“Seventh Fleet?” she muttered to herself, “I thought they were part of the Terra Nova Home Fleet. What’s going on?”
Admiral Jarvis looked about the bridge, the officers were all busy and the Captain was pre-occupied checking navigation charts. For a moment she considered keeping the information to herself, normally she would discuss this with her right hand man, General Rivers. But with him gone she had no one as reliable and steady as him to talk with. The Captain was a decorated officer with years of combat experience and she had also conducted at least two tours at Carthago in the Alpha System.
“Captain, look at this,” she ordered as she lifted her datapad up towards her.
She turned from her duties to the message and read it intently. As her eyes moved further down the page she looked more and more incredulous. When she finished she looked back at the Admiral.
“Interesting. The Seventh Fleet, heart of the Home Fleet. After all this time they just appear, right when we need them. I don’t like it, not one bit. This could easily be a trap to lure part of our Fleet to open space to be picked off or attacked. The signal could be faked and we have no idea if there is even a single Confed ship in that area.”
The Admiral looked back at the datapad re-reading several of the sections. As she checked the specifics the Captain brought up a list of known ship dispositions. She centred on the ships known to be part of the Home Fleet. She ran her hand down the list, checking off each of the warships.
“The order of battle at Alpha is impressive, I don’t see how a revolt even the size that we have faced could cause much trouble for them. Admiral, do we have any information on what has happened to the Alpha System? Do we assume they are in the same position as us, and trying to regain control? If so why cut off access to us? Maybe they were trying to stop the contagion and revolt from this sector spreading to the home Systems including Terra Nova?” asked Captain Williams.
The Admiral nodded in agreement. She walked to the projection windows looking out into space. One of the cruisers was already firing periodic shots from its starboard batteries into target drones. Some of the weapons were fitted to the rotating sections and others were mounted directly into the static hull behind thick armour. She turned slightly to one side to look back to the Captain.
“That is a good question. The last contact we received told us there had been an attempted coup, almost certainly by forces loyal to the secessionists. It was defeated and an embargo placed on the Proxima System until the situation is resolved. They could quite easily be sat waiting to get the all clear from us first.”
Admiral Jarvis walked over to the tactical display and console and beckoned for the Captain to join her. The display was much like those on board the other capital ships though it lacked some of the three-dimensional display features shown on the carriers and battlecruisers. With a few deft movements she entered her access codes to view the last known Fleet disposition in the Alpha Centauri sector as well as the expected formations and supply routes. The display changed to Alpha Centauri and its two stars. The System was much more substantial and better developed than Proxima Centauri and contained thirteen colonised planets. At the heart of the System was the heavily built up capital of the entire Confederacy, the world of Terra Nova, built in the image of Old Earth and the most important planet next to Prime in Proxima Centauri. The Admiral pointed to a glowing orb in the middle of the map.
“The primary communication hub is based here next to the Alpha transit point and about four days travel from Terra Nova. This is where our signals are normally gathered and then repeated to the various communication channels or ships. We have a similar communication and transit point in this System and yet there has been no communication or travel between them for over three months. The communication routes between the two star Systems had been jammed and the last official contact said they had been struck by a coup attempt and were shutting down the route to avoid contamination. Since then communication has remained jammed with digital noise and no vessels have arrived from Alpha.”
“True but with a journey time for manned trips of over three hundred days is that surprising? Even if they left two months ago we would not have seen them yet.”
“They could still try to communicate though. All they have to do is get past the jamming at the transit point and they would be clear to transmit. The question is, why haven’t they tried?” asked the Admiral.
“Either they are unable to contact us or they are unwilling,” explained the Captain.
“According to the attached notes the commander of the group states they are the remnants of a taskforce, including a carrier and a cruiser wing that have survived an ambush on their way from Alpha Centauri to the Titan Naval Station as part of a reinforcement detachment. They have apparently been conducting a fighting withdrawal for the last month. Their ETA at the Proxima transit point is eight days. Thoughts?”
“I don’t like it, Admiral, but we can’t take chances with something this big. I suggest a token force to meet them. Small and fast just in case they hit trouble.”
Admiral Jarvis stood for a moment, considering the situation. The Fleet assembled at Khimaira was closer to the transit point but there appeared to be no great hurry. Vessels could make the journey in two days, more than enough time for her to organise a plan with enough contingencies if it turned sour.
“Lieutenant, get me a secure link to the Wasp, I need to speak with her captain asap.”
“Understood,” replied Lieutenant Matterson as she started the procedure.
The datapad started to buzz, the familiar sound when a high priority communication had arrived.
“Excuse me,” said the Admiral as she moved away to a slightly more discrete part of the bridge.
The incoming message was short but to the point. It was from the Tamarisk that was due to arrive at Prometheus within the hour. They would be making immediate contact with the arms dealer, with the intention of obtaining information to the whereabouts of contraband prisoner transfers and sale. He was requesting any additional units or support Confed might have at the station.
