Star Crusades Uprising: The First Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  From the information on the screen it appeared nobody knew why they were so desperate to hold onto the huge underground mining facility. It had originally been dug almost a kilometre underground to mine many of the precious minerals buried there. The resources were valuable but that had never interested the Zealots in the past. A year ago it was still operated by the state mining company, then something happened. Nobody knew what, but in days most of the crew had been killed and the place was taken over by more than a hundred Zealot fighters. By the time the military arrived their numbers had swelled to thousands and they were already sealing the access points to the structure. It was if they were trying to protect something very important. No matter how many marines the Confederation sent in, they were always repulsed and suffering heavy casualties.

  The mining plant was built on the most recently developed landmass on the planet. Also it was where many of the Zealots had moved to in the hope of work and to avoid contact with the more urbanised area of the planet. It hadn’t taken long for their extreme form of religion to burst into open revolt. When that was quickly crushed it turned it into the home of the insurgency. As well as scores of mines there were five major cities and hundreds of small towns and villages that had sprung up in the last ten years. In seven years the open countryside had become a wasteland with people staying in the urban areas to avoid moving in public where possible. Armoured convoys transported the workers and materials across the many roads and barely a day went by without hearing of another bomb attack on a major transportation route.

  The Bone Mill had now taken on almost mythical proportions as the coalition had been besieging it for over ten months. The ticker said the total casualties in the battle had exceeded seven hundred and questions were being asked about the feasibility of securing such a formidable objective. With most of the access points blocked and thousands of metres of rubble making digging difficult, it fell to the marines and infantry to fight a slow, bloody battle as they claimed it one inch at a time.

  He watched the screen a little while longer, there was an interview between two military experts about why the campaign was failing. The first, a woman in her thirties was looking agitated.

  “Look, since the Zealots turned to terrorism we have been fighting a losing battle with extremists. Their numbers have increased each year, what are we doing to stop them?”

  A man in his fifties wearing a smart brown suit grinned. “What are we doing? Well, since the start of the trouble the military has successfully repressed their capacity to wage war. They were only able to fight for a matter of weeks before they were contained and most of them were sent to the camps for trial.” The woman interrupted.

  “Rubbish, if we’re doing so well then why can’t we take the one place they have decided to fight for? The Bone Mill has been holding us off for months and the attacks on transports and supplies moving into the area are increasing.”

  “It is true the operation in the Avagana is challenging. But apart from insurgent bomb and suicide attacks we have the situation contained. When we finally take control of the facility the backbone of their resistance will be smashed and I can see the end of the emergency following shortly after.”

  “This isn’t limited to just Avagana though, is it? We have had attacks in cities across Proxima Prime and the number of piracy and hijacking incidents off-world has increased. If you ask me I’d say the problem is spreading and at some point soon this local emergency could turn into a system-wide issue with long term implications,” she added.

  Spartan was getting bored and decided to head to the viewing gallery. The war, emergency or policing action, whatever they were calling it now seemed more complicated. He could see that the Zealots were extremists and the signs of their attacks on civilians across the Confederation were well known. What he didn’t understand was exactly what the military were going to do about and more specifically, what they were going to want him to do about it.

  He entered the observation area and moved towards the windows. It was a round room about twenty metres in diameter projecting out from the main lounge. There were long comfortable chairs and Spartan sank down looking out into the blackness. The bright glow of the planet Prometheus below made spotting the stars almost impossible. Its black and red surface showing signs of the fiery hot surface, a place where only the most well prepared research laboratories and factories could survive, deep inside the solid rock. Not that it mattered as he was more interested in the light glinting off the ships that were moored and waiting.

  The nearest vessel was a massive war barge, the CCS Vengeance. She was an old ship and had seen action in the first war fought in this system that had finally united the disparate colonies into one Confederation of mutually supportive organisations. At least that’s how the history books reported a war that cost over three billion lives. Although originally classed as a heavy cruiser she was old and by modern standards outdated. She wasn’t fast enough to serve in the line as a main ship but was still easily capable of moving at the speed of transports and civilian liners. She was still massively powerful and had been re-designated as a war barge, a vessel more suited to the slower work of escort and defence that was now probably of more use than the vessels in the main Fleet.

  Since the start of the emergency she was one of the first vessels re-activated for use by the Confederation Fleet to provide escort for the troop convoys. She was nearly a kilometre long with thick plate armour. What really caught his eye was the thirty-metre gash in her port side. Apparently a suicide bomber had steered a pilot barge directly into her flank and the damage would put her out of action for at least six months. Any other ship would have been lost in the attack, but not the Vengeance. Although she’d fought other similar vessels in the war, she had never sustained major damage, leading many to think of her as the luckiest ship in the Fleet even after the incident with the suicide attack. Over two hundred people were killed in that disaster. This had led to many people wanting to give the Zealots concessions. It was futile though, everything he had seen about the Zealots suggested they wanted nothing other than the spread of their idea of brotherhood. It sounded like indoctrination to him. Spartan began to wonder if enlisting rather than years in a cell was the best option for him. He turned his attention to another ship off to the right.

