Bishop rested one had on his face as he listened. Then it dawned on him.
“Wait a sec, Teresa, did you say you were on Kronus, during the siege?”
“Yeah, you could say that. We’d only just finished basic and got sent on our first operation,” she said with a grimace.
“No way! I’ve been in the Marine Corps for more than six years and never even drawn a pistol in anger. You get here as a rookie and they throw you into the fire. I heard it was rough down there. A few guys from our unit were on one of the transit stations during the battle.”
“Did you see any of the Zealots while you were there?” asked Kowalski.
“Forget that, man, have you seen any of their super soldiers?” Bishop interrupted.
“Super soldiers? You mean the bio-engineered shock troopers they are using?” she asked with a crooked smile. “No. A friend of mine called Spartan was on a boarding action with a small team when they found the first of them.”
“The ship that tried to escape from the Victorious, right? We were told that unit got pretty messed up,” Kowalski said.
“Yeah, when they got back they showed me the video feeds from the boarding action. Those things are evil. I don’t know how they created them but they are faster and stronger than anything I’ve seen before.”
Teresa leaned back to stretch, she hadn’t exercised for two days and her muscles were starting to feel it. At least now she had somebody to talk to. It was the most interesting thing that had happened since the marines had returned to Prime.
“I don’t want to sound rude, but if you’ve only just completed basic, how the hell did you get on the Santa Cruz? You know this is a commando ship now, right?”
“You don’t say, Bishop. A few of us had already completed most of the commando training before we landed on Kronus. The unit I was with was involved in the frontal assault of the station. Apparently a lot of the commando units took heavy casualties in the first waves. They started picking a few from each unit to make up the numbers.”
“So marine to commando in less than a week, nice going!”
“How about you two, Bishop?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I assume you’re going to the surface?”
“Yeah. As soon as the next wave of landing craft is ready we’ll be going down to the surface. The LT said we’ve got about ten hours for the boats to be repaired and loaded for the next run.”
The whistle indicating the start of the next watch on the ship caught their attention. The two marines looked around the canteen, noting they were the only ones still there.
“We’d better get to the gym before chow,” said Kowalski as he stood up from the table. “Nice talking to you, we’ll see you around I hope.”
Teresa went to join them but the pain struck hard and fast in her shoulder. “Bitch!” she swore and staggered off to her quarters.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Confederate Navy Fighter Wings were the elite fighting arm of the Navy and contained the best trained pilots in the Fleet. Though most squadrons were based at the Naval bases and battlegroups around Terra Nova a few squadrons did play their part in the Proxima Emergency. Operating from escort cruisers and carriers the men and women of the Fighter Wings made use of the two most advanced craft in the Fleet. The MK II Lightning twin-engine interceptor and the Thunderbolt MK I a four-engine torpedo bomber with enough firepower to cripple a frigate.
Thunder and Lightning
Marcus had already been forced to abandon his CES suit due to damage sustained in a rocket attack on the front line. With the armour now stacked along with other damaged or unused ordnance, he was forced to duck for cover as a mortar shell exploded nearby. He still wore his Personal Defence Suit but, compared to the thick metal armour he’d previously worn, he now felt naked to the enemy fire that clattered about their defensive positions.
“Sniper!” shouted one of the marines from the outer wall.
Marcus was already in a foxhole when the first round hit, it managed to miss him by just a few centimetres. Dirt and chipped stone smashed against his armour but thankfully the thin armoured sections easily brushed off the impact.
“Thank the Gods!” he whispered to himself as he held his body down low. The civilians would find this kind of combat far more gruelling, as they had almost no armour of any kind. Even loose debris was causing them problems, let alone the artillery fire from the enemy. More shots flicked past and he winced as a large calibre bullet whipped close to him and embedded in a nearby wall. The battle had altered from a grinding full-scale assault to one of sniping and rocket attacks, where every few minutes screams and shouting indicated yet another person had been hurt or killed.
The city of New Carlos was coming to the end of its fifth day in the siege, yet the damage all around suggested it had been like this for weeks, maybe even months. What had started as a bloodthirsty hand-to-hand battle around the outer suburbs of the city had now pushed pack into the commercial spaces, where the larger buildings and road systems provided ample cover for friend or foe alike. It was here the new defensive line had been erected, built upon the blood of the commandos and marines who had given their lives to buy enough time for the defences to be built. Spartan and the surviving commandos took cover behind the concrete and debris the citizens and engineers had spent the last six hours preparing. It was rough but the marines had done their job and given the city time to prepare a perimeter that was capable of standing, at least for the short term. The enemy had not assaulted the line for almost an hour and the defenders were not wasting a minute of it. Holes in the ground were quickly converted to slit trenches while bricks, dirt and debris were made into mounts and cover from fire.
With the commandos helping to guard the perimeter defences, Spartan and other still working CES units had help demolish the smaller buildings to create additional cover. Right now he was near what used to be a small office complex that had already been occupied by a score of volunteers from the city. They were keen but had almost no idea what they were doing. Still, they were better than nothing. The effect of the citizens doing their part was proving to be a great boost to the morale of the beleaguered city.
