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 h
itting 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 t
he 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.
Fall of Terra Nova Page 14