Star Crusades Uprising: The Second Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  “You hear that?” he asked.

  Khan nodded.

  “Come on!”

  Spartan moved ahead first, and the rest followed as quickly as they could. The lower staircase was far less grand than the main one. As they travelled further down, the sound of battle became louder. Spartan’s audio system crackled with the muffled sound of fighting.

  “Spartan, Daniels here. Yorkdale is on the ground. We’re through the outer wall and pushing in to the main Palace ground...”

  Massed gunfire obliterated most of the audio before the officer’s voice returned.

  “I’ve sent two shuttles of reinforcements to your position to assist. Recon indicated a guards unit moving from a barracks to your north, so expect trouble.”

  “Understood. We have broken inside and are working down to the location pinpointed by the engineers.”

  “Excellent, keep moving. Time isn’t on our side.”

  “Sir.”

  They took the last few steps and dropped down into a huge hall that was decked out with massive floor to ceiling stone columns. They must have been easily thirty metres tall. A number of large alcoves ran down both sides with bodies of numerous warriors littering the floor. In the middle of the fight a small group of Jötnar were surrounded and trapped. They were blasting away with their guns and cutting down any Biomechs that strayed too close.

  Flashes of light glinted in the distance, but it was too dark to see properly. Spartan switched to thermal imaging. The display changed to a kaleidoscope of colour. There were at least thirty people and all wore exotic armour. They were formed up into two long lines and seemed to be protecting the entrance at the end of the hall.

  “Zealots,” he muttered.

  “This way!” he cried and surged forward. His group soon reached the maelstrom of the battle and were forced to shoot a path ahead. Khan broke through first and reached Gun. More enemy forces surged in from the left, so Spartan was forced to stop moving and turn his guns on them. He held down his trigger until all four guns were empty. He must have killed forty or more, yet they kept coming. Sergeant Lovett did the same, and the Jötnar carrying Gatling guns added their own fire. It was a deadly storm of metal, and in just over a minute of gunfire the Biomechs started to waver. Spartan stepped over to Gun who had dropped to one knee.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Gun smiled at him, but there was something about his face that suggested otherwise. He looked down to see three deep slashes across his side and his left leg. The armour had been ripped away and he was bleeding profusely.

  “You crazy bastard, you had to go on alone, didn’t you?”

  Khan moved up and threw down one of his axes to help support Gun’s weight. With great effort, Gun managed to lift himself up onto one leg and lean onto Khan.

  “We need to get to the end. Look,” said Spartan. He pointed towards the line of Zealots. Even though the battle had been raging for some time, the Zealots hadn’t moved a millimetre. They stood with precision and discipline, each upright as though on parade.

  “Spartan!” called Sergeant Lovett.

  Spartan followed the direction he pointed to and saw a group moving from the right towards the Zealots. With a quick tap, the visor zoomed in to the tallest of the group.

  “Typhon, you bastard!”

  “That’s him?” asked Sergeant Lovett.

  “Yeah, and it looks like he has people with him.”

  “Teresa?”

  Spartan shrugged, but he was unable to identify individuals as the group had moved past the lines of warriors. He looked back to the three and was almost distracted by the continuing battle around them. Khan kept firing even though Gun’s weight was slowing him down.

  “Whatever we are looking for, it’s in there. Let’s go!” he said.

  The centre of the hall contained just a few dozen Biomechs who were locked in a violent hand-to-hand battle with the remaining Jötnar. One broke through and charged towards their little group. Sergeant Lovett lifted his arms but nothing happened, either his guns were empty or they had malfunctioned. Sensing danger, Spartan pushed in front and took the impact head on. He flexed back and slid across the floor with the thing on his front. Lights flashed in the suit as the creature struck wildly at any exposed parts.

  “Stay down!” Khan called out.

