Slaves of Hyperion (Star Crusades Uprising, Book 6)

by Thomas, Michael G.

  “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 counter-measures.

  “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.