, what’s our safe distance with these shuttles?” he asked the pilot through his Vanguard armour’s comms unit.
The man turned back briefly to answer.
“About forty to fifty klicks in a straight line. Once we’re down to the surface, we can stay below most active scanners to nearly ten kilometres. After that...” he shrugged.
Spartan nodded and looked to the other seven occupants of the shuttle. He’d split up the expertise on each craft so that there was a degree of redundancy in the landing. There was no sense having all the tech experts in one 
shuttle and all the assault troops in the other. He’d taken Khan, Kowalski, two Vanguards from his old unit and three of the most experienced marines on the Santa Cruz. The Vanguards were of a similar size and build to Khan, but 
it was the mechanics, power systems and armour that provided the muscle for the marines as opposed to Khan’s physique and brute strength. Unlike the PDS armour worn by the marines, this much larger suit was a development of the 
much older and more primitive Combat Engineer Suits. It was powered and included thickened protection, integral blades and firearms. The Vanguards had proved themselves on multiple occasions during the heavy close quarter combat 
on a multitude of colonies.
“Khan, you ready for this?” he called over to his friend.
The Jötnar simply grinned in response. One thing Spartan could always count on was the brutality and enjoyment of combat by him and his people. The Jötnar were easily the equal of the Vanguards and capable of taking on multiple 
Zealots or even another Biomech one-on-one.
“Sir, my scanners are picking up the coded signal from the target. It is phasing out as expected.”
“Good,” he replied.
The pilot returned to his own screen but continued speaking as he made adjustments. His co-pilot checked the ground below them with advanced passive imaging gear, but even this low, the thick atmosphere and mist made it very 
difficult.
“We’ll be under their radar in just over a minute, and then it’s the quick burn to the landing site.”
Spartan hoped beyond hope they weren’t too late. He was well aware that just surviving on a foreign world was hard enough without potential enemies to account for.
“Any sign of survivors yet?”
“Nothing yet, I am picking up a tracking station near the suspected weapon sites. It’s good gear but not likely to pick us up now at this height. There’s something else as well.”
Spartan swallowed, expecting the worst.
“What?”
“It’s the power levels. They are off the charts. There’s no way they need this level of energy to power up their tracking or weapon systems. There’s something else down there, Sir.”
“Yes, I don’t doubt it. Just get us near the signal source as quickly and quietly as you can.”
The man nodded and carried on with the low-level flight procedures. From the small windows, Spartan could see very little except the thick haze and water droplets covering the toughened glass. He turned and looked back to his 
team.
“Don’t forget the air. Initial assessments show a higher than normal level of nitrogen. It’s breathable, but only just. Use the rebreather on your suits as much as possible.”
Khan laughed.
“What?” Spartan asked.
“Where’s my rebreather?” he asked.
Spartan looked at his friend and realised he’d completely forgotten to ensure the Jötnar were equipped for the atmospheric conditions below.
Damn it! He thought angrily.
“Don’t worry, we’ll manage,” he said without a second’s doubt.
The craft bumped and jostled as they settled into a low-level course over the treetops. Both the craft and the pilots were the best the Alliance had to offer, and even Khan seemed impressed at their skill. It didn’t take long 
for them to cover the distance to the landing zone. Spartan spotted the dark grey shapes of the two craft following behind them.
“Twenty seconds, we’re coming in over the river. I’ll put her down in that clearing.” said the pilot.
No sooner had they started the landing procedure than the starboard side windows lit up bright yellow. A light patter like rain ran along the body, and then they were within a hundred metres.
“Sensors picking up signs of movement, heat signature...what the!”
The shuttle shook as the pilot tried to manoeuvre, but it was much too late. Something heavy struck one of the movable engine pods, and the shuttle was heading down. It was a testament to the skill of the pilots that they 
managed to bring it down in one piece. They struck the riverbank hard and came to a stop in the mud. The doors hissed open, and as per usual, Spartan was up and out. Instead of stepping into a crash site, he found himself in the 
middle of a battle.
What have they gotten themselves into?
Directly in front of him was a very basic wooden fortification that must have been about the size of a sports field. Three of its sides faced the thick jungle while a much lower palisade protected the water edge. Inside were 
stacks of boxes, tents, shelters and the stripped remains of what looked like an escape shuttle or lifeboat. Scores of people were positioned on or near the high wooden walls and were blasting away with Alliance issue firearms. 
Khan stepped beside him, and the other five spread out into a firing line, scanning for signs of hostiles. Sergeant Kowalski moved to the cockpit to check on the status of the pilots. Khan looked briefly at the sounds of battle 
then back to Spartan.
“Looks like we came to the right place!” said a happy sounding Khan.
“Yeah, come on, we need to find out what the hell is going on here.”
They sprinted further into the compound and skirted off to the left where a group of Navy crew were carrying a box of ammunition to the fence. One of them spotted him and stopped.
“Sir? Lieutenant Spartan?” he asked incredulously.
Spartan had no idea who he was, but they were obviously friendly. The uniform was of the old Confederate Navy pattern but that meant little. He was only too familiar with the problems of units, uniforms and logistics since the 
end of the War and the forming of the Alliance. He reached out and grabbed the shaken looking man by the shoulder.
“Who is in charge here?” he asked.
The man looked up to the barricade and the silhouetted shapes above them. Flashes of orange and yellow light lit them from behind. As Spartan watched, a stream of bullets rip through the wood and cut down a marine who tumbled 
back and to the floor.
“The General...General Rivers,” he stuttered.
Rivers!
“To me!” he shouted and ran to a pile of crates and boxes that gave access to the fighting platform. He couldn’t make it all the way to the top, as his bulk in the Vanguard armour and the weak construction of the platform and 
the barrier, would have easily tossed him back to the ground. He reached a high enough vantage point so that he could see out and towards the commotion outside the compound. Hordes of people were rushing to the defences but 
being cut to ribbons by accurate rifle fire. It was the sight of the mechanical beasts that shook him.
“What the hell is that?” he shouted while simultaneously lifting his right arm. Built into his suit was a pair of linked L48 rifles, the standard weapon used by most marines. It fired a standard 12.7mm round equipped with an 
integral proximity mode on the bullets. The rifle normally carried a magazine of twenty rounds of variable operation ammunition. These state of the art bullets could be set to explode at a certain distance or when they reached 
the proximity of their target. He aimed at the nearest of the machines and opened fire. Both barrel flashes away and the gyrostalisied mount gave him near perfect sustained fire accuracy. The rounds embedded into the metal frame 
and then exploded. Each of the rounds tore chunks of metal and wiring away, yet still the machines pushed onwards.
“Spartan?” shouted a familiar voice.
He fired a few more shots before spotting a dark shape rushing along the parapet towards him. His gut reaction was self-defence, and he swung out his left arm and activated the dual weapons. Luckily Khan grabbed the metal of his 
arm and pushed it up, so the rounds fired away harmlessly and avoided cutting the now visible shape of Teresa into a bloodied corpse.
“Watch your aim!” he growled and then joined the others on the firing line.
“Teresa?” replied Spartan in surprise. He’d hoped, even prayed she had been there, but it had never occurred to him he would find her so fast and in such a violent and dangerous situation. She leapt forward and landed just a 
metre away. They were both in armoured suits, and all she could do was open her visor and smile at him.
“I knew you’d come.”
Spartan nodded grimly.
“Yeah, our timing is always great, isn’t it? What’s happening?”
Teresa looked back to where she had been stood. The armoured shape of General Rivers and a handful of marines fired away into the enemy forces. Alongside them was the bullet-ridden form of an improvised Alliance flag. The 
General looked over and saw Khan and then Spartan below him. He turned and lifted his visor.
“About damned time you got here! Tell me you brought friends?”
As if in answer to his question, the two additional shuttles flew overhead. Each performed a quick circle while the now extended pintle mounted coilguns blazed away at the enemy machines. The nearest came in to land while the 
final shuttle performed a final strafing run before setting down in a space being hastily cleared by Navy crewmen.
“We have a ten-ship taskforce in orbit. Once the guns are down, we can have five companies on the ground. Gun is up there, and he’s itching to land.”
General Rivers clenched his fist with pleasure and jumped down from his fighting position to grasp the armoured fist of Spartan’s Vanguard armour. In his battered PDS armour, he looked half the size of Spartan.
“Dammed glad to see you again. Tell me everything.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The great battle for the Titan Naval Station has been considered one of the most audacious battles in the Corps’ history. Outnumbered and attacked on all sides, the men and women of the Marine Corps recaptured the heavily 
defended base in the middle of a bloody and costly space battle. It was the first great victory in the War but also provided a much-needed base from which to coordinate the war effort. The victories of the Proxima system, and 
the eventual fall of Terra Nova, could never have happened without this first heroic success.
