“It already is. The rest of the marines on this ship form the commandos, the best of the marines in the entire Corps. We, however, are something else. Within the battalion, the Vanguards are to be the new elite assault unit. Our name tells you exactly what we are designed for. Expect to drop into combat and then to fight back out. A day will come where I suspect we will conduct operations completed unsupported; that day will come when our numbers are sufficient.”
The third and final marine raised his hand.
“Why are you called, Spartan, Sir?”
Spartan smiled at him. “Because that’s my name!”
He turned around and looked back to the suit he had been wearing for the demonstration. Waving his hand, the rest of the marines approached and formed a loose circle around the armour.
“I’ll go over the basics of the suit with regards to combat. The first thing to know is how to get in and out of the damned thing as quickly as possible. In an emergency you will need to be able to get in, strapped down and powered up fast. On the flipside, if there is trouble and you need to abandon the suit, you need to get out even faster. Don’t forget, there is a built-in explosive self-destruct unit on every suit. Don’t trigger it by mistake. Now, who is going to volunteer to get in the Vanguard armour first? I want the fastest possible time.”
None of the marines pushed themselves forward. Each of them was watching the rest suspiciously.
“Fair enough, you then!” he pointed to one of the women who was busy doing her best to avoid his gaze.
“Platoon Sergeant!”
The Sergeant was already in position, moving with speed and almost no sound.
“Sir!”
”Time this marine.”
He nodded in agreement.
“3...2...1...Go!” shouted Spartan.
The marine pulled open the front of the suit and threw herself into the armour to the cheers of the other marines.
“Keep going, the timer stops when you are buckled down and the suit is ready to power up!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Titan was chosen as the first major colony to be built, following experiences learnt on the moon station. The cold, distant moon of Saturn was chosen due to its unusual and unique atmosphere. Of all the places in the Solar System, it was the one that offered the greatest possibilities for finding life or for setting up a habitable colony. It was the Huygens probe in the early twenty-first century that discovered dark rivers of water ice. It was a humble start to the era of colonisation and expansion. Titan was the first colony, but not the last.
The Lost World
No matter how many weeks Commander Anderson worked on the arid rock of Prometheus, he still found the heat uncomfortable. Local engineers, recruited by the Confed military, had installed additional cooling equipment but it just wasn’t enough. Perhaps for some of those with experience in hard labour it was acceptable, but for the Commander it was like nowhere he had ever been. Others knew the place colloquially as Hell, some were a little more imaginative with the name Inferno. The surface ran with lakes and rivers of molten ore. The heat was ever present in the hollowed-out tunnels and chambers deep in inside the surface layer. Yes, Hell was probably a good description, he thought to himself.
He wiped his brow with a cloth and then looked up to the three transports, each were waiting on the platform. They were not the heavy transports used by the Army and Marines, these were civilian vessels than could ferry people and supplies up to the major vessels waiting in orbit. He was only familiar with the Tamarisk though, the Q Ship he had used to get to Prometheus in the first place.
From his viewpoint behind the thickened glass, he watched the latest group of Jötnar moving up the platform and onto the vessels. Commander Gun, an odd character by any standards, had already established a basic command structure with the Biomechs being divided up into fifty-man units led by a Captain. It was a strange system. He had tried to instil the basic of command structure but the self-righteous Gun had got his own way. Fifty Captains had been selected personally by Gun, after a series of tests that had could only describe as barbaric. Thirty-eight had left with Gun and the combat battalions, the other twelve had stayed behind to help train more Jötnar and help with the next generation waiting in the cylinders.
The first wave of Jötnar, full two battalions, had left days ago on the massive transport the Navy had commandeered, along with a number of recently recaptured cruisers and frigates. The CCS Yorkdale, as it was now known, was hardly a ship of the line but it was well built and contained ample space for their mammoth proportions. It had been modified in less than a week with point defence weapons. It was loaded with landing craft and spare parts.
A small group of marines were waiting on the platform near the ramp leading up to the Tamarisk. Each wore the usual PDS suit to protect them against the heat and hostile atmosphere. One tapped his head, indicating to Anderson he was about to speak. Anderson, however, was busy looking at the vessel. She had served him well in his recent adventures. The engineers had done fine work patching her up and refitting her armour and weapon systems.
“Bishop here, Commander, we’re nearly loaded. I’ve just received contact from the orbiting transports. They say they are due to leave within the hour. Are we still planning on sending the Jötnar reinforcements to join them?”
Anderson lifted up the military intercom unit from his belt to his mouth.
“That’s affirmative. General Rivers wants every combat unit we can spare sent to the front. From what I’ve heard, he is expecting heavy combat and these Jötnar are going to cause some real mischief when they get involved. The first two battalions are already earmarked for the follow-up wave. You will have four captains and their squads, so another two hundred Jötnar in your own transports.”
“Understood, Sir.”
“You have my coded data to pass to the General upon your arrival. Ensure only General Rivers or the Admiral get to see it. The data is of a highly sensitive nature, as you know. Not even the Jötnar can have access to it.”
