Battle for Proxima

by Michael G. Thomas

  The Admiral turned back to the computer displays and brought up the latest, most detailed strategic map of the Proxima Sector. The planets, colonies, stations and fleets were all marked, as well as flashing yellow boxes on unknown data, such as the reports from the Rim.

  “Mr President, are you one hundred percent sure on your intelligence? Your reports from Kerberos said Euryale was definitely the target and an attack is expected within the week?”

  “Yes, Admiral. The planet is at the top of a list of targets and my intelligence team and agents were able to establish the names of three vessels out on the Rim that are already making their way to it. It isn’t a matter of if an attack is going to happen, it is simply when will it happen.”

  “I understand.”

  She turned to General Rivers.

  “We can be at the planet in just under five days at present speed. Will that be sufficient time to assemble your forces for ground assault?”

  “No problem. The Marines and most of the Army units are already prepared for combat. The only issue is the reinforcements on Prometheus. They can be on their way in less than twenty-four hours, but that means they will still arrive several days after the rest of our forces.”

  “How about the defences there? Can Prometheus hold?”

  “Commander Anderson has really achieved a lot in a matter of weeks. The new route through the storms is now fully charted and can be navigated in three days. I have co-ordinated the construction teams from here to get the route mined and protected, should Union forces attempt an assault on the planet.”

  “Good, we also have half a dozen frigates now on standby, plus the locals have put twice that number of private security vessels around the stations.”

  “Yes, Anderson was telling me about them. They really don’t like to have military vessels poking about,” he said with a grin.

  “I suppose the final point is what we do with the Jötnar Battalions?”

  General Rivers looked a little uncomfortable before he answered.

  “They are already aboard the heavy transport ship Yorkdale, as are the six Army battalions on their three transports. They have a small escort, as well as the Vengeance for heavy fire support. Anderson is still on Prometheus and working on the technology there as well as the Jötnar still in the tanks.”

  “I understand he has been looking at converting part of the site into a medical centre?”

  “Not just that, he has brought in civilian contractors from the stations to help repair and modify the shipyards. He is of the opinion that in six to eight weeks he will be able to restart equipment fabrication. He thinks it might be possible to even start small ship production.”

  “Excellent. Prometheus is proving to be a surprisingly useful resource. I want all available forces sent to meet us at Euryale. Once the operation is completed, it is my intention to keep moving. We will follow your strategy of planet hopping until each planet is retaken. Please contact Commander Anderson and remind him that he will need to form agreements with the local contractors for additional security. I suggest the next batch of Jötnar might prove handy as base security.”

  General Rivers nodded in agreement. The Admiral turned to the group, pushing her hands out in front as though she was about to make an impassioned plea.

  “We start Operation Perdition today. Our first objective is Euryale, we will then move through Proxima until each and every colony is recovered. Please let your civilian vessels know they should either follow the Fleet or head to the outer marker at Prometheus so they can be directed through to the planet. We cannot guarantee their safety anywhere else.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The golden age of exploration is often thought of as the colonisation of Earth’s Solar System. The first small base on the moon was quickly followed by substantial colonies on Titan and Mars. These were humanity’s first fragile steps into the unknown. Even when the mining of the asteroid belt began in earnest there was still peace. Minor private squabbles were extended when the harvesting of helium from Jupiter reached its peak. Even with commercial rivalries of many companies, Earth was able to maintain strict control of the System. That was until the day the new bases found they could manage without help. The decline of Earth started in parallel with the successes of the Mars and Titan bases and their transformation into the first colonies.

  The Decline of Earth

  Spartan was awake, he had been for the last hour. As he lay there he watched the gentle movement of Teresa as her body lifted ever so slightly with each gentle breath. It was the first real rest he’d had in months and he was still not used to it. Being an officer certainly had it perks, but he was finding the meetings, briefings and talking to be a chore and a real hindrance. The more he thought about it, the more he realised he needed to expend some energy and the more violent the better! He crawled out of bed and headed to the shower, moving as quietly as he could in the small space that was classed as his new home.

  As he moved away, he looked back at Teresa who was still fast asleep, undisturbed by his movement. For a moment he considered waking her, she was needed in the training hall for a class, but he relented. She could use a few extra minutes. He went back to the doorway leading to the shared shower block for the officers. It was far nicer than the communal showers for the enlisted men and women, but still poor by any other standard. As the water started to flow, the internal speaker system whistled to indicate an impending announcement.

  “This is the XO. We are now approximately twenty hours from Euryale. Scout drones indicate possible enemy presence in the area. All units are to conduct readiness drills under their commanders. Infantry units are now placed on a sixty-minute readiness roster. Get the birds ready and make sure combat units are fully effective prior to our arrival!”

