Lords of War (Star Crusades: Mercenaries, Book 1)

by Michael G. Thomas

  Spartan nodded slowly.

  “Your family. There are rumours that you sacrificed them, and millions more in the Biomech War. Is that true?”

  Spartan’s eyebrows appeared to tense at the question, and she instantly regretted asking. It wasn’t as if the rumours had been spread by her, and from what she’d seen, she seriously doubted it had happened the way others described it.

  “Actually…don’t…”

  Spartan lifted his hand.

  “No, it’s okay. You’re not the first person to ask, and I doubt you will be the last.”

  He rubbed his face with the back of his hand and leant against the smooth wall of the tunnel. The metal of his armour made a subtle scraping sound as he adjusted his posture.

  “The last war was a tough one. Hell, it was worse than tough, it was genocide plain and simple, carried out by a race of Biomechanical monsters. I did what I had to because…”

  “We had to win?”

  Spartan shook his head.

  “No, it wasn’t that.”

  He took in a long breath and then another sip on the water tube. As he did so, Spartan thought of Arana and the others making their way through the tunnels. He didn’t envy them for that journey, but his own was likely to be at least as tough. He turned his attention back to Syala.

  “I had to act because if I didn’t, it would have been the extermination of every living thing we know. The Byotai, the Helions, humans, every one of them dead.”

  He looked up at the ceiling, seeing nothing but blackness.

  “Teresa chose to help our son, and those fighting on Spascia. Gun was there as well, and by all account, they fought harder than anybody ever has. It was a bloody siege that lasted months, with wave assaults and orbital bombardments.”

  “And you?”

  “I used what I had to get inside the Biomech military, to join them and to lead their forces from the safety of their own worlds. It was a fate the enemy had planned for me and many others from the start.”

  Now she could see the pain on his face.

  “It meant me being the face of the Biomechs, for a time. And that is the image, the memory that few will ever forget. Me, hero of the damned Alliance, leading the Biomech fleet out of the Black Rift and against our own people.”

  They waited there in the silence of the tunnels, with just the occasional sounds from the small animals that flew through its deep confines. Spartan wasn’t sure what they were, but they moved and sounded much like bats. Syala broke the silence and asked the one question she really wanted to know.

  “But you exposed them to the fleet battle so that you could turn on them. When the smoke cleared, were you not the one behind the final assault that destroyed the Biomech power? That was the plan from the start, wasn’t it?”

  Spartan closed his eyes. He’d heard this story so many times now, and some even accused him of only changing sides when the grand Alliance of races had smashed into the Black Rift, to take the fight to the enemy in one last battle. That he had fought with his people just to save his own skin.

  “Khan and I came up with the original plan, and with the support of Z’Kanthu, the leader of the Biomech rebels. Believe me, the consequences will stay with me forever. Don’t forget, while I was with...”

  He voice almost squeaked, and he stopped, took a sip, and continued.

  “While I was with them, the Biomechs launched a massive final attack on Spascia. I could have stopped it, maybe. But I had to play my part, to lead the Biomechs in a victorious assault. In any case, Gun was injured and hundreds of thousands killed.”

  Syala seemed to understand, or at the very least she was just trying to be comforting.

  “And that was when your family was killed. In the final battle of Spascia.”

  It was a statement, not a question, but it was enough to end the conversation. They waited another few minutes, each taking on the sugary fluids to keep their bodies in top form. Finally, Spartan released the cable from his lips and stretched his limbs.

  “Right, it’s time.”

  Syala checked her weapon for the final time and gave him a short nod.

  “Let’s do this thing.”

  They started to leave, but Syala placed her hand on his left shoulder.

  “For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing. The war has been analysed over and over by everybody.”

  He shrugged and kept moving forward.

  “Simulations showed that the Biomechs would have burned through the Helios System in weeks.”

  She tried to sound a little more cheerful.

  “All of their planets would have been razed to the ground, and then the Biomechs spread out to hit world after world. There is nothing you could have done differently that would have reduced our losses. You did the right thing.”

  It was a good effort, but Spartan was not in the mood or frame of mind for somebody else trying to comfort him. After all these years, the losses still sat heavily in his mind. He began to speak, but stopped himself. The two carried on towards end the of the tunnel complex in silence, nothing but the heavy thud of their armoured boots on the ground. Finally, he spoke, just as a glimmer of light appeared off into the distance.

  “I owe Daniels for the suffering he took in those last weeks.”

  Syala walked through a narrow stream of muddy water, and her boots kicked up a small amount that left a smear on the ground.

  “And Gun?”

  Spartan twisted his head back and opened his visor. To her surprise he was smiling.

  “He will just be glad he can get back in the fight. Have you ever seen a pissed off Jötnar?”

  Syala shook her head. Spartan clamped down his visor and kept moving ahead.

  “Oh, yeah, it is a sight to behold.”

  They passed the last section of rail and to a long abandoned railcar. There was little of its upper structure remaining, but the burnt out lower section showed where it rested atop the rail system. The seating inside was a charred wreck, and Syala gasped when she saw the remains of a skeleton inside.

