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

by Michael G. Thomas

  “She’s the commander of this sector of Karnak.”

  He then looked to Spartan.

  “Can you hit her from here?”

  A bullet struck Spartan’s leg and glanced off in a shower of sparks. He checked the range, took aim, and fired. The bright green projectile came close, but at the last minute, one of the soldiers crossed in front of her and took the blast to the chest.

  “Nice shooting, wrong target, though,” said Gun.

  General Daniels joined in with the fire.

  “Yeah, she calls herself the Ogimà, or something like that. The Chief.”

  Gun snarled and fired one more burst. A rocket struck the nearby building.

  “Well, what now?”

  General Daniels moved to Spartan’s flank and pointed off to the lights in the city.

  “That’s where the transit station is, right?”

  Spartan nodded.

  “Yeah, and Syala is down there waiting for us.”

  General Daniels and Gun both looked at him.

  “Who?”

  Spartan couldn’t tell which of them was asking, but the return fire from those near the aircraft snapped him back to the problem before them. He dropped to one knee as a volley rippled overhead.

  “Stay down. It’s time for the distraction.”

  Gun dropped down, but he still seemed to take up as much space as a regular man.

  “Now!” Spartan said.

  All it took was the activation of two more of the charges he’d left during his stealthy exploration of the base. It may have taken time to get them in position, but the payoff was as instant as it was gratifying. Three massive explosions ripped through the base, and one of the aircraft flipped over and crashed down on its back. Fuel leaked out and set off a long series of secondary explosions that blotted out the horizon. It was far more than he could have hoped for. Spartan looked to them, grinned, and then closed his visor as a wheeled vehicle exploded and lit up the skyline with a massive orange blast.

  “Now we run!”

  They ran from the base, through the breached wall and then the route Spartan had carefully crafted, by staying off the main road and using the buildings or side routes. After three blocks, they crashed through a broken wall, right into the path of a squad of Spires soldiers. There were seven of them, and two carried portable automatic cannons. One yelled and pointed, another lifted a Helion thermal rifle. It fired once and blasted a plate from Spartan’s left arm.

  “Drop ‘em!”

  General Daniels ducked back behind the broken wall. Spartan sidestepped another gunshot and then returned fire. The powerful carbine knocked down two of them just as Gun ran amok. A soldier rose in the air and flew across the street before striking a wall headfirst. Another screamed as Gun tore off his left arm and then beat him across the face with the severed body part. One struck a short knife into his upper leg, and Gun began to laugh.

  “What is that? Little man!”

  He didn’t even bother reaching down for it, and instead lifted up the looted firearm, blasting a hole the size of his fist through the Spires soldier’s chest. Only two remained, and both of them ran off in street. One was clearly pulling at a communication device.

  “Spartan!” Gun shouted.

  The seasoned warrior already had the militiaman in his sights. The carbine was locked in, and he led the target by just a fraction before pulling the trigger. A super-hot ball of plasma blasted out and vaporised the soldier’s lower arm, as well the device. The second shot struck him higher in the arm, and the third and final round struck the throat.

  “One left, I have him,” said General Daniels.

  The last soldier had ducked behind a burnt out land car and was behind a broken wall when the handgun report echoed out. The next shot was masked by the sound of explosions from the spaceport, but each of them saw the falling shape of the soldier as he staggered and then collapsed into the debris.

  “What now?” Gun asked.

  Spartan nodded off into the distance.

  “We run!”

  He didn’t need to repeat himself as the three rushed across the street, climbed over the broken walls, and moved off to the penultimate block. Spartan suspected they had made it this far before the enemy even noticed they had left the base.

  “Wait. One second.”

  Gun skidded to a halt and then crashed into the end of the wall. It was already partially broken and a single chunk slid out. Spartan had dropped down into a lower position, and his armour was already changing colour to match the wall. He opened his mouth to warn Gun, but he’d already spotted the broken piece of stonework and caught it just before it struck the ground.

  “Nice. Just hold on a second.”

  Spartan had stopped them just short of their final destination, right at the side of a supply yard. There they waited, panting from a mixture of excitement and sheer adrenalin. He nodded in the direction of the dome’s entrance to the vast transit complex. He watched the counter on his overlay show the track of the next communication buoy.

  Okay, Khan. There’s your information. Now make sure you’re ready when I need you.

  The data uploaded in less than a second, but nothing came back as agreed. He’d wanted to ensure nothing could reveal their mission or what they might do. One-way communication was best...for now.

  "That's the place?" Gun asked.

  The titanic warrior waited with his back to the wall, yet somehow he still hadn't been detected. In the distance, the fires of smoke from the charges Spartan had left behind were doing their job well. Spartan opened his mouth to give the word when a single Hornet aircraft swept down and slid into position just outside the entrance. The rapid landing sent hot dust flying about in all directions. No sooner had it stopped, six militiamen, all bearing long-riles, jumped down and fanned out.

  "Plan B?" General Daniels asked.

  Spartan shook his head.

  “No, thermite charge time.”

