As the guard moved a little closer he reached just a metre from the sitting figure of the General. Spartan gave him a gentle nod and like a coiled up snake he struck. His hands were still bound but his lower body was free. With all the power he could muster the officer smashed his foot into the back of the guard’s knee. With a crack the marine tipped backwards and collapsed to the ground, firing a short burst as he fell. Spartan took the chance and pushed his prisoner forward as he dropped low and ran to the fallen man. The second guard tried to get off a shot but the stumbling man crashed into him, blocking his line of sight for just long enough to allow Spartan to reach him. Though his body ached from the hardship he had endured he found new strength. Sliding along the floor he crashed into the man quickly grabbing his head and twisted his neck, snapping it instantly. He picked up the man’s carbine, flicked the safety off and as he turned aimed it at the guard.
“Drop it!”
The rest of the men that had been speaking to Spartan ran from the room leaving just the guard. As they rushed away he could hear their footsteps becoming fainter and fainter. Both had a clear shot available to them though Spartan was acutely aware that he was totally unarmoured whereas the guard wore a full personal defence suit, also known simply as a PDS. It was a complete self-contained body armour package that tightly moulded to the wearer’s body. Armour was provided to all key parts of the body and was proof against small calibres and shrapnel. The suit was also tied into the digital battlespace system used by the Confederate military and this provided up to the minute tactical information, mapping and communications.
“We have more armed guards on the way. Drop the gun or I’ll put you down!”
“Fuck you, if I drop the gun you’ll shoot!”
The two stood in silence carefully looking at each other, waiting for the hint of a movement to indicate that one of them was about to shoot. On the ground the General was trying to wriggle free but his chains were not going to break, no matter how hard he tried. Spartan needed to do something fast before the rest of the guards turned up. He could go for speed but there was a good chance he would be shot even if he fired first. The carbines could spit out small calibre rounds in massive numbers, then how could he help General Rivers? If he were dead he’d never see Teresa again. With that final thought he made his decision and turned the muzzle away from the guard.
“Okay, okay...I’m putting it down, don’t shoot!”
The guard was taking no chances and tensed slightly, expecting something bad to happen. He pulled slowly on the trigger, ready if the moment required it. Spartan knelt down lowering himself slowly to the ground. Pushing his hands out he placed the carbine on the floor and then stood up, pushing his hands out in front in a gesture of compliance. The man moved forward.
“Stay there!”
Spartan’s hands were head height but as the man approached he lowered his hands very slowly until they were at his waist. As if in surrender, he maintained the stance with his hands pushed out and the palms facing the man. For a moment it looked like the guard was going to wait, but gaining the upper hand seemed to go to the man’s head and slowly but surely he moved closer to Spartan.
“Hands! On your head...Now!”
The guard lifted his carbine up higher on his shoulder, aiming a little lower into the middle of Spartan’s chest.
“Come on…… two more steps!” whispered Spartan to himself.
As soon as he was near enough Spartan pushed his body out to the left and snapped forward. His right hand grabbed the side of the carbine and pushed it away a few centimetres. Almost as soon as his hand hit the metal a blast of flame roared from the muzzle and multiple rounds flew out to the reinforced metal bulkhead. Stepping towards the startled guard, Spartan smashed his left hand up in a hammer grip underneath the carbine. It looked almost like a showpiece move as the carbine flipped up and around so that the muzzle now faced the guard. Spartan released his grip and took hold of the weapon, their roles now reversed he made no attempt to stall for time and simply pulled the trigger. The first few rounds took chunks out of the man’s chest armour so he held down the trigger. As the rounds hammered home they tore a hole in the plating. The guard was blasted backwards by the weight of fire before slumping down to the ground.
The General called out from the far end of the room.
Spartan didn’t wait and he moved directly to him.
“Are you hurt, Sir?”
“No, just get me out of these things, we need to move!” Fire had already returned to the eyes of the veteran commander.
Spartan pulled his chains taut and told him to get back.
Pointing the weapon at point blank range it only took two rounds to shred the chains and to free the General. As soon as they fell away he moved forward and started to strip ammunition from the dead guard. Spartan took two more clips from the second fallen man and checked for anything else that might be of use. As he rummaged through the suit he was dismayed to find the man carried nothing other than his personal weapon and a side arm. Thrusting the pistol into his belt he turned back to the prisoners, many of whom were now watching them though none said anything. Spartan knelt down to the first, a haggard looking man with a bruised face.
“Why are you here?”
“I...uh...no idea. I was working in the steel mills when these creatures attacked us. I’ve never seen them before, they killed some of our people before men in armour arrived and took us prisoner. We’ve been here for weeks now...might be longer, I can’t tell you anymore.”
As Spartan listened to the man he tapped him on the shoulder.
“I don’t know what’s going on, are you able to fight?”
The man, weakened both physically and mentally, tried to move but lacked the willpower to push himself.
“Stay there, we’ll do what we can.” Spartan stood up and looked about the room.
“Spartan, we need to go!” General Rivers said impatiently.
