War Zone (Star Crusades: Mercenaries Book 5)

by Thomas, Michael G.

  "It's time to get the hell out of here," said Spartan, "We've got work to do."

  CHAPTER NINE

  Kha'Dri World Ship, Taxxu Prime, Centauri Alliance

  3 Hours Earlier

  Gun climbed up the metallic steps to the front of the waiting Jötnar Assault Suit. Even as his hands ran along the cool metal plating, he felt a shudder of excitement run through his body. He'd been built for this kind of action, and his body ached for the excitement and adrenalin rush that combat brought.

  Hello, old friend.

  There were no more than a handful of these units on the ship, as they were still being manufactured in the World Ship's automated factory. This was no mere piece of body armour, but a state-of-the-art motorised combat chassis, covered in layered armour with the same experimental chromatophore outer skin. At first glance, it looked like a bipedal excavating machine, but closer examination showed the extra armour plates and thick neck protection that rose up to almost the height of a wearer's ears. Retractable plates and integrated blades were out of the way, fitted neatly into movable mounts on the upper arms.

  "We have little time. Bypass standard prep drills and activate the cortex."

  With a final clunk, he pushed himself into the armour and stretched his muscles as it moved in around his PDS armour. The fit was intentionally tight, as the communication nodes lined up and attached to the same components inside the suit. His vision was obscured. The front of the head was fully encased in multiple layers of curved armour capable of deflecting a 12.7MM hardened slug from almost every angle. Gun had seen enough death in his life to know that even the simplest armour could make a decisive difference in an engagement.

  "Armour activated," said the computer, "Power levels nominal, actuators and reserve relays fully functional."

  Good. Damned good.

  He didn't bother checking the warning levels, apart from a cursory glance at the power and ammunition. There were a few amber alerts, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to look further. Working or not, he was taking the suit into action, and the main components were operational. The suit appeared fully charged, but it carried no ammunition for the left L56 Mark III heavy cannon. Gun walked along the operations level, a place now buzzing with energy as the odd mixture of marines and trainees rushed for their control harnesses. He passed them all, checking that each was doing what they needed to, while trying to not worry about the rest of the violence on the World Ship. He had a job to do, and worrying about things he couldn't change would just slow him down, or even worse, leave him paralysed with doubt.

  "Sir, do you need ammo for your guns?"

  Gun looked to the right and found a very young female technician standing there. She couldn't have been more than twenty years old, with short brown hair, no helmet, and her PDS armour over her tunic. Several sections were missing, and blood dripped from a wound to her flank, yet she continued doing her job as though nothing had happened.

  "Yes, I need boxes for both guns."

  "What are you running, Sir?"

  Gun checked once more and nodded to himself at seeing the right shoulder mount already beginning to charge. The XHEC-1 high-energy cannon took power from his suit, and as long as he had power, he could keep shooting.

  "Boxes for the L56."

  "Yes, Sir."

  Gun watched her move to the right, pull on several levers, and then wheel out a motorised platform the same height as her.

  "Please turn to the left."

  Gun did as she asked, and a moment later, the unit lifted up on its articulated frame. With a gentle clunk, it attached to the back of his armour and began loading on a set of four large ammunition boxes. One by one they rose up from the carrier unit, along the loading rails, and into the mounts on his suit. As each dropped into place, an indicator on the head up display showed they were correctly attached and fully functional. With the four and final units in position, the technician disconnected the rail unit and stepped back.

  "All loaded, Sir."

  "Good work."

  He stepped away, the heavy suit making a deep clunking sound as he crossed the operations deck. He watched the trainees heading for their harness pods and nodded to himself. A handful of marines waited, wearing full combat armour and equipped with their weapons.

  "Marines, you will stay on the ship."

  The NCO lifted a hand to complain, and Gun silenced him instantly.

  "When this fight starts, the ship will be our sole vulnerability. It must be defended at all costs. If we lose the ship, we lose the battle. Understood?"

  The marines nodded in the affirmative.

  "Good."

  Gun then turned his attention to the schematic of the World Ship. It was far too big to view in one go, and he zoomed in to isolate the region surrounding the shipyard. Coloured markers identified the last known enemy positions, as well as those of confirmed friendly units. Gun nearly choked when he saw how far away the Biomech rebels were.

  They need our help.

  He moved away from the marines towards the nearest emergency vent blast door. In space these would always be shut, unless being used for emergency venting. With a single command, he could order it open, and they would be able to leave the ship in seconds before the technicians resealed it. That worried him, though, and he was very wary of leaving this part of the ship open to the enemy. Instead, he moved away to the ramp at the side of the deck that led to the lower operations level.

  "Hurry up, we need to leave. Get your connections live and report in."

  The men and women positioned themselves in their seats, the handful of technicians adjusting their straps and fitting on the enclosed helmets that would provide the direct neural linkage. Some looked ready, but plenty more were still tweaking their gear. Normally, they spent up to an hour getting ready and making those ever so subtle adjustments for the best possible connections to the cortex system.