Great Battles of the Confederate Marine Corps
Spartan and Teresa stood opposite General Rivers who was busy pulling up the detailed maps the scouts had formed in the last week. It had been weeks they’d been apart, prior to Spartan heading for Terra Nova. Even so, their 
personal lives came second right now with the sound of battle ever present on the hostile world of Hyperion. Since the arrival of the last two shuttles, the fighting had died down, but there were still sporadic bursts of 
gunfire. Captain Carlos emerged from the entrance. He stopped in front of the General and saluted.
“Sir, the enemy forces are withdrawing.”
General Rivers nodded grimly.
“Good, what about those machines?”
Captain Carlos shook his head.
“One is still in action. We damaged it. By all accounts it should be on the ground in pieces. It is leading the retreat. We calculate they must have around a hundred troops still left, and most of those must be injured.”
He turned to Spartan and reached out to shake his hand.
“So glad you arrived when you did. Your Jötnar Khan led a counter-assault at the breached wall. I’ve never seen one in action before. Sure changed my opinion of them, just wish we had a few more.”
Spartan nodded ever so slightly.
“Yeah, that’s usually the way. We have five companies up there, including Gun and a small force of Jötnar.”
“We need them down here, so what’s the plan General?”
General Rivers looked at the three of them and back to his maps for a few more seconds. He lifted his right hand and scratched his eyebrow as he thought. Spartan could see he was conflicted, and the frailty of their position was 
clear for all of them to see. Even when he had landed, the enemy were pressing the walls and had forced a number of breaches with heavy weapons. Another similar sized assault might succeed. If they attacked in greater numbers, 
it would be over...and fast. General Rivers understood this, and Spartan suspected this was where his reticence rested.
“You haven’t seen the intelligence Sergeant Morato and her team recovered. You don’t have time to study it, so I’ll give you the short version. From what we can ascertain, there is a structure here that has been in position for 
up to the last two hundred years. Apart from a large number of ruins, there are a series of power sources, each connected to a central hub that is heavily guarded.”
He handed Spartan a datapad containing a series of images of the site. It had been annotated by the engineers in the compound; along with estimated power signatures and enemy strength.
“Who are these people?” asked Spartan, pointing at the dark shapes around the structures.
“Workers, prisoners...maybe slaves. We don’t know, other than they are subservient to both the Zealots we can see and those machines. The central dome appears to be protected by magnetic shielding. At least that’s what the 
readings suggest.”
Spartan looked less than impressed with the information.
“Okay. But what is this site being used for? Apart from the danger of them attacking here, what is the time critical problem here?”
General Rivers brought up the images from the ruins that Teresa had returned.
“Recognise this?” he asked.
Spartan looked carefully at the images, each one showed an object or series of objects, some of which appeared very familiar. He stopped at the fourth one.
“The Spacebridge?”
General Rivers shrugged and showed him a shattered stone with what looked like a diagram; lines connected a number of circles. It meant nothing to him. He looked back to General Rivers and lifted his eyebrows.
“It’s a map, Captain. The Navy techs picked it up right away. It is partially damaged, but according to them, it marks a number of the planets in this star system, including Terra Nova, Proxima Prime and here.”
Spartan straightened up a little before speaking.
“I still don’t get it. We have a site full of Zealots and a number of machines that could easily be Biomech variants. Images and maps from the last few hundred years of our star systems, and a lot of people being forced to work 
on this dome location.”
General Rivers stepped closer as if he was about to share some great secret.
“My people believe there are only a few solutions to this problem. What we do know is that the machines come from that dome. Sergeant Morato established a comms surveillance post in the ruins, and over a period of an hour, we 
have monitored four more machines move from the dome.”
“I see, so it could be a fabrication plant of some kind?” suggested Teresa.
“Perhaps. There is one other thing, and it is something I can’t get my head around.”
“What is it?” asked Captain Carlos.
“The dome itself, it shares readings with the Anomaly. That, plus the images on the ruins, suggests an old link between the orb and the Anomaly.”
As they spoke, there was a bright flash on one of the displays. Captain Carlos pointed it out, and all four turned to watch yet another of the four-legged machines move from out of the bright light. Flashes and sparks ran from 
the hills surrounding it, and dust and debris ran down the sides of the structures as though a minor earthquake was occurring. Spartan watched in fascination as the machine moved away from the dome, but it was the columns of 
shapes moving behind it that shocked him the most.
“What the hell is that?” he demanded.
Teresa shook her head.
“I’ve seen those before. Three came aboard the Santa Maria with their Zealot commander, Pontus. They are vicious, like nothing I’ve seen before. From what I could tell, they were fully autonomous but carried out his orders, to 
the letter.”
The orb dulled, and part of the dome’s structure snapped and dropped down nearby two workers. In seconds, a team of people were being pushed towards the debris while another team used ropes to climb the dome and start repairs.
“So now they have another thirty of these things. Is it me, or does it seem a bit of a coincidence that reinforcements arrive the minute they confirm the location of your base?” asked Spartan.
General Rivers and Captain Carlos looked at each other.
“We need this place shut down. Whatever it is, it is a clear and present danger to the Alliance and us. These reinforcements could be the start of a Union fight back.”
He looked to Spartan and Teresa.
“I suggest you check your troops and get them ready for our next task. Meet me back here in fifteen minutes. Whatever we decide to do its going to have to be done fast, or those things will be down on us like a ton of bricks.”
“Sir!” barked Spartan, followed quickly by a smart salute.
He stepped out of the place along with Teresa, leaving the Marine Captain and the General to discuss strategy. Once outside it was clear the battle was over, for now at least. Dozens of wounded were being dragged back from where 
they had been fighting so that the medics could get to work on them. Khan walked towards them with a carbine totting Kowalski stood beside him.
“Kowalski?” asked a surprised Teresa.
She lurched forwards and grabbed him almost as eagerly as she had Spartan. The two went back to the Prometheus operation and had worked and fought beside each other for weeks. When she finally stepped back, there was a temporary 
uncomfortable silence before Khan spoke.
“So, what next?”
A growl, much like that of Khan, came from near the damaged shuttle on the riverbank. The lower barricades were still intact but only lightly defended on that side. From out of the water emerged the heads and shoulders of four 
Biomechs. Kowalski aimed his carbine, but Spartan knocked his weapon upwards as Khan was rushing towards them. It was a foolhardy charge, but by moving into their line-of-sight, the crazed Jötnar stopped them firing.
“What the hell is he doing?” asked Kowalski.
The first Biomech emerged from the water, and Khan intercepted it on the muddy bank. They crashed together with a thud, and Khan expertly flipped and threw the creature onto its back. The other three emerged from the water and 
moved closer. There was something strange going on though, as they stopped a short distance away.
“Hold your fire!” called out Captain Carlos who had just arrived on the scene.
Khan roared with an almost animalistic growl at the Biomechs and helped the fallen creature to its feet. It looked similar to Khan, but its body was less well-developed and covered in scratches and marks. A rough bandage was 
attached across its left shoulder from some previously inflicted wound. It straightened its back and to the surprise of them all, it spoke.
“Who?” it asked in a rough voice with its head tilted slightly to the left.
Khan stood up tall and looked back to the marines and others in the compound to ensure they didn’t shoot, before looking back.
“My name is Khan, I am a Captain in the Jötnar.”
“Jötnar?” asked the Biomech.
“Yes, that is what we call ourselves. We are free from the Zealots.”
The Biomech seemed to understand this and nodded towards Khan.
“We fight them. The machines kill us now.”
Noise from the riverbank announced the arrival of two-dozen more Zealots. They were dressed in the familiar dress and robes all the marines were used to. Most carried looted Confederate weapons and all attacked with the savagery 
and ferocity that only their kind resorted to. Half of them made it to the wooden stakes before rifle fire struck them. Some ran for Khan, and the others pushed past to get inside the compound.
“Kill them!” roared Khan.
The Biomech nearest to him turned around and rushed at the Zealots. With strength and incredible agility, it dodged the first burst of gunfire and struck its right arm into the man’s face. A second strike followed, and then the 
enemy overwhelmed it. Khan and the others waded in to help, but in doing so, they stopped most of the defending marines from helping out of fear of hitting Khan. They watched in awe as the four Biomechs and Khan smashed and 
hacked their way like harvesters working through a field. In less than a minute, the enemy were routed, leaving a single man badly wounded and screaming on the ground.
