“2nd and 3rd Platoon get moving. 1st provide the rearguard!”
Khan signalled for the mixed platoons to follow him, and in less than a minute, most of them were out through the one entrance and hacking down any stray Biomechs that came their way. Spartan followed a short distance behind with the 1st Platoon. Lieutenant Weathers stopped next to him.
“Spartan, no casualties, but I’ve got a few injured Jötnar. They are tough bastards. We could have used them down on Euryale.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Church of Echidna still dates its formation back to the martyrdom of the Bishop of Echidna. Some ships in the Great War carried religious icons, and one even had its bow carved into a replica of one of the relics. The power of these symbols cannot be denied and could be seen right up to the bombings on Kerberos during the Proxima Uprising. Veneration of idols is one of the many issues thought to be at the heart of the troubles.
The Iconoclast Controversy
“Sir, we’re picking up major life signs near the primary powerplant. It might be the prisoners.”
Lieutenant Weathers examined the signals on the displays in his Vanguard suit. The heat blooms were the same height and mass as the average person. From a quick glance, it looked like it was around fifty or so people.
“Could be Zealots, guarding the Core?”
Spartan peered down the corridor and then ducked back as a dozen rounds of small calibre ammunition hurtled towards him. Three rounds struck his arm and bounced off into the nearest bulkhead.
“Maybe. But what if they’re prisoners? We go in there all guns blazing, and we’ll have scores of casualties.”
Weathers nodded in partial agreement.
“True, we have to do something though. What if they are human shields?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Three Zealots jumped from cover and rushed towards them. One hurled a device that exploded near a Vanguard and sent him tumbling to the ground. Spartan took careful aim and emptied both left barrels into the group. They staggered back several metres under the weight of the bullets before dropping down dead. He looked back to Lieutenant Weathers.
“They must have at least fifty prisoners on the ship, based on the number of bodies found on the transport. They could easily hold us back with a few civilians. If we wait, we lose the ship.”
“Lose the ship, and we lose everybody on board,” added Lieutenant Weathers.
The corridor was fairly wide, and one of the four main tunnel sections led towards the rear of the vessel. They were packed with Vanguards and Jötnar, as well as an almost constant barrage of gunfire.
“What about the rest of the enemy? They didn’t just vanish.”
“Sir!” said one of the Vanguard marines, a young looking private.
“I’ve been flicking through the wavelengths. I’ve picked something on the thermals.”
Spartan altered his display mode and his helmet was instantly filled with strange colours. The warmer parts of their suits glowed red or yellow, whereas the colder parts of the ship showed up as dark blue or black.
“What do you have?”
“Up there.”
Spartan lifted his head to the roof of the tunnel and instantly spotted the warm heat signatures. They were not obvious until he switched off part of the temperature range to block off some of the ship’s coolant pipes and ventilation hardware. As he watched, they started to move in the same direction as his company. He knew immediately what it was.
“All units stand your ground. Switch to thermal imaging. Watch the walls, ceiling and floor. They have service tunnels all around us.”
His message came just seconds before all hell broke loose. One by one, scores of small hatches blew open, many of them smaller than a man’s head. From the gaps, the remaining hundreds of smaller Biomechs hurled themselves at the Jötnar and marines.
“We’re surrounded…need…” came a transmission from the front of the second corridor before it was overwhelmed with dozens of voices. Spartan lifted one arm to protect him and sent an override transmission to all assault units on the ship.
“Stand your ground, switch to close quarter weapons and clear your sectors!”
He felt as though he was losing his balance and tried desperately to grab the nearest bulkhead. With a hard pull, his arm was yanked back and three Biomechs, each the size of a man, dragged him to the floor. They wore crude armour and carried a vicious hand weapon. Lights flashed inside the suit as multiple breaches appeared in the weaker parts of the armour.
“Get off you bastard!” he roared and swung his free arm. It connected with one of the creatures and threw it against the wall. Two more replaced it, and for a second Spartan felt a pang of dread. Was this to be the way he died? Trapped and overwhelmed by Biomech creatures on an enemy ship.
“Spartan!” came a familiar snarl. One of the creatures lifted up and vanished. Another broke into two equal pieces, and a spray of arterial blood splattered over his visor. A firm hand grabbed him and lifted him up to his feet. The hallways were packed with bodies as both sides fought a bloody and desperate close action.
“You alive?” said the familiar voice again. Spartan twisted his head so that he could see through the clean part of his visor. He could just make out the shape of a Jötnar warrior.
“Gun?” he asked in surprise.
“Yes. We have work, Spartan!” he said and turned back to the creatures in the corridor.
“Follow me!” he shouted.
Spartan watched him run along the blood-splattered floor and directly into the Biomechs. He fired his Gatling gun as he moved. The cases pumped from the side like a waterfall. One after the other, the Biomechs fell until he crashed into them. More Vanguards and Jötnar followed, and in less than a minute they were through the ambush and moving on further inside the ship. Spartan lifted his right arm and rubbed off as much blood as he could. More heat blooms appeared, but this time behind him and about twenty metres away. Lowering both arms, he waited until they appeared in the corridor. The weapons and armour certainly told him they were not friendly. Two more Vanguards joined him as they bathed the area in small velocity machine gun rounds.
