Star Crusader: Knighthawk Squadron

by Michael G. Thomas

  "This is a strong position, Prince Kratha. We can hold it."

  The Prince looked at the General, his mentor from little more than a child. Their roles had suddenly become reversed when Imperator Thras had been taken or killed. The decision was a tough one.

  "They're here."

  That was all he needed to help him make the decision.

  "To the walls!" yelled the Prince.

  Scores of black armoured soldiers rushed from their hiding places and to the broken outer walls. These were not just regular soldiers; they were the elite of the Byotai military, and every one of them had sworn an oath to the Imperator personally. Each would fight, and if necessary die for the Byotai Empire. The Imperial Guard was the largest contingent still fighting for the Empire, and all had been trained from childhood for this one task. They were clad from head to toe in black armour, gold embellishments marking them out as the Imperial elite. General Honorius staggered from the wall and to the position facing directly at the approaching soldiers.

  "Take aim!"

  Each of the Guards lowered their thermal pikes and took aim. The ground thundered as hundreds of citizen volunteers surged down the wide streets. Prince Kratha joined them at the wall and looked out at the approaching soldiers. Some bore looted armour, and all were armed from pistols and rifles through to the most improvised of weapons. They chanted something as they came, and some held up banners with the two-headed reptile over their heads.

  "Traitors!" General Honorious shouted.

  Prince Kratha pulled the ancient relic known to his people as the Sword of the Imperator from his improvised scabbard. He lifted it high above his head and called out to his personal guard.

  "For the Empire!"

  * * *

  Alliance Armoured Assault Ship 'ANS Relentless'

  Orion Battlegroup, Helios System Spacebridge

  Nate felt a lot better after a good night's sleep, something the excitement of the previous day's events had been unable to halt. He'd been operating under immense strain for the last few weeks, and the chance to actually close his eyes and empty his mind was a real blessing. Now all five of them were up and ready for their new home. It didn't take long, as their few personal belongings had been sent with the civilian transports.

  "Nate, have you seen the history of this squadron?"

  "The Knighthawks?"

  Cassandra smiled, and Nate was taken aback for a moment. Normally, she was cold and bordering on unfriendly with him. He had already pretty much given up trying to figure her out. The one and only thing he did know was that she was from a family famous for pilots. She rarely talked about it, but he had checked in his own time and been amazed at some of their stories. His mind drifted before he realised she was waiting for a reply.

  Knighthawks...yeah, okay.

  "I hadn't heard of them until I checked them out. Looks like they were raised on Carthago back in the early days of the Confederacy. They are one of the oldest squadrons in the Navy."

  She had to stop every few seconds as they squeezed down the corridor. The place was packed with people as they moved in and out of their quarters.

  "They mutinied in the Uprising and were completely destroyed in the first month of the fighting. That's why they were not reactivated in the Biomech War."

  Nate stopped, and Cassandra stayed with him, her expression now more curious than worried.

  "What?"

  Nate scowled.

  "Was this squadron reactivated as a joke? Is the Captain playing a trick on us?"

  Cassandra shrugged.

  "Who knows? In any case, we've got small arms drill to deal with. And you know who's running it, right?"

  They continued onwards, but Nate could tell she was pushing to find out something and her question little more than a probe.

  What's she getting at?

  Before he could answer, Billy appeared from the opposite direction. For a second Nate was suspicious, but then he saw the massive grin on his friend's face.

  "What is it?"

  Billy coughed twice, the excitement stopping him from even speaking.

  "The Marines, they've got a Jötnar to help train us."

  Nate's eyes widened in surprise, but Cassandra said what all of them were thinking.

  "You're kidding right, a Jötnar, on this ship?"

  Billy moved away and encouraged them to follow.

  "Come on, you're nearly there."

  They moved on down the cramped passageway as quickly as they could. With so many people now on board Relentless, Nate was beginning to see what life was really like on an active duty warship. He'd heard ships were more like small cities, packed with people, sleeping quarters, canteens, and stations. The one thing that he found the strangest was the lack of access to the outer layers of the ship. The hangar decks were off limits unless they were on duty, and all external views and windows had been sealed. As they reached the doorway to the training and recreation hall, the internal warning called out.

  "That's the Spacebridge warning," said Nate.

  Billy stepped inside and glanced back at him.

  "I know. Come on."

  As they moved through the first door, the warning sounded one last time. A subtle vibration was the only signal that they had just travelled hundreds of light years, all without ever moving. Nate had tried to get his head around it before, and it was still a lot to understand. A single marine who watched each of the three enter guarded a second doorway.

  "Come on, Knighthawks."

  The voice was stern and slightly sarcastic. Nate heard him bark more orders well before he rounded the corner and entered the training space. It was split into two main areas, the largest a lightly padded floor for close-quarters training. Far off to the back of the space was an L-shaped section that led to the shooting range.

  Wow!

  Nate stopped in his tracks upon seeing the three marines, all stripped down to their PT gear. The clothing was simple, short-sleeve shirts, black shorts, and bare feet.

  "Good of you to join us," said a low, coarse sounding voice.

