Star Crusades Mercenaries: Book 01 - Lords of War

by Michael G. Thomas

  Syala pointed to the ceiling of the engine.

  “The star. The top of the engines and the railcars are solar collectors. When we reach the surface, the daylight will provide us with an extra boost. Hopefully enough to get us to the end.”

  General Daniels didn’t seem overly convinced.

  “There is a lot riding on hope, right now.”

  Syala looked at something on her raised visor overlay, the unit just barely above her eye.

  “General, you might want to hold on.”

  His eyebrows raised in a questioning expression.

  “Spartan, Gun. Hold on, the demolition charges at Montu are about...”

  The engine began to shake, and all the lights in the train went out. They were followed by a high-pitched whine as the onboard power units reactivated the screen and internal lighting.

  “Oh, well,” she laughed, “That takes care of the transit station.”

  * * *

  Ogimà Nakoma watched the devastation of the Montu facilities from a hundred metres above the capital. Smoke rose up from a dozen locations; the most recent of which was the vast transit complex. Her face was contorted with barely concealed anger.

  “Ogimà, we have contact from Tahkeome. He is in orbit.”

  Nakoma looked visibly shaken at the mention of the secretive leader of the Anicinàbe Marche clans. She had been granted full regional authority in this vital part of Karnak, and now of all times he could have chosen, Tahkeome had arrived, and that meant he would be expecting results. The image of the leader, slightly obscured by deliberate digital noise appeared in a holographic image.

  “Ogimà. I have seen the reports of your sector. Yours is last Byotai sector on Karnak to be fully pacified. I am displeased at your progress.”

  Ogimà Nakoma bowed down low, hating every minute of it.

  “The Clans are united for the first time in centuries, and I will not waste that. We must secure the Marche before we can proceed with reclaiming our destiny.”

  If Ogimà Nakoma could have bowed even lower, she would have at that moment.

  “Yes, Tahkeome. The Byotai have paid for mercenary help with extra soldiers and weapons in my sector. They will be eliminated shortly. It is my…”

  Tahkeome cut her off as he spoke loudly and firmly.

  “There are other colonies in the Marche to pacify. This is a local matter, one you will resolve for me.”

  Nakoma opened her mouth to speak, but she was premature.

  “Ogimà Takosk is bringing in his Red Scars to help with his work in the Southern sectors of Karnak. I have tasked him with lending assistance to your forces, following your recent failure. He will be arriving shortly, along with his personal guard. They are very heavily equipped.”

  “But Tec…”

  “No, Ogimà Nakoma. You will work with Takosk and pacify the Khagi Mountains. Failure will result in the Spires Clan’s forfeiture of Khagi. I am sure Takosk and his Red Scars will be more than willing to take over your territory on behalf of the League. Listen to him, and do whatever he suggests.”

  Nakoma swallowed uncomfortably.

  “Yes, Tahkeome. It will be done.”

  The image vanished, and the deeply offended Nakoma looked around at the cloth-covered soldiers in the Hornet.

  “I want…”

  The screen flashed, and the face of one of her junior commanders appeared. This one was without a helmet, and his face still bled from two injuries to his face.

  “Ogimà Nakoma, the prisoners, they have escaped!”

  * * *

  Spartan felt his eyes beginning to close just as a pale, dull light filled the narrow window slits. At first he ignored it before realising quite what he could see. It wasn’t much, but the first light on Karnak left the distant mountains in darkness, yet sent a warm sheen over their peaks.

  “Daylight.”

  He was saying it more for him than anybody else. Gun was already awake and looking out through the narrow slit in the same direction.

  “When did we reach the surface?” Spartan asked.

  Gun looked back to his friend.

  “About thirty seconds ago.”

  He then pointed up to the dark sky.

  “It’s not the sky that worries me. It’s those things...”

  Spartan couldn’t make it out, so he activated his helmet, and it clamped down over his face. The vision modes and passive sensors on the suit quickly identified the vapour trails, and then finally the signatures of a pair of Hornet aircraft.

  “Damn it, they must have scouts out in all directions. Once they spot us, we’ll be in trouble.”

  Spartan lifted his carbine from where it rested at the side of the carriage. He’d left it deactivated, especially as the power cell was one of only three he had remaining. It leaked power when on standby, one of the many problems of the experimental technology.

  “Do you have another one of those?”

  Spartan shook his head.

  “Nope, just this one. You’ve got your own toys.”

  Gun lifted the weapon he’d taken at Montu and grumbled. It might have been an impressive piece in civilian hands, but compared to the advancements carried by Spartan, it was an antique.

  “Syala, we’ve got company. How far to the next tunnel?”

  There was a short pause before she answered.

  “Another six minutes. We’re moving across the salt flats. Have they spotted us?”

  Both Gun and Spartan were busy watching from the side of the railcar. The aircraft were a long-distance away and following in long, lazy circles. Spartan opened his mouth to answer just as one of them changed. He watched it while the computer in his suit calculated its current vector. In less than a second, it was confirmed.