  Through the thick glass he could just make out the shape of his new home waiting about three kilometres away. She was the CCS Santa Maria and from what he could tell she was hardly the flagship of the Fleet. The information pack he received on his enlistment said that fifty years ago the eight hundred metre long craft was a colony transport to move settlers. In more recent years, she had transferred to the Navy and refitted for a variety of military roles, the latest being marine training and transportation. Due to the nature of their deployment they would be on a journey of roughly two hundred and forty days before reaching their destination. Somebody had worked out that rather than spending half a year training recruits and then having to wait another half a year just to get them to theatre, this could be halved by doing the training on the way. It was an interesting idea and in theory was more efficient. What it didn’t take into account was that not everyone would pass and be able to do their job.

  “What happens if a thousand recruits left but only a hundred were able to serve as marines?” Spartan thought to himself.

  Then he thought of the display on the suicide attack. It was simple really. Everybody would have to fight. They didn’t have the numbers or the capability to return them home. In the end this deployment was a one-way posting. The only people going home were veterans and casualties, anyone else would be buried on the planet.

  He looked back at the large grey vessel in the distance. She was one of over a dozen ships waiting on the outer pylons of the dock. The ship contained two rotating cylindrical sections providing an equivalent of Earth’s gravity. The long cylinders were wrapped in thick plated bands at regular intervals. The middle section contained massive storage hangars originally
used for raw materials and supplies intended for colony development. Now they carried military hardware and weapons, as well as housing a few dedicated zones for the dreaded zero-g training. Though not equipped for combat she did carry basic defensive measures against smaller vessels and missiles and a small amount of firepower from the gun batteries mounted on the rotating cylindrical sections. These were kinetic railguns but their effectiveness in action had never been tested.

  As Spartan watched he could just see the multitude of tugs, shuttles and transports moving back and forth from the major vessels in dock. This place might be big but from what he had heard their destination drop-off point at the Titan Naval Station was much bigger. A shrill whine came over the tannoy system with the latest announcement. It was the message he was waiting for.

  “Shuttle seven two nine is ready for departure. All recruits for the Santa Maria are to report in fifteen minutes. Please proceed to your shuttle.”

  With military precision the doors to the vehicle pool opened and glowing symbols along the wall indicated the path to take so that even the most dim-witted of the new candidates could find their way along the path to the waiting shuttles. As he walked along the path a trio of men pushed past, jostling to get to the shuttle first. One of them crashed into Spartan, almost throwing him to the floor.

  “Hey!” Spartan reached out and grabbed the last of the group by the shoulder.

  “What’s your problem, pal?” said the man with undisguised contempt as he tried to pull away. He was roughly the same height as Spartan and sported a neatly trimmed ginger beard and moustache.

  “My problem is you.” He straightened himself up prepared for a confrontation.

  The other two men stopped and came to their friend’s aid, standing either side of him. They were exactly the kind of people he expected to find here. Well built, probably college sports jocks sent away for a tour on the frontline. After one year’s posting they’d come home and expect a cushy state job where everybody would crow over their service. The tallest, a man wearing a name patch of Burnett, stepped forward. He was almost a head taller than Spartan who was hardly a small man himself.

  “Hey, Matt, this guy causing you grief?” He turned to Spartan.

  He knew what was coming and also from years of experience you never, ever let your opponent get the drop on you. He also knew that a distraction was always a smart move for the first part of any offensive action.

  “Burnett? Isn’t that a girl’s name?” he said with a grin.

  The man was obviously used to being ridiculed, curled his face up in anger and opened his mouth as if to spout some clever line.

  Spartan knew this was his moment and without hesitation slammed his knee hard into the man’s crotch. Burnett was taken completely by surprise and hit the ground groaning in pain. Spartan took one step back and lifted his hands so that his palms faced the group. To the untrained man it looked like he was worried or trying to plead with them. For anybody with knowledge of martial skills though they would instantly note the similarities to the basic training of systems like Krav Maga.

  Matt, the man that had started it all took a step forward, sensing that Spartan wanted to avoid a fight. As he moved closer the number of people heading for the shuttles slowed as some of them stopped to watch the unfolding event. At the far end of the corridor a number of men in black body armour were making their way towards them.

  He attacked, as far as Spartan was concerned he may as well have written down on a sheet of paper what he planned to do. He moved his feet first, instantly giving advance notice of his intentions. Then he made the classic mistake of pulling his arm back to deliver the strongest punch he could muster. He obviously lacked any real fighting skill and as his fist flew forwards Spartan sidestepped and pulled his arm from the side. He grasped the wrist from the back and put his hand on the man’s elbow forcing him to the ground. The armlock looked like a classic police move and immediately forced the man to the floor.

