Star Crusades Mercenaries: Book 01 - Lords of War

by Michael G. Thomas

  Not much longer.

  Spartan could see the counter working its way down, and finally it hit the limit. The brackets attached to the lower hatch groaned, and small cylindrical openings appeared beneath him and the mercenaries. The hatch slid into the hull, revealing the lower part of the craft to the elements. It was almost impossible to see what was happening, but Spartan was unconcerned. He knew the specification of the dropship almost by heart, and unlike the others, he’d actually seen her perform in dry drops.

  “Drop!”

  The clamps released his M-3B armour, and he dropped out of the craft like a stone. The shock of the exit was enough to drive what little was in his lungs straight out. He remained calm and collected, and found himself enjoying the sensation.

  The other six quickly followed, feet first. Spartan was only moving for a matter of seconds before he’d rotated over so that he was heading to the surface head down. He had the perfect view to the ground, and it was nothing if mesmerising.

  Check your numbers.

  He knew it was easy to get caught up in the moment and forget the mission. He took in several quick breaths, checking the figures as he continued to fall. At this height, the air resistance was small he was now travelling at more than five hundred kilometres an hour, and still increasing.

  “Squad...”

  He took in another breath.

  “...Report in.”

  There was a short pause, and for a brief moment, he worried the others had failed to jump or experienced some kind of freak occurrence. He knew the dropship and his own armour was capable, but he had nothing to go on for the mercenaries, other than their word their armour was certified for jumps into the stratosphere.

  “Spartan,” said Arana, “We’re right behind you.”

  He acknowledged and then concentrated on his own freefall. The mapping data was active and locking onto geographical points to assist in his descent. At the same time, he continued to speed up. The signal from the dropship was already moving away, and he suspected it was travelling back to the ship under the control of Kanjana.

  He’d been falling for thirty seconds and began to spin. The forces against his body were immense, and it took all of his strength and nerves to remain calm. He’d seen the after-action reports of this manoeuvre before, and it was quite common for people to enter uncontrollable spins. He moved his arms out just a fraction and spent a few seconds to levelling off into a standard vertical drop. The counter continued moving up even higher, and he would have cried out just as he broke the sound barrier. The numbers were moving so quickly that he couldn’t even see the needle.

  “Spartan, current altitude, twenty-seven kilometres. We’re in formation and coming fast.”

  That was the moment when finally the speed began to settle, and to his astonishment, he could see they were now falling at more than thirteen hundred kilometres per hour. He looked at the blurred ground off into the distance and began to laugh. The laugh increased into a roar until finally air pressure began to slow him down. That was when he spotted the mountains off into the distance. His helmet overlay showed that Montu, the planet’s capital, was right behind those mountains.

  Looks a charming place.

  His laughter slowed, and he found himself looking down at a point where multiple trails merged together into a compound. It wasn’t much, perhaps twenty to thirty buildings, and with less than a handful of vehicles nearby. Icons popped up around it, confirming the sight as their rendezvous site.

  * * *

  ANS X-45 ‘Titan’, Karnak

  Colonel Black continued passing out orders to Five-Seven as the battle raged in orbit. The smaller Anicinàbe had withdrawn after receiving a heavy mauling, but the larger enemy ship had now covered a large part of the distance from the debris field. The mainscreen showed its shape, and the Colonel was stunned at what he saw. He checked with Five-Seven for the third time.

  “Are you sure? That cannot be correct?”

  Five-Seven looked towards him, his expression showed confusion, but with the repeated questions, not the simple facts.

  “There is no problem with our scanners or databases. This vessel matches the battleship class ship used by the Biomechs. But it has been heavily modified.”

  The Colonel nodded his head.

  “Yes, I can see that. But what is all that?”

  There were additional segments fitted to the ship that bulked it out above and below to give it a bloated, predatory look. The front extended out, like the head on an insect, while four pods the size of a frigate were positioned like mandibles around it. From their pods was a pair of massive guns of unknown configuration. The additional segments around the hull contained a multitude of hangars and gun mounts, with everything from direct fire rockets to automatic cannons.

  “They would appear to be field modifications to the hull. They do not match the complexity or quality of the original vessel.

  Khan snorted at that.

  “I’ll tell you what it is, Colonel.”

  He looked away from the screen and to the officer.

  “That is a captured Biomech hulk. Local warlords or criminals have fitted her out as a mobile base to operate from. I’ve heard rumours of these things before.”

  “We are ready to accept the dropship.”

  The process was performed almost entirely by computer; Kanjana making the subtle course changes to the dropship. In simulation it should have been done in less than a minute, but the reality of the situation tripled that. Finally, the dropship was inside the confines of the vessel, and the outer doors sealed shut. No sooner had this happened and the missiles and rockets from the approaching ship began. Unlike the previous attacks, this one came as a massed volley and at hypersonic speeds. The ship’s computer had already tagged and identified the first weapons launched.

  “Impressive arsenal,” said Olik.

  He walked from the rear access doorway, striding inside like an ancient titan, while examining the data with much interest.