  Trusting in his comrade, Spartan dropped back and kept as low as his suit would allow. With a howling roar, a stream of bullets from Khan’s Gatling gun tore the thing into pieces. Sergeant Lovett jumped next to him and helped the blood-splattered Spartan to his feet. Only a handful of Biomechs remained. One turned and withdrew to the cover of the broken columns, and the others soon followed. Seeing this was their chance, Spartan moved along the hall with the others closely behind him. Khan started to lag behind, but two of the other Jötnar helped with Gun, freeing him up to join Spartan in the rush.

  As the group reached end of the hall, the target became clear, resplendent in all its glory. They were now at the base of a tower and a large object, much like a series of cylindrical tubes. Each was full of a metallic looking liquid. Light burst through from above and penetrated the top of the cylinders. It gave a glistening and brilliant look to the whole thing. The twin lines of Zealot warriors stood in silence at the bottom of the short flight of steps, blocking the path. It was a good ten metres wide, as was each of the steps, but there was no way to the object without passing the Zealots.

  Five men, all dressed in ceremonial robes and armour, stepped out into the light at the top of the steps. The light bounced from the gold colouring of their robes, so they almost stunned Spartan with the glow. The man at the centre raised his arms into the air and shouted. As one, the lines of Zealots brought their rifles up to their shoulders and aimed them directly at Spartan, Khan and the rest of the small band of warriors.

  “Welcome to the heart of the Union. These are my brothers, all Sons of the League,” said the man.

  Spartan instantly knew it was Typhon, but the others meant nothing to him.

  “You!” he shouted and took another step closer to the Zealots.

  “Stand your ground, Lieutenant Spartan, unless you want to see your woman butchered at this altar.”

  It was the only thing he could have said to stay Spartan’s hand. He halted as quickly as if he had run directly into a wall.

  “Your Admiral made a brave sacrifice, but it was in vain. She may have destroyed the station, even my ships, but I still have my fleet and the Legions of the Union. You have come here to destroy the Core, have you not?”

  Spartan said nothing, but Commander Gun had just arrived and with help managed to stand next to Spartan and face his enemy for the first time.

  “Ah, the leader of the Confederate Biomechs. It is interesting that here, at the end, you meet your maker.”

  “What?” Gun snapped.

  Typhon turned and pointed at the structure behind him.

  “The Core. It is responsible for everything. I could never have started this little war without its help. It is odd, but without the defeat of the League, I could never have achieved what I have.”

  He looked down with disappointment at the confused expressions.

  “The League?” asked Gun as he looked at Spartan.

  “This is the best you have to offer, two humans and half-breed synthetics? The League was the defeated faction in the Great War. This structure was created in secret to protect the knowledge, ideas and intellects of their greatest heroes.”

  Spartan pressed a button that released a small thermal explosive charge. He removed it with his left arm and held it out in front of him. Six of the Zealots towards the rear of the group stepped back and formed a protective line in front of Typhon. They shielded him with their bodies.

  “Why don’t you cut the history lesson? I can just blow this place to hell, then what happens to your victory?”

  Typhon shrugged and lifted up his hands.

  “Go ahead, I have already achieved far more than
my father ever could,” he said as he turned and looked back at the tanks. He put his hand on one of the glass tanks and looked back to Spartan.

  “They fought and lost generations ago. I have inflicted more damage and created more stability than they could have dreamt possible.”

  He then pointed at the Core.

  “Destroy me, or them, it will make no difference. The ships and the Biomechs are programmed to fight. The Zealots on board are loyal, and you will still lose.”

  “So we have nothing to lose then?” said Sergeant Lovett in despair.

  “Oh, hardly, my young marine,” Typhon laughed.

  “Your bravery is unquestioned, and you have made it this far. Yield to me, and you can join our crusade at the head of our armies.”

  As they continued speaking, Spartan flicked several switches to activate his distress flare system. It was used for rescue or target acquisition and could be used just once. It was his only remaining ranged weapon.

  “Typhon,” he said quietly.

  “Yes?” he replied optimistically.