  “Watch your footing,” said Spartan.

  They tried to ignore the carnage at their side. Even so, Spartan slowed his pace and glanced over to Syala to make sure she was okay. He might have seen bodies in the hundreds, perhaps even thousands in his life, but he had no idea about her. Syala had just passed a body, and as her foot lowered, it almost crushed a severed arm. She stopped, adjusted her position, and brought her foot down alongside the broken body parts.

  She’s calm, what else has she done?

  He’d not even bothered to check the backgrounds of these mercenaries. The word of the Colonel had been more than enough for him. Now he wished he’d looked into the sisters more carefully.

  “What happened here?”

  Spartan shook his head and looked to the end of the tunnel. There were bodies piled up in heaps, and they were all Byotai. He bent down to one and looked more closely. It was a female Byotai, and her clothing had been partially torn open. He could see wounds, but not from gunshots. Another lay on his side, multiple puncture wounds in his chest. On the ground beside the body was a beautifully constructed hunting rifle. The weapon was big, more like a weapon for Gun or Khan. It was single-barrelled and clearly not military. A burn mark showed where it had been ripped apart by gunfire.

  Civilians.

  Spartan looked to his right and spotted discarded shells. He picked one up and brought it close to his eyes. It was a large-calibre kinetic rifle round; the kind often used by both Helion and Byotai hunters. Unlike military weapons, this one was designed to provide clean kills, without the need to penetrate through armour. He lifted himself back up and walked on past them, sickened at what he’d seen. Syala chased after him.

  “They were butchered like cattle and dumped down here.”

  Syala didn’t seem surprised at his assessment.

  “Most were killed with puncture wounds to the chest or cuts to the throat. A few of them carried hunting ri
fles, like that one back there.”

  She stopped and pointed at the bodies.

  “Spartan, this is more than we were told. This was a massacre, plain and simple. What is wrong with these people? These are civilians with no military equipment. So why were they killed?”

  Spartan nodded.

  “I know. This is what the General and Gun were here to stop. Now the Anicinàbe are here in force, and they are killing anybody they can find. They don’t just want the Byotai gone. They want them terrified or dead.”

  He took in a quick breath.

  “When we have them freed, hell, the Anicinàbe are gonna pay.”

  He took another few breaths and then moved on, giving the bodies a final look before making his way out of the tunnel and into the vast and abandoned complex. He had little doubt that most Anicinàbe would be appalled at what they saw, but right now that didn’t interest him. The soldiers that had arrived were clearly unconcerned about the people they killed, and they made his job a little easier.

  “Keep your scanners active. There could be sensors or traps down here. We are in a warzone now.”

  The transit station was barely recognisable, more closely resembling a scrap yard than a place that once served traffic through the planet’s underground transit system. The main level was as large as a hangar and cut into the surface so that it took the place of a large crater. More than ten maglev lines ran into the complex, each stopping at one of the long masonry platforms. Cables hung down from the ceiling, and dozens of holes showed where parts of the roof had collapsed. Spartan clambered over one of the rails and up to the platform.

  “This isn’t all from lack of use. Look over there.”

  He pointed to a set of doors now blasted open. Apart from the damage, the structure looked in a much better state of affairs.

  “Follow me.”

  They walked up a wide ramp, past a control panel, and through what remained of the doors. On the other side it was as though they had transferred to a completely different planet.

  “Incredible,” said Syala.

  Though designed in just the same fashion, this large part of the facility was evidently still in use. There were two more rail lines ahead, and one currently had a maglev train sitting there, waiting with its ramps lowered down onto the platform. The car itself was long, at least fifty metres and gleaming silver in colour.

  “This is still operational.”

  Spartan remained cautious, as if expecting a soldier to appear at any moment. There was nothing, though, and the railcar just sat there, silent and abandoned. They walked down the platform to a section linking multiple smaller lines together. Seating areas were worn but still intact, and their paint peeled where any still remained. Now Syala could see what he was looking at.

  “Strange.”

  She moved to the edge of the low platform and looked down at the maglev tracks. Unlike the others, these appeared to be in pristine order and with little corrosion. Yet there were burn marks at several points on one of them where the metal had been cut through.

  “So there is a functioning rail system, just not the long-distance sections that reach out to the more remote Byotai compounds.”

  “Are you that surprised?”

  Spartan nodded.

  “True. It costs time and money to look after them. But these lines…”

  He walked to one of the many vertical shafts that rose up to the ceiling. On one was a public information booth, all in Byotai. He deactivated his right arm unit so that his hand was free and activated the display. The overlay in his helmet did a rough translation, overlaying the text with words he could understand; most made little sense, apart from one.

  “City express line.”

  He looked to Syala.

  “So the main lines to the major cities are still functional.”

  She leaned in to look at the imagery. There were small black circles marking major cities or spaceports, but there was one she was after and could not find. Spartan looked in the same direction until both put their finger on one place.

  “Mount Caldos,” they said simultaneously.

  Spartan spotted movement and froze still. He whispered to Syala.

