“I have, it’s pretty serious. I really can’t believe for a moment the general population will go for it. Biomechs being given a place in the Confederacy! What about the Zealots?”
“It’s not going to be easy. We are going to have to try and explain that these Biomechs are as different to those we’ve been fighting, as they are to Zealots or suicide bombers.”
“Yeah, good luck with that!” laughed Kowalski uncomfortably.
“I’ve arranged for a small group of us to meet, so that we can discuss these options with Gun. I want you and Bishop to join me to get a feel for the talks. I need as many eyes on him as possible. We can’t afford any misinterpretation. Where is Bishop anyway? I thought he was helping Gun with clearing out one of the tech labs?”
“He’s supposed to be. I think he’s doing something with Misaki,” replied Kowalski, trying to hide a smirk.
“Misaki, the woman who was in the prison with the rest of you? I thought she had something going on with Spartan?”
“No, Sir. From what I saw the two of them seem pretty cool. Spartan wouldn’t talk about it though, since then she has been helping with the clear up. Her technical skills are quite advanced, it seems she studied higher level maths in the past.”
“Really, my reports suggested her skills were in other, less intellectual areas? Well, find where they are and tell them to both meet me in the ready room in fifteen minutes. Get Gun there as well, he’s needed the most.”
Kowalski saluted and moved off down the stairs, joining the dozens of people moving back and forth carrying crates and equipment. He stopped to speak with Gun, who appeared to say nothing. The great Biomech stood like a statue and if he hadn’t moved every few minutes, he could have been easily avoided or ignored as a lump of stone.
Anderson turned back to the datapad, the small electronic device carried by most Confed personnel for communication and data access. As the images flicked past, he could check the latest information on the compound. There was little left of the final harvesting hall and most of the equipment was being loaded carefully onto pallets. It was the last area of its kind in the facility, but Gun has insisted on its closure or destruction, and Commander Anderson had no intention of alienating their newest ally. According to the figures, there were now just over two hundred fully hatched Biomechs being cared for in the improvised medical bay.
The area had been re-appropriated from the largest but empty shipyard. It was spacious and armoured, making it easily sealed from the rest of the site. Inside were the many Biomechs, along with almost a full company of medical staff and technicians ensuring they were stable and cared for. Some were already talking. Gun had explained in his own way, that he was in charge and that they were safe in that area. It was okay for now, but it wouldn’t last, especially with so many more on the way.
From his position, he saw Kowalski move off into one of the corridors, presumably on the hunt for Bishop. Anderson double-checked the wording of the agreement put out between the military high command in this sector. Admiral Jarvis was technically the Supreme Commander in this region, until contact was re-established with the President and the Council on Terra Nova.
“They had better not renege on this or Gun and his mob will make us regret it,” he said to himself, as he proceeded down the stairs.
* * *
The room was secure and the small group of heavily armoured Vanguards were already pushing further away to increase the perimeter. One fire team, including Spartan and Marcus, stayed in the room to check on the captured equipment and computer hardware. With his visor and suit partially open, Spartan was able to reach out and operate the computer system that was still connected to the data link. On one screen a stream of data scrolled by continually, as well as a number of images and machine reports from industrial equipment, presumably buried deep inside the site. He looked over his shoulder to Marcus, who was staring intently at the displays.
“Have you seen this kind of system before?”
Marcus shook his head, “Nope, this isn’t like anything we’ve seen in our training. If you ask me, this looks like industrial equipment, look!”
Marcus leaned forward and tapped his armoured fist gently on the MRM company logo. Spartan looked at it, its significance not registering at first.
“Ah, MRM. They ran the mining operation, right?”
Marcus nodded in agreement and moved back to the computer. He continued talking. “When they sent in the marines the first time, a lot of the security system was shutdown so that we couldn’t gain access to their systems. I’m surprised there are any still connected to the outside world.”
The two looked back at the main display unit. It was almost a metre wide and contained several separate windows that were running security and maintenance processes.
“This one?” asked Marcus, as he pointed at a satellite dish icon.
Spartan shrugged. With a quick tap, the icon expanded into a full size window showing multiple data streams. Pages of code including locations, machine identity data and control codes, whizzed by. One window, showing over a dozen Biomechs stood waiting in a room, flashed up and then disappeared.
“What the hell?” cried Marcus. He tried to get the video back.
“Tell me you’re getting this?” asked Spartan excitedly.
“Bet your ass I am.”
Marcus placed his datapad on the desk and watched as the information mirrored itself onto his unit. Looking back at the screen, a number of words kept popping up.
“Did you see that?”
“The dates?”
“No, the bit about Operation Blindfire?” added Marcus.
Spartan shook his head.
“It’s mentioned here a few times. Something about Euryale and Operation Blindfire. Is that one of our codewords, or is it something to do with the Zealots?”
Spartan was about to reply, when Marcus moved back slightly in confusion.
“Hey, that’s weird.”
“What?”
