Fall of Terra Nova

by Michael G. Thomas

  “You Spartan’s mate?”

  Catching them all by surprise, she brought her fist in hard and struck Khan on the chin. Against any other man it would have put them on the ground, but not him. The impact shook him, but the result was laughter, not pain.

  “I like you,” he said to both of the marines with a smile. A small quantity of blood dripped from his mouth, and he spat a mouthful onto the floor. Two Jötnar approached. One wore a red sash across his shoulder and carried a heavy looking leather satchel. He said something quietly, and then removed a series of splints and bandages to patch up Khan.

  Spartan turned to his right and looked at Gun who until now had said nothing.

  “Well?” he asked.

  Commander Gun looked first at Spartan and then to Khan, who nodded solemnly.

  “Very well,” said Gun quietly and then placed his hand on Spartan’s shoulder.

  “You’re one of us.”

  Teresa stood motionless, apart from shaking her head in confusion. Spartan raised an eyebrow at her expression.

  “One day, Spartan, you’ll refuse a fight, and I want to be there when that happens.”

  Spartan grinned.

  “You might wait a while for that.”

  They looked to Khan who was sitting on one of the old and heavily worn bulkheads. A group of Jötnar stood around him and were talking excitedly about the fight. One, with less markings on his body and armour, jumped about as if re-enacting parts of the fight.

  “He is young one. Inexperienced. We turn to warrior...like you!”

  Teresa put her arm around Spartan and pulled him till he groaned a little from the pain still spreading through his body. He tried to smile, but it was more than he could manage.

  “Nobody is a warrior like him!” she laughed. Gun joined in, greatly enjoying the joke. Spartan simply shook his head.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Terra Nova Guards Brigade is a unique unit in the Confederate military. As one of the many territorial regiments raised in the war, it saw much action. Originally known as the 2nd City Militia Battalion, the unit contained a large number of British migrants from the home colonies. The regiment was given the unique Guards designation due to its heroic defence of the capital buildings in the Great War. Over seven hundred of the twelve hundred soldiers died in the final battle. The Guards are now the largest of the Army Brigades, and with over six thousand soldiers spread over five battalions, they are well trained and dedicated to the defence of Terra Nova.

  The Terra Nova Guards Brigade

  Spartan and Teresa walked slowly along one of the many crude gangways running the length of the habitation section. Several parts had been hastily repaired in the last week, and the welds were showing. It wasn’t the smartest work, but it did the job. More importantly, the flooring was intact along with the majority of the railings. On the inside, the ship had more in common with an industrial site or construction yard than any of the vessels they had served on before. The internal compartments of the Confederate Navy vessels were generally clean and bare metal or grey throughout. Functional, clean and effective was the best way to describe them. That was a description that couldn’t be further from the Yorkdale. The metal was old and in parts rusting and rotten to the level that both expected to find breaches in the hull.

  The Yorkdale had never been designed as a ship of war, and this was similar to most of the marine transports. They had all been built for civilian work, but with improvements that would make them useful for other jobs at a later date. Transports like CCS Santa Maria and CCS Santa Cruz were usually built for colony construction. The Yorkdale was different and unlike most other commercial ships. She was fitted out with reinforced bulkheads and strengthening struts throughout the hull. The underside was double the thickness of the rest of the ship and utilised thermal protection plates. She was larger than the marine transports and even tougher. The single largest different was that she looked crude and rough in comparison to the sleeker, more modern looking transports.

  According to the original specifications, the Yorkdale had been constructed to enter the storms of Prometheus and even the atmosphere of planets like Euryale. There were few ships capable of this feat without being destroyed by gravitational pull and the fires of re-entry. The only other vessels in the merchant fleet were the colony landers and transports used for establishing settlement. Even CCS Santa Maria was incapable of planetary landings. When used for colony settlement, she had to maintain an orbit around the target and send landing craft to the surface. Substantial resources and time were required to create vessels capable of planetary landings. It was only ever done if there was a legitimate and economic reason to do so.

  The innards of the old ship were solid and even though she had taken a beating in the battle for Euryale, she was still almost fully functional. Even as the troops on board continued their combat training, the engineers were patching and repairing. The ship was also receiving upgrades to communication gear, weapons and armour. From their position on the walkway, they could look down to the six separate halls, each one the size of a sports hall. They stopped and looked at one where a number of Vanguard marines and Jötnar were working together.

  “Interesting,” said Teresa. “Do you think they can train nicely, or will they end up re-enacting yours and Khan’s little spat?”

  Spartan grinned at her obviously tactless insult. He looked at the two-dozen warriors, and he doubted for a moment whether the idea of mixing the two groups together was necessarily a good plan. The Vanguards were well known for being the most independently minded of all the marine units, and the Jötnar were no different. Teresa pointed at a group of five in one corner of the hall.

  “Look at them.”

  Spartan watched intently as the group moved out into a wide circle. They all faced away from the middle. It looked almost like an old nineteenth century shootout, except none was equipped with firearms. Each of the Jötnar carried a dull training rod, and the armoured Vanguards held the same.

