“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 i
s 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.
Battle for Proxima Page 19