Star Crusades Uprising: The Second Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Equipment is already being transported to the Yorkdale. This is a volunteer assignment. You can return to your previous units or come with me to the Yorkdale. The Jötnar are our allies, and they offer much and ask for little. All I ask is that we give them, and us, the chance to prove ourselves.”

  He pointed to Spartan and Lieutenant Weathers, the unit’s two platoon leaders. The two men moved to the sides of the hall and stood in plain sight.

  “I want you to decide right now. Will you stay with the Vanguards, and join the Jötnar to create the new Assault Battalion? Those that do will be at the forefront of all major actions. We’ll get the toughest assignments and can expect the heaviest casualties. Those that have issues with the synthetics or have had enough of the Vanguards must choose. If you want to join, stand next to Lieutenant Spartan. Those that want to quit, well, you can move over to Lieutenant Weathers. Both of our officers, I might add, are heading to the Yorkdale and will be working with the elite 1st Company, a unit of one hundred Jötnar and Vanguards.”

  A few men started to move before Marcus raised his hand.

  “Sir, I have one question.”

  Spartan looked over at him, a gnawing feeling of doubt starting to spread from his stomach. What did he want and how far was he prepared to go? Major Daniels indicated for him to speak.

  “Why is this happening, Sir? Is it because Lieutenant Spartan deserted his unit on Euryale? He did this along with Sergeant Morato, but the rest of the unit continued fighting until victory was declared, Sir.”

  The marines in the hall exploded into chattering and shouting. Two of the marines from Teresa’s squad made their way towards Marcus. Major Daniels, from his vantage point in the hall, could sense the danger and was in no mood for the entire hall to erupt into violence.

  “Stop!” he shouted.

  The movement slowed in the hall before finally halting. A tussle had started around the Sergeant, but a number of men were holding the troublemakers apart. Marcus had taken a few steps back and was being protected by a small throng of marines from his platoon.

  “I will not have insubordination or a breakdown of discipline in my unit! Lieutenant Spartan has not been charged with any crimes, and his actions on Euryale were nothing but commendable. You have all fought on the same side and against our terrible enemy, the Union and their allies. Petty disagreements about units and organisation are above all of you!”

  He was visibly angry and the marines knew it. It was one thing to annoy or antagonise the lower ranks, but causing trouble with their Captain could lead to serious and permanent repercussions.

  “The unit is being moved because we are all considered to be too much trouble. That goes for me, for Lieutenant Spartan and the rest of you. Each of you was chosen because you had something to offer this unit. On top of this, a Vanguard marine needs three times the space of a conventional marine plus more support crew. This is simply too resource intensive for the Santa Cruz. She’s a specialised ship with a unique battalion of the best commandos in the fleet. As a unit we are rough around the edges, yet we punch well over our weight. This isn’t just a description for you, it is also one that matches both Spartan and myself perfectly.”

  He looked towards Spartan who stood patiently, waiting for him to finish his speech.

  “The Jötnar have been languishing on the Yorkdale with minimal direction or support. If left, they may simply leave us or refuse to participate. We have a responsibility to help them do what they have offered to do. Forty-two have died so far in action, and I have yet to hear one single grumble about their situation. By merging the Vanguards with the Jötnar, we can build the ultimate fighting force that every warrior is going to want to join.”

  The hall stayed silent, but a line had been crossed by many of the people present.

  “Now. Make your choice.”

  * * *

  Spartan watched through the small window as the shuttle circled the great hulk of CCS Yorkdale. From there he had the perfect opportunity to examine his new home. Though the ship was not technically a warship, it had already been improved with armour and weapons. With the recent upgrades, the ship was easily capable of taking on a vessel up to the size of a light cruiser. Compared to the conventional warships of the fleet it looked massive and could fit a battlecruiser and half a dozen cruisers inside its hull with space to spare. There were many similar ships that plied their wares through the colonies of the Confederacy, but this was the only one of its kind to ever be reconfigured for war.

  “Look at that,” said Teresa as she pointed to an object off to the side.

  Spartan looked carefully. At first it looked like a stack of girders and metal, but with closer examination he could see the cranes and arms. It was an orbital maintenance platform.

  “It’s for the modifications. If you look on the bottom side, its carrying auxiliary fuel tanks and gun mounts for the Yorkdale. By the time they finish the first changes, she’ll be one tough vessel.”

  He leaned back in his seat and looked back at Teresa. She could see on his face that he was still angry about the incident back on the Santa Cruz.

  “How many are coming to the Yorkdale?”

  Spartan shrugged.

  “Less than I thought. Only two from Marcus’ squad, and another nine refused to come over from the other five squads. It’s not a good start.”

  “Maybe. If they can’t be trusted with Gun and his people, then it might be for the best.”

  “You’re probably right. Still, I am going to be setting up a recruitment campaign though the fleet for people to join us. Have you got the numbers on equipment yet?”

  Teresa looked down at her datapad and lifted it up to her lap. She moved through the pages using her fingers until finding the correct page.

  “Here it is. So far we have eighty-nine operational Vanguard suits plus ammunition and spares for double that number.”