Marcus climbed out of his foxhole and rushed the short distance across the open ground till he reached the concrete parking structure the commandos were using as a reasonably secure forward base. As he reached its relative safety, he dropped down next to Spartan who was out of his CES and smoking a cigarette.
“You need to keep your head down,” Spartan laughed.
“Really? Yeah, thanks for that.”
Two more marines settled near them, one a dark skinned veteran called Tex who was recruited from one of the many gangs on Prometheus, the other a moody looking corporal, Travis.
“Spartan, a few of the guys said you were from Prometheus too. How did they get you to join up?” asked Tex.
Marcus jumped in as Spartan continued to smoke, enjoying the break from the backbreaking labour of the recent fighting.
“You’re from Prometheus and you haven’t heard of Spartan?” asked Marcus with feigned surprise.
“The only Spartan I know of was a cop killer, that ain’t you, right?” he answered with a sly grin.
Marcus looked over to Spartan nervously, knowing of his background and propensity to rely on brute force to resolve the most basic of issues. There was no response from him. It was as if he hadn’t heard a word.
“Spartan ain’t no cop killer. He was on the fighting circuit when the place got busted. You know, the clampdown raids from almost a year ago.”
“Shit, man, he was in the raids? My group got busted at the same time!” said Tex.
Spartan turned to look at him. Tex moved closer but Spartan stared into his eyes blowing a puff of smoke into the man’s face.
“I never saw the fighting circuit, I thought it was all underground shit on Prometheus?” asked Travis, now intrigued by the whole conversation.
“Spartan here was the c
hampion in nearly a dozen fights, weren’t you?” Marcus placed his hand on Spartan’s shoulder.
The rattle of anti-aircraft weapons pulled their attention away to the horizon where streaks of tracer fire raced up into the sky. A wing of four Thunderbolt fighter bombers screeched overhead, each craft leaving a light grey trail of smoke behind it. The aircraft had deployed their wings and weapon pods for atmospheric flight and looked deadly from this distance. Pale yellow streaks indicated the automatic cannons of the aircraft were strafing the insurgent positions outside the boundaries of the city.
“Army aircraft?” Spartan asked.
“Yeah, the ground pounder must be on the way.” Marcus was watching the aircraft move off into the distance.
Spartan flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette as he took one long puff then dropped the stub to the floor. His helmet was off but he was still in his standard Personal Defence Suit. There wasn’t a chance he’d be caught without any armour. So many of the wounded had suffered their injuries from rubble and shrapnel.
“Look!” shouted one of the other marines sitting on a ruined wall.
They saw a line of yellow flashes in the distance. A few seconds later a crump of exploding napalm bombs washed over their defences.
“Yep, it’s the Army alright!” said Marcus.
“And they thought we were subtle!” Spartan laughed as he stood up.
He moved over towards where his CES armour was leaning against the wall. It was now scratched and dented on almost every section. The visor had a centimetre long crack along the left side where a missile fragment had struck him. He pushed his feet down inside the unit, the armour adjusted and began clamping down around him. This was the part that Spartan always hated. No matter how many times he was reassured by the engineers and artificers, there was always the possibility that the armour could continue its movement and crush the body or limbs of the marine inside. Apparently it had never happened but that didn’t alter the way Spartan felt. He pushed his back into the suit and took a deep breath.
“Here goes nothing,” he said quietly.
As his back touched the metal a series of whining motors pushed the metal and rubber mounts up to link and interface with his PDS suit. It took less than twenty seconds before the entire unit was clamped around his body and encased him in heavy metal. Next to him Marcus was halfway through the same procedure when they noticed a small group of commandos approaching.
The three at the front of the group were wearing CES suits and Spartan instantly recognised the paint scheme of his commanding officer.
“Sergeant!” shouted Lieutenant Daniels as he examined the high ground along their position.
“Sir?”
“Get a squad up there with heavy weapons. How is the perimeter looking? Any sign of them?”
Spartan moved his eyes to select options on his communication gear so he could speak with his squad commanders. The bulk of the suit was controlled using the built-in head display and the controls fitted inside the arms. Most of the suit was powered up but it took a few seconds for all the system to kick in. A few lights flickered and then settled, but he noted he had two warnings on the hydraulic levels for the left arm. He’d already had it checked by the unit’s artificer and there was nothing they could do until he was back at a fully equipped repair shop. Still, the last thing he needed was for one of his limbs to seize up in battle.
“Corporal Thomas, put your squad on top of the office complex. Establish an observation post and get some heavy weapons up there.” He turned back to Daniels. “Sir, the perimeter is looking solid. We have linked up with the rest of General Shears’ forces on our right flank.”
