“Stand your ground, switch to close quarter weapons and clear your sectors!”
He felt as though he was losing his balance and tried desperately to grab the nearest bulkhead. With a hard pull, his arm was yanked back and three Biomechs, each the size of a man, dragged him to the floor. They wore crude armour and carried a vicious hand weapon. Lights flashed inside the suit as multiple breaches appeared in the weaker parts of the armour.
“Get off you bastard!” he roared and swung his free arm. It connected with one of the creatures and threw it against the wall. Two more replaced it, and for a second Spartan felt a pang of dread. Was this to be the way he died? Trapped and overwhelmed by Biomech creatures on an enemy ship.
“Spartan!” came a familiar snarl. One of the creatures lifted up and vanished. Another broke into two equal pieces, and a spray of arterial blood splattered over his visor. A firm hand grabbed him and lifted him up to his feet. The hallways were packed with bodies as both sides fought a bloody and desperate close action.
“You alive?” said the familiar voice again. Spartan twisted his head so that he could see through the clean part of his visor. He could just make out the shape of a Jötnar warrior.
“Gun?” he asked in surprise.
“Yes. We have work, Spartan!” he said and turned back to the creatures in the corridor.
“Follow me!” he shouted.
Spartan watched him run along the blood-splattered floor and directly into the Biomechs. He fired his Gatling gun as he moved. The cases pumped from the side like a waterfall. One after the other, the Biomechs fell until he crashed into them. More Vanguards and Jötnar followed, and in less than a minute they were through the ambush and moving on further inside the ship. Spartan lifted his right arm and rubbed off as much blood as he could. More heat blooms appeared, but this time behind him and about twenty metres away. Lowering both arms, he waited until they appeared in the corridor. The weapons and armour certainly told him they were not friendly. Two more Vanguards joined him as they bathed the area in small velocity machine gun rounds.
“Lieutenant Spartan, Daniels here. We’ve cleared the Yorkdale and are assembling a rescue team to assist in your action. My sensors show the Eternal Vigilance is powering up her main engines. You have sixty seconds to disable her or you will be trapped!” he said.
“Shit!” muttered Spartan, forgetting his two-way communication protocol was still active. He turned and moved along the corridor to follow in the direction of the rest of his party.
“Anything you can suggest?” he pleaded, knowing it would be almost impossible to be able to stop the ship in the time he had.
“Just get to the rear and try and disable something, anything!”
“On it!” he replied and jumped around the corner and into a large hexagonal shaped room. A dozen Jötnar lay dead or wounded on the ground. He moved on past them and into a wider corridor. Pipes ran along the ceiling and wall. He was going to ignore them, but an image of electrical cables or water pipes popped into his mind. He might as well damage whatever he could find, so something might be disabled or damaged enough to give them some time. He reached up and smashed his metal fists into the piping. He grabbed the damaged metal and ripped it from the ceiling. Steam and vapour pumped inside making visibility almost impossible. A flash of sparks ran for almost a metre, and two electrical fires quickly spread along the ceiling.
“All units, if you find wiring, pipes or machines, just smash them. Cause as much damage as you can,” he ordered on the company-wide communication channel.
Orange streaks from Zealot firearms blasted towards him, but Spartan did his best to ignore them and pushed on. A dozen Vanguards moved with him. Each lowered their weapons and unleashed a firestorm in the direction of their travel.
“Spartan, this way!” shouted Khan.
Spartan twisted his head and spotted the Jötnar and a small group of his warriors moving into a side chamber off to one side. He grabbed the nearest Vanguard.
“Protect this area, and don’t let anything get past you. If you do, we’ll lose control of this place.”
“Sir!” replied the young private. She planted her feet firmly on the ground and continued firing as Zealot warriors attempted to push her back. Spartan was already three metres away when he saw a large group of Zealots manage to get to her. He made to move back, but four Jötnar appeared around her. Two swung hand weapons and the others fired close-ranged Gatling guns and shotguns. The walls flashed with white and yellow, and hundreds of rounds were discharged at the enemy. Spartan almost smiled at the violent defence and turned back to follow Khan. The delay cost him vital seconds. He barely managed to spot Khan vanish into the smaller corridor. He pushed against the ground hard and chased as quickly as he could. It was a tight squeeze, but with a little effort and stooping low, he was able to keep moving.
“Spartan, the engines are activating!” came the voice of Major Daniels. Spartan flicked the switch and cut out the audio feed. He was aware of the situation, and the constant nagging of his superior officer wasn’t helping.
A panel ripped open to his side, and two Biomechs, each the size of a large dog, leapt out. Spartan was in no mood to be held back by yet more synthetic monstrosities. He hit the power boost and forced energy into his right arm, slamming the metal fist into the nearest creature and pinning it to the wall.
“Get back!” he roared in anger.