  “They know. Get ready.”

  He looked to Gun.

  “You know the drill. I’ll take the next railcar. You protect this one. They cannot get to the engine. If they do, we die. Understood?”

  Gun didn’t have to speak. He simply opened his mouth and bared his teeth in a wide smile.

  “Good,” said Spartan, “Let’s do this. I’m getting tired of waiting.”

  He rushed along the railcar and reached the connecting section with the next car. His armour made little sound, but it was impossible to avoid the crunching noises from his feet grinding up the small rocks and layers of dust that filled the disused railcars. He finally made it to the moving joint connecting them to the next carriage. This part was articulated with overlapping plates and sealed with a torn and badly damaged layer of a rippled rubber material. He stepped through and pushed open the sliding doors into the next railcar. This one was badly damaged, and half of the room was missing. Spartan followed the short flight of steps to the ruined upper level. With most of the roof torn away, he now had the perfect view of the sky.

  “Interesting.”

  Although his visor was down, it didn’t stop the buffeting as they travelled at almost two hundred kilometres per hour. He looked ahead and could see marks and dents all along the roof of the intact first railcar. Vapour sprayed out from the engine in front of it, the massive, ultra streamlined unit that provided the power to move the train along the single metal triangular track. He was no expert on Maglev trains. But he did know that power was required to lift it above the track and give it motive power to actually move.

  Check your corners.

  There was little reason to suspect there could be any issues further back, but something deep down forced him to check in all directions. As he turned to look at the additional railcars, he spotted a dark shape moving from behind one of the hills. At first it looked like a cloud, but then two white dots flickered at the centre.

  “Hornet! Incoming.”

  He threw himself down just as the aircraft swept overhead. The soldiers on board unleashed a volley that clattered all about the train. Scores of rounds penetrated the thin skin of the rail cars. It was gone before he could even return fire. Spartan rose back to his feet, placing
one of them against the side to brace himself. He took aim as the Hornet spun around to make another pass.

  Wait for it.

  Streaks from his left reached out, and at least two made contact with the left engine of the aircraft. It didn’t damage the Hornet in any obvious way, but it did draw the attention of Gun. Spartan twisted his head around. The massive warrior was hanging off the side of the train. He was firing the captured weapon in multiple short bursts. It was impossible to hear him, but Spartan could see Gun’s mouth was wide open, and he howled as he fired.

  You crazy old fool.

  When he looked back to the rear of the train, he was stunned to see the second Hornet coming right behind them. It was low, barely thirty metres from the ground and flying in over the third and final railcar; the one situated directly behind where Spartan was waiting. He took aim at the cockpit.

  Make them count.

  The first round from the XC1 Carbine was too low, but the second penetrated the canopy and struck one of the crew. The Hornet shuddered and lifted a few metres before settling back down. Light flashed from underneath, and multiple soldiers dropped down. The lights from their backpacks allowed them a modicum of manoeuvrability as they moved on top and inside the final badly damaged railcar.

  “Great,” muttered Spartan.

  He fired at the aircraft once more, and this time the plasma managed to start a fire on one of the engines. The aircraft twisted about, and a bright blue explosion engulfed the rear of the engine. Spartan ducked down as the aircraft crashed onto the final part of the train, the second engine unit. The explosion increased as both the dormant train engine and the Hornet exploded in a mighty flash. When Spartan rose to his feet and looked back, he could see nothing beyond his own railcar, apart from the half shattered wreckage of the car and at least six Anicinàbe Spires soldiers. Then everything went dark as the train vanished into another tunnel and made its way through the next mountain complex.

  Shoot.

  Spartan opened fire the same time as the other six. The interior of his railcar vanished in a cloud of dust, metal, and gunfire. Spartan’s shots lit up the interior with each blast, but the eruption of fire from the Spires soldiers was incredible. The lamp on his shoulder paled to insignificance next to the light given by the firearms. Spartan felt multiple impacts, and the passive sensors of the M-3B armour announced there were breaches in the articulated plates. One struck above his left knee and twisted him about.

  Keep shooting.

  Spartan was starting to lose his balance, but still he kept firing. The power cell ran dry, and in a procedure he’d practiced over and over, he released the burning hot clip and slid in a fresh one. As it hissed and the vents cooled, he fired again.

  “Get down.”

  Spartan knew Gun’s voice, and he rolled to the right and to his knees as the massive warrior step in beside him. In one hand he carried his looted double-barrelled coilgun, and in the other, a half broken Helion thermal rifle. Both of them blasted away until every one of the soldiers was dead or had fallen from the broken railcar. Finally, Gun reached out and grabbed Spartan. He staggered to his feet and looked down at the puncture wounds from the firearms. Internal sealant had already closed up the holes, and chemicals were busily working to patch up the flesh wounds.

  “I’m okay, Gun. You?”

  He glanced at his friend, seeing at least three points where he’d been wounded by fragments or projectiles. The old warrior acted as though they were nothing more than splinters.

  “Pin pricks, Spartan. This is nothing compared to Spascia.”

