Khan looked at them. Spartan watched him, wondering if his friend was merely examining their shapes, or if he genuinely had an explanation for what was going on. Neither said anything for almost a minute before Khan turned back to him.
“I’d say this was an extermination battle. Just look at the numbers. We have capital ships, remains of transports, and smashed space stations…and what about the planet?”
Spartan looked at them and tried to visualize the scene of what must have been the greatest ever space battle. He had seen enough battles in his time, but even the massive battles in the Uprising had rarely involved more than a score of major ships on each side. Even the accounts of the Great War fifty years before had shown battles with no more than fifty ships as the norm.
He’s right. This is a graveyard.
The planet showed no signs of life, its atmosphere was toxic, and there were clear signs of destructive activity showing up on the scanners. Spartan used the long-range targeting cameras to examine the area in more detail before the glowing entrance moved into view. It instantly brought his attention back to their current predicament.
“Remember the Biomech fleet, Khan, how many ships were there?”
Khan lifted his shoulders slightly.
“Who knows…a lot I would think.”
“Hang on,” said Spartan; shifting slightly in his seat, “that’s not a cruiser, look.”
He turned the scanning unit toward the ship guarding the entrance to the Rift and activated the passive scanning equipment. They had made that assumption based on the size of the vessel. The shape was different though, and as they watched, it became clear that it was something else.
“You’re right, look at the configuration. A control station,” said Khan.
Spartan altered the settings to show an even closer view of the station. It looked in poor shape, but even from that distance, they could make out the outlines of a substantial powerplant that was attached via a series of reinforced gantries.
“Exactly. This must be one of the entrances to more enemy space. Why else have a station to monitor and control it?”
Khan placed his chin in his hand and considered their problem.
“In that case, how the hell will we get through without them stopping us?”
Spartan had already returned to the small tactical map shown on a computer display to his left. It showed the dead worlds and the debris field, as well as this destination.
“We can’t stay here. Look, the carrier that followed us here is moving up out of orbit. I’d say three, maybe four hours, and they’ll catch up with us.”
“Unless we make for the Rift?” he asked rhetorically, “But if we do, that station will just shoot us down as we enter the place.”
Neither seemed to have much of an idea. Instead, Spartan made the final adjustments to leave the higher layers of debris prior to breaking out to the Rift. Khan watched the station and scratched his forehead.
“It’s not right, Spartan. We can’t make it this far, kill so many, only to be stopped by that thing.” He pointed at the image of the station on the screen. Spartan twisted his head around and smiled at him.
“I have a plan.”
He said it with a firm tone and familiar look that brought a grin to Khan’s tired and scarred face.
“Does it involve doing some serious killing?”
Spartan nodded, his smile wide.
“Have my plans ever been anything else?”
Khan wasn’t particular bothered by what the plan might be, just as long as there was one, and if it involved violence, then that was even better. He watched Spartan and noticed him checking the escape sequences for the bomber. It could mean only one thing.
He means to jump ship. Sounds just like one of Spartan’s plans.
* * *
Jack lifted the glass of port and threw back yet another mouthful of the reddish liquid. No sooner had he swallowed it, he grabbed the bottle and poured out the last drops into his glass. He dropped the bottle back down on the unit at the side of his desk and drank back the last of the fortified wine. Unthinkingly, he had not bothered to filter the wine, or even to decant it prior to drinking. A small amount of sediment dripped into his mouth and snapped him out of his daze. He almost choked as the dry pieces clung to his throat, and he was forced to grab the bottle of tepid water nearby and gulp down mouthfuls. The water ran down his cheeks and mouth, covering his stained marine tunic and even his pants. The door swung open, and a bright yellow light filled the room like a blazing sun.
“What the hell!” he muttered, knocking the water over.
His eyes could barely adjust to the light conditions, and the levels of alcohol in his body blurred and slowed everything into a dreamlike state. He tried to stand but staggered and fell to the ground, directly in front of whoever had just entered his bunk space.
“Private Morato, on your feet!”
Jack tried to lift his head, but he couldn’t find the strength. Instead, the face of his dour NCO, Sergeant Stone moved in front of him. As usual, the Sergeant sported a grim, angry looking face devoid of any emotion. The man was a scarred veteran, many years older than Jack, and yet a marine with experience in dozens of theaters. Unusually, he was wearing his dress uniform, although Jack was in such an inebriated state, he barely noticed. He turned and slammed the door behind with such force that a gust of air blasted into Jack. He bent down, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged the sorry looking Private to his feet.
“I know your mother is in a coma, and your buddies ain’t coming back. We’ve all been there. I’ve been there, and it will happen again. I promise you.”
He released Jack but stayed in the position.
“You have responsibilities, and it’s been far too long. Every veteran in the Corps has had to face this.”
Jack’s head tilted slightly as though the weight of his own head was proving too much to hold up. The Sergeant grabbed him and held him upright.
“Listen to me, marine. If you want a court-martial, you’re going about it the right way. Pull yourself together!”