  “What about the technicians and fabrication equipment?”

  “Not installed yet. We have seventy workers from Euryale who have volunteered to work on the ship. They are due to arrive later today along with more tooling and equipment. Kowalski is supervising a shipment of weapons and gear from Prometheus, and so should be here in a couple of days.”

  “How long until we can have more weapons and armour ready to use?”

  Teresa shook her head.

  “No idea. We need to speak with the engineers and techs about that.”

  “Oh, it looks like the prototype mules are being sent to us as well.”

  “Interesting. Is it just me, or are we being sent all the oddballs and spare bits of junk?”

  Teresa smiled and reached out, resting her hand on his arm.

  “I’m sure Commander Anderson will have sent over something useful for us. He is very resourceful.”

  “So I keep hearing!”

  She looked about the inside of the small shuttle. It wasn’t one of the heavily armoured assault craft used for ground attack but instead a personnel transporter. There were eight seats and the internal bulkheads were fully exposed. It lacked comfort but was a cheap and easily modified utility craft. Sat in the other six seats were a group of crewmen on a shift transfer with the crew already on the Yorkdale.

  “Spartan?”

  He turned to look directly at her.

  “I’ve been thinking about Prometheus and what it was like before we joined up. You never told me what happened with you and the pit fighting. You ready to talk about it?”

  “There isn’t much to tell. I got into a bit of trouble and the pit fighting circuit was the only way I could get out of it. In the end it didn’t really matter, the Corps has wiped my debts. I just have to fight for another nine years, and I’m free.”

  Teresa nodded, but none of this was new information to her.

  “Why though? What happened to make you do it? You never told me what you used to do.”

  “Let’s just say I went through a dark time and got involved with some shady people. Thing
s went south fast, and I had to go on the run. I kept moving for a few years before my past caught up with me while passing through Prometheus. There was a big fight, I mean big. It should have meant the end of me, but my creditors saw a way of getting their money back by selling me as an indentured worker to one of the fighting guilds.”

  “Okay, but still I don’t understand. I thought you still had debts that the Confederacy wiped?”

  Spartan sighed.

  “Being sold to the guild paid off my creditors, but it didn’t stop the guild charging me for food, training and housing. I had to win ten major fights to pay them off and be allowed to leave. That was my contract and the price of getting out of there.”

  They sat quietly, both watching as the shuttle manoeuvred around the Yorkdale as they made their way to the landing bay.

  “Did you like it?”

  “The Arena?”

  “Yes.”

  Spartan paused before answering.

  “Yeah, I did. It was the first time I felt I was good at something. My last fight was to choose the guild champion to be presented in the licensed arena circuit. If I’d made it, the money and fame would have been substantial.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Going pro would have set me up for life. Assuming I didn’t die of course!” he laughed half-heartedly.

  The vessel shook slightly as it twisted to match the rotation of the large central section of the transport ship.

  “Pro? You would have joined the pro circuit? Wouldn’t that have meant doing the large-scale melee on the major events? I saw one of them when I was on Prometheus a long time ago. There were about thirty fighters in the Arena, and over have of them were put in hospital.”

  “Well, I didn’t say it was easy. The thing about the pro circuit is you get the big pay and lots of exposure. You fight the best people and travel through Proxima Centauri. If you do really well, you can even travel to Alpha Centauri and fight in the main Arena on Terra Nova.”

  “I didn’t realise it was something you wanted to do so badly. Will you go back after your service in the Marine Corps?”

  “I’ve not even thought about it. At the rate we’re going Teresa, we’ll be lucky to make it out of this war alive. Planning for afterwards is a luxury I don’t think we can afford for now. What about your family, have you spoken to them recently?”

  “No. Don’t you remember? They are all on Carthago. We’ve not spoken for a long time now. When the war is over, I’ll see them again.”

  “When. That is an interesting one. You think the war will be over soon?”

  “Of course, we can’t keep fighting forever.”

  “Why not? One major reversal could stop Operation Perdition it its tracks, and the war could run on for years, maybe even decades.”

  “Well, we’d better get this unit knocked into shape then. If we do this properly, we should have a battalion that can smash through any enemy.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  * * *

  Spartan was the first to step out of the shuttle and onto the first metal surface of the landing bay. He was not wearing his body armour but was dressed in his urban camouflage fatigues and carried his issue knife and pistol on his belt. Standard procedures had changed concerning weapons on ships after the attempted hijack of CCS Crusader. Only marine guard units were authorised to carry assault weapons when in space. As Spartan stepped off the ramp, the rest of the passengers followed him. Teresa was the closest and stepped directly behind him.

  Unlike the main cargo section of the ship, this part was rotating along with the rest of the habitation zones. The end result was substantially more space on the ship for artificial gravity. Many doubted the wisdom of artificial gravity on these kinds of ships, but combat experience had shown the retained strength and dexterity helped keep combat units fit and effective. There was normally a delay after transportation so that troops could acclimatise to the addition of weight and work on muscle development.