  “Why don’t you just die?” replied Spartan with a growl. He dropped to one knee and twisted his shoulder so that the release mechanism pointed directly at the hated man’s face. Without hesitating, he tapped the launch button and ignited the flare. It blasted away with a whooshing sound. The shot was perfectly aimed and flew straight. Two of the Zealots pushed into its path and with a blinding flashed were struck. Screaming in pain, the two dropped to the ground, each writhing in agony. Typhon pulled a long, curved sword from his belt and stared with cold eyes at Spartan. Two slashes and the men were put out of their misery. He held the sword out and towards Spartan, the blade still dripping with blood.

  “That was a mistake, Spartan. What will you do now?”

  Khan lifted his Gatling gun up towards Typhon and sneered at him.

  “Why don’t I just kill you and your machine?” he said simply.

  “Do it? We don’t need it anymore. You can kill us all. Do you think we’re the only Sons of the League left? The Biomechs have been created thanks to their hard work and the knowledge and ideas learnt from the Core,” he pointed behind him again.

  “The orders for the war have already been given, so there is nothing you can do about that now. Even as we stand here, my Brothers have ten legions of Biomechs waiting to move through the Spacebridge, and your fleet is non-existent. You have worn yourselves out to fight this struggle, and now it is time for you to stop.”

  Part of the wall ripped apart and the burning wreckage of a Confederate assault shuttle smashed to the ground. It spun wildly and then slammed into the three columns. Chunks of stone and masonry dropped down and crushed its wing. A group of eight Zealots stepped away and marched forward to examine it. Typhon turned from the steps and looked towards the Core as if to speak to it, or examine it more closely. A high-pitched scream erupted from the shuttle, and one of the side doors blew apart in a display of dust and broken metal. From the gap game a dozen Vanguards, blasting away with their arm-mounted weapons. A number of the Zealots fell from the gunfire before they realised what was happening.

  “Stop them!” shouted Typhon. He vanished out of sight at the top of the steps. Four Biomechs, each at least the size of the Jötnar, waited patiently with their weapons held high.

  The Zealots were unlike any of the warriors Spartan had seen before. They moved quickly and spun their glaive-type weapons with speed and precision. They were each the match of a Vanguard. Spartan pushed to the step and Khan followed with him. Sergeant Lovett tried to help, but two Zealots jumped in front of him and blocked his path. The first cut down and managed to disable the servomotors on his left arm, but he was able to force the second to the floor. He stamped down on the man’s head with the heavy metal foot of the Vanguard armour.

  Spartan reached the top first and threw himself at the four Biomechs. Two fell down along with him. Khan, in the meantime, jumped up and swung his axes. One embedded in the first Biomech’s head and smashed it to the floor.

  “Spartan, Major Daniels here. You’re on your own, old friend. More troops have arrived. We’re pinned down in the courtyards, you must...” he was cut off by the sound of automatic cannon fire.

  “Khan, destroy the Core!” Spartan shouted as one of the Biomechs tried to crush him. Alarms triggered inside as systems in the suit started to fail. Another of Gun’s bodyguards made it to the top, but the waiting Biomechs cut him down and then turned on the fallen Spartan. He struggled under the weight, but the sight of Typhon running for one of the side doors with several others, enraged him. With all his remaining effort, he threw off the one Biomech and then slammed his armoured fist into the second one’s head. It staggered back bleeding. He lifted himself to his feet, and he saw Teresa. She was being dragged along by three cloaked figures.

  “Stop you cowards!” he snapped at them as they tried to escape.

  The figure at the rear turned around and Spartan could see it was Captain Hobbs, the traitor and person responsible for Teresa’s fate. Beside her were Misaki and two other Zealots who were dragging the dulled and probably drugged woman. More alarms flashed inside the suit, and the left knee crunched as he dropped down to the floor.

  “Typhon!” he roared.

