“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 alle
giance 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.
Slaves of Hyperion (Star Crusades Uprising, Book 6) Page 5