His left arm swung around and opened fire. The dozens of rounds cut the head clean off. The blood and tissue splattered against the second creature, and so he quickly finished it off with another burst of fire. Pulling the metal fist from the bloody stump, he continued onwards until he reached the gap in the wall where the rest of the Jötnar had jumped through. Gunfire and shouting came from inside, but Spartan didn’t have time to check what was happening. He jumped through and found himself in a darkened engineering room. A number of Zealots lay dead on the floor, and less than five metres away stood a large group of prisoners. They were being held in front of a number of Zealots. It looked like they must have been on the move, as the prisoners wore chains and were facing off into a long corridor. The tallest of the group wore the traditional robes and carried a thermal shotgun in one hand.
“Get back or they die like the rest!” he snarled.
“What others?” Spartan demanded.
“When you boarded my ship, I was forced to dump their prisoners. Not my problem, you brought it upon your own heads.”
“Your ship? You’re just a slave. Who is your captain?”
The Zealot threw off his hood to reveal his face. His skin was pasty and thermal scoring scarred the side of his cheek. His jawbone was sharply defined, and he looked almost handsome, if it were not for the bloody predicament they found themselves in.
“My name is Captain Talos, and I have been given the full protection of the Union Fleet.”
“Protection? So you’re not part of the fleet.”
The man threw Spartan a sneer.
“The Union is just the same as your Confederacy. My interest in these people does not concern you. I have what I want. Now leave my ship, or I start killing hostages.”
“You’re a pirate, the filth of Proxima. You prey on the weak and vulnerable to line your own pocket. Just like all the other Zealots, there isn’t anything honourable or noble about you or your cause. You just want to punish the Confederacy and make money at the same time.”
He must have struck a nerve as the man was already reaching for what looked like a curved blade on his belt.
“There are no pirates here. We have a charter.”
“Bullshit!” swore Khan. He stamped his foot down hard onto the ship’s deck.
Spartan sighed. He had just seconds to go before the cruiser powered up, and they were taken from this place. He flicked the switch to open up an audio channel with Major Daniels.
“Sir, we have a problem down here.”
* * *
Wing Commander Anders grimaced as t
he massive acceleration of the Lightning Fighter forced him back into his seat. The space battle was all but over, and the enemy cruiser’s engines were already glowing with power. It would be a matter of seconds before the ship rocketed away and took with it hundreds of warriors and prisoners. He led three squadrons of fighters, but battle losses had reduced their number to just nine still functioning fighters.
“We’re in range. The cruiser is about to depart, any ideas?”
“We have enough missiles for one more pass. Maybe we can force her off course?” said the pilot of the leftmost fighter.
“Doubt it, our missiles keep getting shot down by the aft turrets.”
His squadron of fighters maintained their close formation as they hurtled towards the enemy ship. Under normal circumstances they would simply launch their anti-ship missiles, but two attack runs had achieved nothing so far, other than the loss of two fighters.
“How about the engines? Can we disable them with missiles?” asked his wingman.
“No, the cruiser has multiple engines, and we have already hit them with three impacts. The turrets just take them out early. The ships in the fleet keep hitting her there, but they can’t inflict enough damage. Nothing short of a nuke is going to stop her.”
“The bombers?”
“No, they won’t be here in time. Somehow we need to get explosives inside her armour and near the engines or fuel lines,” Anders replied.
“Sir, the energy signature of the ship is showing severe energy fluctuation on the port section, near the rear of the ship. The marines on board must have damaged the power supplies to the turrets. The engines are still powering up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Sir. They still have plenty of turrets, but it is something.”
“Okay, it might be enough to get us in close enough for one more attack. We need to hit them harder than ever before. I have an idea. Angel Squadron, follow me, we’re going in.”
He hit the boost button that supplied additional thrust to the main engines and accelerated towards the enemy vessel. At this speed, they would be at the target in less than ten seconds.
“She’s starting to pull away!” cried Flight Lieutenant Jenkins.
“Arm your weapons for timed detonation in eight seconds. Full thrust to engines. Set your course to twelve degrees above the cruiser. On my mark, hit eject!”
“What?” shouted his wingman over the radio.
“Just do it!” he ordered.
The group of fighters moved faster and faster, until to anybody watching they appeared as nothing more than silver missiles heading towards the ship’s engines. Wing Commander Anders looked down at his control panel. His Sea Skua missiles were armed and due to detonate in four seconds. That was the exact calculation made by his onboard computer for a high-speed collision. The small group of fighters would pass directly over the ship on their present course.
“Now!”
He reached out and tugged on the eject handle. A series of small explosions rippled through the craft as the crew compartment blew out and upwards. He kept moving forwards, but the force of the blast accelerated the crew to safety and well away from the cruiser. The explosion had the side effect of altering the course of the fighter by ten degrees, more than enough to force it into the direct path of the cruiser’s engines. All the fighters completed their ejection sequence safely, and just in time. The first three were saturated by concentrated turret fire, but the following six made it through. The wreckage of the damaged fighters slammed into the rear of the cruiser. With a total speed well in excess of ten thousand kilometres per hour, they smashed deep inside the rear of the ship. Almost as soon as they hit the engines, the onboard weapons and missiles exploded.
Wing Commander Anders watched from his spinning life support pod at the flashes and light coming from the rear of the ship. A series of sparks rattled along the hull, followed by a bright flash. Several large chunks of fuselage ripped off from the ship, and the cruiser started to drift.