“Good work, Anderson,” she said quietly to herself, “with luck you’ll find them before they vanish.”
A few deft taps on the device and she sketched out an update on the tactical situation near the planet as well as the details of several safe houses if needed. Her final point in the message was that she would arrange for a local team to meet them upon their arrival, details to follow. As she signed out of her device and placed it back in its pouch on her belt, she moved back to her communications officer.
“Almost there, Admiral,” said the officer who felt under even more pressure as the Admiral stood patiently.
* * *
They were already through the first door but fierce resistance from the last six remaining guards had kept them pinned down for more than four minutes. The corridor was wide but offered no protection from the defensive fire. The enemy were well equipped with assault rifles and at least one was armed with a thermal shotgun that made a mockery of any kind of armour. One of Tigris’ men had already been cut down trying to rush it. Spartan and Tigris kept checking around the corner for an opening but nothing presented itself. The enemy were at the far end where the corridor opened out into a small foyer with what looked like several small blast doors. At least one cabinet had been knocked over to provide the defenders with cover to shoot from.
“We’re screwed man!” shouted Marcus, his own weapon now out of ammunition, “I’m out!”
Spartan reached down and pulled his half expended pistol out. He quickly checked the magazine before passing it to Marcus.
“Save the ammo, we need a plan and fast!”
Spartan looked back in the direction they had come from. They’d already killed two guards getting to this stage by rushing the first corridor. The Biomechs had followed them and though one had made it the second had been pinned by a small group of Zealots who had stayed hidden and now cut-off their escape. W
ith time of the essence they had been forced to leave it covering the rear.
“What about him,” asked Spartan as he looked towards the waiting Biomech, “can he force his way inside?”
Tigris made to answer but was interrupted by the great beast leaning over and speaking in its gruff, always angry tone. It was well armoured and seemed eager for a fight though whether it could fight its way down such a treacherous space was highly doubtful to Spartan.
“I can do it,” it said and without even checking for confirmation it stepped out into the corridor. Bullets struck into its armour immediately but with a series of painful grunts he pushed forward, lowering his heavy Gatling gun and staggered ahead. With a deafening roar the weapon opened up and filled the corridors with flames, smoke and spent shells.
“The crazy bastard!” shouted Spartan. “Follow him!”
Jumping from cover Spartan, Marcus, Tigris and Misaki moved up close behind the hulk. They fired the odd shot past him where they could but his great size blocked most of their view. It took only around twenty steps before they reached the end of the corridor. As the Biomech reached there it staggered and collapsed to the floor, blood dripping from numerous wounds. Spartan leapt over his body and right between two startled Zealot guards.
“Bastards!” he cried as he smashed his rifle butt into the first man’s face and then spun around to fire multiple shots into the second who slammed against the wall and then dropped down dead.
Marcus was quickly onto the injured first man smashing his own weapon several times into his face. The next two followed behind and took up positions in case any more guards arrived.
“Inside is the command room, it should be empty, you ready?” asked Tigris.
Spartan nodded and with a firm kick he forced open the unlocked interior door. As he went inside he could see it was empty. The room was about twenty by twenty metres and packed wall to wall with displays and computer systems.
“Jackpot! I’ll get the system online, you watch the corridor in case anybody else tries to get in.”
“I thought you said that was the only way in?” asked Misaki.
“For us, it is. There are two more access points where the Biomech was killed. If they are fast they could get a few people there in the next few minutes, make sure they don’t get in!” he added and then turned to the computers.
“Great work, anything else we might want to know?” demanded an angry Spartan.
Tigris was already hitting buttons on the computer systems and answered but didn’t turn away from the displays.
“I doubt it, once I have access you’ll have your answers. Now watch the corridor!”
Spartan turned his head in annoyance. There was nothing he disliked more than when people used him and right now that is exactly how it felt. He waved over to Marcus.
“Back to the corridor, apparently we might be expecting company. Misaki, watch him,” he added as he tilted his head in the direction of Tigris.
The two moved back and Spartan tossed her a magazine. At the doorway they came to the bodies of the two Zealot guards and the Biomech who was still moving. Spartan knelt down with a great effort managed to turn it over.
“Spartan!” the creature roared, the pain in its voice evident.
“Hey, easy now, you’re badly hurt.”
The creature started to make a strange noise and it took a few seconds before Spartan realised it was laughing. The roar was more like a battle cry or howl than anything he had ever heard before. As the creature slowed down its breathing altered slightly.
“Hurt! I will die. Spartan, you must promise!”
Spartan didn’t quite hear the last word and leaned in to hear more clearly. As he moved the creature reached out and grabbed him with its muscular arms.
“Promise to release my people!”
Spartan could barely breathe and had to use all his strength to pry its arms from him.
“What do you mean your people? You mean Biomechs like you?”
The creature nodded slowly, blood now dripping from its mouth.