“Leave him!” called out Captain Carlos and waved over two medics who ran over to attend to the wounded man.
Spartan moved closer to the Biomechs and tried to assess what was happening, but more sporadic gunfire flashed around the base. He looked back to Teresa who was slightly behind and to the left.
“This isn’t going to stop, is it?”
She shook her head. He took a deep breath and shouted over to his Jötnar friend.
“Khan! What’s happening over there?”
He turned around from the group of Biomechs and looked directly towards Spartan. His armour was bloody from the short fight with the Zealots, and Spartan recognised the rage on his face.
“They are telling me about the Zealots. Looks like they’ve been hunted down here since you sent out the signal on Terra Nova. They want revenge more than we do!”
Spartan nodded in surprise.
“Uh...okay. Are they a danger to us?”
Khan shook his head.
“Only if we attack them first.”
Teresa tapped Spartan’s shoulder and moved closer to the group. She stopped next to Khan and opened her visor to reveal her face to both him and the Biomechs. With the air supply assistance gone, she found it harder to breathe 
and did her best to alter her breaths to make then slower and deeper. Khan nodded at her approach and looked to the confused Biomechs. Each of them towered almost three metres tall, yet she looked unconcerned.
“This is Sergeant Morato, an Alliance Marine, and one of the people responsible for saving the Jötnar.”
The four Biomechs looked at each other before the one that had been talking with Khan moved towards her. He looked at her for a moment and then reached out and struck her in the shoulder. The blow was hard, and she stumbled and 
fell to the floor. Kowalski shouted out and rushed forward, but Spartan grabbed him.
“No, just wait...” he said quietly.
Teresa lifted herself up and moved back to the Biomech who waited patiently. She straightened her shoulder and barged into its lower chest while striking her armoured fist into its torso. It barely moved, yet when she stepped 
back and looked up, it was grinning at her. Spartan released Kowalski but slowly, so as not to draw attention.
“That is a Biomech introduction. Be glad they aren’t doing the usual fight to the blood or loss of limb.”
Kowalski looked back at him.
“You’re telling me we have a truce?”
Khan heard his voice and looked back at the marines.
“Better than that. We might have an alliance.”
* * *
Admiral Churchill paced back and forth inside the spacious CIC of ANS Santa Cruz. It seemed like it had been weeks since he’d heard from Captain Spartan and his ground combat team. In reality, they’d been gone no more than a 
day, but he was becoming impatient. The fleet was ready, but the more information he received from the Captain of ANS Minotaur, the more he worried about moving any closer. Captain Lewis’ engineers had discovered dormant code in 
their computer systems, but all the timestamps had been removed. The good news was that in theory the fleet could move into orbit without fear of losing systems and power. That didn’t mean the ground batteries were nullified. 
The new footage shown to him by the Captain had been truly shocking. The surface weapons had destroyed an entire cruiser with a single blast.
“I know what you’re thinking,” suggested Captain Schaffer as he watched the Admiral examine the video feeds of the attack on the small force, previously commanded by General Rivers.
“What? Oh, yes,” said a slightly confused sounding Admiral Churchill.
He turned around to the grim faced Captain.
“My real concern is what happens when Spartan contacts us? It will take us hours to get people on the surface to help, and by then it could be too late.”
The Captain looked worried at the implication.
“I understand that, Sir, but what happens if we sit in orbit and stay too long. Putting it bluntly, he has twenty-four people down there. We have thousands in our ships. Can we risk our vessels for a small group?”
Ko’mandor Gun heard his comments from where he stood waiting near the tactical station. At the mention of Spartan, he snorted in derision.
“Gun, you have something to add?” asked Admiral Churchill.
Gun looked up to them and nodded slowly.
“Yeah. It’s not just Spartan down there. It could be all the men and women taken hostage or hiding out. We abandon them, and we risk thousands.”
The Admiral looked back at the video feed one last time and froze the image on the first weapon impact. His engineers suggested it was a combination atomic device mixed with something else. They were vague, but he understood 
why, they simply had no idea. The weapon was fast, guided and capable of tactical nuclear levels of power.
“Look, I don’t like any of the options, but we aren’t here to run this mission based on possibilities. Spartan will get the guns offline. He’s never failed before. According to my calculations, if he landed safely, he should be 
at the enemy compound by now. I want this taskforce in orbit and scanning the surface. All ships will have their crew and systems ready for immediate withdrawal from the area if there are signs of danger.”
“But, Sir!” pleaded Captain Schaffer.
Admiral Churchill shook his head.
“No. We will do all we can to mitigate any dangers from the surface. Recheck our systems and post extra crew at the key part of each ship. Any signs of failure, and they can take manual control of lost systems. Upon arrival, I 
want all reconnaissance drones and fighter cover to move into lower orbit and run missile decoy duty.”
Commander Malone, the ship’s XO, sighed at the news, but he seemed less appalled at the plan than his Captain.
“Move to it, people, I intend on starting the engines in the next twenty minutes.”
* * *
Teresa and Spartan waited inside the cover of the tree line and checked area of rocks one last time. It was the first clear area and section of sky they had seen in the seven hours since leaving the compound, and Spartan was 
getting desperate about sending a signal. The longer they waited, the more worried he became about receiving help from the fleet.
“Looks clear,” said Teresa through their intercoms.
Spartan nodded, and the rest of the ASOG unit moved forward and past the rocks to secure the woodland beyond. Spartan clanked forward in his Vanguard armour and took up position on the rocks themselves. On his left leg was a 
sealed hatch, usually used to carry spare ammunition or fuel. He pressed the release button and withdrew the coded transmitter gear given to him by the Admiral prior to leaving. He’d already set the coding system but still 
checked his actual message he was about to send one last time. It was short but detailed and gave Admiral Churchill all the information they had on the enemy disposition, capabilities and the timing of their attack. The 
transmitter device was about the size of a small rucksack and featured a built-in automated tracker and encoded laser unit. The power source would expend all of its energy to send just a handful of messages, but the signal 
strength would be very powerful, and strong enough even to burn through the thick haze and out into space, providing he could locate a line of sight to the fleet. He, Teresa and three more of their team, were on a batch of rocks 
near the river while they waited.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Teresa.
He looked at her in her battered and partially damaged PSD suit. He looked like an armoured gorilla next to her, yet he made no more noise than her, primarily down to the outstanding level of engineering and resources laboured 
on the armour.
“I know it’s a risk, but we need their help.”
“What if we are too late? Or we fail?” she added.
“Then a lot of good people down here and up there will die.”
He checked the setting one final time and hit the release button. It took a few seconds while the unit updated its positioning. Provided the fleet was still waiting at the assembly area, the signal would reach them. Though it 
was wideband, the accuracy was critical, as the system was line of sight. A slight trajectory change of a single degree would miss the ships by kilometres. Even with the increasing arc, it would still need the level of accuracy 
only possible with an automated tracking head. He’d already be given clearance by General Rivers to do so, especially since seeing the video of the enemy reinforcements entering the camp. There were two main proposals concerning 
what the 0rb was. Most considered it was the exit point for some kind of manufacturing planet, whereas a smaller group were convinced it was a shielded entry point for an underground fortress or rallying point.
“There, it’s done,” he said calmly.
He was about to step down when the red failure light blinked three times.
“What?” he muttered in confusion.
“What is it?” asked Teresa.
Spartan bent down and pressed the button to open up his thickly armoured helm. The thick, musky air rushed inside, and he felt as though he was inhaling soup. He kept calm and examined the unit and its log screen.
“I don’t understand. There is no signal lock at the rendezvous location.”
Teresa bent down and examined it as well before looking up to Spartan.
“Why?”
Sergeant Lovett spotted the commotion and moved closer to hear the end of their conversation.
“Either they are unable to respond, or unwilling,” he suggested.
Spartan nodded in agreement.
“True. The signal lock has to be confirmed by a return transmission. I bet the Admiral has banned all outgoing signals in case they are detected down here. Come on, all we can do is assume it worked. Once we have the guns down, 
we can do a wide area scan and see if we can spot the ships.”
Teresa looked at him oddly.
“Spartan, you’re serious? We can’t detect vessels that far away. The gear can only pick up ships in orbit that are broadcasting friendly IFF signals.”
Spartan smiled at her.
“Let’s hope they are there when we need them, then.”