“Affirmative. We’ll be in touch once we reach the Fleet.”
“Good luck, Sergeant, give my regards to Captain Haris. Have a safe trip.”
The man and his team followed the Jötnar into the vessel and the loading door started to lift up, quickly sealing the ship. From the side it looked like the most unlikely of warships. The vessel was squat and fitted with three large spheres nears the engines with a long beam surrounded by the cargo hold. As the engines powered up, the other two vessels did likewise. Unlike the Tamarisk, they were smaller craft designed to dock with the larger transports sat in orbit. They would be the last of the ships to be sent to join the Fleet. The latest orders from General Rivers had instructed him to use all local forces to create a strong defensive position on and around Prometheus. It was a difficult job, made more difficult by the request for most of his experienced marines and engineers.
He turned away from the windows and headed back along the main corridor that led into the compound. The tunnel had been cut with the blood and sweat of thousands of slaves. The tens of thousands of Biomechs that had fought on the battlefield were a testament to the crimes committed in this very place. The only reason Commander Anderson had not pushed for the plug to be pulled on the newest of the Biomechs, was purely down to the fact that the current generation appeared to be wholly synthetic. They were the result of years, possibly decades, of gruesome research and experimentation by the Zealots and their allies. They were the latest, and possibly the final iteration of the Biomech production line. He continued along the tunnel, considering the terrible events that had occurred there.
Making his way back, he passed multiple work gangs as they carried pieces of machinery or laid down new cables. Some of the work looked rushed but other parts, especially those related to the cooling or power systems, were buried deep inside the rock. He rounded a corner to find three marines chatting to a woman. He was about to walk past when he spotted Misaki. She had been a p
risoner on the site, along with General Rivers, Spartan and the others. As he understood it, there had been some kind of trouble between her and Spartan, but he still wasn’t completely sure what had happened. Ultimately he didn’t really care, providing the complex on Prometheus was made fully operational as quickly as possible.
“Sir, Sir!” came the unmistakable voice of a woman calling out. He stopped and looked towards the group. Misaki had turned and stood at the front facing him.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Bishop said he was going on a mission. He wouldn’t tell me where. Do you know when he’ll be coming back?”
“Then he has done what any marine should do. He should not and cannot talk to people about missions and deployment. You should know about that?”
“Of course, but...”
“No, Misaki, there are no buts. You will see the Sergeant when he is next here and not a moment before.”
She looked disappointed, there was something else about her. Something he couldn’t quite get his head around, but it was there. It was if she was asking, but not really as interested as the words suggested. Next to her, the other three marines stood and said nothing, waiting for him to leave.
“Marines. Don’t you have work to do?”
“Sir!” came the smart reply and in seconds they were moving out along the corridor and away from Anderson and Misaki.
Anderson started to walk in the direction he had previously been travelling along. Misaki recognised his body language and walked alongside him.
“Your work here, on the programming system. How is it going?”
“Okay. The factory systems are very simple, most of the higher functions were being handled off-planet. This place was more like the assembly plant for a computerised ordering system. With the order part gone or blocked, we are left with the final stages but no data or management software to control it.”
“Yes, I read the report from the tech team three days ago. You think you have found something else?”
“Well, they won’t let me into the main system, but from what I have seen it would be pretty easy to upload part of our civilian production command software to work on the support shipyards. We can’t replicate what they were building, but we will be able to fabricate machines, armour and ship parts quite quickly.”
“Have you been security cleared?”
“Yes, we all had to go through the procedures. I’ve been helping Bishop and he put me through the Level Two security system so I could assist with the atmosphere and air conditioning system.”
“Interesting. With a large number of the military personnel gone, I am having to rely upon greater numbers of civilians to work on the industrial parts of this site. Bring me your proposals in an hour, along with a full presentation. I’ll bring my Sergeant Kowalski along to take a look. If he likes what you say, I think you might find we’ll get you drafted.”
“Thank you, Sir, I’ll get right on it,” she replied and then jogged away into the heart of the compound.
He watched her go, thinking quietly to himself that she seemed to be both an asset and a potential problem. Since his arrival, he’d heard rumours of her and Spartan, and now this with Bishop. He wasn’t trying to be judgemental, but he was being careful. Weaknesses could lead to all kinds of potential problems and he had enough of those to resolve already.
Commander Anderson continued at his same pace, until he reached the observation platform that gave a sweeping panoramic view of the circular heart of the base. Many tunnels, corridors and structures led from the centre. It was right here that some of the heaviest fighting had taken place during Spartan and General Rivers’ uprising. Prometheus was far from the richest colony in the Confederacy, but what it lacked in civilisation it made up for with raw materials, industrial capacity and more importantly, the storms. The great plasma and electrical storms that raged for hundreds of thousand of kilometres around the planet made it deadly to approach. Only those with the secret route, established by him and his crew, could make the trip in days. For everybody else, it would take months unless they ran the gauntlet and risked their ships.