  Colonel Black nodded in agreement, and then his hand stopped moving. His eyes were transfixed on one position, far away from the planet and off near the shattered remains of a long destroyed planet; one that showed as being almost two hundred million kilometres away. He tapped a segment at the debris and called to Five-Seven.

  “There’s our deployment area. Get us there, and fast.”

  The Thegn had been given his orders, and there was not even a second’s hesitation. The powerplant was already pushing the drive system hard as the vessel jumped away, pushed along by the subtle movement of its invisible space distortion.

  * * *

  Landing Zone, Karnak, Demilitarised Zone

  Spartan had his eyes firmly fixed on the ground. It was moving closer and closer, and the altimeter showed he’d passed the danger threshold. There was now little chance of a safe landing if his chute failed. He was counting the metres away as they dropped off by the hundred until he hit the one thousand-metre mark. The alerts were already sounding because impact with the ground was ever closer.

  “Now!”

  All it took was the movement of his eye towards the release button. At the same time, the suit synced to the electro-chemical impulses in his brain for confirmation. The parachute deployed in an instant and yanked him hard as it acted as a brake. His first thought was to check the others, and a quick look back showed him there were six other chutes all open and following him down.

  “Good work. Follow me in; we need to keep up the pace.”

  It didn’t take long for all seven to circle to the target zone and hit the ground. The landings were not perfect, and the mercenaries rolled over twice upon impact, but none were hurt. By the time they had detached and hidden their parachutes almost thirty seconds had passed. The mercenaries moved closer and checked their gear one last time.

  “Ready?” Spartan asked.

  They each gave him a quick acknowledgment and moved their firearms into a ready position. Spartan detached his experimental
carbine from his flank. To anybody else it might look like a clumsily modified L52. But this was something far more powerful, and much more expensive than any marine would carry. Unlike the rest of the equipment being developed at the Special Weapons Division, this particular item was not intended for front line use.

  “What in all that is holy is that thing?” Arana asked.

  As a mercenary, Spartan knew she would have a good eye for this kind of thing. But even he was surprised she would realise it was more than just a standard railgun, as used throughout the Alliance.

  “It’s an upgraded railgun, the first military grade firearm from the company. I just call it The Carbine.”

  Arana checked her own weapon and took a step nearer, curious to see the thing close up. It was a single-barrelled system, unlike the triple-barrelled coilgun normally used. She could see an engraved set of numbers on the side.

  “XC1 HE?”

  Spartan smiled.

  “Experimental Carbine, model one.”

  Arana laughed at the naming device.

  “And what about the HE?”

  “Oh, that’s the high energy bit. I’m thinking of dropping that part.”

  “You are talking nonsense, Spartan. That thing is carrying a coolant pack...and it is much more than a standard railgun. How much energy are we talking about?”

  She slid her hand along the shell-like cover that ran along the weapon. Her finger trailed its ridges and gaps as though she was caressing naked flesh. He looked as her hand stopped and moved closer to his.

  “I want to know more...later.”

  “Arana,” said Syala.

  All of them looked in the direction of Syala’s arm and quickly located a pair of Khreenk scouts. They were moving in from the North, in the direction of the mountains. One stopped, lifted his hand, and called out upon noticing they had been spotted.

  “Spartan.”

  It was not the first word any of them had expected, but it was enough to identify they were the right people, and more important, they were friendly. The word was spoken without intonation or raised pitch, thereby making it sound like a statement rather than a question. Spartan looked at them carefully, moving his right hand closer to the trigger. He also sent the mental signal to power up the internal plasma core, ready to fire.

  “That’s me.”

  Spartan deactivated his visor, and it opened up to expose the front of his head, all bar the neck and throat. At the same time, he lowered the tip of his carbine, doing his best to provide the least antagonistic view to their new arrivals. Simultaneously, the six mercenaries fanned out with at least three metres between each of them, and moved into cover. One by one, they dropped to a knee and scanned the horizon for possible threats.

  Good, now we’re ready.

  Spartan remained upright, protected by nothing more than the armour of the M-3B suit. Even as he waited, the suit began its subtle shift in colour. The lower parts of the body became darker, the upper segments matching a much lighter, earthy shade.

  “And you are?”

  The alien’s voice changed drastically as it moved to its translator circuit, something that had become a necessary evil in this new world. In what was something of a twisted irony, it was almost always the alien races encountered by mankind that were forced to use such technology, rather than the other way around. The equipment was being fitted into the firmware of the newer suits used by the Alliance, but so far this was only proving useful in less advanced areas where the same tech had not yet been transferred.

  “Vossaq. Your guide.”

  Short and sweet, thought Spartan.

  The second of the two scouts came much closer. Spartan could see they were wearing civilian clothing, but over the top they bore extra padding that disguised body armour. Their heads were covered, and the nearest sported a long-rifle, one that could easily have been as long as he was tall. The Khreenk were an unusual people, violent and aggressive, and with an obsession about self-improvement. Even as Spartan looked at the pair he wondered quite what upgrades and changes they might have made to their very flesh. Vossaq opened his mouth and breathed several times.