“Release them, give us our revenge!” he snarled and then started to cough blood.
“He’s dying,” said Marcus.
“Really?” answered Spartan sarcastically.
“Here!” said the Biomech as it lifted its weapon arm to show Spartan his Gatling gun. It was easily as wide as Spartan’s head and presumably very heavy. He reached to hold it and as he took some of the weight the Biomech let out a final sigh before becoming still.
“That, I didn’t expect,” said Marcus as he helped Spartan lower the Biomech’s arm.
“Why was he showing you that thing?” he asked as he pointed to the gun.
“He wanted me to have it, to use to free his people. I had no idea they could think or reason for themselves.”
“Don’t get sentimental on me now, you remember what they did on Prime!”
“True, this one is different though. Look at it, the face is less pronounced and the torso is slightly bigger. Maybe they have been breeding or creating different types.”
“What? Like little ones and bigger, tougher ones. Why?”
“I don’t know, maybe they haven’t perfected the system yet. The first ones I saw when we boarded the ship near Kronus were smaller and faster. They didn’t seem particularly intelligent though. This guy could be a new type of heavier, smarter Biomech for a different kind of battlefield use.”
As the two looked down at the broken body of the fallen creature the second Biomech arrived.
“Where have you been?” asked Spartan.
The creature looked at him and then down at the body. It could see that Spartan was in the process of removing the gun from the fallen Biomech.
“He was angry, I told him he would die this way,” said the creature as it bent down and helped lift the weapon, passing it to Spartan.
Though it was heavy Spartan was strong, well built and used to wielding weapons from his time as a pit fighter. With effort he grabbed the middle section in his left hand and placed his right on the concealed trigger assembly.
“Good. You are like us, you like big guns!” said the creature with what looked like a crooked smile.
Spartan looked back to Marcus who simply shrugged his shoulders. It was a bizarre scene with the three enemies stood in the same place discussing weapons. Spartan noticed a lever on the side of the weapon and tapped it. The barrels started to rotate at high speeds and he had to be careful not to catch his hand in the moving parts.
“They are coming!” said the Biomech as it stepped back and faced one of the blast doors. As it took a few steps back it lifted its arm and the gun on its right arm started to rotate.
“What about the guys back there?” Spartan asked him.
“All dead,” came the calm response.
“Marcus, come on, get back!” he shouted and the two men moved taking cover near the doorway that led into the command room. As they took up good positions Spartan glanced back inside to see Tigris still working on the computers.
“Tigris, they’re coming. How long?”
“Not long, about another two minutes, you need to hold them back!”
The blast door started to glow along the sides and warmth radiated from the glowing sections. In just seconds large parts of metal were already starting to drip or fall away, then, with a white flash the blast door fell apart to the ground. For a moment nothing happened, smoke and dust scattered from the doorway and then a number of Biomechs, they were the man-sized creatures Spartan had faced on the surface of Prime months earlier. As the first of them leapt inside the entire doorway disappeared in flames from the allied Biomech’s Gatling gun. One long burst shredded at least ten of the enemy and cleared the doorway.
“Bloody hell!” Marcus shouted over the din of the weapon.
“It’s not like he needs much help from us right now is it?” laughed Spartan.
As the smoke cleared another mixed group of Biomechs and Zealots appeared and start
ed moving around the doorway but they were obviously unwilling to jump through. One popped his head out and Spartan instinctively hit the fire button on the gun. The recoil was substantial but somewhat mitigated by the weapon’s substantial bulk. In less than three seconds he expended hundred of rounds, though whether he managed to hit anything was unknown. He pulled his finger from the trigger and the gun barrel started to slow down.
“Yeah,” said the Biomech as it stepped into the doorway and looked out for any sign of the enemy. A few must have caught his eye as he fired two more bursts before stepping back.
“Clear...for now.”
The area went quiet, the only sounds the hissing of superheated metal and the groans of several of the dying Zealots. As they stood waiting a low pitched tone echoed through the open space followed by a chorus of clicking.
“What was that?” Spartan called out.
“I’ve got it, command access to the compound!” replied Tigris excitedly.
Spartan placed his hand on the Biomech’s arm.
“Stay here, I’ll be back.” He rushed back inside the room. Tigris was already moving scores of video screens about on the displays.
“What do you have?”
“What don’t I have?”
Spartan looked unimpressed and moved his hand to touch one of the displays.
“Hey, uh, don’t touch that. Look, I’ve released the locks on the cells, every single cell in the place. That’s your block plus the other fourteen of them.”
“Fourteen? There must be thousands of prisoners here?” Misaki said in surprise.
“At least. The security system is offline and I’ve triggered a system reboot which will take up to an hour before everything else comes back. After that the doors, locks and guns will come back under the control of the supervisor of the system.”
“Who is that?”
“That’s the problem, the default system supervisor is the Governor.”
Star Crusades Uprising: The First Trilogy Page 53