  Unseen to them, he activated one of the charges. A dull crump announced the explosion, and then a long series of flashes and bangs that sounded like a small battle. The soldiers at the Hornet shouted loudly, and all of them climbed back in. With a blast of hot air, the aircraft rose up and rushed off in the direction of the explosions. Spartan signalled.

  “On my mark. We get across the street.”

  Both nodded in agreement.

  First I need to check with Syala. She’d better be ready, or this will be the shortest escape in history.

  * * *

  Syala waited patiently, a game she could play for hours. Unlike conventional soldiers, she had spent years honing her equipment into something perfect for clandestine operations. Her armour combined elements of surplus Confederate Army body armour, with components from the private sectors. Joins and mounts had been replaced so that everything moved silently and smoothly. The electronics were from the civilian version of the current issue Marine Corps PDS gear, and even the optics had been upgraded three times in the last two years.

  Patience.

  The wait on her own had been tiresome, but the threat of militiamen finding her had at least kept her on her toes. She could just about make out the entry point to the vast control centre from her current position.

  Use the time you have.

  Spartan had given her a simple brief, to make sure their escape route was clear, and that they could get away safely. She’d done everything she could think of, but there was just her, and she had access to only so much equipment. After so long down there, she was now out of thermite charges, and even her breaching charges were all placed. And so she was now forced to rely upon classic sabotage techniques, something she rather enjoyed. Beneath her was one of six hatches leading back to the main entrance. With a small electrical screwdriver, she removed the fittings on the very last one, and then left it slightly ajar. A wrong step coming this way would send an unsuspecting individual tumbling down one of the deep shafts.

  Perfect.

  “Sya
la.”

  She looked up before realising the voice was inside her helmet. She felt her heart almost pause at the sound of Spartan’s voice. She’d been in the dark for so long it was beginning to feel he would never come back.

  “I’m here. What’s your status?”

  “Be careful. I’m in position and going in. Make sure the facility is ready for us. We will need the train.”

  “Affirmative. Be careful.”

  Syala lowered to the ground and checked the fittings by hand for the last time. It was one of many small traps she’d left behind. Although nothing much on its own, when combined with her charges and prearranged escape route, they should prove deadly. She walked back towards the control room one foot at a time, carefully placing her feet in position and checking for sound before taking the next. Those inside were easy enough to hear, and she paused at one point to ensure they were all still in the same place. Then she saw something.

  What is that?

  Being as quiet as possible, she moved to the right and down a small ladder to a storage area. Crates and storage bins were scattered about, but between two containers was the unmistakable shape of a body. Sensing it could be a trap; she swung her weapon around to her back and pulled out her sidearm. The safety clicked off with barely any discernible tone. She approached slowly but found two other forms in the same place, dumped like refuse in the darkness.

  No, not more.

  She knew she should back off, but there was something about this that felt off. With her left hand, she reached out, grabbed the still shape, and tugged. It moved easily and rolled over, revealing the face and mutilated body of a young Byotai. As a race, they were unusual in many ways, from their hardened flesh and unusual breathing, to their bulging eyes and slow movement. There was nothing alien about the body of such a young victim, though.

  Why?

  She knelt down and touched the arm of the body. A dark pool of blood lay where it had been resting, and to her surprise as her hand touched the face, its eyes opened. It cried out, and Syala thrust her hand forward to cover its mouth.

  “Quiet!”

  In her haste, she didn’t even consider activating the translator circuit. A hand reached from the body and struck her. The force pushed her back, and then the figure was upright and facing her head on. Now it was clear the blood was from the others on the ground. It was a young male, perhaps the equivalent of a human teenager. It looked furtively in each direction, jumped up to the platform, and vanished. It might have just as easily have been a ghost down there with her.

  Then she heard the thunderous roar of something far away. At first she thought it was a train, but then the shaking spread through the ground of the facility like an earthquake. One of the crates rolled to one side, and a pipe burst from the wall, showering her with water. The pressure was high and hit her with enough force to knock her down onto her back.

  Stay down and listen.

  She was tempted to get up and look for safety, but with all the noise and commotion, there was a good chance the enemy could slip past her without her even knowing. The only chance she had of staying alive was to be smart. She needed to take things slowly and retain control of the situation. The first blast had been quite substantial, but the subsequent explosions forced several of the underground lighting units to flash and cut out. Another started a cascade effect as one unit after another flashed and exploded.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Few ships of the Great Uprising can compare to the mighty battle cruiser CCS Crusader. This state-of-the-art warship was the first and only ship in her class during the occupation of the Titan Naval Station. The honoured warship took part in the first major space battle of the war and was also present at the final battle. She marked the culmination of human warship development, and the last of the great ships to be built before the creation of the Rifts and exposure to new and deadly direct energy weapons. A technological marvel upon creation, she marks the last gasp of those experimental years of ship design. In the future, every vessel would be designed around flexible, modular structures able to adapt to many different roles.

  Great Ships of the Line

  Montu, Khagi District, Karnak

  Syala checked the clock inside her visor. Her throat was so dry, but each time she swallowed, she was convinced the sound would draw attention to her position. Something moved far off into the distance, and her eyes were drawn to the shape. Her finger rested on the trigger guard, but then she saw it was a small creature, no bigger than a rat.