  Gun began his descent before looking back into the spacious interior of the vessel, his patience now starting to wear thin. The trainees were getting ready, but many were still adjusting their harnesses. Gun walked along the deck, shouting encouragement to get them moving. These units were an integral part of the ship's design and housed inside movable compartments along the flanks of the deck. Each had the look of a fighter simulator suite, with tightly fitted seating pods running down each side. They could move to make space for larger occupants, or be removed entirely to accommodate Byotai, or even Jötnar.

  "Commander, First Platoon is ready."

  The voice came from inside Gun's armour, and he nodded to himself as he listened.

  "Good work, Lieutenant. With me, now, on the lower operations level."

  "Sir, we're waiting for you."

  Gun chuckled as he stormed down the ramp and into the darkness. All of the lights were off, save for a handful of dull red emergency lamps. Gun kept moving until reaching the middle. Although most of the deck was taken up with machinery, robotic fighting suits, and equipment, it would normally be much more open and ready to conduct all manner of combat operations. Unlike the first generation of IAB warships, these new craft placed the harness units in confined seating pods on the level above, leaving more space for robotic combat units, and even small drone units on this separate layer. Gun was not originally convinced, but Spartan spent a long time labouring on about flexibility. Now Gun was seeing that it actually made sense, sort of. Once there, he stopped and looked up.

  "Lights."

  A yellow lamp flickered, and then one by one the ceiling units activated, bathing the deck with a brilliant glow. Gun looked on with pride as he watched the CD3-Grunt Combat Drone units line up. These were the latest version of the original designs, and incorporated hundreds of improvements over the original mode. The Grunt was slightly smaller than a man, with broader shoulders and a low, sunken head. Their arms were relatively simple with the basic rudiments of hands. They bore stripped down carbines, with power couplings running back into their bodies. The h
eads looked more like wide security cameras with a single bulbous oval sensor at the front that provided a myriad of tactical data.

  They look good. Real good.

  Gun nodded with satisfaction as light showed up the details along their upper bodies. One of Guns recommendations was they needed to look more intimidating. They'd tried many things, from differently shaped plates, and even studs or spikes. In the end it had come down to little more than proportions. By widening the gap between shoulders, the design emphasised physical strength. The change was subtle and required a few extra centimetres of width, but the end result was startling. The body incorporated multiple armoured plates over a dark grey bipedal combat chassis, and antenna pushed up from both the head and the back of the machines.

  "Marines, are you ready?"

  As one unit, the entire platoon of CD3-Grunts lifted their arms and shouldered their weapons. They made almost no sound as their mechanical bodies moved with the smoothness and finesse of the Biomech constructs last seen in the war. Each carried a numbered code on their outer armour plating, as well as an encoded symbol that could be easily identified by units in the field. They were the soldiers of the future, or that was at least what they kept telling High Command.

  Gun started to speak again, but a shape at the end of the deck caught his attention. As it neared, Gun relaxed; pleased to see it was a Maverick suit. This piece of advanced technology was little different in size to his own armour but lighter, faster, and better suited to the Human occupant inside. Whereas the JAS units were optimised for assault, the Maverick armour was primarily designed for command and control of the semi-autonomous drone units. The Maverick suit moved closer until alongside Gun. It lifted one arm in a mock salute.

  "We're with you, Commander."

  "Lieutenant, excellent. Are you familiar with the Maverick’s drone control suite?"

  "Yes, Sir, I have another twelve drones on their way from storage. They're already operating in swarm mode."

  Additional lights flickered on, and another three Mavericks marched alongside a column of the robotic Grunts. On the exterior they all looked like intelligent machines. From inside Gun's armour, he could scan the status indicators, and these confirmed whether the Grunts were under the command of a trainee or if slaved to a nearby Maverick suit. The original design specification was for virtual presence machines to command from the safety of command vehicles or ships, but on the insistence of Spartan, they'd developed semi-autonomous machines that worked in accordance with manned command suits.

  Any more to come?

  Gun glanced to the status indicators and let out a long, slow sigh. There were a handful more virtual presence drones left to join them, and that meant he'd managed to assemble a much smaller force than expected. Gun closed his eyes for a moment and visualised the entire World Ship, from the lower decks through to the many barracks, factories, and shipyards. A dull tone confused him until he recognised the ship-based emergency broadcast.

  "ANS Titan requesting emergency docking procedures. We've sustained heavy damage. Coming through the Spacebridge...now."

  Delatorre!

  Gun licked his lips as he listened to the familiar voice. The Captain was a good officer; reliable, honest, and a perfect match to the IAB warship he commanded.

  "Where is everyone? What the hell is going on?"

  "Titan, it's good to hear from you. ANS Helios suffered a critical power plant failure. She took out a large section of our power system. Landing on the World Ship is not advised. Recommend you withdrawal to the outer marker and await..."

  Gun's eyes narrowed as he realised instantly it was Clarence Walker, the CTC company man normally referred to simply as Mr Walker, or The Man.

  "That's a negative Kha'Dri. Wait, is that Walker? Where are the Navy personnel?"

  Lieutenant Yarmuk signalled towards Gun.

  "Colonel, should we respond? They are heading into a trap."