Spartan was tempted to leave but a nagging doubt in his mind told him to check. He moved along the rest of the prisoners, looking for anyone who might be able to help. As he passed the weak wretches he noticed a number of them watching him, some with anger in their eyes. Halfway a long he spotted a familiar face.
“Marcus?” The man said nothing so he knelt down and shook him, he was covered by a blanket. Spartan pulled it back it reveal he was covered bruises and cuts.
“Bastards!”
He stood up and called out.
“We’re going to fight our way out of this place. If anybody wants to join us lift your hands. If you stay here all I can promise you is a slow death at the hands of these animals. Who will fight with us?”
A few hands went up, yet half of the prisoners failed to respond. Some were simply too weak, the rest were probably scared or had no idea what was going on. It didn’t really matter. Right now he only needed people who were of use. Spartan moved along the line, destroying the chains with the carbine. When his job was done he looked back to see five haggard but motivated men stood waiting to hear the plan. General Rivers was near the half open door and looking down the dark corridor, waiting for the inevitable arrival of more guards.
“How many weapons have you got?”
The General turned back and waved his carbine at Spartan who then turned to the five men.
“Check the guards, see if you can find anything else.”
The men moved like a pack of wolves and stripped any equipment they could find from the two bodies. It didn’t take long though for them to show just one knife and a pistol. Spartan remembered he had an extra pistol in his belt, taken from the first guard. He reached down and pulled it out.
“Here, take this one.”
A short man, probably in thirties but actually looking much older, reached out and took the weapon. As it was placed in his hands he pulled out the magazine, checked the rounds, replaced it and cocked the weapon.
“You’ve done this before?”
“Army Special Ops, b
ack in the day,” he replied before moving over to the General to watch the door.
Spartan was relieved that they had at least one other person with combat training. He looked down at the still unconscious figure of Marcus. His gut told him to get moving but the thought of leaving a comrade as loyal as Marcus pulled at him.
The General calling for them to leave snapped Spartan out of his thoughts.
He paused just for a second. It was simple, if they were victorious he would come back, if not, well, it wouldn’t matter then would it?
He checked the magazine on his own carbine and drew back the bolt, pulling another round into the chamber. The bullets looked odd, as they were a self-contained caseless bullet and propellant. Perfect for use in all atmospheres and temperatures producing no wasted materials when used. Spartan moved forward and joined the small group assembling near the door.
“Have any of you seen the rest of the ship? Any information we can use?” the General asked.
The man Spartan had spoken to previously raised his hand.
“I’ve been down the corridor. They took me there for tests a few days ago. About thirty metres down on your right, the soldiers came from a room a bit further along. Other than that I don’t know.”
“Right, Spartan, I suggest we get ourselves some more weapons. We could try for the soldiers’ room, probably a barracks of some kind. Either that or we try for blades in the room where they did the tests.”
“I say we hit the barracks room and fast. A few knives won’t help once they get here and they’ve been gone for several minutes. There could be more on the way already, Sir.”
Rivers agreed and without waiting Spartan moved off, the carbine lifted to his shoulder and ready to shoot. The two men with pistols followed along with the other three men and General Rivers brought up the rear. The corridor was plain, though a number of unusual markings were placed every few metres on the walls and coloured lights ran along the floor. Spartan stopped, raising his hand. General Rivers and the ex-soldier dropped down to the floor. The other four quickly copied them, sensing danger but unsure as to what they should do. Further down the corridor great noises came, it sounded like men shouting and it was becoming louder. From around the corner at the end, near to where the expected soldiers’ room was, four soldiers appeared. Rather than checking first they rushed into the corridor and started running towards the room with the prisoners, therefore directly towards Spartan’s group.
“Now!” shouted Spartan.
Aiming low he pulled the trigger and immediately felt the continuous shake of the weapon on his shoulder. The smaller calibre recoil was modest and he was able to release a thirty round burst that struck the first three soldiers with unnerving accuracy. The ex-soldier aimed carefully and squeezed off three rounds, the first hit the weapon of the first approaching guard but the second two struck the same man in the chest. It was a short but violent burst of fire and in seconds the three guards were down and groaning in pain. Spartan moved forward, still keeping his carbine tucked into his shoulder and aimed ahead, ready for any potential threat. The fourth man had ducked back and inside the room but in his haste had not shut the door.
Without hesitating Spartan ran inside to find the soldier pulling a weapon from the rack on the wall. The room was small and contained bunks for six people, no more. Spartan rushed towards him, firing his carbine until it ran out of ammunition. The solider staggered back under the weight of the bullets but was still standing when Spartan reached him. Lifting his weapon he slammed the butt of the gun hard into the man’s stomach, forcing him to double over. Lifting the weapon he brought it down like a club onto the back of his head. Looking around there were a number of thermal shotguns on the weapons rack as well as two lockers of ammunition and a large amount of clothing and armour. He moved forward only to be interrupted by pistol fire. He half expected more guards to enter the room but instead General Rivers and two of the prisoners came in.
“The corridor is clear for now. What have you got?”
Spartan looked at the General and grinned, “Guns, ammunition and even better...”