He moved away from the inebriated marine and watched him drop down to his knees. He shook his head while looking at the pitiful Jack and bit his tongue before he continued his rant. He was well aware the young marine had suffered more than most. Even so, Sergeant Stone could recall the stories from the marines that fought in the Uprising, and although he’d been too young to join-up at the time, he had witnessed some of the fighting first-hand; especially the attacks on urban areas that had killed many of his friends.
“Private, now…get to your feet!”
Jack summoned as much willpower as he could muster to stand up straight. He swayed, and for the briefest of moments almost vomited onto the Sergeant. He held his breath and regained his balance, and then finally looked at the man carefully.
“I…uh…”
“I what?” barked the Sergeant. “I’ll tell you what you’ll do. You will get showered, dressed, and down to the dry dock. The scuttlebutt is that Conqueror will be relaunched in less than an hour, and you will be there, Private!”
He stepped to the doorway and looked back at the pitiful excuse of a marine.
“Son, you and the rest of your squad excelled yourself on Helios. Don’t let them down by falling apart.”
With that, he was out of the door, and Jack was left standing in his barely conscious state. He staggered to the small bathroom and missed the washbasin, crashing into the wall. He tried to avoid hitting his head but only managed to move quickly enough to strike his cheek on the cold metal. It opened a small cut, and a trickle of blood ran down to his neck.
It took Jack fifteen minutes to shower and change his clothes, as well as time to swallow painkillers and wash his face for the tenth time. He eventually staggered out of the small room and into the corridor. The door swung behind with a clunk, and he found himself in the bright open space of the secondary passageway in the marine quarters of Saratoga Naval Station; the bra
nd new Alliance base situated in the heart of what used to be T’Kari. A group of five Jötnar marched past, each wearing their black marine uniforms with pride.
It didn’t take them long, did it?
It wasn’t that long ago that Jötnar had been unable to join the military, even after their sterling work fighting for the Confederacy during the Great Uprising. Now it seemed they were joining the marines in larger numbers. One nodded as they moved past, but he didn’t recognize him.
Come on, you idiot. Concentrate, the dry dock.
He looked first to his left and then in the direction the Jötnar had emerged from. There were lit signs throughout the station but most referred to sections by numbers and letters only. Finally, he spotted the sign to dry docks, at least the Alpha Three docks. He just hoped they were the right ones. It took Jack almost ten more minutes until he reached the great observation deck that looked down onto the dry docks. The term was an anachronism, as the docks themselves were actually external to the station, and in reality, positioned in the void of space where they could be worked on in a weightless environment by scores of robotic workers. The docks were arrayed like a line of coffins, and in each was a ship in different stages of completion.
It’s her!
Jack stopped in his tracks and stared at the massive shape of the Alliance’s infamous Battlecruiser. He couldn’t believe that the two hundred and sixty-two meter long capital ship was finally repaired and ready for battle once more. The last time he’d seen the ship was when he had escaped from its burned hull, following their high-speed crash onto the surface of Helios. He looked at the ship and tried to count how many months ago it had been since the violent incident on the planet of Helios. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember.
“I told you we’d rebuild her, and quickly too,” came a familiar voice.
Jack spun about and almost lost his footing. His body moved, yet his head felt as if it were still in the same position. He almost fell to the ground again before righting himself and taking a lungful of air.
You idiot!
The shape of a man in a naval uniform moved about in front of him before he regained his balance. He focused carefully until he could make out the grizzled features of the commander of the station. He lifted his hand in an awkward salute that luckily the Admiral ignored. Anderson pointed to the gray warship.
“The damage wasn’t as great as you might think. The internal systems were fully functional, even after the crash. The major problem was the layer plating.”
Jack blinked and rubbed his eyes.
“Plating?”
Admiral Anderson could see the face of the Jack and recognized the hollow eyes and long face, an expression he’d seen hundreds of times before through three decades of war and loss. He extended an arm out to the ship and the flanks near the bow.
“The layered plating extends all around to protect from kinetic projectiles. That is what took most of the thermal damage before the crash finished off the rest.”
He turned back and smiled.
“Engines, navigation, and weapons are all still working, apart from the keel turrets. We lost every one of them.”
Jack was still stunned. He recalled the stories in the media about the loss of the ship and the ensuing public investigation. In the end, the blame had been laid squarely at the feet of the Helions.
“I…uh…I never expected to see her again, not like this.”
Admiral Anderson nodded in complete agreement.
“You had better fall in with your unit.”
He tilted his head slightly, pointing in the direction of Sergeant Stone and the rest of 3rd Platoon. He saluted as best as he could, and then marched to join the rest of his unit. As he moved, he noted the scores of military personnel, each selected from the Marine Corps and Navy units stationed on board the largest and most significant Alliance base in the Orion territory, the newly constructed Admiral Jarvis Naval Station. Built in the heart of former T’Kari space, it was perfectly positioned as a strong foothold inside the Orion Nebula. One of the marines stuck out more than the rest.
Wictred.
