Star Crusades Uprising: The First Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

“Sir, they’ll be at the gate in thirty seconds!” shouted the Sergeant.

  Captain Erdeniz lifted himself up higher as he watched the truck move to the gate. For a few seconds he thought it might crash directly into the armoured door and he braced himself for impact. Luckily the driver jammed the brakes on at the last minute and the vehicle swung around and stopped in a cloud of dust and debris. From the back a number of scruffy looking civilians as well as three men in police uniforms jumped out. One looked up to Captain Erdeniz and signalled with his hand to get his attention.

  “Lieutenant Inspector James Cooper, requesting sanctuary!” Without waiting he started to help the people from the back of the truck.

  Captain Erdeniz shouted down to the men in the courtyard to open the gate. His attention was drawn back to the approaching horde as the large number of vehicles rushed headlong towards their position. The nearest were two and three-wheel vehicles. All were civilian and carrying far more people on them than their design intended. Behind them were now more than twenty trucks and large wheeled vehicles. Some appeared to be police issue, the rest a mix of civilian and commercial, all with people on them and many of them armed.

  “Get ready!” shouted the Sergeant.

  A chorus of safeties being clicked off and bolts pulled back indicated the conversion of the defenders from a static force to one ready to repel any and all attackers. Captain Erdeniz looked back to his datapad and the video image from the small drone circling overhead. The back of one of the trucks was carrying a fixed weapon mount, it was primitive, possibly a relic from the Great War but still capable of shredding through the concrete and steel wall of their compound. Then he spotted it. The truck following it carried a similar fixed weapon mount, but it was a twin surface to air missile system of the type fitted around the Presidential Palace to protect against missile and aircraft attacks.

  “Crap!” he muttered as he grabbed his intercom.

  “All units...” he started before the clatter of bullets and cannon rounds peppered the wall forcing him to the ground to take cover. As he fell he dropped the datapad and almost landed on it. Luckily for both of them the device was sturdy and protected by a laminate layer of metal and rubber. As he grabbed the device two soldiers carrying rifles moved around him.

  “I’m okay, not a problem!” He assumed they thought he must have fallen.

  One of the machineguns on the tower opened fire and in less than three seconds the entire wall lit up with scores of carbines and rifles adding their fire to the approaching vehicles. An unguided rocket whistled overhead and crashed down into the centre of the base, hitting an already damaged truck. Captain Erdeniz looked at the drone video on his datapad to check the tactical situation. From the feed he could see the enemy dismounting and taking up positions several hundred metres from the compound walls.

  “All units! Hold your fire! Watch for muzzle flashes and hit them with long range ordnance. Everybody else keep your heads down!”

  One thing he knew from naval combat was that using all your fire at the first opportunity just wasted ammunition and gave away valuable information to the enemy. They had the better cover and the longer ranged guns. In this scenario it was in their interest to let the enemy do the work.

  “Unit commanders, check your datapads for target identification and acquisition.”

  A chorus of acknowledgements came across the tactical network as their precarious position was quickly shared along the personnel defending the perimeter. More fire bounced along the wall though the sturdy material easily absorbed the small arms fire.

  The main compound gate opened along with a series of tones to let the guards know the base was being opened. As soon as a gap a metre wide appeared a stream of women and children rushed inside. Captain Erdeniz shouted down from the wall, waving at the barracks infirmary.

  “Corporal Weather, get them to the infirmary and check them out!”

  The Corporal waved to three other men who helped escort the party away as yet more rushed inside.

  “Sir, this man says he needs to speak with you!” shouted the Corporal pointing to the nearest ladder for the man to climb.

  As the last of the fourteen civilians made it inside the marines quickly sealed the doorway and returned to their positions. More shots came in and the video feed displayed two groups of the enemy making their way closer to the walls by staying low in the rocky depressions.

  “Lieutenant Jones. Permission to access the floaters?” asked the leader of 3rd Platoon.

  “Do it,” replied the Captain over the intercom before selecting the open channel.