  The man stopped and turned back, making sure Hobbs and Misaki were in front. Spartan was down on one knee and sparks flashed along the suit as it started to fail. Typhon laughed at him, enjoying the moment of satisfaction as his enemy’s armour failed and risked potentially killing him inside it. The surviving Biomechs both grabbed Khan and pinned him to the wall, but he struggled fiercely. At the bottom of the steps, the Zealots, Vanguards, Biomechs and Jötnar fought their last bloody battle. None were able to come to the rescue of the fallen Spartan. Typhon looked about the area carefully, ever wary of a trap. His four brothers, as he called them, approached and stood nearby. Their robes and golden armour looked exquisite compared to the functional metal of the Jötnar and Vanguards.

  “Damned suit!” spluttered Spartan as the main power in the suit finally gave way. He pulled the release lever, and the front of the suit split open. He stumbled out and dropped to the floor. Now pilotless, the smashed armour tipped over and lay motionless on the ground.

  “Lieutenant, I might have known that your war would end this way, on your knees and on your own.” He indicated to his brothers and two of them moved forward. Both had curved swords drawn to face Spartan. They positioned themselves on either side of him, ready to deliver the coup de grâce.

  “Wait!” shouted Hobbs, her face twisted with pleasure. “Let me deal with him.”

  Typhon looked disappointed but indicated with his arm for her to step forward.

  “Be quick, we have things to do,” he said seriously.

  Hobbs moved before Spartan and threw off her cloak to reveal her Zealot armour. Like the others, it was golden in colour and made of intricate segments, all joined beautifully together. She withdrew a slender looking blade from her belt and held it low.

  “Come on, Spartan, let’s finish this,” she said with a grin.

  Without further warning, she leapt forward to stab at him. She was fast but also arrogant. The attack was straight and true but obvious. Spartan stayed down and waited until the last moment. A quick slip to the right and he kicked out her legs. She tipped over and tumbled down the steps. She reached the bottom where the injured Gun and the others were fighting. Gun spotted her and without even considering who she might be, slammed his blade into her chest. Spartan turned back and flashed Typhon a smile.

  “Next?” he asked.

  Typhon turned to his brothers. “Destroy the machine, we have no more use for it. The orders have been given and our troops are ready.”

  “What about him?” asked the youngest of the men.

  “Finish him off, this has gone on too long.”

  The nearest of them indicated towards two of the Biomechs who stepped forward and grabbed Spartan. They pinned him to the ground so th
at he was forced to his knees. The Zealot lifted his sword ready to deliver the strike.

  “Typhon,” came a low, rumbling voice.

  Spartan looked around the room, unable to see who was speaking.

  “What?” Typhon snapped back.

  The strange metallic voice from the Core continued.

  “You promised the League its final victory, so what are you doing? This is madness. The Biomechs are tools.”

  Typhon stepped closer to the Core, speaking in angry tones.

  “The League is nothing. We are the true Sons, and we will rebuild the Empire, as it should have been. Our new generation of Biomechs do not need your input. They are the new citizens of the Empire.”

  Typhon turned and walked away, showing his back to the Core.

  “What of the people?” it asked.

  Typhon turned his head, glanced at Spartan then back to the Core.

  “They can all burn.”

  “You would commit genocide in our name? We can stop the Biomechs with a single signal,” roared the voice.

  Typhon pulled a pistol from his belt and aimed it at the closest tank.

  “Do it, and I’ll destroy this entire place. The accumulated knowledge of the greatest minds of the League will vanish, forever. All this work will be wasted.”

  The Core went silent, and Typhon stood and gloated at the machine. The battle in the hall had stopped. He walked to the edge of the steps and looked down. There were just a handful of the warriors left, each of them stood close to the wounded, but still conscious Commander Gun. A large door from one of the distant alcoves opened with a groan to reveal at least fifty more Biomechs. They were all armed with firearms. They surged forward and towards the steps. Typhon turned back to the Core.

  “As you can see, we have all we need.” He gave a nod to his men who stepped towards the myriad of controls on the wall.

  “As you wish, we have made our decision,” said the booming voice.

  Lights flashed on the computers and the tanks started to bubble furiously. A high-pitched scream pulsed from the centre as though a massive energy blast was building.

  “What?” Typhon shouted.