He nodded to Sergeant Kowalski who packed the unit back up it its rugged mounting and slung it on his back. He and the rest of them moved back from the rocks and into the jungle. They had already pushed ahead of the main force 
to carry out this task and quickly returned to their previous course. Spartan and his small force of reinforcements mixed in with Teresa’s ASOG unit to form a motley vanguard unit to move ahead of the rest of the force. It 
hadn’t taken much persuasion to encourage General Rivers to organise a counterattack on the enemy compound. What had surprised Spartan was that the General had made them abandon their own base in its entirety. It reminded him of 
the old saying of’ burning your own ships’, and he just hoped they wouldn’t be forced to retreat back to a base that no longer existed.
“Still, if we lose here, what will a few wooden barriers do for us?”
The marines, soldiers, Vanguards and Jötnar moved in a loose line on a trail that ran parallel with the direction of the retreating Zealots. From where they were now, Spartan could just about make out the heat signature of three 
men, each still running to catch-up with the last of the four-legged machine that clambered its way back. The mission was a simple one. They would identify the weakest part of the enemy base, and under the cover of an all out 
assault, Spartan and a select team would infiltrate the site and disable or destroy the tracking system and weapons. Once the guns were down, the fleet could move into position and deploy five companies of ground troops plus 
provide air cover.
“General, we have the enemy in sight. According to your maps, we’re two kilometres from the nearest mound in their compound.”
There was a short delay before the General responded.
“Good work, keep moving forward. Any sign of them bringing in reinforcements yet?”
“Negative, Sir, but I am picking up increasing power levels ahead. It must be the dome and its power sources.”
They continued onwards with the General and Captain Carlos bringing up the bulk of the forces in three columns, comprising of nearly a hundred men and women each. Only half were trained combatants, but today each of them carried 
whatever weapons they’d been able to recover from the bodies of the Zealots. It was one of the rare occasions where Alliance personnel could reclaim old Confederate weapons from those taken by the enemy.
* * *
Teresa reached the tree line before the rest of the ASOG team and kept her head down while scanning for enemy forces. Sergeant Lovett was with her, and Spartan brought up the rest of the mixed vanguard of units.
“What do you think?” asked Lovett.
Teresa continued checking the enemy position with multiple optical modes. The thermal imaging worked fine for the Zealots and the workers but picked up almost nothing from the machines.
“I don’t like it. They are still working on the dome, but look over there.” She pointed off to the right where the dome was located.
Sergeant Lovett turned his head and spotted the light glinting off a large number of the multi-legged machines and at least a hundred Biomechs. Through the magnified optics on his PDS armour, he could see these Biomechs were 
substantially different to those like the Jötnar. They were more heavily armoured, and each group stayed close to one of the larger machines.
“Is it me, or the machines look like they are in charge here?” he suggested.
“Yeah, looks that way.”
Agent Johnson, the man from the Kerberos Underground that had joined their small unit, checked the base with his binoculars. Unlike the others, he wore a much lighter suit that was often used by paramilitary forces and police 
tactical units. The armour was lighter and rather than a fully fitted helm, he instead wore a low-profile ventilator and helmet.
“Yeah, I’ve seen these defensive deployments before on Kerberos. A few of the facilities we hit were guarded by Union troops. They don’t rotate the guards like we would. Instead, they move one at a time. Makes them damned 
difficult to attack.”
Spartan nodded while watching the enemy. Agent Johnson appeared to be correct, as he watched a single Zealot move away to be quickly replaced by a similarly equipped man. The Zealots seemed agitated about something, and that was 
when he spotted the surviving machine that had attacked their compound in the jungle.
“Crap, look!” he said.
The machine was stood next to a trio of other similar machines. They were moving their limbs as if discussing something important. That was when Spartan saw the form of a tall man wearing armour and a long flowing robe.
“That’s him!” said Teresa excitedly.
A group of Zealots, all carrying rifles, ran up to the robed figure, bowed and then ran off towards the large group of machines at the dome.
“That’s who?”
“Pontus,” she replied. “I think he might be their leader. If not, he’s pretty high up.”
Agent Johnson pointed off to the right-hand side of the identified man.
“Have you seen the machines over there? Look!”
The larger of the machines was herding a group of the prisoners into a loose line and moving them around the entrance to one of the small mountains.
“No, they must be onto us. Look, they are positioning prisoners around their key installations. Get yourselves ready, we need to get this operation moving.”
A short distance behind them was the rustling of leaves that marked the approach of General Rivers and the first of the three columns of troops from their own compound. Spartan checked the horizon and paid specific attention to 
the nearest of the small mountains surrounding the dome. He turned back and looked at their small group before connecting to the secure channel being used by the commanders of the Alliance ground forces.
“General, are you receiving me?” he asked.
“Affirmative, loud and clear,” came back the quick response.
Spartan nodded and looked at the enemy compound once more before continuing.
“The dome is being well protected by Biomechs, troops and those machines. It looks like they are preparing for something, maybe our attack. I suggest you start the assault against the most remote hill position. I will move my 
team into the ruins in front of the dome. When we have the chance, we’ll storm it and set out thermite charges.”
“Understood. I’m moving 1st Company into the tree line to protect our left flank, 2nd Company will initiate the attack, and 3rd Company will be held in reserve. Good luck.”
“You too, Sir.”
He looked to Teresa and the motley group of marines, technicians, Vanguards and Khan, who always stood out compared to the rest.
“This is it then, let’s get into position before the General lights the place up.”
He moved off with Khan, Teresa and Sergeant Lovett. The remainder followed along with the extra equipment plus several crates of charges. They reached the point where Teresa had set up the monitoring point in the rubble and 
ruins in front of the dome when the crackle of gunfire came from behind them. As one, the entire group threw themselves down and crawled behind any cover they could find. Spartan looked back and could see in the far distance the 
dark shapes of scores of marines and crew storming the hillside. They seemed to be covering ground very quickly. He almost smiled until the grinding sound of machines nearby indicated a large group of the multi-legged beasts and 
their Biomech and Zealots warriors were relocating to meet the attack.
“Do we attack?” asked Khan.
Spartan shook his head, lifting himself slightly to look at the orb. They were still a good distance away, and a number of ruined buildings blocked their path. More worrying was the sight of four of the machines still waiting 
outside and at least thirty gun toting Zealots.
Where are the Biomechs?
That was when he spotted the armoured creatures inching their way through the ruins and towards his hidden unit. Most of them must have gone to assist in the battle, but he could see five, possibly six of the great beasts. They 
moved differently to the ones he had seen before, and it was clear they were fitted with more equipment and armour. His gut instinct told him these were the next iteration of the Biomechs; stronger, better protected and 
presumably indoctrinated by the machines or the Zealots to fight. Since he had sent the signal from Terra Nova, every single connected Biomech to the AI Hub had lost it’s programming and reverted to its natural state. More than 
that, the signal had permanently destroyed the programmable section of their minds, making it impossible for them to be enslaved in such a way again. As he watched them, one stopped and stared directly at him.
Oh, great!
He flicked the switch inside his Vanguard armour to activate the arm-mounted L48 rifles.
“On my command,” he whispered quietly through the comms unit.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
With the fall of Terra Nova, it was assumed the Church of Echidna had been destroyed. The collapse of the Union, the freeing of the Biomechs, and finally the systematic slaughter of those Zealots still fighting should have 
marked the end. Instead, the events at Hyperion showed the reverse was true. Echidna was much more than a symbol, and the leaked reports on the incident there described something truly unexpected.
Holy Icons
General Rivers watched from the tree line as the first two platoons rushed across the open ground and reached the entrance to the mountain structure. The remaining marines fired at any enemy that dared to try and halt their 
progress. In the first minute, it looked as if they had achieved total surprise, until the troops from closer to the dome turned and counterattacked. Just a few more minutes, and both sides were bogged down in a firefight across 
a strip of land between the two landmarks. Captain Carlo stood nearby and was busy coordinating the snipers and sustained fire that would keep the advance party alive.
“General, 1st Platoon have control of the entrance, should they move inside?”
The General shook his head.
“No, we just need to keep them busy enough for Spartan to do his job. Tell them to secure access to the place. Send in the next platoon to move inside. We have to keep this area clear and ready for withdrawal.”
Captain Carlos moved back a few metres and organised the next wave of thirty people. This group were a fifty-fifty mix of Navy crew and marines. All were armed, but the selection of weapons was variable. One thing he was aware 
of was the almost complete lack of heavy weapons. With just a few words, they moved out from the cover of the trees and ran the gauntlet of the Zealots’ gunfire. Two were cut down, but the rest made it to the great entrance to 
the mountain. They slipped inside and vanished from view. The ground between the trees and the mountain was a mixture of flat terrain, rocks and low ruins from distant buildings.