  “We will take you to the Khagi Research Facility.”

  He looked at Spartan carefully.

  “It is now little more than a refugee camp.”

  He paused, considering his thoughts.

  “Your commander, the prisoner, he is responsible for saving many Byotai. He must be recovered. The Byotai at Khagi have made preparations for your mission.”

  Spartan looked to his mercenary comrades. He had seen the maps, but he was unaware of the details of the facility. Vossaq could see his confusion.

  “It is now just a small Byotai enclave, fifty plus civilians, perhaps ten families. Once we are there, we can...”

  The Khreenk stopped, and without saying another word dropped to the ground. Seconds later, a sleek aircraft screamed overhead. Spartan tracked it, his suit identifying its height, speed, and trajectory. He remained completely motionless, relying upon the physical camouflage of the suit, as well as its internal coolant and electronic concealment features.

  “Nobody move a muscle,” he said under his breath.

  The aircraft moved off until it almost became a spec, and then it twisted about.

  No, keep moving.

  Spartan watched the thing, willing it to move away. Even so, the aircraft spun about to the right in the exact direction the Khreenk scout had been indicating. Narrow streaks reached down to the ground and hit unseen targets. The unmistakable sound of explosions and gunfire soon followed. Vossaq bent down and signalled to the mercenaries to follow.

  “With me, quickly. The attack has already begun. We have little time.”

  They left the open ground, the only clear space that seemed to be in the entire region. All moved at a quick jog to clear the dangers of being left fully exposed to the enemy. It took less than ten minutes to move from what looked like salt lakes, and into the rougher ground leading on a subtle gradient to the mountain ranges. A small channel cut into the rock to create a maze of paths, with some even dropping down below the surface into tunnels. After another twenty minutes, they joined a narrow trail that would have been impossible to find without highly detailed charts.

  “Incoming,” said Arana.

  Spartan had no idea how she had spotted the target, but right now he didn’t care. He pulled his body down low, as did the others. Seconds later, another of the aircraft rushed overhead. This time he was able to get a good look at it. It was small, perhaps half the size of an Alliance Mauler, with a pair of engines, one slung down on each side beneath fat wings. The underside bulged out and was open and exposed to the elements. He could see half a dozen humanoid figures moving about inside.

  An Anicinàbe military dropship, typical!

  He’d seen the model before in one of the many ship databases, and the overlay in his armour was already bringing up a schematic, along with its speed, weaponry, and known characteristics. It interested him most that the craft was commonly used in the Anicinàbe military. It was classed as a light troop carrier, with an Alliance designation of ‘Hornet.’

  Keep on moving.

  The craft banked hard to the left, and then something changed. At first he thought it was merely a shift in engine note, but then it was arcing towards them, and some of its passengers were aiming weapons from inside.

  “Spartan,” said Syala.

  Her voice was calm, but there was also an easy to identify sense of urgency.

  “They’ve eyeballed us.”

  Spartan licked his lips and ran through their options. They were very simple; they could fight, hide, or flee. The same options any prey would have when being pursued by a hunter.

  Weapons.

  He didn’t say the word. He merely thought it. At the same time, the internal targeting package activated inside his armour. So far, it was only passive sensors, but that was more than enough to locate the heat sources, power systems, and weapons. T
he aircraft swooped down low like a bird of prey that had identified a target. It was now on a path parallel to where the small group of mercenaries was hiding. Then the passengers began firing. Weapons the size of machine guns were slung from mounts on each side and controlled by the passengers, much like door guns.

  “These are not Anicinàbe settlers. This is a commando unit,” said one of the Khreenk.

  As gunfire struck an unseen target, Spartan could do nothing. The aircraft was far out of range, and he had no idea what they were even shooting at.

  “Hold your fire. We have a mission to complete. This is not our...”

  “Look!” Arana said.

  One of the Khreenk said something at the same time, and then a puff of smoke appeared off into the distance, perhaps three kilometres away. It originated from between a group of broken rocks; a place that would be easy to hide all manner of weapons inside. It was followed by a whistling sound, and then a black dot accelerated at high-speed towards the craft.

  A missile? Whose?

  Spartan kept still and tracked the object until it reached a few metres from the aircraft. Even before it hit, he knew he recognised the weapon from somewhere. The Alliance relied more upon railgun and coilgun technology, whereas the Khreenk used exotic alien technology that the Alliance was still coming to grips with.

  Helion tech.

  They were the one people that seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time developing new rocket and missiles systems. Even the screaming sound reminded him of some he’d seen before. The videostreams of the fighting on Spascia had shown entire barrages of Helions missiles, and this looked almost identical to him.

  What is that doing out here?

  Even as he asked the question, he recalled his conversation with the General prior to him leaving. The one thing the Byotai settlers out here had requested more than anything else was air defence equipment. It was the single area the Anicinàbe were better equipped for, and whoever controlled the skies would ultimately be able to dominate the planet.