Star Crusades Uprising: The Second Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Status?” he asked, but it was superfluous. No sooner had he asked the question than he could already see their positions on his HUD. It was fast, quick to read and immediately told him the unit was in position.

  “Okay, plan B, we go through the walls. Proceed as planned,” he stated clearly.

  Like a well-oiled machine, two of the men attached devices to the wall. It took just seconds, and they backed off, turning from the wall.

  “Fire in the hole!” shouted the one and with no further warning, a chunk of masonry was blown apart. The hole was at least three metres wide, plenty big enough for them to enter. Spartan stepped through first, and the rest of the two squads followed him. A number of floodlights filled the outer sections with a dull orange glow, and the building in the middle was lit from several internal lights. Dusts and debris filled the air, and for a second Spartan almost lost his way. He connected to the recons that were situated almost three kilometres away near the main powerplant replay station for the area.

  “Cut the power, now!”

  It took less than five seconds for every light in the compound to cut out as well as every structure, streetlight and power coupling in the block. With the lighting gone, the entire compound was now almost totally black. The team inched forward, their dark armoured suits melting them into their surroundings. They spread out with Spartan and his squad heading for the main door while the others moved to their own targets. As he moved forward, he quickly communicated with the pilot of the downed Cobra.

  “What happened? Casualties?” he asked.

  There was a short pause from the pilot before he replied.

  “Mechanical failure, no casualties, Sir. She’s set for detonation when we hit the air. I’ve already stripped the data and communication core.”

  Spartan nodded to himself at the quick and precise information. It was an unfortunate loss and meant the second squad was now unable to assault via the roof of the compound. Still, the teams had been practicing this operation for weeks, and the loss of a single squad wouldn’t stop their mission. When they left the site, they would trigger the charges and destroy the crippled Cobra in its entirety. Nothing but charred metal and burnt out components would remain.

  “Transfer your gear to Cobra Three and provide extraction fire support.”

  “Sir!” came back the reply.

  He looked to the door that was now just a few metres away. It looked almost identical to the one they had worked on back in the mock-up of the compound erected on board the ANS Santa Cruz. The old warhorse had plenty of space for their training now that so few people were stationed there. It was odd compared to her days of carrying thousands of marines. He looked back to the barrier now facing them. The hinges and bolts were hidden from view by the close fitting metal outer skin; it was designed for security and had been reinforced recently. He lifted his hand to give the signal but spotted movement on one of the higher levels. His instinct told him of the danger, and he sidestepped just as a burst of gunfire ripped through the courtyard. The soldier behind him took three rounds in his chest armour and stumbled back, hitting the ground. He watched him fall and then looked up in the direction of the attacker.

  Bastard!

  Spartan lifted his rifle and took aim through the holographic sight to the enemy watching down to the courtyard. With the target in clear view, he pulled the trigger. With an almost silent whoosh the firearm sent a surge of power through the coils and accelerated a single metal slug to just below the speed of sound. It struck the man in the forehead and sent him flying back into the room he occupied. The gun itself was completely silent, and only the crack made by the projectile crashing through the air made any sound at all. Two more rounds were sat in the two other barrels, ready to be released at any moment. He looked back to the fallen man only to see one of his corporals lifting him to his feet. He nodded to Spartan.

  “He’s okay, the armour did its job.”

  Spartan smiled inwardly. The armour was good equipment, but the thought of losing these well-trained individuals was always a heavy burden to him. They hadn’t even penetrated the main building, let alone spotted their hated enemy. Losing a man so early would be a heavy price for the mission. They were interrupted by an almost elated message from Sergeant Yobun.

  “Sir, we’re in!” he called out over the communications unit. The commander of the Third Troop was on the other side of the compound and performing the same mission as Spartan’s team. Just seconds later, and Spartan could already see ammunition expenditure on his HUD. It meant they were in combat and firing their weapons.

  Third Troop is in action already. Come on, we need to get in the fight, or they’ll be on their own!

  He turned to Corporal Lina Sovana to encourage her to speed up, but she was already on the door and placing charges at key points. It was fast work, and Spartan allowed himself a moment’s pleasure at the skill and precision exhibited by his team. Most had come straight from the Marine Corps like himself, but some, such as Corporal Sovana, were from the police Anti Terror Units; the elite tactical teams used to bust drug dealers and stamp down on organised crime. She looked to him, nodded and then stepped back.

  “Blow it!” he ordered.

  With a simple tap on the detonator device on her suit, the series of three charges ripped chunks from the wall. Spartan pushed forward to find their way still blocked by the scorched but still standing door. Through the holes he could see there was another layer of armour behind the first section. He looked back to the young woman.

  “It’s still up, Corporal. Bring down the wall!”

  She needed no further encouragement and took up position along the wall just a few metres away. It was a procedure they had tested already in case of such an eventuality. There was always a chance the entry points would be reinforced, and there might even be deliberate diversions from the main ways inside. Corporal Sovana placed a new series of shaped charges and double-checked them before again stepping back. She looked to Spartan who gave her the nod.