  Spartan continued washing, yet all the time thinking about the message. He’d been concerned about the campaign for days now. He might not have the details, but it was pretty obvious that wherever they were heading would require a blunt, full on assault. He’d already experienced that kind of fighting in multiple theatres and the results were always bloody. Not that he minded the fight, in fact he much preferred a full on fight than some of the more clandestine work he’d been involved with on Kerberos. There had been a total media and communication blackout in the Fleet as they made their way to what could be the largest operation of the war. He sprayed water onto his face, only to feel cold air. Turning quickly, he spotted the almost totally naked form of Teresa stood in front of him.

  “Room in there for me?” she asked coyly.

  Spartan shook the water out of his eyes and smiled at her.

  “Of course, there’s always room in here for you. Come on, get over here!”

  She stepped in, the water running down her. She stumbled slightly on the wet floor and almost crashed to the ground. Luckily, Spartan reached out and grabbed her around the waist just time to avert disaster. As she regained her balance, she leaned and kissed him firmly on the lips.

  “You heard the broadcast?” he asked.

  “How could I not? Is that really what’s on your mind?” she asked, feigning insult.

  Spartan turned her around and helped run the water along her neck and back. She relaxed and said nothing for a moment. She turned to him. The water seeped into her hair then down over her face and body. Spartan appeared transfixed.

  “Hey!” she cried, running her finger along his face. Her clothes were now completely wet, making it skin-tight across her athletic form.

  “What is your plan today? Doesn’t Daniels want to talk to you about something?”

  Spartan continued looking at her, unable to take his eyes of her.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m going to meet with the commanders of the platoon shortly. I just need to keep that bitch Hobbs out of my way.”

  Teresa turned around and pulled off her now dripping clothing, leaving herself completely naked. She stood about a metre away from him, the water running along her skin.

  “You want
me to go and have words with the mean lady?” she said, and then threw herself at him, forcing him to the side of the shower.

  “I have a few ideas to take your mind of it!” she said with a laugh.

  * * *

  Spartan marched smartly along the corridor and past the scores of marines who were busy getting their weapons and gear ready. To the untrained eye, the ship appeared to be busier than usual. To Spartan, it looked like a ship preparing itself for war. He’d already seen two sets of engineers welding additional internal mounts for automated weapons systems. The Admiral was taking no chances with being boarded. It reminded him a little of the weapons system in the prison compound on Prometheus. Back then, all it took was one well-informed man who was able to neutralise the entire system through the computers. An officer, dressed in his parade uniform, approached. Spartan glanced over at him, realising it was Major Howard. He saluted as he reached him. The Major was the ship’s executive officer and the second most important on the ship, after the Captain.

  “Lieutenant Spartan isn’t it?”

  “Sir.”

  “I’ve just come back from a meeting with the Colonel. Looks like your ideas for the Vanguards have just been given the thumbs up.”

  Spartan looked a little confused. He didn’t recall speaking to the Colonel about any particular plan.

  “Ideas, Sir?”

  “Well, Spartan, you only have yourself to blame. You’ve been out on too many adventures, more than most marines would expect to see in an entire career in the Corps,” he said with a wry smile.

  Four marines in full PDS armour marched past, each of them carrying an L48 carbine. It was rare to see this level of security on the Santa Cruz. Things were definitely changing, hopefully for the better.

  “The Colonel has been given one of the toughest nuts to crack. You’ll get the details shortly though your CO. Rumours are spreading that you are heavily involved in the General’s pet project.”

  “The Jötnar?”

  “Of course,” he said, as leaning in closely.

  “The Colonel is not a fan of using the enemy’s tech in our own units, he is suspicious of their equipment and the possibility of it being used against us.”

  He then straightened up before continuing.

  “This operation is going to be a proving ground for a number of critical decisions. In a few days we will know the true value of both the Vanguard and the Jötnar Battalions. I hope that they are all worth it.”

  Spartan sighed inwardly. He always seemed to be facing two fronts, one against the enemy and the other against those on his own side.

  “I’m sure all Confed forces will perform their tasks admirably, Sir.”

  The Major smiled widely at him.

  “Lieutenant. You may not have been an officer for long but, holy crap, you’re starting to sound like one already!”

  He moved off down the corridor leaving a slightly confused Spartan.

  “Why do they want to keep testing us? Will we have to win this war on our own, just to prove we’re worth having?” he said quietly and turned around, resuming his walk to the training hall.

  A clanking sound rattled along the bulkhead up ahead. Spartan automatically moved off to the side and took cover behind part of the bulkhead’s thickly ribbed sections. The sound reminded him of the Biomechs on Prometheus, where their heavy footsteps was usually accompanied by violence and battle. Dark shadows expanded along the floor until four marines appeared. Each carried electronic gears and were moving slowly in front of a mechanical device. Spartan moved out from the cover of the bulkhead, to the bemusement of one of the marines. The device was a heavily modified mule, one of the four legged robotic load carriers he’d seen during his recent action at the Bone Mill. It moved in an ungainly fashion, with both pairs of legs facing inwards, so that what were effectively knees pointed to the middle of the unit.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sir,” replied the first man, saluting crisply as he tried to hold onto two boxes under his left arm.

  “We’re running tests on the new mules. This is one of the combat mules that is ready for assessment.”

  “Combat mule?”