“Captain, get bodies out there. We need to stop them reinforcing the mountain.”
As the marines moved out, a great trembling motion shook the ground. He looked to his left and watched two of the mechanical machines move from the dome and start their inexorable course towards their position. He almost froze 
as the first opened fire with pintle mounted heavy weapons. They struck with the same degree of firepower as the coilguns being used by the ASOG troopers. Part of one of the buildings ripped apart and smashed a fully armoured 
marine to the ground.
* * *
The Biomech had been watching Spartan for almost a minute; at least he assumed that was what it was doing. The others in the group continued to pick their way through the rubble as if they were looking for something. Teresa 
watched from her position behind a low, badly smashed wall when she noticed where the nearest Biomech was stood.
“Oh...great! It’s the package I left behind. They must have picked up its signal.”
It took Spartan a few seconds before he realised what she had actually been talking about.
Right, the camera she left.
He looked to his left and out into the distance where another group of Zealots and one machine was heading in their direction. Off to the right, the firefight had now expanded from the hillside and down to the tree line as 
General Rivers used his troops as best as possible to demonstrate against their forces. A crackle of energy rippled down the hills and to the dome just as he’d seen on the video feed.
“Damn, that means another one of those machines is coming through,” he said quietly to the rest of his team. “We need to get in there now and stop them, or they’ll keep bringing in reinforcements.”
He selected the channel to speak with General Rivers and was immediately greeted by the sound of gunfire and explosions.
“Spartan, what’s happening there? Have you disabled the guns?”
“Not yet, Sir, it’s the dome. They are bringing in more troops. If we don’t stop them, they’ll overrun our positions before we can finish our mission.”
There was a short pause before the General came back.
“I have a platoon inside, along with a tech team, and they think it’s possible to isolate the tracking system by knocking out one of the power generators near the base of the mountain. They have already hit resistance inside, 
but they think it’s possible.”
“How?” Spartan asked.
“The tracking station is on the other side of this hill. When they take out the targeting unit, they will only be able to manually attack the guns, so it will make them all but useless. If I do this, it means I’ll need to keep 
this area clear of the enemy while they do their job.”
“They are already moving in on you, Sir. Don’t forget, you’re already carrying out the diversion.”
Teresa crawled over to him and tapped him on the helmet.
“If we hit the orb, I bet they will turn back to fight us.”
Spartan looked at her, but he already knew she was right. The orb was clearly the single most important part of this compound, and when they initiated an attack, the enemy would surely throw everything they had at them.
Damn, we’ve done this the wrong way around!
“Okay, General. We will assault the orb and draw as many of them onto us as possible. If you can spare any troops, send them through the woods to reinforce us.”
There was a short crackle but no response from the General. Spartan wanted to wait, but the Biomechs were still there, and one had found Teresa’s equipment. With one quick movement, it ripped the unit from the ground and held it 
aloft.
“Now!” he shouted and lifted himself from the rubble. Khan was up already, and without even bothering to shoot, he rushed the nearest of the enemy. The two creatures collided with a loud crunch. Spartan took a step forward and 
blasted the Biomech to the left with a burst from each of his arms. The L48 rifles tore chunks from the creature’s armour and flesh, but it still took nearly twenty of them to bring it down. The rest of the unit spread out but 
kept low, firing short bursts from their weapons and made short work of the last two. Khan straightened his back and roared at the sight of his defeated foe. He ripped the large firearm from its arms and pushed on to the orb.
“Get to the dome and secure it, fast!” shouted Spartan.
It was an incredibly risky stratagem, as the dome was situated in the heart of the compound. The only good thing was that most of the machines, zealots and Biomechs had already left to do battle with the forces of General 
Rivers. But two machines remained as well as nearly thirty Zealots. Spartan ran forward and was amongst them while they tried to organise themselves. Bullets rained down on his armour, but he did his best to ignore them and 
smashed through three of them to reach the first machine. Two of his Vanguards came with him, taking full advantage of the thick armour and heavy weapons to clear a path to the orb.
“Spartan!” shouted Khan, and instinctively, he turned to spot a Biomech swinging a glaive at his head. He lurched to the side, but the blade still scraped down his armour and embedded in a shoulder joint, luckily causing no 
damage. He lifted his left arm, only to find it grabbed by the four–legged machine. It was at least twice his height, and the side-mounted guns were already tracking towards him. Khan leapt onto the Biomech and dragged it down, 
finally freeing him to twist one of them into the line of fire.
“Bring it down!” he shouted.
The other two Vanguards moved around the machine and fired and stabbed with their razor sharp blades fitted to their arms. The machine was tough, and it took a dozen high-power rounds from the ASOG troopers to finally bring it 
down. The last machine forced itself on the group and managed to crush two of its own Zealots, and it made for Spartan. He lifted up his arms to fire, but it was then that he spotted more than thirty of the smaller eight-legged 
spider-like machines Teresa had described. They must have been hidden in the rubble behind the dome, and they threw themselves into the small group with savage abandon, hacking down marines and Zealots at will.
“Captain, the guns!” called out Kowalski on the intercom.
Spartan looked up to see one of the massive gun batteries turning on its raised platform and start tracking something up in the sky. His attention was pulled away as one of the smaller machines appeared next to the even larger 
machine and stabbed at him, managing to embed one of its razor sharp blades into his visor. As the sensors flashed with warnings, he looked to his right to see Khan down on one knee but still hacking and shooting with his looted 
Biomech weapon. The marines were putting up a hell of a fight, but already they were outnumbered and still thirty metres from their objective. He lurched to the side and fired a long burst of gunfire at the smaller machine, 
watching two of its arms ripped off.
“Yeah!” he shouted and lifted his arm to fire at the gun battery. He was only able to let loose four ineffectual shots before he was forced to duck and avoid another strike.
Damn it! Guns won’t bring down those things.
* * *
Admiral Churchill waited with the patience of a saint as the crew ran through a detailed scan of the surface. It was risky, but the warning signs had been there the second they arrived in orbit. Scrambled radio signals and heat 
blooms flashed around a small mountainous area on the ground. His gut instinct told him it was a fight of some kind, and if Spartan was alive, he was convinced the man would be right in the middle of it.
“Well, what have we got?” he asked impatiently.
His XO was stood near the tactical officer, double-checking all the information that was coming in.
“Sir, you’re right. It’s definitely a ground battle.”
The warning alarms started up inside the ship. It was the vessel’s automated countermeasures system.
“Incoming fire, it’s the ground batteries,” called out the tactical officer.
Admiral Churchill pulled the intercom from its mount and took a short breath before speaking. He knew this was the fight every single one of them was dreading. All he could do was promise himself that this time it would be 
different.
“This is Admiral Churchill. Commence ground operations. All ships prepare for bombardments. I want every gun, missile, decoy and fighter between us, and those weapons. We will lose no ships today!”
It was a short order, but the words galvanised the fleet into action. Every man and woman was ready, and it took just seconds for the first of the shuttles and landing craft to launch from the hull of the Santa Cruz and begin 
their descent to the ground battle. Even as the first two projectiles hurtled up from the ground, a dozen drones and fighters were moving in on an intercept course. Every single railgun and missile system in the fleet trained in 
on the approaching projectiles and waited to fire.
* * *
Somehow Spartan and just over half of his team had survived and beaten back the bloody assault around the orb. It was already starting to glow, however, and more and more enemy troops were appearing from the bases of the other 
hills and from inside the many ruined buildings. A quick glance told him they faced seven of the large machines, up to fifty of the smaller ones, and an untold number of the Biomechs and Zealots. He was starting to think the 
attack on the dome was perhaps not his most tactically astute of ideas in the last few years.
“Everybody get to the dome, and find any cover you can!” he barked.
The small group covered the ground quickly and placed their wounded behind whatever shattered walls and rubble they could find. At this distance, it was clear the dome was much bigger than any of them had suspected. He moved 
inside and lifted his visor so that he could see past the four large cracks now obscuring his vision. Teresa took up cover behind one of the largest columns and turned around to watch the approach of the enemy reinforcements. 
Spartan tried to contact the General, but once more he was greeted with static. He looked inside the dome and was surprised to see banks of computer panels. Two men, both Zealots, completely ignored him and tapped a series of 
buttons in a separate rush. Spartan wasn’t sure what they were doing, but he was sure it wasn’t good.
“Get back!” he roared.
