“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 com
munication 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!”
Battle for Proxima Page 9