  “Sir. We have three units that are modified with armour and weapons for potential front-line support.”

  He called over to the rest of the group, who stopped for a moment and moved back to Spartan. The mule waited next to them, its body moving slightly as it constantly adjusted its position to stay upright and stable.

  “Tell the Lieutenant about the specs on the combat mule, Corporal.”

  “Sir! The Mule M13 is designed to provide close fire support for marine units. As well as carrying additional supplies and ammunition, it can operate as a mobile pillbox or to use for suppressing fire in difficult situations.”

  “How tough is it?”

  “Very. The legs have been improved with reinforced actuators and the software is fast enough to be able to operate with one leg damaged or out of action. The unit can sustain repeated fire from medium calibre firearms and still function.”

  Spartan walked around the mule, noting the extra plating fitted over the important components and electronics. It was a bizarre shape, very similar to the walking stretcher arrangement he had seen previously.

  “Weapons and capability?”

  “We’re not at liberty to say just yet, Sir. The unit has been in development for years, but these three combat models have been rushed into trials prior to the operation. You will have to check with the Colonel if you want to know more, Sir.”

  Spartan nodded and indicated for them to carry on. They didn’t wait, evidently the leader of the group was impatient to get going. The combat mule was an interesting idea, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with an autonomous machine carrying weapons. If the enemy were able to obtain control, how would we stop them turning them onto us? Still pondering the new piece of equipment, he returned to the last leg of his trip. One more bulkhead and he was outside the entrance. Ducking down, he stepped inside the training hall and was instantly hit by the smell of oil and grease. Along one side of the hall were a dozen Vanguard suits, surrounded by a full platoon’s worth of marines. Some were checking weapon magazines. Others were reading the hastily cobbled together manuals for the suits.

  “Officer on deck!” shouted the Platoon Sergeant, a tall, tough looking man in his forties. Like most marine sergeants, he was lean, incredibly fit and hard as nails.

  Spartan stopped, looking at the marines.

  “As you were.”

  The Platoon Sergeant approached and saluted smartly.

  “Lieutenant Spartan, 2nd Platoon, as requested. They are acquainting themselves with the revised suits.”

  Spartan nodded and walked over to the suits, examining the first two.

  “I have been asked by Captain Daniels to brief you on my experiences so far in 1st Platoon. Up till now, this was the only full-time Vanguard unit that is fully trained and equipped with these suits. Some of you fought alongside me on Prime with the CES suits. That was an ad-hoc unit that was formed for one mission. The Vanguards are the next step. These new suits are tailor-made with our requirements in mind. They are equally suited for ranged or close quarter combat work and can be adapted with different weapon loadouts, depending on the mission. Even more important, is that this unit has been created exclusively to use this armour as a matter of course.”

  He looked out at the group, recognising at least two of the marines from that terrible episode on the perimeter of New Carlos. He moved his gaze to the rest of the marines, trying to spot any that he may have fought alongside in previous actions.

  “How many of you have used the suits so far?”

  Every person in the hall lifted their hands.

  “Excellent. Captain Daniels has already shown me your dossiers and I must say, there is something you have that I like. Maybe because your profiles remind me of myself?” he said with a chortle to himself. He was met by nothing but silence.
<
br />   “You have been chosen because you are the most independent marines in this battalion. You jump first and you fight first. That is exactly what we need in these units. What we do not want, is a one-man army. The Vanguard is special, but it isn’t invulnerable. You can guarantee that wherever we are sent we will always, and I mean always, be outnumbered. We will never be outgunned though!”

  He walked along and stopped next to a very rough, worn looking suit. He could see a number of marks that indicted bullet impacts. There were even substantial scratch marks, either from falling debris or possibly close action against Biomechs. He reach out and touched the dented but unbroken metal armour.

  “The Vanguard suit incorporates the improvements and ideas from seven separate operations against insurgents, Zealots and Biomechs. These operations have taken place on the ground, in tunnels and in zero-g combat. Every time we used the CES suits in battle we assessed their strengths and weaknesses. This is the culmination of hundreds of marines’ input and it is, in my opinion, the most important piece of equipment on this ship after the marine’s rifle.”

  He pulled open the front and with a series of hisses and clunks it opened up to reveal its cramped interior. The armour was designed to fit around the marine, rather than being driven by one.

  “Give me a hand, Corporal,” he asked as he stepped up into the suit. The marine pulled a series of straps around Spartan and then pulled on three levers that clamped the internal cushioned webbing into place around him.

  “Okay, Sir?”

  “Do it. Close her up.”

  With the tap of three buttons the suit sealed up, and in less than ten seconds, it was powered up and fully operational. Inside the suit, Spartan felt massive. He was easily taller than every person in the room and now had the capability to rip through walls or even jump out into the vacuum of space. Tapping a switch in the right arm, he activated a series of relays that finished with the reinforced visor sliding up to reveal his face to the assembled marines. Due to the shape, his shoulder appeared slightly lifted and the same height as his head. It was a menacing and powerful look.