Both ignored him, and Khan staggered towards them, leaving a trail of blood from a vicious looking leg wound. He grabbed the first man around the throat and hurled him at the wall. The second tried to run, but he lifted his 
Biomech firearm and sent a single deadly shot into the man’s back. Whatever technology lay behind the weapon was uncertain, but the Zealot was smashed to the floor in a pool of blood. Khan turned back and grinned at Spartan. He 
respirator was off and blood ran down his cheek.
“You crazy bastard!” laughed Spartan. “You can breathe okay down here?”
Khan nodded, evidently amused that Spartan found it difficult. Kowalski had already moved inside, along with one of the techs from the Santa Cruz. They examined the displays and started to work through the screen of data.
“I can’t believe this,” said Kowalski as he brought up a map of dots.
Spartan leaned in to look, but Sergeant Lovett was waving off to the right. He moved to the gap where he was kneeling and looked out. There were now hundreds of the enemy, and all of them assembling around the dome, but so far 
none of them had attacked them directly. He looked over to his left and could see the firefight still going on around the hill.
What are they waiting for?
“They’re mobilising for a push, I think,” said the Sergeant.
Spartan wasn’t so sure. It was obvious to him that half of their number would be enough to stop them. There was simply no logical reason for them to just wait around and watch them disable the dome.
“Watch your zones, they will attack soon. Hit the fastest ones first, buy us all the time you can.”
He then turned back to Kowalski who was still working through screen of data.
“Well, what is it, and can you stop more of them coming through?” he asked.
“I can’t tell you what it is, but I can tell you it is an entrance to somewhere. This map is a list of destinations.”
“Like an elevator?” suggested Spartan.
“Maybe. Anyway, I can’t shut it down from here. Those two bastards have already locked us out. It has to be configured from the other side.”
Spartan looked less than impressed.
“You’re kidding?”
Kowalski looked back to him.
“With enough time, I might be able to hack this.”
A loud mechanical scream came from the horde of Zealots, machines and Biomechs that were waiting outside. The Zealots began chanting. It was something Spartan hadn’t heard before, but there had been rumours of something similar 
in the fighting on Euryale prior to the arrival of the relief marines. Spartan checked his ammunition counters and was mortified to see he was down to only a quarter of what he had started with.
“Wait for it!” he called, now expecting the worst. Instead, the sound of General Rivers greeted him on his suit’s intercom.
“Spartan, the guns are going down any second!” His voice was muffled, and it sounded as if he must be inside the hill, as well as Captain Carlos. A loud bang came from the side of the dome, and he leaned out to spot streaks of 
blue electricity flashing at different points along the side of the hill. They were quickly followed by ripples from a dozen small explosions coming from inside.
“What’s that?” shouted Teresa.
“The guns, they should be down!” replied Spartan.
“Like it’s going to make much difference. Look,” said Khan with an arm extended out and to the open space around them. The mass of hostile forces had broken into a run, and it would be just seconds before they crashed into the 
small band of defenders.
Gods, we’ll never hold this place!
Spartan lifted both of his arms and opened fire, along with the rest of the unit. The skill, accuracy and combined firepower of the unit were impressive. At the front were the smaller machines, and it took a good number of 
rounds to bring each one down. Every few seconds a substantial blast from the ASOG’s coilguns ripped holes through their lines. Even so, scores of them continued forward.
“If we get out of this, I’m gonna push for artillery support!” shouted Sergeant Lovett.
Yeah, do that!
“Why aren’t they firing?” asked Teresa.
Spartan didn’t have time to respond, but he suspected they were loath to damage the structure. The nearest machine made it to one of the many openings at the base of the dome and pushed inside. Spartan blocked its way and 
slammed the tip of his left fist into the centre of its torso. With a flash, it shuddered and dropped to the ground. Two Zealots came in from behind and hit his legs with rifle fire, setting off more internal alarms. A quick 
burst of fire from Teresa dealt with them, but it wouldn’t be enough.
“What’s the plan, Captain? We’re going to get overrun down here!” cried Kowalski.
Spartan hacked and stabbed as he did his best to stop anything coming in through the gap between the pillars. The other Vanguards did the same, using their bulk and armour to shore up the ways in while the ASOG troopers and 
marines filled in the gaps. For a second, Spartan was hopeful, but the movement on the other hills brought him back to earth. He could see swarms of the machines coming out like bugs leaving a nest. Behind him the orb started to 
glow, and a high intensity buzzing sound rippled through the dome. Spartan turned for a second and caught Kowalski’s gaze.
“Spartan! We need to go through and shut it down on the other side!” he screamed.
He took a step backwards, but two Biomechs forced their way up to him and reached in to strike him. Khan leapt in and attacked them with a glaive from one of the fallen creatures. Spartan wanted to stay and help his friend, but 
he knew the orb would allow even more of them to arrive. He spun around and moved to the light. Kowalski grabbed one of the rucksacks and jumped inside. With a white flash, he vanished from view.
“Kowalski, can you read me?” he called out, but the intercom was silent apart from the continuing garbled messages running through the battle. He looked back one last time to see the sight of his tiny unit fighting off the 
overwhelming sea of machines and flesh. Gunfire, grenades and blades flashed, yet somehow they were holding. The larger and slower four-legged machines were still clanking forward, and he knew just one of those would be able to 
crush them. He turned back to the orb and stepped closer, only to see the shape of a group of Zealots facing him in what looked like a mirror. He jumped at them, but instead fell through the orb and into a dark, grimly lit 
cavern. He staggered, and only the quick thinking Kowalski stopped him from crashing into the floor.
“Where the hell are we?” he asked.
Kowalski shook his head.
“No idea, but the gravity is slightly higher, and the air composition is different.”
Spartan was confused, but he quickly remembered the Zealots. He spun around, but there was nothing behind him except the glowing orb.
“Yeah, they jumped through as we came in. They’ll be fighting our people already, so we don’t have much time.”
Spartan looked inside the place they had just arrived in. It was a wide cavern, easily large enough to fit a small ship inside of. It felt slightly damp, and the temperature was colder than the place he had just left. Kowalski 
was already checking a series of computer displays, but Spartan wanted information. He stepped further away from the orb and looked out into the depths of the cavern. He could see lines and lines of shapes, and each of them at 
equal distances apart and lined up like soldiers on parade. Every hundred metres or so was a much larger shape that reminded him of something. Then one of them moved, and he instantly recognised it as one of the four-legged 
machines.
“What?” he muttered inside his suit.
Kowalski heard him and turned around to see the great horde of thousands of machines moving as if they had just awoken. On a ledge, perhaps two hundred metres away, were a group of figures that were animated and pointing back 
down to him and Spartan.
“Uh, I think we should get going!” he said and then moved back to the computers.
Spartan continued watching the shapes and tapped the mission recorder on his suit to collect a record of everything he could see. Out in the middle of the hall, hundreds of metres away was an even larger shape; like that of a 
Biomech, but slowly lifting to a height of incredible proportions. It started off as just a few metres but then increased to more than ten and continued upwards. It stretched out its arms like some kind of foul metal demon.
“Uh, Kowalski. Can you shut it down?” he asked nervously.
“I need a few more minutes. The security on this thing is insane. I think it is locked down on our location back on the surface.”
Spartan shook his head at the shape of the monstrous machine as it finished taking shape. It reminded him of some sickening combination of a Biomech, machine and the half woman, half serpent icon of Echidna he had seen on so 
many Zealots before. Around its feet ran scores of people, all of them hooded and chanting.
No way, it can’t be?
He looked back to Kowalski.
“Forget it, we need to shut this thing down. Help me set the charges, then we get the hell out of this place!”
* * *
The first two assaults had been driven back with heavy casualties. General Rivers had now deployed all of his reserves to the ground around the entrance of the hill. Those inside were already working their way back out but were 
being harassed by an almost limitless number of the enemy. He and his small squad of marine guards moved from the tree line and into the cover offered by the ruins. Off into the distance, he could make out the hundreds of 
enemies that appeared to be besieging the dome.
Spartan surely cannot succeed amongst all that?
Another wave of Zealots and machines moved to attack his own position, and the dozens of defenders did their best to hold them off with gunfire. He couldn’t fail to notice the horde of enemy forces moving from the others hill. 
They could be no more than a few minutes away, and deep down he knew he couldn’t hold them back.
Should we fall back to the jungle?
His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice from the entrance to the hill. It instantly grabbed his attention, and he twisted his head to see Captain Carlos and two of the Terra Nova soldiers appear. All three were covered 
in filth and blood, but at least they had managed to shutdown the tracking hardware. They leapt from the cover and ran the short distance to where he and his forces were dug in. From the hill emerged more of their unit.