  “Weird, I’ve never used this training method before.”

  A sound from the right caught their attention. Spartan took a short step back and moved his hand out and low. It was instinctive, but years of troubles had taught him vigilance. From the shadows of the gantry emerged the shape of Commander Gun. Spartan visibly relaxed and moved forward, grasping the warrior by the arm. Gun still wore the rough eye patch on his head, and Spartan decided it was time to investigate.

  “Gun. You never explained to me how you lost your eye.”

  Gun shook his head violently.

  “Not lost, just broken,” he answered abruptly.

  He slid the patch up to reveal his eye and three scar lines. They looked as though a claw had scraped from left to right over the eye socket. The eye itself was still red, but it moved and gazed intently at Spartan.

  “Marine medic says one more week till healed. Then I have two.”

  “Was it a Biomech?”

  Gun nodded.

  “In the ambush we were boarded. Humans, Biomechs, machines, all came in. Jötnar stopped them and I took this.” He lifted his great paw to his face.

  “Sounds like a tough fight,” said Teresa.

  “It was, but my Jötnar enjoyed all of it. It is our ship, given to us by Jarvis and Rivers. All of my people deserve our revenge.”

  “Is that why you pursued the enemy to Euryale and boarded the Vengeance?”

  Gun said nothing for a moment, and he just gazed down at those preparing to train. Spartan and Teresa waited patiently until they assumed he must have forgotten what they were talking about. Spartan started to speak but was cut off by Gun.

  “The ship is our home. They attacked and killed us. Anybody that attacks us will suffer, just as Vengeance did.”

  Spartan nodded in agreement. He understood very well the anger and rage that came with seeing those around you attacked.

  “I know, you should be proud of your people.”

  “I am.” After a few mo
re seconds, he indicated towards the group of fighters still standing in a circle. They all held their weapons up high and were shouting something.

  “Your idea, Gun?” asked Spartan.

  Gun shrugged and continued watching them.

  “The guards on Prometheus made us do it. Helped us train for combat. I make it better.”

  There was a final shout and the group turned to face each other. All but two rushed at each other, swinging their training rods like clubs. The remaining two, both Vanguards, circled the group and watched for openings.

  “Some kind of melee training?”

  “Sort of. Last man standing.”

  Spartan nodded, now understanding the point of the exercise.

  “I see.”

  In the melee, the three Jötnar and two of the Vanguards were engaged in what looked more like a bar room brawl. They each struck out with the rods, and at the same time did their best to avoid being hit by the rest. There were no loyalties the fight, with the Jötnar fighting each other as well as the two Vanguards. One of the Vanguards rolled on the floor, and the heavy thud of his metal armour crashed to the ground. Before he could stand, one of the slightly bloodied Jötnar dropped onto him as if they were involved in a mock wrestling match. Before a decision could be made, another Jötnar swiped him over the head with his rod and knocked him unconscious. Spartan chuckled to himself.

  “That looks painful.”

  “Yes, will help bonding,” replied a nonchalant Gun.

  Teresa tapped them both gently on the arms.

  The fighting continued, and Spartan was enthralled to watch the improvements in fighting skills and movements of the Jötnar. They were starting to pick up some of the wrestling and boxing techniques used in the Marine Corps. It was strange to watch them fight, he could easily forget who they were and imagine them as a mixture of marines going about daily combat sparring. One of the Vanguards fell only to find two of the beasts on him.

  “Hey!” said Teresa, but Spartan seemed lost in his thoughts. As he watched the fighting, it brought back memories of Prime and the defence of New Carlos. It had been a hellhole, a ruined and burnt out city defended by the bloodied and injured warriors of the Marine Corps. They had suffered badly over those terrible days, but they had emerged victorious, and the Vanguards themselves could see their genesis at that moment. The success of the marines and the CES armour was directly responsible the modification and construction of the newest armour sets, known by the Marine Corps as Vanguard armour. He turned back to face her, noticing immediately that she had been waiting, but he couldn’t tell for how long. Gun stood there watching them both, and it seemed to Spartan that he was enjoying himself. Whether it was the fighting or the face Teresa was showing, he couldn’t tell.

  “I have something to say. I was going to tell Spartan alone, but you are more like brothers. You might as well know now.”

  They turned to look at her. Gun looked as he usually did, vaguely interested and permanently bemused. Spartan on the other hand looked worried.

  “What is it? Are you okay?”

  “More than fine. We’re to have a child, Spartan.”

  Spartan said nothing, but Gun stepped forward immediately.

  “Small Spartan or small Teresa?” he asked.

  Teresa shook her head as she tried to work out what he wanted. Spartan just looked confused, and more than a little stunned. It was as though she had just given his some form of insurmountable mathematical puzzle to solve.

  “Boy or girl you mean?” she responded.

  Gun grinned, baring his front teeth.

  “Yes.”

  She looked back at Spartan who looked dazed.

  “Do you want to know?” It was almost comical, the mighty Confederate warrior, beaten by a simple question. He had looked more confused than when he faced off against a Biomech warrior or a battalion of Zealots. Gun swung his arm and slapped it hard against Spartan, the impact almost throwing him from the gantry.