  “All weapon systems authorised, clear the perimeter!”

  With that simple command the access to the base automated weapons mounts, artillery and drones was immediately turned over to the platoon commanders. It was quick and efficient and the results almost instant. Three explosions about three hundred metres out caught the first group moving into position. The aerial floating shells struck without warning and instantly halted that attack. As more shells were launched from the automated launch system a man in partial police clothing reached him on the wall.

  “Captain, I’m Special Agent Johnson, attached to Naval Intelligence. I need to speak with the Fleet as soon as possible, I have urgent information for Admiral Jarvis.”

  “The Admiral?”

  A rocket propelled grenade slammed into the wall and blew out a chunk of masonry that blasted two men from the wall. One landed hard and didn’t appear to be moving.

  “Medic!” shouted Erdeniz, though he didn’t need to as a group of marines were already heading to the injured men. The man that had hit the ground hardest was crying out. Erdeniz turned back to the newly arrived agent who was also watching the casualties with a morbid curiosity.

  “It’s the quiet ones we need to worry about. You said you needed to speak to Admiral Jarvis?”

  “Yeah, you know her?”

  “I should do, I’m part of the Crusader’s crew and we have met a few times.”

  “Really? Interesting. Anyway, thanks for taking us in, we hit a spot of trouble!” he said with a lopsided grin.

  Several more rounds clipped the wall a few metres from where they stood but already the amount of fire was decreasing. As each of the floating artillery shells launched downwards less of the attackers were inclined to push forward.

  “I can get you a signal to the Crusader in orbit. She’ll have to bounce the signal to the office of the Admiral. What is it about?”

  “I can’t say, I’m sorry but it is too delicate. Let’s just say that this information is critical to the Confederacy, that’s why we were trying to get to you.”

  “What about the people with you? What’s going on?”

  “They are two of my colleagues who I can trust and their families. When they discovered we were still in contact with Naval Intelligence they stormed our police headquarters. Either we bugged out or we would have died with the rest.”

  “Who are ‘they’?”

  “You’ve not heard? Colony defence has been handed over to the Biomechs under the command of Echidna operatives. All paramilitary personnel have been forced to hand in their firearms and report to work placement centres for allocation of new duties.”

  The datapad on the Captain’s side started to emit a tone indicating a new message from command. He lifted his hand to pause their conversation. As he examined the screen it cut to a video link to the Cobra MKII Colonel Towers had left off on. The Colonel was speaking into the device as he hid behind what looked like a piece of blackened metal.

  “Captain, it was an ambush, they were already dead. My God, all of them!”

  The video picture started to shake and it looked like the Colonel was moving but it was soon obvious that the ground near his position was shaking. Flashes followed by the familiar crump of heavy weapon fire erupted and the picture went dark grey. As the image went a series of howls and low noises, as if from a wild creature, came over the speakers.

  �
��What the hell is going on down there?”

  Johnson looked unfazed by the sounds and sights of what was happening on the display.

  “It’s Biomechs, once you hear them you never forget them, Captain.”

  For a brief moment the picture on the datapad changed, the Colonel had either moved it or it had been knocked aside. As the image stabilised it was clear what had happened. Several bodies in Confed uniforms lay scattered about the rubble. The bloodied face of the Colonel filled a third of the screen and in the background stood three Biomechs, three metre tall monstrosities, each bristling with tight fitting armour and weapons. The screen flashed and the feed went dead. Captain Erdeniz turned his head in anger before straightening his back and tapping his intercom.

  “Platoon commanders, meet me in the command centre. Squad leaders, hold your positions and watch your zones. Nobody, and I mean nobody, comes anywhere near the base, out!”

  He moved to the ladder and started to climb down. Special Agent Johnson approached and pointed down to the ground as though he was asking a question.