“Some of you made it back, then?” he asked grudgingly.
“Sir. Oh, and General, we’ve brought friends!” said the Captain, and he slumped down near the General and lifted his rifle.
From out of the hill emerged the remainder of the Captain’s unit, but behind them followed small groups of people. Some wore civilian clothing, others rags. But the majority wore old military uniforms. He recognised a few as 
Alliance Navy, but a large group were Confederate militia from Avagana, the colony back on Prime. Most were carrying captured weapons, and every one of them was out for revenge. They poured out into the ruins and rubble around 
the mountain’s base and joined the defenders in the battle.
“Excellent work, son, damn fine piece of soldiering.”
He looked back to the enemy, and his smile vanished at the sight of three of the four-legged machines plus hundreds of smaller ones and a similar number of Biomechs. They’d regrouped and were rushing across the open ground.
So the Zealots are the junior partners here.
A volley of rockets from near the rear of their formation whistled overhead and exploded in the tree line.
“Hold them back! Don’t let them break through!” he shouted.
Two bright lights flashed from the nearest of the huge machines, and streams of heavy cannon rounds smashed around the General and his entourage. Two marines were shredded by the firepower, and the blast itself blew him out from 
his cover and against a low wall.
“General!” cried out of his surviving guards, but he was also cut to ribbons by repeated gunfire from the approaching enemy.
Flashes ripped through General Rivers’ PDS suit as the incendiary rounds fired by the enemy tore into the plating. His helmet and visor were badly scorched and cracked but not enough to stop him spotting the movement in the 
jungle. Another round struck him in the shoulder and pinned him to the wall. The suit pumped drugs directly into his bloodstream as well as flooding the interior with a gas based clotting agent. With a supreme effort, he lifted 
himself up to a seating position and drew the secondary sidearm from the mounting on his leg. It was nothing more than the marine issue pistol, but it kept him in the fight.
“Stop them!” shouted an unseen marine before four Biomechs stormed through the frontline and into their defences. He took aim at the closest and squeezed the trigger. In a blur, a shape leapt from the jungle and smashed into the 
flank of the Biomech. He shook his head, but his vision was already fading out from blood loss. He strained his eyes once more but couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Biomechs...on our side?
* * *
Kowalski was almost finished setting the thermite charges around the supporting pillars and walls surrounding the orb. Spartan had wanted to destroy the computers, but Kowalski’s suggestion was to try and barricade the entire 
area off while causing more substantial damage. The charges themselves were highly powerful and capable of burning through even the toughest armour or structures. He had taken up position behind one of the pillars in the hope of 
avoiding being spotted, but it was pointless. They must have been seen on their way in, and the group on the higher ledge were still busy talking. From down below, the legions of the enemy were moving towards where he and 
Kowalski waited.
“Come on, man, they’ll be here in half a minute!”
Kowalski connected one last part to the bomb and hit the timer sequence. It started counting down as soon as he released his finger.
“Okay, done, let’s get out of here!”
The two moved to the orb and not a moment too soon. A great roar like that of a screaming banshee echoed through the chamber, and each of the creatures and machines paused as the large mechanical monster lifted itself out from 
the lower level and towards the orb. Simultaneously, the power surging into the glowing ball increased, and the size of the orb doubled in an instant.
“Stop them!” screamed the man up on the ledge.
“Pontus, you asshole!” shouted Spartan, and he loosed off a short burst at the man before Kowalski pushed him into the orb. His last view was of the rounds smashing around the men, but he had no idea what was going on, or if he 
had hit any of them. As quickly as they had arrived, and he was back in the moist, blood soaked interior of the dome. It was like a scene from hell itself as marines, Biomechs, Vanguards and even unarmed civilians fought at 
close range. Bodies littered the site, and he had barely any idea who was friend or foe.
“Watch it!” shouted Kowalski as a blade slammed into Spartan’s helmet and added yet another large crack in the thickened glass. He lifted up his armoured arms just like a boxer that was covering up in a fight and deflected as 
many blows as he possibly could.
“This is Captain Spartan to all Alliance forces. The dome is about to blow. Fall back to the tree line. I repeat, all Alliance forces withdrawal, now!”
He charged at the nearest group of machines, and the small number of survivors inside joined him in one desperate charge from out of the complex. He spotted Khan and a group of a dozen Biomechs hacking and stabbing at one of the 
four-legged machines they had somehow tipped onto its side while marines fired at a distant group of Zealots who were falling back to the cover of the ruins. A small group of marines were pinned down near the outside of the dome 
by the gunfire of the last remaining upright machine. Its heavy pintle mounted guns blasted at them and kept them down. One of them was Teresa.
“Everybody out! It’s going to blow!” screamed Spartan through both his intercom and the fitted loudhailers on his Vanguard suit. Most of those that could move were already falling back, but the vicious melee made coordinated 
action almost impossible. He turned back and hacked his way through anybody or any thing that stood in his path. That was when the roof of the dome stated to lift, and the enemy reinforcements rushed out like water falling over 
a cliff. Even as the stream of machines and Biomechs turned the tide against them, a much more terrifying threat appeared. The great mechanical beast, the very essence and form of Echidna herself filled the light with its 
darkened silhouette.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The new colonies of Epsilon Eridani, Gliese 876 and Procyon became part of the first wave of colonial expansion following the end of the War. With the resources of the newly founded Alliance, and the technological leaps brought 
about from that war, these new colonies would increase the wealth, population and importance of the more remote parts of the Alliance. The five star systems would become the core of humanity’s greatest empire in history.
The New Colonies
Spartan reached the pinned down marines at the same time as a large calibre projectile slammed into his armoured leg and jammed the knee joint. He twisted and fell, landing just three metres from Teresa and the handful of their 
team still remaining. He tried to call out to her, but most of his systems were now failing. With the electronics gone, he lost the ability to use the communications or mechanics of the suit. He punched the eject button, and 
with a hiss the suit opened up like a clam. He stumbled forward and dropped to the floor. Without the protection of the suit, he was left with his Alliance overalls and thin body armour as used by most crew. His only weapon was 
his pistol, which he pulled out and raised to face the machine.
“Fall back!” shouted Captain Carlos as he broke from cover and led a party of about a dozen marines towards the jungle tree line. Lines of yellow and white tracers hit around them, and at least three rounds struck the Captain 
before an explosion threw him through the air and to the ground. His team tried to pull him to safety, but two more casualties forced them to break and run.
“Spartan!” called out a bloodied and wounded Teresa.
A line of bullet impacts marked the armour on her right leg, and blood covered her chest and left arm. He took careful aim at the machine, pulled the trigger, only for the entire machine to explode and spread shards of debris 
across the battlefield. A flight of Alliance Lightning MKII fighters passed overhead and split up to circle over the battlefield. Right behind them came six shuttles, and behind them another two landing craft, and all of them 
heading for the open ground near the wounded General Rivers.
“Keep your head down, Spartan!” shouted Kowalski even though he couldn’t see the marine anywhere near him.
He threw himself as low as he could and put his arm over his face to protect himself from flying debris. A massive blast ripped the ground behind them, and he twisted around to see the bright flash around the orb and the huge 
mechanical machine moving through. Flames and blue flashes ripped from all directions, and then as quickly as it started, the dome structure vanished below a heap of dust and rubble. Another shuttle swept down and landed a 
little closer, but a rocket struck it as it landed. Luckily, the impact did little more than blow a metre-wide hole in its wing. The doors opened and out jumped a full squad of heavily armed and armoured Jötnar troopers.
Two more Thunderbolts strafed the ground and created a path of destruction in the enemy ranks so that one of the large landing craft could land. Even as it moved in, the many door gunner mounts fired at anybody foolish enough to 
stay near. The loading ramps dropped down and scores of Alliance marines charged out, and each keen for action, itching to bring down the enemy as fast as possible.
As the battle raged, Spartan pulled himself closer to Teresa and pulled open her visor. Her face was anguished, but she was conscious and her face still had colour.
“How are you?” he asked, trying his best to not sound too worried.
Another landing craft came down and disgorged scores more troops into the fray. With the dome destroyed, the surviving machines slowed and shutdown one at a time until the only enemy forces remaining were the Biomechs and the 
Zealots. A small group of Zealots broke from the battle and charged at the fallen ASOG troopers. Spartan turned his handgun onto the first, but it took all of his remaining ammunition to bring him to the ground. Six more almost 
made it before Ko’mandor Gun and his retinue of Jötnar cut them apart with a long burst of gunfire. The leader of the creatures nodded to Spartan and then moved over to Khan who was busy hacking down a large group of enemy 
Biomechs who refused to retreat.