His loyal friend was the only member of his team that survived the bloody battle on Helios. It was a memory he wanted to avoid, and as he moved in with the rest of his platoon, he lowered his eyes and tried to concentrate on the ship rather than the people around him. Admiral Anderson had moved back to a large group of high-ranking officers while the hundreds of assembled people waited in silence. Finally, he moved away and faced them.
“Marines and sailors, you have been invited by your commander to witness the relaunch of our most advanced warship. Even after the controversial attack and crash landing on Helios, she is ready for action. Her hull is the toughest ever built, and she’s spent the last months being fully restored and upgraded to serve as heart of the Orion Fleet that is to be based here.”
He lifted his hand and beckoned towards the massive warship.
“I give you the Alliance Navy Ship, Conqueror. The heart of the Alliance Navy!”
In perfect timing with his gesture, the navigation and internal lights activated to bathe the ship’s superstructure in a myriad of tiny dots. Massive lamps lit up the ensign of the Alliance Navy, as well as the thick black letters marking out the name of the warship. He moved his head slightly as he surveyed the many units waiting, stopping at the grim face of Gun, the commander of the 17th Battalion.
“As of today, there will always be at least one complete Navy Heavy Assault group based at this station plus one or more disembarked Marine Regiments. For the next nine months, it is you, the 2nd Marine Corps Regiment. I welcome you to your new commanding officer, General Daniels, former commander of the 17th Battalion.”
The middle-aged man stepped from the crowd of officers.
“Thank you, Admiral.”
He gazed out at the men and women of the two battalions.
“When the 4th Heavy Battalion gets here from Carthago, it will be the first time all three of our battalions have been present since the Uprising. The Orion Nebula is a fractious place, and with five thousand marines, including the newly equipped Vanguard platoons and armored units, we will make our mark.”
CHAPTER TWO
The collapse of law and order in the Helios system was the trigger point for a series of calamities that would befoul the Orion Nebula. The similarities with the past troubles on Prime and other Alliance worlds served as stark reminders as to what might come to pass, if action was not taken to avoid the rot spreading outside of Helios and to its neighboring star systems. As the quarrels and troubles spread, so did the strength of the enemy grow.
Orion – The future?
Admiral Lanthua looked out at his assembled fleet and smiled with satisfaction. It was one of the largest peacetime fleets ever assembled, and his core of Khreenk Federation battleships formed the strongest part. Most of the ships were actually moving backward with their engines on full burn to slow their approach. The Khreenk ships were different though, and their engines were able to swivel one hundred and eighty degrees to alter the direction of thrust, without changing their actual heading.
“Report?” he called to the captain of the fleet over the communication array. One by one they submitted their information, including readiness, speed, and status. Every ship was functioning as expected, apart from the small Alliance contingent. He glanced briefly at the Alliance officer, snorted, and then looked back at the disposition of his fleet.
What do these primitives know of war?
The assembled Narau fleet was now in its final twelve hours of deceleration as they approached the third planet of the Anicinàbe. Until then they were a race the Alliance knew little of, though rumor had it their people controlled the largest and most diverse empire of the eight known powers. The Helions implied they had control over more territory than the Alliance, the T’Kari, and the even the great enemy, the Biomechs, all combined. There were more than sixty ships in the fleet, with the majority supplie
d by the Khreenk Federation. A scattering of Helion ships drifted toward the rear, but most of their effort had been forced to remain at home to deal with the growing insurrection or because their own crews had sided with the rebels.
“What happens next?” asked Alliance Liaison Officer, Captain Tory Campbell.
He waited amongst the group of aliens and stood out like a Jötnar in a room full of humans. On his ear was a translator unit that seemed overly large for what it actually did. Much like the more advanced T’Kari models, it was able to convert his conversation directly in a number of native languages, including the common tongue of the Khreenk. Their language sounded nothing like the dialects used by the Helions, and he was forced to try and ignore the sounds coming from the device as he spoke. The small group of Khreenk officers continued speaking with each other, and he could do nothing but wait. He was a middle-aged man and had moved from politics to military service just seven years earlier. Though he was only of average height, next to the officers of the Narau Fleet he was taller than almost every one of them. His light blonde hair and large blue eyes seemed to draw attention no matter where he traveled on the Helion ship. Finally, one of them moved toward him.
“Alliance officer, what is it?” he asked through his own translator.
Captain Campbell could easily identify the look of scorn on the man’s face. They were very similar in build and coloring to those human oriental people, yet of smaller build. Each had been augmented in some form or other, and this one was no exception. Part of his face was missing and had been replaced with a skin color metallic plate.
“I asked, what happens next?”
This time his voice was raised slightly so that he was almost shouting. Several of the other Khreenk looked at him, but none actually responded. Captain Campbell looked at the man’s face and recalled where he had seen the officer before. It had been three days earlier when the fleet had broken free of the Khreenk Rift and met up with a scattered formation of Anicinàbe ships. He had come aboard from one of the other ships.
Star Crusades Nexus: The Second Trilogy Page 2