He picked a piece of hardened black material from the wall and pulled it over his chest.
“Riot armour!” answered General Rivers with a matching grin.
The armour looked like something you might use for sport. It featured a simple padded muscle chest plate with matching shoulder pads and upper arm protection. Spartan pulled two straps, instantly tightening the fit around his body.
“They’ve got eight sets in here, more than enough for everyone!” Spartan pulled more from the racks.
“Put it on, guys, it’ll keep you alive longer.”
Spartan moved to the weapons rack and checked the shotguns. They were standard police issue but he was surprised to see the Kerberon Police stamps on some of them. He thought of mentioning it to the General but decided against it. Right now they had more pressing problems than where the weapons came from. They needed to fight their way to safety. Whether that was on this vessel or off somewhere else he didn’t know.
“Here, take this one, you get seven shots before you need to reload,” He tossed the first shotgun to the closest of the prisoners.
As the man examined the weapon Spartan pulled more of the guns down and loaded them ready for action. Although they were shotguns they still used conventional box magazines for the ammunition. He was surprised to find such a variety of ammunition types, including the full power thermal charges that were reserved for use by Special Forces or armoured tactical units. He grabbed a shotgun and three clips, throwing his carbine over to the soldier who looked amazingly happy to get his hands on a conventional firearm. With the group all armed Spartan looked over their small party. Each man wore the riot armour and carried a mixture of carbines, pistols and shotguns. It wasn’t ideal but they were at the very least armed and equipped to a level that they could protect themselves.
“Follow me,” said General Rivers, who then moved out into the corridor and proceeded to move along slowly. Spartan was next, his shotgun low and pointed forward, the rest followed, each of them checking behind, nervously expecting to be ambushed at any moment.
“Plan, Sir?”
“No plan, just keep moving forward till we have options.”
Spartan carried on, happy with the options so far. As they reached the end of the corridor it veered off at a right angle to the right and then back to the left into what appeared to be a large open space. From their position in the corridor it wasn’t entirely clear what the room was for, but their only option was to keep going towards it. Rivers moved his finger to his mouth and then moved quietly forward. He turned to the right and then left into the room. As he disappeared Spartan followed immediately behind. As Spartan emerged into the room he stopped in his tracks. Out in front it expanded into a space the size of a sports hall. Lines of cylinders in long rows ran the full length of the area. The cylinders contained a light blue fluid and from where they stood they could see dark, humanoid shapes inside each one.
“What the hell is this place?” asked General Rivers.
Spartan turned his head, he had no idea but then he spotted movement. It was the men who were questioning him before the breakout. They were standing around a panel at the far end of the room and furiously talking to someone. As Spartan watched them one saw him and called out.
“Go!” shouted Spartan and he ran in the direction of the men.
Two metal doors slid upwards and in rushed more men, some armed and a few in armour. As Spartan ran a round whistled past his head and he instinctively dropped to his knees and slid along the floor. He crashed down alongside one of the cylinders and without pausing lifted his shotgun and aimed at the newly arrived men. Two of them were clearly members of the crew as they wore overalls and carried well-worn carbines. With a single shot Spartan blasted the closest with a thermal shell. The power of the weapon was devastating and burnt its way through the man’s chest and shoulder. He dropped down screamin
g in pain, he had only seconds left to live. More shots blasted through the hall as the prisoners scattered. Only the ex-soldier had the training and instincts to take cover and return fire. His short bursts on the carbine confirmed to Spartan that he had told the truth about being in the Army. Though Spartan was now pinned down by pistol fire he watched with satisfaction as two men tried to rush the soldier only to be cut down in a long accurate burst that struck both of the men in the face.
“Nice,” whispered Spartan to himself as he readied to do the same.
He was about to move when a loud clunk came from the cylinder he was hiding next to. With a hiss a great torrent of lukewarm liquid rushed out onto the floor and all over him. As he wiped it from his face he spotted the dark shape of whatever was inside the container. For just a second he thought it was one of the prisoners then he recognised the large, terrible form of biomechanical shock troopers he’ d last seen on the surface of Proxima.
“Oh, shit!” he shouted as the thing lunged at him, slamming a moistened and dripping fist in his direction. Only Spartan’s close combat experience and training could have prepared him for the speed of the attack and he avoided the first blow by just a few centimetres.
He rolled over to his side as the fighting continued on around him. From the corner of his eye he saw one of the prisoners take multiple hits from a carbine, each of the rounds opening up a bright red patch where it struck. He was unable to help though as he jumped to his feet saw the great beast in front of him. Unlike those he had fought on the colony of Avagana on Prime, this one was unprepared for military operations. It was completely naked and pale from its time inside the cylinder, for the first time he was able to see the grotesque and mutated form of the thing. At first glance it looked like something children might describe as an ogre or troll. It stood over two metres tall and its torso was wider and thicker than any man’s. All of its muscles bulged with pent up power and its face was contorted and twisted into that of a brute. The neck was thickened and the mouth harder and predatory in look.
Star Crusades Uprising: The First Trilogy Page 41