  “Fire in the hole!”

  There was a mighty flash that the suit’s visor instantly deadened, much like the way a welding mask might react to the arc of a welding torch. His thermal imaging picked out the signatures of two figures, both on the floor but already standing. One was carrying a weapon of some kind, which was all he needed to know. He stepped inside the breach and fired two short bursts at each figure. The triple-barrels fired one after the other, allowing a high rate of fire yet giving the weapon time to load the chambers, a round to the head and a round to the chest, just as he had practiced so many times before. It was classic double tapping, and then he was past them and inside the lower level of the old police compound. The first eight fighters of First Troop moved in behind him while the second team set up a perimeter in case anybody tried to escape. They frequently practiced working with the troop of sixteen so that they could operate as one unit or break down to smaller groups of either eight or four. It gave them the flexibility to operate in all kinds of situations.

  “Stay frosty people, we have reports of up to a dozen tangos in here. Watch for wires and traps. I don’t want to lose any one today.”

  “Sir!” called Sgt Seven Troky from outside the building, “We’re picking up movement at the militia barracks. Looks like somebody spotted the explosions.”

  Spartan checked the overhead view from their circling reconnaissance drone. The barracks was far enough away that he reckoned they had at least ten, maybe fifteen minutes before they might be found. The wrecked Cobra was no longer burning and not obvious from the ground. He spotted the shapes of the other three Cobras as they took off and moved away. While they were on the ground, they were vulnerable to gunfire. They had another way out, and there was also the assumption they would need a larger vehicle to extract prisoners and potentially wounded.

  “Update me on their progress,” he ordered and continued his approach to the main staircase on the left wing of the building. At the bottom he waited for the
rest of his unit to catch up and did another quick check on the aerial view, still no change. He scanned every possible hiding place while keeping his rifle up to his shoulder. His HUD overlaid the information from his firearm, as well as integrating infrared and thermal imaging to create a visual feed, that gave him a major edge over the enemy. The infrared gave him a monochromatic view of the interior while the thermal imaging showed him heat sources.

  “Ground floor clear, moving up!” called out Sergeant Yobun.

  Sergeant Morato tapped Spartan’s shoulder. It was a simple signal, but that was all he needed to take the corner. He moved to the far left, his rifle pointing directly up the stairs and in the expected direction of the enemy. Teresa moved to his right and the others behind them in two short columns, as they had rehearsed so many times before.

  “Stun grenade!” called Teresa.

  On cue, a hexagonal stun grenade sailed passed them all and to the next level. It was smaller than the equipment used by conventional ground forces and designed to operate on impact. It took skill and timing to use it correctly and could be as much a danger to the team as it was to the enemy if not used properly. It disappeared from view and was followed by a dull crump. It was the signal they were waiting for.

  “Move it!” barked Spartan.

  Both columns rushed the stairs, each of them scanning for signs of the enemy. A man staggered into view, either confused by the attack or temporarily blinded by the grenade. Either way it didn’t matter, he was struck by two short bursts fired by the unit. None stopped as they continued their steam roll through the building. Spartan moved along the corridor and approached the next flight of stairs, taking him to the main level above.

  “Sergeant, secure this level,” he said as dispassionately as he could.

  But it wasn’t easy having the mother of his child as his number two. Not that he would have it any other way. They had worked together since joining the Marine Corps, and there was no one else he trusted more to watch his back. Sergeant Morato nodded and gave hand signals to the other three in the split unit. They moved off onto the level to look for signs of the enemy. Spartan looked back to the staircase and checked his own half of the unit was ready.

  “Intel has this as the primary level in the compound. Watch for friendlies. Second Troop is entering from the south side.”

  With that, he moved up with the rest of the group close beside him. The staircase widened to an open foyer type arrangement with a circular reception desk facing them. Spartan spotted movement and threw himself to the right side of the corridor, knocking down the two closest of his men. A loud burst of rifle fire clattered towards their now vacated position. The weapon was large calibre, possibly even a light machine gun, and tore finger-sized holes in the walls around them. It was archaic compared to the triple barrelled XL52 Mk II assault rifle he was carrying.

  “Taking fire on the northern stairwell. We need flanking fire, now!” he said calmly over the suit’s communication system.

  “Roger,” came back the calm response from the Sergeant Tsuki Yobun, the confident commander of the Second Troop. Unlike Spartan, this Sergeant was an old school NCO back from well before the uprising. He was much older and had the scars and experience to prove it.

  Spartan looked back to the top of the staircase and realised the precarious situation they were in. He twisted the muzzle to deactivate the more stealth subsonic mode. In this situation, he needed firepower and penetration over quietness. Not that any noise he made mattered now, the terrorists own firearms roared in the stillness of the night air. He glanced over to the other three who were all looking up to the position of the enemy.

  “Give me covering fire, now!”

  There was no hesitation, and each lifted their weapons and blind fired towards the position of the enemy. A sporadic burst of defensive fire hit back, but it was wild, and the shooter must have been ducking to avoid fire. Spartan lifted his head briefly and aimed at the position he had last seen the man firing from. The reception desk was flat-fronted and cool on his display, much cooler than expected. He could pick up the sparks and flashes from their rifle rounds failing to penetrate the target. He fired a short burst and dropped back.