  The only real problem with this amount of rotation was the difficulty in landing vessels in the environment. Luckily, the shuttle crews were experienced and used to alignment with capital ships. The built in auto-align facilities on many of the smaller ships helped make the job easier.

  Spartan stepped down the ramp to find a full platoon of marine technicians lined up and waiting. Each man was stood smartly to attention. Off to their right was a group of five Jötnar. Next to the marines they looked massive, but they were obviously doing their best to fit in and not look uneasy next to their companions. Each of the synthetic creatures stood roughly three metres tall and built like ogres. Their wide set shoulders and exaggerated muscles gave them an almost cartoonish look. Spartan spotted Gun in the middle of them and smiled at him He moved towards the group and stopped, looking in surprise at the change of clothing and armour they were wearing.

  “What is this Commander?” he asked with one raised eyebrow.

  Gun looked to the other four Jötnar before turning back to Spartan. They were wearing metal armour. It was crude and only covered part of their bodies. The metal shields the chest and shoulders, but the heads and lower body were unprotected. Gun wore the same but decorated in red patterns, almost like blood had been spilled on the metal. As Spartan examined the pattern, he noticed a series of marks along the one arm. The other four had similar markings.

  “New design. We are Jötnar!” he growled. The others struck their chests with their arms in a laudable but imperfect imitation of an ancient salute. Spartan smiled at the display, but he could see a twinge of fear on the faces of a few of the new crew that had travelled with them to the ship.

  “Yes, you are,” he said and moved up closely to Gun. He pushed out his arm to find it grabbed and shaken firmly by the Jötnar warrior. The strength of the monstrous creatures always amazed him. Gun was easily twice the size of Spartan and much heavier and stronger. He had fought Biomechs at this range before, and every time it had felt like he was taking on a monster.

  Teresa approached and stopped in front of Gun. He cocked his head slightly to one side as though he was sizing her up.

  “What?” she asked feigning surprise.

  “Spartan is correct,” he said not giving anything away with his expression.

  “Commander Gun, one day I will figure you out. One day.”

  Gun shrugged but looked pleased with her confusion. He looked over to Spartan.

  “So, you are here to join. Are you ready?”

  Spartan looked confused. He looked back at the shuttle, thinking perhaps he was talking to somebody else. The door was already shut and the pilot was running through his checks prior to departure. He looked back at Gun to see one of his Captains stepping forward. Spartan looked at him and then to Gun.

  “What is this?”

  “He is Captain Khan, he demands you join his unit.”

  “What? He understands I am an officer in this unit, right?”

  “Yes. All officers must prove worth.”

  “You’re kidding? We don’t have anything to prove to each other.”

  “No, we don’t. Khan fought on Skylla. He killed three Biomechs with blades.”

  Spartan nodded in surprise at the news.

  “Killing a Biomech is no easy business. Killing three without firearms is a major feat. Is this what got him the promotion and leadership of a company of Jötnar?”

  Gun nodded but said no more.

  “So I have to prove myself to him before I can join the unit?”

  Gun nodded again.

  “It is the rule. To lead you must fight leader.”

  Spartan looked back at Teresa who looked even more confused that he did.

  “You outrank them all, apart from Gun and this Khan. Just refuse,” she suggested.

  Khan growled, evidently unimpressed and even a little angry at the suggestion Spartan would refuse to fight him. He was almost identical to Gun, perhaps a couple of centimetres shorter. He was scarred and on his left arm was a cr
ude piece of metal where somebody had performed very basic first aid. A metal splint had been fused through the flesh and directly to his bones. It wasn’t pretty, and on a human the risk of infection or rejection would have been likely. The Jötnar, however, were made of more resilient stuff. Spartan inhaled and then faced the angry Jötnar.

  “Of course I’ll fight him. I’ll fight any Jötnar warrior that thinks he is worthy of my time,” he said, trying to sound relaxed and unconcerned at the size and stature of the creature. Gun smiled at him, both recognising the honour of Spartan but also that his Captain was easily the stronger of the two.

  “My only question is what do you want to fight with?”

  Khan turned to Gun and spoke quietly. Gun answered with just one word. Two of the other warriors stepped forward, each holding out a metal bar to the fighters. It was a rod of about two metres in length and weighted about two kilograms.

  “What the hell is this?” demanded Spartan.

  “Training rod,” answered Gun. “Ready?”

  Spartan handed the rod to Teresa who leaned in to speak with him.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” she said as quietly as she could manage.

  Spartan pulled off his jacket and shirt until he was naked from the waist up. Years of tough living, followed by a long stint with the pit fighters and then the marines, had honed his body into a vicious fighting machine. He stretched his limbs, quickly feeling a flicker of pain in his still healing leg.

  “Come on then, let’s do this!” he growled. The Jötnar grinned and took up position in front of him. Gun called over, but the grunts and noise were too fast for Spartan to make out. Khan dropped his rod to the floor and pulled at his armour. With a few heavy tugs the metal plates fell to the floor until he was also stripped to the waist. He bent down, picked up the rod and roared in anger. Spartan shook his head.