  At first Nate thought it was Lieutenant Heiskell, but as he looked to the left, he could see it was actually the two and a half metre tall Jötnar that spoke. These synthetic creatures were a holdover from the terrible days of the Uprising, where one side had used secret genetic labs to create them as fearsome fighting machines. They were built in much the same way as a human, yet twisted beyond all recognition. Their muscles were massive, and their faces contorted and exaggerated. The throat and neck muscles rippled with potential, and their voices were low and almost always angry in tone.

  "It talks."

  Nate hadn't meant to say it aloud, but he was so surprised it just spurted out.

  "Nate!" said Cassandra.

  He looked sheepishly at his friend and then spotted the rest of the squadron. Rex was there, stretching his arms. Right at his side Matilda was busily fiddling with her fingers to loosen them up. They were far from alone, though. Slightly behind them were the OTC cadets. Nate had not seen them since their virtual mission, but it was clear they were far from one happy family.

  "Of course I talk. What did you think I was?"

  Nate had absolutely no idea what to say, so he moved his eyes along the group. The Jötnar took three steps to Nate and tapped him on the shoulder with his massive paw.

  "I asked you a question. Answer me."

  The room quieted down as every pair of eyes watched the confrontation. Nate looked like a toddler alongside such a massive beast. He wore similar PT kit as the other two marines, yet his bulging muscles and massive limbs almost burst out of the fabric. He looked like an ogre or troll from ancient myth, yet its face was calm, and for all its muscles, it appeared friendly.

  "I...uh...sorry. I've never seen a Jötnar before."

  The marine laughed and then moved back while shaking its head. Lieutenant Heiskell sniffed as though he had a cold and then nodded to the Jötnar.

  "This is Nál, Sergeant of m
y First Platoon. She's one of our brightest and best. I want every one of you to listen to what she has to say. It is imperative that you know how to handle yourselves in a one-on-one situation, and trust me, there is no better marine to watch your back than a Jötnar."

  Nate looked on in stunned disbelief.

  That's a female Jötnar? Wow!

  The Lieutenant then nodded towards the marine on his other flank.

  Valentine.

  Like the other two, she was stripped down to her PT gear, and now exposing much of her arms and legs. Nate was astounded to see her obvious strength, with subtly muscled limbs that had been hidden beneath her body armour. Her light brown hair hung down loosely behind her head, in a style that was unusual in the rigid structure of the Marine Corps. He half expected her to see him looking at her, but she had either not noticed, or had chosen to ignore him.

  "Most of you have met Private Valentine already."

  He signalled towards her, and Nate was sure she looked a little embarrassed.

  "Private Valentine is one of the youngest and most capable marines on this ship. One day she might even make a fine sergeant."

  Nate smiled at her.

  "She's experienced, and one hell of a combatant."

  Lieutenant Heiskell stepped ahead of the pair and looked at his new recruits, a dozen rookie pilots, and not one of them seemed to show anything approaching the confidence of the three marines.

  "Between them you can learn everything you will ever need to know about the up close and personal world of close-quarters combat."

  He paused and looked up slightly as though he could hear or smell something different in the air. Nate's heart rate increased as he tensed up expectantly. He and his friends might be expert video gamers, but they had a lot to learn about the military, and even more to learn about starships.

  "Brace yourselves, pilot. We're changing course."

  He looked up then moved to the side of the room to take hold of a grab handle. He moved slowly, as though he knew to the exact second when the shift in inertia and gravitational pull would occur. It was calm, and as his hand grasped the metal, he looked back at the group.

  "Well?"

  The pilots separated and moved to the sides of the room as the warning klaxon blared again. As each capital ships passed through the Spacebridge, they activated their powerful thrusters and altered their courses towards their new, and still secret destination. Alarms sounded through each of their hulls as every crewmember waited at their stations.

  ANS Relentless groaned as the flank-mounted engines pushed at full power to swing her around. The stabilisers absorbed most of the change in inertia, and Nate could feel the subtle shifts in his body. He had experienced it several times before in their recent adventures, but this was perhaps the most gruelling. It was nothing powerful enough to cause injury, but it could easily throw someone off balance if they were unprepared. The Jötnar remained where she was as the ship continued to groan. There was no pomp or ceremony, and as the remaining ships entered the tear in space-time, they instantly re-materialised on the other side, and in a completely alien environment.

  "And we're done," said Lieutenant Heiskell.

  He quickly released the handle and moved back to the stationary Jötnar. Private Valentine returned to her previous position and waited for the Lieutenant to continue.

  "I understand you currently do not have a squadron leader. This will be arranged following our continuing assessment of your abilities."

  He looked to Rex and the former members of Crusader Squadron.

  "This will not be based on age..."

  Somebody sniggered, and the Lieutenant snapped his head to the side, giving a withering stare at the OTC cadets.

  "...or background. We will alter the leadership of this squadron based on their ability to command the rest of you, as well as individual combat in the field. For now we have only your prior experience to base this on."

  He looked to the OTC cadets.

  "Ensign Hawkins, as the highest scoring simulator pilot of your peers, you will take provisional command of Knighthawk Squadron."

  Several of his comrades cheered him on as the Lieutenant looked towards Nate and the others.