  “Target to my left, one hundred metres.”

  She moved ever so slowly, doing her best to make little sound or movement so that she might be identified. There was little cover other than from the vertical pillars that were barely thick enough to stand behind. She hid behind the nearest and pulled her gun out to her side. The top-mounted cameras fed data back to her helmet.

  “Yeah, I’ve got two targets, militiamen.”

  She paused and turned to Spartan.

  “No, wait. They’re irregulars all right, but they’re carrying the marks of the Spires Clan.”

  Spartan sighed as he looked at them as well. The narrow shapes of the soldiers were covered in loose clothing, giving them a nomadic look. But beneath that clothing was the colourless shape of military armour. He could see the smooth chest plate and rings of metal on the collar.

  “Spires Clan? Who are they?”

  Syala continued watching them as she spoke.

  “They are one of the largest clans in the Anicinàbe League. They’ve been pushing for raids outside of League territory for the last three years.”

  Spartan was already checking the data in his head-up display. The tattoo and markings of the clan appeared, along with details of known associates and their prior dealings.

  “So they have ties with the Red Scars.”

  He swallowed as he read the next part.

  “It says they travel in nomadic fleets of over three hundred ships. That cannot be true.”

  Syala’s eyes were still locked onto the distant shapes.

  “A settler uprising, my ass. These are violent criminals, the worst scum of the Anicinàbe League.”

  Spartan nodded grimly.

  “And now they are here, staking a claim to Karnak. I wonder who sent them.”

  It was a rhetorical question, and neither was particularly interested in the why, only the now.

  “The list of their acts in the last year is incredible, hijackings, kidnaps, and assassinations. Why the hell is the Council not reining them in?”

  He knew the answer as soon as he said it.

  Because they are part of the problem, the Council is nothing more than a league of criminals.

  He licked his lip and moved a fraction, checking the area where the soldiers arrived. There was a semi-circular tunnel leading up and towards bright light. Syala took aim with her weapon, but he shook his head slightly.

  “No, not yet. Watch them.”

  She kept her weapon raised and pointing at them. Spartan also watched, but he was much more interested in where they had come from, rather than getting rid of the two.

  “That’s where the Byotai said the main street in the city is. If his information is accurate, it will be six blocks from the civic buildings. I just hope they’re still here.”

  Syala spotted something on the column-mounted display and waited until the two soldiers vanished behind one of the stationary railcars.

  “Spartan, the line to Mount Caldos. Is it me, or is this railcar on the same line?”

  Spartan examined it for a few seconds.

  “Yeah, looks like an automated railcar, and the end of the line is at least a kilometre short in the open ground to the South of the mountains. Looks like an open plain or valley from that imagery. So what?”

  She nodded ever so slowly at the unit.

  “There’s something else about it.”

  Spartan identified a line of coloured dots on all but two of the separate lines. But they meant little to him.

  “So?”

  Syala smiled.

  “They are markers for the electric power system for the rail lines. All but two of them are active, including the one to Mount Caldos. It means there is a powered railcar heading in that direction, one that we could use.”

  Spartan understoo
d immediately.

  “The railcar to Caldos is that one?”

  He beckoned towards the group of five large railcars. They were more of the same dull silver models, with double decks and control units at each end of the train. Spartan straightened his back and looked back to where the two soldiers had been. Neither had returned, but he could hear the sound of their feet a short distance away. He looked to Syala and deactivated his helmet so she could see his face.

  “That is our ticket out of here. I want you to get the railcars ready, and set up multiple distractions in this facility.”

  She looked concerned.

  “You want me to stay here? What about you?”

  He grinned for the first time in hours.

  “Lady, I have an appointment to keep. Just make sure our trip out of here is clear. Once they know where we are, they’ll try to cut the power to the tracks. That’s where you come in.”

  Syala was already looking about for signs of a control station and had spotted a series of doors leading off inside the desolate transit complex. Signs above had been ripped down, but one matched the description on her suit overlay for a command structure.

  “Okay, I can handle that. How long will you be?”

  “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  He checked the ammunition feeds on his weapon just as Syala leaned in and kissed him on his cheek. It wasn’t for long, but it certainly got his attention. She lingered against him, and then they were apart. Spartan could see her face was slightly flushed. Syala’s visor hissed and clamped down over her face.

  “Just be careful, Spartan. I don’t want to be the one coming back to look for you. This operation has been weird enough as it is.”

  He left in the direction of the exit point to the transit station. With each step he scanned left to right, while his passive sensors looked for signs of heat or even stray magnetic interference. Columns of data scrolled down to the right of his eye, but he ignored it and concentrated on the view modes. He’d almost reached the arched entrance when he spotted them.

  There they are.

  His gut instinct was to aim his XC1 carbine at them and to open fire. At this range the rapid-fire smoothbore weapon would have shredded them. Nothing could stand against the raw heat of the weapons, but he was also aware the sound of the high-velocity railgun would draw attention. And then there was also the possibility that internal sensors might detect such a major heat source.

  Stealth. The mission is recon and rescue, not assault. That’s for another day.