“Sir, we’re loaded and ready to go. I’ll be in touch when we rendezvous with the Fleet,” came the familiar voice of the recently promoted Sergeant Bishop.
“Good work. Have a safe trip and guard that data!”
“Understood, Sir, we won’t let you down.”
* * *
“Okay, marines, this is it,” announced Lieutenant Colonel Blake from the front of the now familiar briefing room on board the CCS Santa Cruz. Every officer from the battalion was crammed inside and two of the doors had to be left open so more could hear what the commanding officer had to say.
“Thirty minutes ago, advance elements of the Fleet, led by the Crusader, arrived outside Euryale. They have run directly into the path of a full scale Union invasion of the planet.”
A murmur of shock and excitement spread like wildfire. Blake lifted his hand for silence.
“This is not entirely unexpected. We had intelligence that the enemy had plans for Euryale, though not quite of this magnitude. The enemy forces are substantial, much more so than our previous assessments had led us to believe. There are at least five captured, or possibly mutinied, Confed warships and over two-dozen vessels of an unknown origin. These include some configured as the size of cruisers. We suspect these latter ships have been constructed in secret, such as at the yards on Prometheus, though it is unclear how they have amassed so many without us knowing. We have General Rivers and his team to thank for shutting that place down or else it might be even more. It is a powerful fleet, but one Admiral Jarvis is convinced we can defeat.”
A few of the officers turned to look in the direction of Spartan. It was well known that he and the others marines had been captured and forced to work on the planet for many weeks, before starting a violent and successful uprising. Spartan was a little uncomfortable at the attention and glad when the officer continued his briefing.
“There is something else. We have received word that Typhon himself may be present. Rumours have come our way, from agents on fallen colonies, that he has been moving between the colonies on a heavily modified warship. Until now, we thought this more mere speculation. If you look here, you will see this ship is like nothing we have seen before.”
The image on the display showed what looked like a bloated version of a Confed heavy cruiser. It was bristling with small bumps and antennas.
“The size and design tell us nothing of its capabilities, but it does match two reports of Typhon’s ship, the Leviathan. As you are by now aware, Typhon is the head of the Echidna Union. The enemy are completely loyal to him and his troops. If this is his ship, then it cannot be allowed to leave.”
Spartan looked at the enemy ship closely. He was by no means a naval expert, but it was clear this ship was larger and substantially different to their own ships. He was intrigued by the many bumps on the vessels. He turned and spoke quietly to Marcus.
“What are they?”
“The bumps? A communication array or maybe a weapon. I don’t know,” he said with a bemused look. One of the officers nearby gave them a stern glance and for a second Spartan felt like a scolded schoolboy. He opened his mouth to speak, but Marcus quickly struck him with his elbow.
“Remember where you are, Spartan,” he whispered. Spartan gave the fellow officer the best and most polite nod he could manage. At the front, the officer was still speaking.
“The entire planet has been blocked by scramblers for over two weeks now and only a ship in close proximity can make use of its sensors. Upon arrival, the vanguard of the Fleet came across the enemy in the middle of their ground attack. Reports from Admiral Jarvis indicate most of the fleet is away from the planet and operating a blockade, whilst the transports and cargo ships are landing forces onto the surface. They are expecting an attack and are trying to keep our ships away from Euryale.”
On the screen, the display showed the enemy fle
et in a large formation and guarding the main routes into the System. A smaller number of ships orbited the planet nearby, as well as another dozen smaller vessels that were presumably scouting the area for Confed forces.
“It gets worse, the planet is already under bombardment by warships and it is making defence of the surface almost impossible. Whether they obtained intelligence we were on the way, we do not know. All we can tell is that they beat us by twelve hours and have already landed ground forces and our civilians have been forced to retreat underground.”
He pressed a button to show the three-dimensional tactical map of Euryale. It showed the planet and the ships in close proximity to the planet. There were two substantial manmade structures on the surface. The first was a major city and the second the planet’s spaceport. The port was a massive structure capable of handling civilian cargo vessels as well as military ships.
“As you already know, Euryale was a dead world. The surface was sterile and its atmosphere weak. Atmosphere generators have been working there for over a decade, but it will be half a century before it will be workable as a viable colony above ground. Nonetheless, there is almost full gravity, a fully working magnetosphere and enough of an atmosphere to allow civilians in basic suits to go about their business. There are over thirty outposts on the surface, most research or mining operations. The largest structure is the city of Oenopion. On the surface it looks like a relatively modest city but only fifteen percent of its total mass can be seen from orbit. Most of the site is underground and accessed via elevators and tunnels. There are a series of rail and road systems throughout the city. Euryale is a rich source of iron and most of the major corporations have operations on the planet. Estimates for the population are over seven hundred thousand, almost all civilian workers and engineers.”
Spartan listened carefully. The numbers seemed almost meaningless. A colony with a hundred, or a million, was still a lot of people needing help. Seven hundred thousand, most of whom were trapped underground, sounded like a tough assignment to him. Lieutenant Colonel Blake pointed to the map and an extended image of the surface of the dead planet.
Battle for Proxima Page 15