  “Yeah, come with me, I think we have things to discuss.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The origins of Spartan are still a mystery. Few records exist other than the brief mentions of his upbringing and family. The first confirmed records concern his time as a pit fighter where he achieved fame and notoriety as one of the toughest and most versatile on Prometheus. Many doubt his meteoric rise to glory could ever have occurred without this strong lesson in combat and resilience.

  The Rise of Spartan

  Spartan couldn’t see in the pitch black of the room, but he could smell the dampness and sweat that reminded him that his situation wasn’t improving. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, his throat was parched and nothing other than a few croaks staggered out of his mouth. His head was pounding a mixture of either a long drinking session or because he had been pounded in the head by somebody’s fists. As he struggled to remember, a light was switched on that for half a minute completely blinded him. He lifted his hands to shield his eyes to find he was chained and shackled to the wall.

  “What do you want?” He tried to shout but again it came out as a muffled groan.

  “Sergeant Spartan, terrorist, murderer and soldier of the fascist Confederacy. Have you made your decision?” A blurred shape of a man stood in front of him. Spartan struggled to remember, just a mixture of lights and faces with pain and violence thrown in. He needed a more time to collect his thoughts. As he desperately tried to think the voice continued.

  “For your own safety we have moved you from Kerberos. Where you go from here is up to you. We already know you work for the Confederate Marine Corps. Those days are over now, Spartan. The days of the Confederacy are numbered, soon the dawn of a new, civilised and equal age will spread through Proxima.”

  At the mention of Proxima some of Spartan’s memories flooded back. The uprising and insurgency orchestrated by the Zealots, the militant wing of the Church of Echidna and the collaboration of the Marine Guards unit on Kerberos. Finally, he remembered finding the murdered President and his cabinet at Yama City. He swallowed several times, trying desperately to clear his throat.

  “I...I remember...”

  “You remember? Good, then you can tell us. What does Admiral Jarvis plan to do about the secession of the colonies on Kerberos, Prime, Orthrus and Agora?”

  “I’ll tell you what she told me...” He turned to look at the changing shape of the man facing him.

  “Good, I thought you might change your mind. So, tell me, what does she plan to do?”

  Spartan simply stared at him, saying nothing.

  “Well, what does she have to say to us?” he asked again, this time more firmly.

  “Fuck you!” Spartan shouted and then spat on the floor. The man took a step forward, presumably to strike Spartan but somebody stopped him before he could get close enough. Another two men appeared, one wearing some kind of wide headgear approached him as the rest spoke quietly to each other.

  “The Confederacy has gone, Spartan. The only holdouts in this entire sector are Avagana and a handful of the smaller colonies through the Rim, Prometheus and the gas giants. With the habitable planets now free how long do you think it will be before the rest join us?”

  “Join you? Who the fuck is you?” laughed Spartan. “You’re a bunch of old religious nobodies that want to line your own pockets. You’ll replace the Confederacy with your own ideology!”

  The small group of men had stopped talking and all moved around Spartan. The tallest spoke first.

  “The Church of Echidna offers a new union for those who seek the redistribution of power and wealth to the people. Before this year is out every colony in Proxima will join our family, that shouldn’t concern you though. For your crimes our leaders have decreed you and your friends should suffer.”

  The man with the hat continued.

  “A man with your skills could be of great use to us. This is your last chance to avoid a terrible and just fate. Fight with us or die in the pit fights like the rest of the dogs! Your choice!”

  “Just kill me and get on with it!” Spartan was already trying to work out how he could turn the situation to his advantage. Planning and strategy had never been his strongest points but he was strong and his reactions generally excellent. He was convinced he could at the very least cause a lot of damage if he could get his hands free. As he twisted his arms it was obvious the chains were much too tight for him to wriggle out of. He looked about the room, his eyes now almost fully adjusted to the light. It was a small room and more people were tied up just the same as he was. He recognised the shape of General Rivers in the corner though he wasn’t moving. He was about to turn back to his chains when he spotted a glimpse of movement. It was small, so small that if he hadn’t already been looking at the old General he never would have seen it. The man blinked with just the one eye. Spartan squinted, making sure he had seen correctly, then the General did it again. Spartan nodded gently and then moved his eyes away from him and back to the guards.