“Angel One here. Cruiser is disabled, requesting immediate pickup for my pilots.”
* * *
The tense standoff continued deep inside the blood red warship. More Jötnar had arrived, and it took all of Spartan’s authority and self-control to stop them rampaging into the group of people. He glanced at the prisoners and immediately spotted two familiar faces. The first was Sergeant Kowalski, one of the marines that had been working on Prometheus. He had last seen him during their violent and desperate ordeal on the planet. Stood just a few paces to his right was Misaki, the young Asian tech expert. She looked at Spartan with a mixture of pleasure and anger. Spartan couldn’t tell which was stronger but in his experience, it was the latter. The leader still refused to back down, but the rest of his guards were starting to look a little nervous.
“Engine ignition sequence in thirty seconds,” came a loud voice through the ship, it sounded computerised.
Spartan looked to the leader and noted the look of satisfaction on his face. It was that of a man who knew he’d already won. Spartan decided to take a different tack.
“You live on a ship run by computers?” he laughed. “Who are you?”
The tall Zealot warrior stared at Spartan, his bitterness clearly evident.
“You don’t recognise me? We fought many times on Prometheus.”
“Prometheus? You were a pit fighter like me?”
“Oh no, nothing like you, Spartan,” he said with a spitting gesture.
Khan lurched forward, and Spartan was forced to grab him. The angered Jötnar looked to him in confusion. Spartan held him firmly to stop him from surging into the group of prisoners and Zealots.
“Yes, keep your animal on a leash. We have to do the same with ours. The synthetics do have their uses though, don’t you think?”
A great blast rumbled through the hull of the cruiser, and Spartan crashed into the wall. His vision was blurred. All around people were falling or staggering. It must be the engines he thought. The acceleration would throw them to the ground or walls, depending on where they stood. He shook his head and spotted two Jötnar rushing to the Zealots. One was hit at least a dozen times but still managed to reach them before dropping to the ground. The second leapt over his body and swung his curve blade with terrible speed and efficiency. Spartan lifted himself up and staggered forward. Screaming civilians ran amok, so rather than use his firearms, he was forced to ready his edged weapons for close quarter battle.
“Stop them!” he cried.
One Zealot tried to slip past, but he spotted the tanned armour underneath the man’s robes. He swung out his arm and struck the man in the chest. As he dropped down, another three Zealots appeared, each blasting him with pistols and shotguns. One was jumped on by a group of escaped prisoners. Khan whose rage was up cornered the other two. He lifted his futuristic looking axe and swung it in a wide, horizontal cut. The power was impressive, and the butchered remains dropped to the floor.
“Spartan!” screamed the Zealot leader who was trapped in the middle of the room and surrounded by a bodyguard of six warriors. Gunshots from the Vanguards quickly peeled them away until just the leader remained. Spartan faced him and checked to ensure his retractable blades were extended and ready.
“Drop your weapons, Talos. We have things to discuss.”
A final volley of gunfire burst through the room, and then it was as silent as it had been prior to the gun battle. There was still the occasional rattle of combat through the vessel, but for now it looked like they were in the clear.
“Lieutenant Spartan. This is Colonel Blake. Good work on the ship. You managed to disable enough gun turrets to get a fighter squadron in close enough. They took out the main engines as well as one of the two main powerplants. What is your status?”
“We have the Captain and some of the crew under our control. There are at least fifty prisoners here. I recognise a number of them from Prometheus.”
“Excellent work, they will be from the tra
nsport. Captain Hobbs and a relief team are due to arrive in the next fifteen minutes. They will work from the front of the ship and work their way to you. Watch out for them.”
“Yes, Sir, I’ll be waiting for them,” replied a less than enthusiastic Spartan.
One of the Vanguards stepped forward to Captain Talos, but the man lifted his sidearm and pointed it at his own temple. Spartan reached forward.
“No, stop there!”
The Vanguard stopped and waited. Talos remained still, but his pistol was unchanged, the muzzle resting firmly against his skin.
“Spartan. What the hell did you do to get a commission in this crap little marine corps? You aren’t even man enough to fight out of your armour.”
“Armour is just a tool, you know that, or you would if you remembered any of your training.”
Talos looked at him with a subtlety different expression.
“So, you do remember me?”
“I remember a pathetic little whelp that liked spending time in the showers with the trainees. Didn’t they find you on the take?”
Talos shook his head and almost lowered the weapon before realising what was happening.
“I see, you think you’re clever, don’t you? I left because I was able to, not like you and the others. Where is the honour in fighting when you have no choice?”
“You’re a coward. You never fought a single battle in the Arena, did you?”
Before he answered, Spartan hit the release button on his Vanguard armour. It hissed open, and with a subtle twist, he dropped out and onto his feet. Khan stepped closer, sensing the increase in danger that Spartan was placing himself in.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you a deal.”
“What?” demanded Talos.
“You lower your weapon and I’ll let you fight me. You’ve wanted to do that for some time, right?”
Star Crusades Uprising: The Second Trilogy Page 41