“Well, this site looks like it’s receiving a lot of high level traffic for the enemy, and one name keeps popping up. I’ve seen at least ten secure data packets to Typhon. They’re encrypted with a polymorphic cipher that will be a bitch to crack. I can’t do it myself. We’ll need some decent gear and guys that know how to use it.”
“So, Marcus? We know Typhon is behind this. Is it much of a surprise to find coded data being sent to him? I don’t see what tactical advantage that will give us, other than its propaganda value.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t a message, this is a series of orders to a group of people, and Typhon is one of those receiving it. If you ask me, it looks like Typhon himself is being sent order just like the others. One is to Typhon, the others all go to seceded colonies, all apart from one,” Marcus said as he pointed at a single message on the right side of the screen.
“What does it say?”
Marcus tried to open the file, but was stopped by a number of security warnings.
“No way, the tech teams will have to work on this. Do you recognise the Ident code?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it before, it’s the ship code for CCS Wasp. They must have somebody on the inside.”
The door to the room opened, as a matter of training and reactions, both men raised their armoured arms towards it. The group of mask-wearing technicians lifted their hands in horror. Spartan smiled to himself, before lowering his guns.
“My apologies. Knock next time!”
The most confident of the group stepped forward.
“Security Chief O’Connor, I’m here to start data capture,” he said, looking past Spartan and to the computers.
“Shit, you’ve got a live stream!” he said excitedly, pushing past the armoured torso of the two Vanguards to connect up his own computer equipment.
“Come on, let’s check the rest of this place,” said Spartan.
He left from the door at the far end of the room that led into the rest of the underground facility. Spartan w
ent along the narrow corridor until he reached an opening that was guarded by three Vanguard Marines. The space opened up into a thick, strong archway that pushed on into a great hall. Taking a few steps forward, the twin beams from his armour could barely penetrate the dusty environment. A dozen flares burned along the sides, each provided a smouldering glow that lit only the lower parts of the corridor.
“Any idea where the signals were coming from? I mean the ones with orders and machine codes? Was there more than one source?”
“I didn’t have time to check, but I do have the co-ordinates on my datapad.”
“Good,” said Spartan with a smile, “can you pass the data over to my display?”
They kept moving as Marcus moved the data remotely to the other Vanguard suit, directly onto its computer system.
Inside the suit, Spartan added the data to his navigation unit, so that it could calculate positions for the data source. It took just a few seconds before a three dimensional map of the sector showed the source.
“That’s weird, according to the computer, the signal came from nowhere.”
“Nowhere?” Marcus asked.
“Just an empty piece of space about forty to fifty AU away. Nothing charted and it’s way too far to be a planet or moon.”
“Maybe it’s a ship. They could have planted a command vessel a long way out of the System, to keep it out of sight of Confed forces.”
“It’s possible, they are certainly days, probably weeks away from the reach of most ships. I’ll pass this on to Command when we get back.”
“What about Hobbs? She won’t like it if you go over her head.”
“Hobbs, who cares about her? She can play hero all she likes, this is important.”
They reached the end of the corridor and stopped, looking out into the newly secured location. It was dark, like most of the base, and just a single flare could be seen burning up ahead.
He tapped his intercom. “Sergeant Morato, any news on the power?”
“Almost ready, Sir, we’re connecting the power system through our own extension coils back to the surface. Any moment...now!”
Spartan looked left then right, from his vantage point he couldn’t see anything of note. His lamps simply faded in the vastness of the open space. On his internal monitors he could follow the rest of the marines moving about. Then a yellow flicker came from the corner and one by one a series of strip lights flickered, then turned to continuous amplification. Not all the lights worked, but enough powered up to show the shape of the area, as well as the myriad of tunnels leading from it. Sergeant Lovett stepped next to him, examining the open space in awe.
“Wow, this must have taken some work to carve out!”
“You’d be surprised what a few thousand slaves and hand tools can do, when properly motivated,” replied Spartan grimly.
The Sergeant turned back as he spotted movement in the shadows. A group of PDS armoured marines emerged from the darkness. The four-man team inched ahead nervously, closely followed by the upright and stern shape of Captain Hobbs.
“Uh, LT, behind you!” said the Sergeant, as discreetly as he could manage.
Spartan rotated his upper body slightly, keeping his feet planted. The Captain approached and stood before him, the four marines spread out to form a loose screen around them.
“Lieutenant, I see you’ve secured the area. Have you located useful intel yet?”
Spartan looked back into the cavernous open space behind her, the dust was already starting to settle. A dozen Vanguard Marines were moving about as they checked objects, abandoned machines and cabling.
“Not yet, well, not in this part of the base. The techs are busy getting all they can from the captured data stream. Have you heard anything about Operation Blindfire?”
“Blindfire? No, why?” she asked.
“It was one of the pieces of data I saw on the system before the techs arrived.”
Captain Hobbs thrust her hand forward accusingly. “You messed with the system?”
“No, I viewed some of the information being streamed. Contrary to your reports, I do have a basic background in computer systems and data handling,” said an irritable Spartan.