Daniels approached him, his armoured suit now starting to grind as the wear of combat and constant use was have an adverse affect on the moving parts. Spartan could see a small number of people at the highest position on the outer wall. The wall was built around a partially demolished housing block now covered in mounted machineguns and mortars. Right in the centre was a large battle standard of one of the cities militia units. It contained the emblem of the city, the Purple of the Confederacy. There were at least twenty small holes punched through it where enemy fire had ripped into the fabric, yet it still stood tall and bright. It was a sign to everyone that this part of the line was secure and held not just by the military but by citizens of New Carlos itself. Daniels stopped in front of him, his armoured torso grinding to a halt. He looked back at the flag and then to Spartan.
“I don’t understand, they’ve been hitting us for hours, why aren’t they attacking the line now?”
Spartan checked the tactical display in his suit. It wasn’t as detailed as the information you would expect to find in a command centre, but it did show a physical map of the terrain and colours markers for all known friendly and hostile units. He examined the enemy’s dispositions before replying to the Lieutenant.
“Well, based on their last two attacks, I’d say they’re looking for another way in. The last attack was a disaster for them, Sir. Maybe they are waiting for darkness?”
“Perhaps.” The Lieutenant rechecked their position. “I don’t like it. We have a strong defensive line here but not much of a reserve. What if they are working out a way to go over or under our lines?”
“They could have access to more tunnels, Sir?” suggested Spartan.
“We should probably get some of the tech teams from the General’s staff to do a full subterranean survey of the city. Good plan, Sergeant. In the meantime assemble a small group, a mixture of CES, commandos and anybody else you can find. Set up a reserve outpost back there, on the overpass.” He pointed at the raised roadway half a kilometre away. “If anyone tries anything I want to make sure we have someone I can depend on when it goes to hell!”
“Sir!”
Spartan understood the well-hidden complement the officer had made. How intentional it was he had no idea. Spartan looked back at the front line and the scores of people carrying rubble, supplies and ammunition. Even though there was an obvious lull in the battle, it could end at any time. He was secretly glad for a few minutes respite from the frontline where so many marines had already been picked off in the fighting and where he knew another attack was imminent.
* * *
In high orbit above the surface of Prime was the Confederate Fleet, recently bolstered by a dozen newly arrived small frigates helping to reinforce the ever growing blockade around the planet. Streams of transports transferred their cargos to the transit stations before returning on their long voyages to the refineries, military bases and outposts of the Confederacy. Smaller craft made the dangerous trip through the thick atmosphere of Prime to deliver people, supplies and weapons to those on the ground. The most recent arrival was the heavy armoured transports of the Army, with their own frigates providing escort.
The most powerful vessel remaining at the blockade was the CCS Wasp, commanded by Captain Hardy. Though he commanded the ship it was now the home of the battlegroup and Admiral Jarvis had transferred her flag aboard, following the evacuation of the Crusader for emergency repairs at Kerberos.
Wasp was nothing as intimidating as one of the Confederation battleships but she was still a mighty vessel, bristling with weapons and carrying a variety of combat craft. Deep inside the armoured hull of the ship Admiral Jarvis, now accompanied by General Rivers, stood around the tactical display as they examined the situation on Avagana.
Throughout the CiC the dozen officers monitored communication channels and data traffic as they helped coordinate the massive operation on the ground and in space. The tactical map showed an updated model of the planet’s surface and the ongoing operations. One of the displays crackled and the image of General Shears appeared. He was in charge of the combined ground based forces of Prime, though with the disputes in the colonies most of his forces had now evacuated to Avagana.
“Admiral,” said the old General as he straightened himself at the sight of his opposite number.
Genera
l Rivers, the overall commander of ground operations in the sector moved closer so that he appeared next to the Admiral.
“General, what is the situation in New Carlos?” asked General Rivers.
General Shears looked at the Marine Corps officer with disdain. Though they were both senior officers there had always been a level of disagreement between planetary colonial forces and the space based Confederate Marine forces. The rivalry often spilled into spats between officers.
“The city is secure, for now. I have deployed forces to the city perimeter and have established a command centre and reserve deployment area at the Space Port.”
“And the rest of Avagana?” asked Rivers.
“Only one city was fully overrun, my colonial forces are dealing with that problem. Right now I’m more concerned with the garrisons throughout the Seven Colonies. The last signal from Fort Wellington was that rebel forces had surrounded the fort and were demanding their surrender.”
“Yes, we’ve been monitoring the situation from up here. The city defence forces and some of the army units are not responding to our signals right now. We suspect some may have been infiltrated or attacked,” said Admiral Jarvis.
There was a long pause from the General, as he spoke quietly to somebody off camera, then turned back to the camera.
“My forces are loyal, if you are unable to contact them it is because somebody is jamming them. What about my reinforcements?” he said angrily.
General Rivers looked less than impressed with the response from the General.
“Listen, General Shears, we have three divisions of infantry preparing for combat landings. One is being dropped to the West of New Carlos. They are being landed along with armour and close air support. The other two will help secure the East Coast and the cities between there and New Carlos.”
Star Crusades Uprising: The First Trilogy Page 25