“I need a rest,” muttered Spartan as he pulled himself up next to Teresa and watched Major Daniels’ reinforcements mop up the last survivors. It was short and bloody, but in just a few minutes, the enemy were in full retreat and 
rushing to the hills or the jungle to escape.
* * *
“Are you ready?” asked Major Daniels as he looked at Teresa and Spartan. Both of them wore their off-duty fatigues as well as a number of low profile bandages over their numerous light wounds. It was a far cry from the battered 
and smashed armour they had been wearing a week earlier. She looked at him and smiled. Stood beside them was Kowalski, who somehow had managed to avoid any serious injury.
“Come on, then,” he said and then stepped inside the main briefing room of ANS Santa Cruz. Scores of Alliance crew and civilians were packed inside and waiting patiently for them to enter. At the far end, he spotted General 
Rivers, as well as Major Daniels and a small group of Jötnar. They moved down the narrow strip and were followed by a small band of the other injured as they made their way down the podium. Spartan saw Sergeant Lovett to his 
right where he waited with his fiancée. Other faces he recognised, but there were many from colonies and ships he’d never taken a step aboard before. The audience brought their hands together as they reached the halfway mark. It 
was the first such ceremony Spartan had attended, and even after all his battles, it seemed odd to be there.
“I introduce to you the leaders of our newly formed Alliance Special Operations Group under the command of Major Daniels. These elite teams have been at the forefront of our continuing battle against those that seek to destroy 
our way of life.”
Major Daniels reached the podium first and moved up the steps to stand next to the assembled senior commanders. Admiral Churchill was present, along with a number of the ship commanders from the rest of the Taskforce. Admiral 
Churchill and General Rivers both shook his hand before indicating for him to take up his spot. Spartan and Teresa, on the other hand, were moved to the side where everybody could see them. General Rivers nodded to them both and 
then looked to the crowd.
“Captain Spartan and Sergeant Morato epitomise the skill, bravery and sacrifice of all those that have fought for our freedoms in the last years. They both joined the Marine Corps under unusual circumstances, and yet have become 
masters in their own right. After scores of battles and combat on a dozen worlds, they made it here and working in different fleets. Their actions on Hyperion, and those of the men and women that worked alongside them, have 
brought honour to the Alliance. He stepped forward and pinned a star shaped medal on the chest of each of them.
“These medals were the last of the Confederate Marine Corps medals to be cast before the start of the War, and I am proud to award them to two of our most important marines.”
He waited for a little while longer before adding one last point.
“I know both of you will argue, but this comes right from the top. The two of you will be taking a much-needed break from the military. You are granted a month’s leave, and the requirement to continue your enlistment is hereby 
revoked. If you stay, it will be as volunteers.”
While the crowd cheered, he saluted them both and indicated for Ko’mandor Gun to step closer. The Jötnar leader looked a little uncertain at the attention.
“Commander,” he started. “I was going to inform you of this news in private, but I think everybody here would like to hear it. I have received word from the Senate back on Terra Nova, regarding the status of Biomechs and Jötnar 
in the Alliance.”
He pulled out a datapad and held it in front of him to speak.
“As of eighteen-hundred hours today, Terra Nova Time, the Jötnar have been granted full and equal citizenship in the Alliance.”
The hall burst into shouts and applause, much to the surprise of the officers waiting around the podium. Gun himself seemed staggered by the announcement and took several seconds before lifting his right arm in the air and 
shouting to the ceiling.
“It would appear that videofeeds of the battle at the dome have been distributed throughout the Alliance by sources unknown in our fleet.”
He looked about, but it was clear he favoured the leak.
I bet it was you. Spartan thought wryly as he watched the General.
“Oh, and there is one other thing. The world of Hyperion is not an easy place to live. It is dangerous, has a painful environment for most of us, and is still the home to a large number of escaped Zealots and indoctrinated 
Biomechs. You have been offered the world as a homeland, if you wish it. This is being offered to you partly in recognition of your great achievements, but also your great sacrifices on behalf of the Alliance.”
The cheering started again, and Spartan stepped up to his old friend and grabbed his arm. The two looked out to the assembled troops and civilians, and for the first time there were joyous faces on those looking into the eyes of 
the synthetic creatures, assembled and training on the fire world of Prometheus. Spartan smiled at the good news but deep down he felt uneasy.
Why do I think the Jötnar are being given Hyperion to act as sentries in case those things manage to find a way back to that orb?
Teresa looked to him while the others continued to celebrate. She leaned over a few inches and spoke into his ear.
“Vacation? Where do you want to go?”
Spartan looked at her and smiled. It seemed like it had been years, perhaps decades, since he’d had free time where had absolutely nothing to do. For the first time he looked ahead to the future, and there was nothing in front 
of him that had to be done. For others that might have sounded wonderful, to Spartan though it was the exact opposite. Teresa looked at him and recognised the confusion and wanderlust she’d seen in his eyes many times before. He 
could see she was waiting patiently for an answer.
“Well, I suppose we could spend some time on Terra Nova. It’s supposed to be the oldest and most refined place in the Alliance.”
Teresa cocked her head slightly in amusement.
“You, sightseeing on Terra Nova? I was thinking of something a little more adventurous, but I would like to spend some time with our son and my family. I’ve already spoken to Major Daniels about that, and he says he will do his 
best to arrange for them to visit us as soon as possible.”
Gun heard their conversation and stepped towards them, placing his bulk in the way of their conversation. He looked at each of them.
“I’m planning on setting up hunting parties back on Hyperion. There are still a few religious maniacs and wild Biomechs that need taming. Interested?”
Spartan’s face seemed to light up at the news, and Teresa new instantly that their vacation was going to consist of hiding out in a mud-infested jungle filled with things that wanted to kill them. She smiled back at him.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way!”
* * *
Agent Johnson and two of his fellow interrogators from Kerberos looked back at the prisoner strapped to the table. The room was darkly lit, and on one side was a glossy wall that hid a two-way mirror behind which sat a dozen 
intelligence officers. He looked back to the man on the table and glanced at the scars on his cheek.
“I’ve already told you we know who you are, Chraige Attez. Your brother Typhon died on this very world, and your other brother, Pontus, is dead on Hyperion. Now tell me, why did we find workers from the Bone Mill amongst the 
dead at your compound on Hyperion?”
The man looked back at him with nothing but hate and contempt on his face.
“I see, you think that look scares me?”
Chraige Attez coughed and then smiled at Agent Johnson.
“You think you’ve won? This is nothing. Echidna has woken, and she will return. Nothing can stop her.”
Agent Johnson moved away and tapped a button to bring up a large image of the ruins on Hyperion, specifically the crater that was all that remained of the dome and the orb. Unexpectedly, there was no chamber of elevator around 
it. Next to the image he brought up the shape of the Anomaly, the great Spacebridge discovered towards the end of the War. Lastly, he brought up the devastated underground facility on Prime that had marked the start of the War. 
He looked at it for a short while before turning back to Chraige Attez.
“Your great saviour, the mechanical beast that tried to come through that dome, is gone. What I want to know is what links the now ruined sites on these colonies and the Spacebridge here?”
Chraige Attez laughed at him, enjoying the man’s apparent confusion.
“They are nothing!” he spat out, “Echidna can travel wherever she wants, in space or on the ground, and when she returns, you will all pay, every single one of you!”
Agent Johnson looked at the reflective mirror surface and raised an eyebrow before looking back to the prisoner. He walked back and continued his discussion. On the other side of the glass, the assembled men and women checked 
the information Agent Johnson and a dozen other intelligence assets had pooled together so far. Each of them wore dark, non-descript uniforms, and the classic mark of the military intelligence division. One woman, a tall, pale 
skinned woman nodded and tapped a button that brought up a live feed. It was Commander Anderson, the man in charge of Prometheus. The world housed factories, research labs and shipyards that had been reclaimed from the defeated 
enemy.
“Commander. We have confirmed the materials used at the three sites match the configuration of the artefact you have uncovered on Prometheus. Continue your excavation.”
There was a pause of several minutes while the group waited for the signal to be sent through the Spacebridge and then to Prometheus and back again. Commander Anderson looked as though he had heard nothing before finally 
speaking back to them.
“Understood. Based on my research, it would appear these sites are designed to operate as rifts much like the Anomaly itself. If we can get them working, my scientists believe they can recreate a small rift between two fixed 
points.”
The intelligence operative looked to her comrades who nodded in agreement.
“Agreed. Continue with your work, Commander, we will be in touch.”