  “Let him go!” shouted an electronically enhanced voice.

  Spartan knew when the voice of authority had arrived and this time it was in the shape of two armoured Military Policemen. They bore a striking similarity to the men he’d fought at the illegal fight and for a moment he was tempted to continue where he had left off. Then his brain kicked in and he recalled he’d only just got away with not going to prison. Spartan let the man go, leaving the two men on the floor. The third man lost control and was prancing about like a man high on drugs, probably trying to psyche himself up to fight him.

  “Step back, hands in the air!” The second officer unclipped his shock maul, no doubt preparing himself for violence.

  Spartan took a step back and raised his hands slightly, showing deference to the police, but not raising them too high to suggest guilt. The third man was having none of this and moved towards Spartan, presumably thinking he was vulnerable.

  “Quit while you’re still standing, pal!” he said with a snigger, adding the ‘pal’ for dramatic effect.

  The man just couldn’t see the situation for what it was and rushed forward. The first officer flipped out his maul and slammed it into the charging man’s stomach. He went down hard, straight to the floor. Spartan just stood there, saying nothing. The second officer moved up to Spartan looking at him carefully, noting the marks and scars on his face.

  “You looking for trouble here?”

  “Not today,” replied Spartan sarcastically.

  The first officer laughed as he helped lift the men from the ground. “Get this out of your system, you’ve got plenty of time to sort this out, the trip to Prime is at least thirty-five long weeks. Lots of time to get acquainted.” He then pushed them on.

  The three men staggered along with Spartan following at a safe distance as the officers walked discreetly behind them. He was safe for now but as always he wasn’t making friends.

  As he reached the end of the corridor the crowd of people split into three smaller columns as they moved off to different parts of the shuttle. It was a big craft, much bigger than he’d expected. By his guess it could carry about two hundred people. He stepped inside noting almost all the seats had been taken. The three troublemakers were already sitting down and one was holding his nose, blood still dripping slowly from his exposure with the floor. The ginger-haired man smashed his hands together Spartan gave him a smile. It was futile but it made him feel better, for now anyway.

  He spotted a seat a few rows back next to a Hispanic looking woman who was muttering to herself. Making his way across the craft he sat down and pulled the harness over his chest. Turning to the woman he held out his hand.

  “Spartan, pleased to meet you.”

  She looked at him and then turned away, looking out of the window.

  “Fair enough, you haven’t hurt my feelings, I’m sure we’ll get to meet again during basic.” He looked back to the rest of the passengers.

  In front of each line of seats were a series of pods hanging down with video displays. Each one was showing a commercial for the Confederate Marine Corps and no matter how hard he tried, Spartan couldn’t contain himself and he let out a laugh. On the screen a single marine had just sheltered a child from a rain of bullets and then lifted the child to safety.

  “Fucking Marine Corps propaganda!” shouted one of the men further inside the shuttle.

  “Why are you here, Spartan, if you think this is so funny?” the woman next to him asked.

  From the confined position in the shuttle he could only just make out her long, curly hair. She looked tiny compared to most of the hulking men there but Spartan knew from experience that a short woman was just as capable of knocking you down as a two-metre wrestler. If she knew what she was doing.

  “It was this or prison.”

  “Prison? Did you make the right decision?”

  He looked at her, confused by her question before spotting her wicked grin. Spartan laughed, appreciating a normal conversation that wasn’t about to devolve into a fist
fight.

  “How about you then?”

  “Foreclosure. They threatened to come in and take everything. The Judge ordered me on one tour to cover my debt or they will close my home down and take away my family.”

  “The asshole, looks like they nailed us both in the ass. What’s your name?”

  “Teresa,” she replied, but added nothing else. She sat for a while before asking the question she was dying to know the answer to.

  “So, did you do it?” she asked coyly.

  “Well, I’ve done quite a bit,” he answered with a grin. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

  “Funny. You know what I meant. Why were you in court?”

  Before he could answer the door slid shut with a sucking sound and the craft started to vibrate a little. The voice of the pilot came over the sound system.

  “Captain Tyrol here. We are due for departure in thirty seconds. Please ensure your harnesses are fitted. We will be leaving the platform shortly and no harness means you’ll drift and get hurt. All crew confirm status. Have a good flight.”

  Around the shuttle the crewmembers wandered about, checking the harnesses and hitting a few buttons near the seals on the doors. When they were satisfied they moved to their own seats and hit a sequence of controls. With a clunk the interior lighting switched off and was replaced by a dull glow from the transfer lights. There was a final sound and a hiss from manoeuvring thrusters. Spartan looked from his window and noticed they were drifting from the station dock. As the shuttle altered its course he could immediately feel the difference. Now they had broken free of their tether they were free floating in the zero gravity environment, it didn’t appeal to Spartan at all.