“Lieutenant Spartan, Daniels here. We’ve cleared the Yorkdale and are assembling a rescue team to assist in your action. My sensors show the Eternal Vigilance is powering up her main engines. You have sixty seconds to disable her or you will be trapped!” he said.
“Shit!” muttered Spartan, forgetting his two-way communication protocol was still active. He turned and moved along the corridor to follow in the direction of the rest of his party.
“Anything you can suggest?” he pleaded, knowing it would be almost impossible to be able to stop the ship in the time he had.
“Just get to the rear and try and disable something, anything!”
“On it!” he replied and jumped around the corner and into a large hexagonal shaped room. A dozen Jötnar lay dead or wounded on the ground. He moved on past them and into a wider corridor. Pipes ran along the ceiling and wall. He was going to ignore them, but an image of electrical cables or water pipes popped into his mind. He might as well damage whatever he could find, so something might be disabled or damaged enough to give them some time. He reached up and smashed his metal fists into the piping. He grabbed the damaged metal and ripped it from the ceiling. Steam and vapour pumped inside making visibility almost impossible. A flash of sparks ran for almost a metre, and two electrical fires quickly spread along the ceiling.
“All units, if you find wiring, pipes or machines, just smash them. Cause as much damage as you can,” he ordered on the company-wide communication channel.
Orange streaks from Zealot firearms blasted towards him, but Spartan did his best to ignore them and pushed on. A dozen Vanguards moved with him. Each lowered their weapons and unleashed a firestorm in the direction of their travel.
“Spartan, this way!” shouted Khan.
Sparta
n twisted his head and spotted the Jötnar and a small group of his warriors moving into a side chamber off to one side. He grabbed the nearest Vanguard.
“Protect this area, and don’t let anything get past you. If you do, we’ll lose control of this place.”
“Sir!” replied the young private. She planted her feet firmly on the ground and continued firing as Zealot warriors attempted to push her back. Spartan was already three metres away when he saw a large group of Zealots manage to get to her. He made to move back, but four Jötnar appeared around her. Two swung hand weapons and the others fired close-ranged Gatling guns and shotguns. The walls flashed with white and yellow, and hundreds of rounds were discharged at the enemy. Spartan almost smiled at the violent defence and turned back to follow Khan. The delay cost him vital seconds. He barely managed to spot Khan vanish into the smaller corridor. He pushed against the ground hard and chased as quickly as he could. It was a tight squeeze, but with a little effort and stooping low, he was able to keep moving.
“Spartan, the engines are activating!” came the voice of Major Daniels. Spartan flicked the switch and cut out the audio feed. He was aware of the situation, and the constant nagging of his superior officer wasn’t helping.
A panel ripped open to his side, and two Biomechs, each the size of a large dog, leapt out. Spartan was in no mood to be held back by yet more synthetic monstrosities. He hit the power boost and forced energy into his right arm, slamming the metal fist into the nearest creature and pinning it to the wall.
“Get back!” he roared in anger.
His left arm swung around and opened fire. The dozens of rounds cut the head clean off. The blood and tissue splattered against the second creature, and so he quickly finished it off with another burst of fire. Pulling the metal fist from the bloody stump, he continued onwards until he reached the gap in the wall where the rest of the Jötnar had jumped through. Gunfire and shouting came from inside, but Spartan didn’t have time to check what was happening. He jumped through and found himself in a darkened engineering room. A number of Zealots lay dead on the floor, and less than five metres away stood a large group of prisoners. They were being held in front of a number of Zealots. It looked like they must have been on the move, as the prisoners wore chains and were facing off into a long corridor. The tallest of the group wore the traditional robes and carried a thermal shotgun in one hand.
“Get back or they die like the rest!” he snarled.
“What others?” Spartan demanded.
“When you boarded my ship, I was forced to dump their prisoners. Not my problem, you brought it upon your own heads.”
“Your ship? You’re just a slave. Who is your captain?”
The Zealot threw off his hood to reveal his face. His skin was pasty and thermal scoring scarred the side of his cheek. His jawbone was sharply defined, and he looked almost handsome, if it were not for the bloody predicament they found themselves in.
“My name is Captain Talos, and I have been given the full protection of the Union Fleet.”
“Protection? So you’re not part of the fleet.”
The man threw Spartan a sneer.
“The Union is just the same as your Confederacy. My interest in these people does not concern you. I have what I want. Now leave my ship, or I start killing hostages.”
“You’re a pirate, the filth of Proxima. You prey on the weak and vulnerable to line your own pocket. Just like all the other Zealots, there isn’t anything honourable or noble about you or your cause. You just want to punish the Confederacy and make money at the same time.”
He must have struck a nerve as the man was already reaching for what looked like a curved blade on his belt.
“There are no pirates here. We have a charter.”
“Bullshit!” swore Khan. He stamped his foot down hard onto the ship’s deck.