  “What about them?” He looked towards the other prisoners.

  “That is none of your business, murderer!” said one of the men.

  Spartan glanced again at the prisoners, looking for signs of people he might know.

  “Come on, did you set them up as well? You bastards!”

  The man started to laugh, it was a low chortle but the self-satisfaction was evident. As he continued Spartan could feel his heart increasing in rhythm, his blood felt like it was going to boil with pent up rage and anger. He pulled hard at the chains and succeeded in doing nothing other than giving his tormentors more to laugh about.

  “You should save your energy, you will need it where you are going. As for the rest of them, well, they’ve all told us what we need to know. They will be meeting with the slavers shortly. Either they work in the mines or fight in the pits. One way or the other they’ll be dead in a few months...” he said and then looked deep into Spartan’s eyes, “...as will you!”

  Spartan thought back to his comrades back in the Fleet, so many of them had been killed or maimed in the fighting. Of all of them though he missed Teresa the most. He’d met her during his training on the Santa Maria that at the time had operated as both a training and transport ship for the Marine Corps. She had been injured in the battle to retake the Titan Station from the insurgents. With all the trouble since then he’d been unable to spend much time with her and after the debacle on Kerberos he was doubtful he’d ever see her again. It was that final thought that pushed him to try something, anything that could get him away from wherever he was.

  “I’ll join...”

  The men stopped talking for a moment, each of them looking down at him. They waited for him to speak again. Spartan coughed, took in a deep breath and continued.

  “If you’re right, what do I have to lose?”

  The tall man leaned in closely again, this time Spartan could see the
spittle dripping from his mouth as he leered.

  “If you join us you will have to turn on your precious Confederacy. Can you do that, soldier?”

  “I don’t care about the Confederacy, I want to see Teresa again.”

  “Teresa?” asked the man in the hat.

  “Private Morato, it seems she was his lover on his ship...” He then turned away to say more but Spartan couldn’t hear.

  As the group spoke Spartan looked back into the room to look for anything he could do or grab that might help him. The walls were bare metal and the only objects were the dark plates on the one side of the wall that he assumed must be one-way mirrors. If so this was a cell of some kind, though according to them they had left Kerberos. It must be a prison transport vessel then, he thought to himself. He started shouting.

  “Look, get me out of these and I’ll do whatever you want, I can’t take this any longer!”

  He lifted his arms so that the chains went taut and rattled as they scraped along the floor. The man with the hat said a few more words until the tall man seemed to be in agreement with him. He then returned to Spartan and placed a key into the lock. Leaning forward he grabbed Spartan by the arm and lifted him up. He groaned a little from the pain in his left leg, an injury he didn’t even realise he had. From the corner of his eye he spotted two men in the ceremonial armour of the guard unit that betrayed the President back on Kerberos. He tried his best to hide the contempt he felt towards the traitors.

  “Now, Spartan, if you are to join us we must first...” said the tall man before he realised what was happening.

  With a speed that surprised them all, Spartan delivered a savage uppercut to the man that connected under his chin and knocked him out cold. Moving before the guards could intervene he grabbed the second man and locked his arm, twisting him in front as a human shield.

  “Let him go!” shouted one of the guards as they entered the room, both pointing their carbines at him.

  Spartan looked at their gear, noting that they were using L48 carbines with the small calibre box magazines fitted. They had limited capability and were perfect for military use on ships where penetration was an issue. He felt a pang of anger towards them with their pretence of being an elite and loyal part of the Corps, when the only thing they had in common with his compatriots was the equipment. The man squirmed, trying to move away from Spartan but a simple squeeze on his left arm forced the man to keep still, Spartan’s strength being much more than he could cope with. At the end of the room he could make out General Rivers, he looked unconscious but Spartan knew better. In the last few seconds the man had already turned slightly towards him and winked, letting him know he was ready.