  Stay calm and wait.

  “We’re inside. Get ready.”

  Syala imagine the armour-clad warrior moving inside the facility, and for a brief moment felt able to relax. It seemed she had been down there, in the dark and alone, for days. It didn’t bother her, but there was little doubt in her mind she would be happier once they were able to leave this place filled with murder and betrayal.

  "Good to hear from you, Spartan. Thought you’d left me.

  “Never."

  Her voice was quiet but betrayed a hint of both admiration, and perhaps even a little pleasure at knowing he was back. She glanced back to the control room and was pleased to see a shape approaching the access door. Syala stepped back a few centimetres so she was beneath one of the failed lighting units. The door opened, and she could finally see inside. The figure turned back around to speak with another.

  So much space, and so few people.

  The doorway was tiny compared to the huge circular room inside. Lines of seats were empty, and one wall was covered in a huge two-dimensional diagram.

  That's got to be the maglev rail network.

  Her view was obscured as one of the militiamen started to leave. As with the others, he was slight, and his form heavily disguised by the loose clothing that gave his people the impression of nomadic spacefarers.

  “We’re coming in,” said Spartan.

  She lifted her weapon and took aim at the militiamen. Her sight was trained in the back of the nearest, but still she waited.

  “Take the route to the right. I’ve marked it on the lower wall. Meet me at the control room. I have a back route to the platform.”

  Then there was a massive blast, and the ground shook violently. The figure at the doorway dropped something, pulled out a carbine, and looked straight at her.

  Oh, great!

  The gun rose, and Syala knew she had to act or die. Her double-barrelled carbine was a civilian version of the venerable, military-grade L52. It fired one barrel after the other, each gunshot sounding like a thunderclap. Three rounds struck the militiaman, but the second pulled himself inside the control room.

  Move it!

  Syala sent the command, and her armour increased her adrenalin count just as she charged at the door. The figure behind pulled down a lock, but that wouldn’t stop her. Two blasts to the corner easily ripped off the hinges, and one meaty kick sent the heavy metal door crashing down on the unfortunate soul. She was now inside and surrounded by screens and lights, plus one last soldier. This time Syala made sure her translator circuit was on and active.

  “Drop it!”

  She could hear the sound of her translated voice just as she finished the last syllable. This final soldier laughed, a long, cruel laugh that made her hair stand on end. It was a female. Syala knew that already. She wanted to fire, but there was no chance, not with the proximity grenade beeping away in her hand. It was not unlike the ones Syala often carried. She glanced around the empty control room and spotted more bodies inside.

  The animals, they butchered them and just left them here to rot.

  Syala assessed the warrior in front in seconds. Though presumably a fast, perhaps even formable fighter, she was unlikely to be the person behind the running of the control centre. As they waited in stalemate, the warrior pulled a long, slightly curved knife from a sheath on her flank. With the left hand, the head covering came off to show the narrow face of a savage-looking female warrior. Tattoos covered her cheeks, and only the c
ustomary red tinted goggles hid her eyes.

  Where are they?

  Syala circled the warrior, her finger resting on the trigger guard. She wanted to fire, but there would be little chance of killing her and eliminating the proximity grenade. Instead she kept her eyes on the target and waited for the moment to attack. With each step, she found herself no closer to that moment but then saw something just behind and to the right. Her eyes squinted, and then the shape of another appeared with a computer unit under its arm.

  “Get down!”

  She knew the voice immediately, and upon recognising the sound dropped to her knee. Heat set off sensors, and both enemies were vaporised by multiple blasts of green energy. By the time she rose to her feet, there was nothing left of them but charred limbs. Syala spun about and before her were three figures. At the back a half-naked giant, a Jötnar warrior, and a human male wearing captured Anicinàbe militia clothing and carrying a pistol. Lastly, there was Spartan. The armoured figure stood in front of the group like a sentinel, and in his hands the smoking barrel of his high-energy carbine.

  “I’m back.”

  * * *

  Spartan stood in front of the massive diagram of the rail network. Blood covered the wall, and one of the computer systems burned away in the corner as a small fire flickered in the rear of a control box. He opened his visor and breathed in the cool, dust-filled air. It wasn’t particularly pleasant, but at least he could feel the real world rather than the simulation presented inside the helmet. The interior of the M-3B armour was warm and reasonably comfortable, but there was always something special about seeing the real world, especially for a man like Spartan. Syala grasped his forearm and tugged at him.

  “You followed my instructions and kept to the right, I see. Good.”

  Spartan smiled.

  “Yeah. We got your message just in time. Another ten seconds, and it would have been us getting hit by those broken gas pipes.”

  Gun chuckled.

  “Nice improvisation. You got at least two with that little move.”

  General Daniels pushed past and looked at the information on the displays. He seemed to have a much better grasp of what was going on, or certainly gave that impression. He ran his hands over the data, nodding as though the information matched up with something he’d already had explained to him. Spartan looked from the General and back to Syala.