  "What you five lack in formal training is made up for in actual combat experience. I've seen the reports, and I know what you've done. Each of you is a combat veteran, and Ensign Lewis in particular has demonstrated great skill and leadership in the face of the enemy."

  His right hand rose and pointed to Nate.

  "You will take second-in-command of the squadron."

  The two Ensigns looked to each other. While Nate seemed relatively calm, Ensign Hawkins was quite the opposite. His demeanour had altered dramatically in the last few seconds.

  "Your positions are fluid. Remember, the squadron comes first. Neither I, nor Commander Higgins will hesitate to replace you. We always need crew to wash the decks."

  He watched them in silence, enjoying the subtle shifts in attitude amongst them. He was already learning more about the group dynamics than anything that could be gleaned from their files.

  "Sergeant Nál will arrange a daily programme for you on fitness, conditioning, and drill. You might not be marines, but by hell you will learn from us."

  And with that he made for the door. By the time he'd gone, Nál had begun stretching her shoulder muscles.

  "You heard the Lieutenant. It's my job to make sure you can do more than press buttons on a gaming system."

  One of the OTC cadets cleared their voice and lifted an arm in a lazy display.

  "Yes, Pilot," Sergeant Nál, snapped back, "Who are you?"

  "Ensign Artur Augustyniak, Sergeant."

  The pilot was slightly bigger than Nate and much heavier built. Like most of the OTC pilots, he waited with a cocky attitude that they all seemed to share, as though each of them was entitled to something beyond anybody else on the ship. He sported a fuzzy growth of hair around his chin that he clearly wanted to grow into a beard. Regulations were still a little hazy on Relentless regarding grooming. The pilot's accent was thick, and Nate suspected it was from one of the old East European families.

  "Sergeant. I can understand the fitness regime, but what's the point of training in hand-to-hand combat for pilots? Our job is to keep the enemy well away from your people."

  Until then Sergeant Nál had been composed and pleasant, but now her expression soured. The Jötnar were an oddity in the Alliance, and frequently the butt of discrimination or harassment. This was rarely ever done to their faces, though, and Nate could see why. Their race was bred for a single purpose, and yet for all their skills and desire for combat, they were known to be among the calmest and most civilised group in the Alliance. Nate suspected they would find an innate disinterest in violence to be a failing of anybody else, though. Her eyes narrowed as she answered.

  "My people?"

  The pilot swallowed but still managed to nod in the affirmative.

  "Perhaps you are not aware, but in the last war with the Biomechs, there were many occasions where the enemy boarded our ships. There is, of course, the famous last stand of Admiral Lewis. He was..."

  Nate's mind seemed to go blank at that point. He was all too familiar with his relative’s war record, as well as his violent and untimely death. Many lost their lives in that war, but those that died in the last days were remembered as the last great warriors of the Alliance, something Nate always found a little odd.

  "Those crew might not have been marines, but they fought just as hard."

  The Jötnar pointed to the doorway so recently vacated by the Lieutenant.

  "If we are boarded, it will come down to every crewmember to defend our ship. Marines are the spear tip, but every pair of hands can help."

  Her long tongue pushed out and ran along her lower lip. Nate could just about make out some of her jagged looking teeth.

  "Today we work on the basics, footwork and timing."

  Artur, the pilot that had already q
uestioned the Jötnar, lifted his hand again. Nate shook his head at the irritation caused by this one individual. He suspected it was mainly down to the fact the pilots were all technically officers on this ship, and that the marine was a non-commissioned officer. That, or he simply had no respect for the Jötnar.

  "Sergeant. We've already practiced basic PT this week, and we had to go through phase one of martial arts techniques at the Officer Training School."

  Sergeant Nál walked towards the new pilots and made directly for the pilot. The others moved apart to create an open channel for the Sergeant. Nate watched her as she went, fascinated by the rippling of her exaggerated muscles. Then she stopped and stared at him. He was one of the biggest of the OTC cadets, and the others nodded and smiled as the Sergeant approached. They were apparently convinced of the physical abilities of their comrade.

  "Of course you have."

  She then looked to the rest of the group.

  "I don't care what you've done before. I can promise you, not one of you can put one of my marines on the mat. Try, and you will get a bloody nose."

  She then pushed her hands together with anticipation.

  "So, you are confident you can put..." She looked back at the other remaining marine, "Private Valentine on her back, are you?"

  The pilot leaned to the right and looked at the female marine, starting with her feet and working his way up. Nate pulled back a little as he spotted Artur seeming to enjoy himself a little too much. If he were pushed, he might even say the pilot was leering at her. They were of a similar height and build, although Nate suspected Artur might be more experienced in the art of unarmed combat than he was letting on. If not, then he was about to make a big mistake.

  "Go on, Artur," said Cem Kurt. He was of medium build, yet equally as fit and strong looking as the cocky Artur, "Show her."

  Ensign Augustyniak turned from his friend and back to the Sergeant.

  "Sure, no problem. Happy to help...Sergeant."

  As before, he addressed the Jötnar Sergeant with little more than disguised contempt. He then slowly moved his eyes from the Sergeant towards Private Valentine.