  “Good news!” he growled and then moved off, leaving the two of them in peace. As he moved away, he looked over his shoulder to Spartan.

  “Answer her!”

  Spartan watched him go before moving back to Teresa. He had regained his composure, but she couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not by the news.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. I just came back from a check-up with the medic on board. He says I am sixteen weeks gone.”

  “Sixteen? How is that possible?”

  “You know how it all works?” she replied, partially as a joke but for a moment actually worrying about his understanding of what she was saying.

  “Yes, of course. I mean how could you not know all this time?”

  “Oh, right. Well, my injuries and fatigue from our last few actions have been keeping me a little busy. I had a feeling something was happening. The medics ran a couple of tests and have confirmed it.”

  He stepped forward and grabbed her, pulling her close to him. She relaxed and closed her eyes. The only sound was the din of the fighting Vanguards and Jötnar behind them. It felt almost natural to discuss such normal events with the background of war and violence around them. As she thought about it, she realised the only thing missing was explosions and gunfire.

  “Do you want to know?” she asked.

  “The sex?”

  Teresa nodded.

  “Of course.”

  She waited for a few seconds to compose herself to give him the news.

  “It will be a boy, a baby Spartan.”

  Spartan’s face relaxed, and he finally smiled.

  “So, you are off front-line duty for now.”

  Teresa shrugged.

  “I suppose so. Still, there’s plenty to do around here. We have an entire military unit to prepare for battle that has never worked together before.”

  “Have you thought of a name?” asked Spartan.

  “No. Actually, I haven’t given it any thought. Do you have any suggestions? Before you speak, there is no chance he is going to be a Spartan Junior!”

  Spartan rested his chin in his hand as he considered different options for the child.

  “Do you know when the child was conceived?”

  “Sometime after we retook Prometheus. I can’t tell you exactly when. We were, well, kind of busy...often!”

  “True. I will think on it.”

  Spartan looked back at the training warriors below them. Only two remained and it seemed fitting that it was a Vanguard and a Jötnar. The rest were either still on the ground or being helped up to watch. Two of the other Jötnar and a marine were laughing to one side. The remaining two rushed at each other. The Jötnar managed to strike the Vanguard who spun wildly and crashed to the floor. Unsurprisingly, the excitement of the Jötnar kept him pushing forward, and he was unable to stop before crashing unceremoniously into a bulkhead.

  “Hmm. Let’s hope they never have to fight each other in the field,” said Spartan.

  Teresa put her arm around him and watched the group laughing and re-enacting their violent melee.

  “True. We’d have nobody left to fight for us then.”

  * * *

  Admiral Jarvis lay in the darkness of her cabin. She had been awake for half an hour now, and nothing she did helped her fall back to sleep. The room was almost pitch black with just the faint red glow of the low level lighting providing basic illumination. As she lay there, she considered the possibility of moving her command position to the nearby Titan Naval Station. It was well defended and supplied, and probably a more useful place to be than here on the battered battlecruiser, CCS Crusader.

  The communication unit lit up gently before the display showed a series of icons and movement. It was a message from the CiC and based on the colour and pattern, an important one. She lifted herself up and shook her head.

  “Not like I was asleep anyway,” she said quietly, then stood up and walked to her desk. She was still wearing her nightclothes and grabbed at her robe before sitt
ing down. With one tap, the display changed to the face of Captain Tobler.

  “Admiral, sorry to disturb you. We are receiving signals from the Furious Battlegroup. There is trouble at the Anomaly.”

  “Serious?”

  “Very, they are under attack.”

  “Understood, Captain, I will be there shortly.”

  “Admiral.”

  The image cut back to the default screen and sent its dark blue hue through the room. The Furious Battlegroup was a powerful force, and one that was certainly capable of fending off trouble. If there was a chance something troublesome was taking place, then it must be major. She stood up, opened her wardrobe and started to pull on her uniform. She was fast, and in just over two minutes was out of the door and on her way to the CiC. As she left the room, her escort of marine guards followed closely behind.

  * * *

  Multiple video feeds flashed and distorted throughout the CiC as streams of data arrived. It looked like the ship was in the middle of a major battle, but CCS Crusader was safely orbiting Prime’s largest moon, Kronus. Providing protection to the Titan Naval Station was probably the safest place for a warship to be right now. Captain Tobler spotted a series of images on one of the feeds.

  “That one. Where is it?”

  The XO enlarged the image on the main display.

  “About three days from the Anomaly. The cameras cannot breakthrough the clouds. We’re just picking up gas clouds and distortion, Captain.”

  “Damn, don’t we have anything that can see inside there?”

  “No, Sir. Apart from the outer part of the clouds, the only other section we can detect is the entrance itself. The energy being kicked off from the Spacebridge easily burns through the clouds.”

  As the officers struggled to find a clear way through the interference, Admiral Jarvis entered the CiC, and it was clear something major was underway. All the officers were busy, either speaking on the communications system or moving their hands over the many computer systems. Captain Tobler beckoned for her to approach the tactical display, along with a small group of officers.