  “Sir, he’s dug in. If you ask me, that desk area has been armoured for a day like this. I’d say inch thick plate or some kind of composite,” suggested Corporal Lina Sovana.

  The others had dropped back down but were still firing short bursts to keep the man pinned down. He looked down to his rifle and selected the high-power mode. It reduced his rate of fire to no more than one shot every five seconds but would expend the capacitor’s charge to propel all three projectiles at the same tame to incredible speeds. According to the instructors demonstrating the weapon, a single slug at that speed could penetrate through an engine block. Three rounds in close proximity would be devastating. He waited the few seconds for the indicator to show on his HUD that the weapon was charged and ready.

  “Again!” he called out and the others lifted their weapons to add more fire. A short burst ripped back towards him from the defender and then stopped for a second. It was his chance. He stood up to the right so that he was pushed up to the wall and took aim at the point where the muzzle flashes had occurred. He dropped his aim down by a metre and squeezed the trigger. With a loud pulse of blue light and an almost bellowing scream, the rifle released its cargo of three magnetic projectiles at super-high velocities. It smashed through the desk as if it wasn’t even there, through the man and continued on through half the building. The man himself was hurled backwards by the impact almost two metres before crashing into the wall, and dead well before he even touched the ground.

  “Forward!” cried Spartan and the group of four were up off the stairs and surging onto the main level. According to their plans, the area was divided up into ten rooms with two staircases at each end and a long corridor running between the rooms. A number of individuals stumbled about but were instantly cut down by his team.

  “Rooms one through four are clear!” called out the second team who had already cleared over a third of the floor.

  Spartan started to worry about their intel. They had been promised the head of their target in this compound. Drone recon indicated he had been present less than an hour ago.

  Where is he? Spartan wondered.

  He moved to the corridor and to a short distance ahead. At the far end of the hall, he spotted the second team as they did the same. Both sides lifted their fists to acknowledge the position of the other. It would be a tragedy if two elite teams caught each other in a deadly but mistaken crossfire. It was easily done, hence the weeks of training and rehearsals. There were doors just ahead and on each side. Spartan waved with his left hand for two of his unit to take up positions on the one side while one stayed behind him. He counted silently with his fingers.

  Three...two...one!

  Then he spun around and kicked the door hard. It opened more easily than expected, and he was inside. A man carrying an L48 carbine, the same weapon he had used on many occasions, was looking out of the window and turned to shout. Spartan fired at his chest; completely forgetting his weapon was still on high-power. The powerful blast threw the man headlong out of the window as the three magnetic slugs hit him with enough power to tear through a toughened concrete wall. The body disappeared in the courtyard below. One of the marines with him started to laugh at the bizarre scene.

  “Stop it,” snapped Spartan. He wasn’t in the mood for games.

  At almost the same time, two men emerged from behind a set of metal cabinets and slammed a heavy wheeled trolley at the group. Spartan took the brunt of the impact and flew back to the wall. He landed hard and slid down to the floor. Alerts flashed up inside his armoured suit, and a burst of adrenalin was pumped directly into his bloodstream to keep him going.

  “Lieutenant!” cried the nearest marine, but the second man struck him across the face with a metal bar that almost broke his neck. If it hadn’t been for the reinforced neck a
rmour, it would have killed him outright.

  Corporal Lina Sovana rolled to the side and avoided being stuck. In seconds, half of the team were down, and the remaining two were caught up in a violent hand-to-hand struggle. From the ground, Spartan spotted the young Corporal punch one of the men before being jammed against the wall while the second hit her repeatedly with the bar. He used every ounce of effort left in his body and forced himself to his feet.

  “Get off her!” he growled.

  One man kept her pinned, pulled a handgun from a hidden holster, and placed it at point blank range in front of Lina’s face. The other, a slightly taller man, turned to face Spartan with nothing but the bar in his hand.

  “First we have Confed criminals, and now we have Alliance dogs. Don’t you get bored serving the same master?” he said with contempt dripping from his voice.

  Through the doorway appeared Teresa and one of her corporals. Both had their rifles aimed squarely at the man’s chest. Spartan turned to her and spoke quitely, so only those on the commuications netork would hear him.

  “On my signal, hit the guy next to Corporal Sovana. I’ll take care of him.”

  Sergeant Morato said nothing, but Spartan could tell from her body language that she understood exactly what he wanted. The lights flickered on, presumably from the internal backup genertators. Spartan thought that was odd. Surely they could have put them on at any point, unless it was their plan all along. He opened his visor and looked into the eyes of his enemy.

  “You know we aren’t leaving without you, Chraige Attez!” he announced.

  The man showed no surprise, and that unsettled Spartan more than the situation itself. Even worse, as the lights came on, so did a low pitched hum through his communciations system.

  “What’s the problem, Alliance filth? Having problems with your communications?” he laughed.