“Computer systems? Are you kidding me? This is highly important classified intel that could change the course of the war. I suggest you, and your team of roughriders, leave this place to my people. You can continue your sweep of the base, report back your findings in a timely manner!”
“Yes, Sir,” Spartan said with a half-hearted salute. It didn’t matter. The officer had already moved away to join her tech team and marines back in the control room.
Spartan moved away, a small group of his Vanguards joined him. They walked slowly, each of them checking the area for any signs that could be of use. He could see the disposition of his platoon on his tactical display and everyone was accounted for.
“Sergeant Morato, any news from the drones?” he asked.
“No. I lost one in the small shaft eighty metres to the west. There’s a breach in the wall and running water, the soil must have worn away and trapped the unit. I have another following one of the most recent tunnels to the north. Sergeant Lovett and his squad are already down there investigating.”
“Good work, Sergeant, how is it looking up there?”
“All good, Sir. My unit has double-checked the tunnels and set up a perimeter with mines and sentry monitors. Nothing is getting near us, without us hearing or seeing it first.”
“Watch yourselves, you know what the Biomechs are like. I don’t want to come back to find you buried under a dozen of them!”
“Understood, Sir,” she replied, trying to hide her laughter.
Spartan continued moving ahead, but altered his direction slightly to follow Sergeant Lovett and 2nd Squad. He could just make out the lights on their armour as he moved closer to them. From behind, the marines looked almost like machines. The armour was less refined on the back and parts of the power plant and ammunition stores were visible. The most vulnerable part of the armour was the external power plant unit and its exposed pipes and coolant unit. Spartan had pointed this out as a potential risk, during the latest round of armour modifications, but there wasn’t time to produce the perfect equipment. It was simply a case, of making the armour as good as it could be, with the time and resources they had available. Spartan has submitted his suggestions for a custom built model, buts it development and construction would have to wait until after the crisis was over.
He moved closer until to the rear of the group. As he reached within ten metres, two of them turned. For a brief moment, the bright light from their lamps partially blinded him. The internal warnings fired up as the built-in defence package detected armed weapons in his vicinity. For a second, he nearly grabbed for his own weapon controls but he knew what was happening, even if the others didn’t.
“Lower your weapons, it’s me!” he snarled.
The lamps dropped down on their motorised pintle mounts and his eyesight quickly started to adjust.
“Sorry, Sir, didn’t expect to see you,” said an apologetic Private Jones.
Spartan shook his head as he regained his bearings. Working underground certainly had its problems. Luckily the suits built-in blackout visor had eliminated the worst of the effect, his eyesight was already returning to normal.
“Spartan, I can’t reach Sergeant Lovett, they need to stop, now!” said a crackling message from Teresa.
Spartan didn’t even hesitate, he pushed forward to where he could see Sergeant Lovett and grabbed him.
“Stop,” he whispered.
“Sergeant Morato? Sergeant...respond?”
The intercom unit crackled and hissed, but in this position the audio was indecipherable. He tried again but to no avail. Giving a simple hand gesture, the squad and Spartan, plus the small group that had followed him, exited the tunnel and moved back to the periphery of the open hall. No sooner had they exited the tunnel, the audio returned.
“Wha
t the hell?” said Sergeant Lovett, his voice loud and overbearing inside the suits.
“Quiet. This is Lieutenant Spartan, can anybody hear me?”
“Spartan...is that you? I thought we’d lost you down there.”
“Yeah, I’ve got you, Morato. We lost contact in the tunnel, what’s going on with the comms?”
“There’s something down there, near the shaft. The drone got close, but all I managed to get was a sealed door and then lots of noises. The drone lost contact before I could withdraw it safely. Now I’m not even receiving the status signal.”
Spartan looked over to Marcus, expecting a suggestion. He nodded before speaking.
“I’ve heard about this kind of gear before. They use them to secure conference rooms and facilities. It must be a high power form of damping generator or unit. They must be protecting something in there.”
Spartan looked at his men, then back into the tunnel.
“Lovett, Keller, get your men ready. We will have to rely on hand signals and good old-fashioned violence. We’ll take both squads in. Something tells me we are going to need the numbers. You all ready?”
The Vanguards Marines nodded, each waiting for the order to commence the operation.
“Sergeant Morato, we are going in. I will leave two marines here for you to stay in contact with. Let Hobbs know what’s happening. If we don’t return in ten minutes you know what to do.”
“Evacuate the site?” she said with a subtle hint of sarcasm.
“No, you mount up and get the rest of the marines down here to save our asses!” he replied seriously.
“Understood, Sir! Good hunting!”
Spartan looked to the rest of the Vanguards, each was covered in the grime, oil and filth from working underground. It was hard to tell exactly who was who. He could normally reply upon the tactical network fitted to each suit, but with the dampening field out there, they would just be a group of men in armour. Even so, they were all fully operational, well armed and raring to go. With his single hand gesture they split up into two files, Spartan and Marcus at the front, the rest following. One more signal and they moved off. Each was carefully checking for signs of danger.
Star Crusades Uprising: The Second Trilogy Page 8