  "Captain. Commander Gun and the others were killed in the accident. We have teams securing the facility as we speak."

  Gun could feel his rage building. For all his training and experience, there was something he often found hard to control. When his kind became angered, it was almost impossible to dissipate the desire for violence. Gun was better than most, but even he couldn't avoid a call to fight, a consequence of his creation. He knew it was risky, but with the Captain close, and everything at stake, he chose the single remaining option and activated his shipside communication system. Without encoding, it was accessible to everybody, CTC, Alliance, civilian, and anybody else with digital communication gear. All other channels showed as blocked, and by using this, Gun was effectively sending up a flare from his position. CTC would know where he was, and they would come for him.

  "This is Commander Gun. Taxxu has been betrayed. All loyalist units converge on the shipyards. Drive back CTC forces and retake the ship."

  The response from the Alliance ship was instantaneous.

  "Gun? Is that..."

  The signal cut as soon as it had started, instantly blocking any form of communication throughout the rest of the ship. Lieutenant Yarmuk moved closer still with the front plating open so Gun could see his upper face.

  "Commander?"

  "Lieutenant, do you know the way to On'Sarax and her enclave?"

  The officer nodded immediately.

  "Good," said Gun, "Take two Mavericks and your drones, and get to her fast. Protect her at all costs. Do you understand?"

  Lieutenant Yarmuk stared back at him.

  "What about you, Sir? You cannot win this battle alone."

  Gun laughed.

  "Son. I don't need to win this battle. Now get to the Biomechs, and do not let a single hand touch them."

  "Yes, Sir."

  Gun lifted his right arm and pointed to the solid wall ahead of him.

  "Marines, it's time to cut off the head the snake. Are you with me?"

  The odd mixture of drones and Maverick armoured marines lifted their arms high in the air.

  The bastards think they can take over this place for themselves.

  Gun clenched his fists and disabled the safeties on all his weapons. As the systems activated, he felt a pang of nostalgia for the old days, when he'd strode alongside Spartan and his kin on a dozen worlds. This new life out in Taxxu had been good for him, but nothing matched combat, surrounded by his friends. The doors were still shut, but he could observe the disposition of the enemy units.

  Seven patrols, four units leaving the ship, and two larger formations heading into the ship, that's...three hundred mercenaries, maybe more. And they have the defensive positions and time on their hands.

  He snorted with irritation at the numbers. He had no doubt his people would fight, and fight well. But sending Lieutenant Yarmuk away would reduce him to five heavy suits, twenty-five virtual presence Grunts, and the swarm of fifty-nine CD-3 Grunts. The assault force was strong, but he'd have liked to have every one of them with him.

  "Move quickly and use every piece of cover you can find. Hit these units with everything you have."

  Gun tagged the trio of large units just outside the transport and selected a single subdivision nestled under a massive lander leg.

  "Mr Walker and his traitors are positioned here, and I want them captured or killed. Do not let a single one of them escape! The safety of this entire System is now in your hands."

  Gun allocated half of his forces to the final phase of his attack, the assault on the growing number of newly arrived mercenaries. As he gave out the orders, many more marched out from the transport, forming up as though on parade. A short distance away from this unit was a squad of the bipedal fighting machines, and in amongst them, the group of men in suits. Gun's face contorted as he tagged this group for elimination.

  "First units to get there will pin them down and isolate the units near the ship. Don't worry about ammunition. I want a short, fast operation with results."

  He licked his lips with anticipation.


  "Do not let Walker and his entourage escape. That is the primary goal!"

  "Yes, Sir!"

  Gun breathed in and out several times and then reached out with his arms, flexing his muscles and checking the final movement of the JAS armour. Everything seemed to be working okay.

  "Open the doors!"

  A dozen massive plates slid open along the flank of the ship. Each was big enough to allow an entire Alliance fighter to land inside, but today they were merely exit points for Gun and his people. As they pulled away, the great openness of the World Ship appeared before them. The view was no great mystery, but from there they had the perfect position to observe the CTC transports, as well as the multiple units of mercenaries and operatives still unloading. Gun's system instantly updated with the new information, and his heart nearly stopped as those near the ship had shifted further inside.

  Where is he?

  To Gun's relief, the small group that included Mr Walker showed near the flank of the transport. Unlike the others, they were heading back towards the ship as more troops continued to unload.

  Where is he going?

  Many disembarking from the large vessel were combat teams, but there were clearly numerous technicians and support staff to take over the running of the vessel. With each new arrival, the intent of the untrustworthy corporation was obvious.

  "Advance!"

  The Maverick suits moved out first, making a great sound as they lurched ahead and down the ramps to the ground level. Gun was with them, in the middle, and moving at a fast jog. Scores upon scores of Grunts ran past them and formed up in premade skirmish formations. They were far enough apart to avoid sustaining multiple casualties from blast shells, but close enough that they obscured those behind them.

  "That's it, stop for nothing."

  They made it nearly two hundred metres before the shooting started. It began with the guards at the doors of the nearest ship, and then flashes of light came from left, right, and even the ceiling gantries hundreds of metres in the air. Gun ignored them all and concentrated on those fanning out around the transport.