Spartan sighed. He had just seconds to go before the cruiser powered up, and they were taken from this place. He flicked the switch to open up an audio channel with Major Daniels.
“Sir, we have a problem down here.”
* * *
Wing Commander Anders grimaced as the massive acceleration of the Lightning Fighter forced him back into his seat. The space battle was all but over, and the enemy cruiser’s engines were already glowing with power. It would be a matter of seconds before the ship rocketed away and took with it hundreds of warriors and prisoners. He led three squadrons of fighters, but battle losses had reduced their number to just nine still functioning fighters.
“We’re in range. The cruiser is about to depart, any ideas?”
“We have enough missiles for one more pass. Maybe we can force her off course?” said the pilot of the leftmost fighter.
“Doubt it, our missiles keep getting shot down by the aft turrets.”
His squadron of fighters maintained their close formation as they hurtled towards the enemy ship. Under normal circumstances they would simply launch their anti-ship missiles, but two attack runs had achieved nothing so far, other than the loss of two fighters.
“How about the engines? Can we disable them with missiles?” asked his wingman.
“No, the cruiser has multiple engines, and we have already hit them with three impacts. The turrets just take them out early. The ships in the fleet keep hitting her there, but they can’t inflict enough damage. Nothing short of a nuke is going to stop her.”
“The bombers?”
“No, they won’t be here in time. Somehow we need to get explosives inside her armour and near the engines or fuel lines,” Anders replied.
“Sir, the energy signature of the ship is showing severe energy fluctuation on the port section, near the rear of the ship. The marines on board must have damaged the power supplies to the turrets. The engines are still powering up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Sir. They still have plenty of turrets, but it is something.”
“Okay, it might be enough to get us in close enough for one more attack. We need to hit them harder than ever before. I have an idea. Angel Squadron, follow me, we’re going in.”
He hit the boost button that supplied additional thrust to the main engines and accelerated towards the enemy vessel. At this speed, they would be at the target in less than ten seconds.
“She’s starting to pull away!” cried Flight Lieutenant Jenkins.
“Arm your weapons for timed detonation in eight seconds. Full thrust to engines. Set your course to twelve degrees above the cruiser. On my mark, hit eject!”
“What?” shouted his wingman over the radio.
“Just do it!” he ordered.
The group of fighters moved faster and faster, until to anybody watching they appeared as nothing more than silver missiles heading towards the ship’s engines. Wing Commander Anders looked down at his control panel. His Sea Skua missiles were armed and due to detonate in four seconds. That was the exact calculation made by his onboard computer for a high-speed collision. The small group of fighters would pass directly over the ship on their present course.
“Now!”
He reached out and tugged on the eject handle. A series of small explosions rippled through the craft as the crew compartment blew out and upwards. He kept moving forwards, but the force of the blast accelerated the crew to safety and well away from the cruiser. The explosion had the side effect of altering the course of the fighter by ten degrees, more than enough to force it into the direct path of the cruiser’s engines. All the fighters completed their ejection sequence safely, and just in time. The first three were saturated by concentrated turret fire, but the following six made it through. The wreckage of the damaged fighters slammed into the rear of the cruiser. With a total speed well in excess of ten thousand kilometres per hour, they smashed deep inside the rear of the ship. Almost as soon as they hit the engines, the onboard weapons and missiles exploded.
Wing Commander Anders watched from his spinning life support pod at the flashes and light coming from the rear of th
e ship. A series of sparks rattled along the hull, followed by a bright flash. Several large chunks of fuselage ripped off from the ship, and the cruiser started to drift.
“Angel One here. Cruiser is disabled, requesting immediate pickup for my pilots.”
* * *
The tense standoff continued deep inside the blood red warship. More Jötnar had arrived, and it took all of Spartan’s authority and self-control to stop them rampaging into the group of people. He glanced at the prisoners and immediately spotted two familiar faces. The first was Sergeant Kowalski, one of the marines that had been working on Prometheus. He had last seen him during their violent and desperate ordeal on the planet. Stood just a few paces to his right was Misaki, the young Asian tech expert. She looked at Spartan with a mixture of pleasure and anger. Spartan couldn’t tell which was stronger but in his experience, it was the latter. The leader still refused to back down, but the rest of his guards were starting to look a little nervous.
“Engine ignition sequence in thirty seconds,” came a loud voice through the ship, it sounded computerised.
Spartan looked to the leader and noted the look of satisfaction on his face. It was that of a man who knew he’d already won. Spartan decided to take a different tack.
“You live on a ship run by computers?” he laughed. “Who are you?”
The tall Zealot warrior stared at Spartan, his bitterness clearly evident.
“You don’t recognise me? We fought many times on Prometheus.”
“Prometheus? You were a pit fighter like me?”
“Oh no, nothing like you, Spartan,” he said with a spitting gesture.
Khan lurched forward, and Spartan was forced to grab him. The angered Jötnar looked to him in confusion. Spartan held him firmly to stop him from surging into the group of prisoners and Zealots.
Fall of Terra Nova Page 15