  Just the mention of the place hurt Spartan’s body more than any of the damage he’d just sustained. It was like a knife straight to his heart, and even Gun could tell he’d said just the wrong the thing at just the wrong time.

  “I’m sorry, my friend.”

  “Spartan,” Syala said over the voice channel.

  “What is it?”

  Her voice crackled a little as she spoke.

  “I’ve just heard from Arana. She got the refugees to Caldos. No casualties.”

  Spartan smiled at that news, the first good news he’d heard in hours.

  “There’s a problem, though.”

  Now he let out a long sigh.

  “Of course there is...what is it?”

  “This Maglev track, according to the Byotai Elder, we won’t even make it to the switch.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “The tunnels, Spartan. They’re blown eighty kilometres from Caldos. Arana is mobilising help on the ground, but it’s going to take time.”

  Spartan looked to Gun who just shrugged. Spartan had forgotten that only two of them were equipped with communications gear.

  “Syala, get in touch with the Colonel, and tell him to come down here. We can stop before the end of the line, and they can take us out of here.”

  The pause that followed seemed to go on forever.

  “That’s the other problem. According to the Colonel, there are aircraft coming in from the South. It looks like the commander at Montu knows where we are. They’re bringing in everything they can to stop us. And this engine, we took hits with the last attack. The engine is overheating badly.”

  “Montu,” he said quietly, “They are coming for us, and now this piece of Byotai junk is going to let us down.”

  He walked over to the vertical map display, but since the gun battle, there was nothing left but broken glass and wiring.

  “Great.”

  He turned back to Gun and spoke over the audio channel.

  “Syala, give us all the power you can and nurse the engine along. You have to get us to the end of this line. We’re running out of time, and we’ve got some pissed off friends coming at us from Montu.”

  He considered their predicament and then grinned.

  “Put me on with the Colonel.”

  As he waited, the darkness around the railcar vanished, and once more they were exposed the dull light of the early dawn. More worrying was the shape of three more Hornets, all of which were coming in low to the East. Spartan lifted his carbine and shouted over to Gun.

  “Left side, three more targets. Light them up!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The final work of the Biomechs would prove to be too little, too late for their species. With their defeat in the Great Biomech War, it would turn to the scientists of the Alliance to transform the secrets of this ancient enemy into entirely new avenues of science in the fields of physics, medicine, engineering, and space travel. Their final legacy would bizarrely be to the benefit of humanity.

  Evolution of the Biomechs

  ANS X-45 ‘Titan’, Debris Field, Karnak

  Colonel Black rested his face in his hand as he considered the imagery for the third time. At his side were the fully armoured forms of Khan and Olik, a pair of metal Gods in their plating. Gone were the advanced aesthetics of the Special Weapons Division, and in their place the thick articulated sections, savage blade and amour-mounted weaponry. The six mercenaries were also there, waiting in silence and with their faces covered, as they always were. On the mainscreen was Spartan, but with his visor open to reveal his face.

  “There you have it, Colonel. You’ve seen the data, and you can see the problem.”

  The Marine Corps officer nodded and pointed to the imagery of the Maglev rail system between Montu and the Caldos mountain enclave.

  “Yes, I can see that. The entire area is swarming with enemy aircraft. Our scanners in the communication buoys show they are already sending out teams to track you. A rescue under fire could be a disaster. First the area needs to be made safe, and then we can send in the lander.”

  Khan pointed at the train line while in the background. Spartan’s face meanwhile flashed green as he blasted away at an unseen assailant. Each time he fired, Colonel Black could see the fingers of Khan’s right hand clench, as though he was already in the battle.

  “The information from Arana says the train will be stuck so
mewhere out here, and right under the enemy’s nose.”

  Kanjana moved in from where she’d been waiting at the flank of Five-Seven.

  “Well, we have to do something.”

  Colonel Black walked to the screen and pointed at the location selected by Khan.

  “Could you hold this territory long enough for Syala and her forces to link up with you?”

  Khan didn’t even bother to examine the topography.

  “If you get us on the ground, we’ll hold it.”

  Colonel Black nodded in agreement.

  “Very well.”

  He looked to Spartan.

  “I’m sending you coordinates. We will secure the ground near the tunnel. Once there, you can dig in and wait for Arana and her reinforcements to come in from Caldos.”

  The videostream shuddered, and for a brief moment Spartan vanished from the feed. When he came back, his expression had changed.

  “Okay, Colonel. We’ve got our own problems down here.”

  His voice was drowned out as he stumbled about, and part of the train vanished. When the image came back into focus, there was an entire section of train missing, and the view of open wasteland rushing past in the background.

  “Maybe we’ll be seeing you soon.”

  Spartan opened fired again, and the video finally vanished. With the scene of battle gone, the interior of the ship was silent was again. Colonel Black turned around from the screen to face them all.

  “It’s time. Get to the Jackal. You’ve got time for one last kit check.”

  He then looked to Five-Seven.

  “Lay in a low orbital course for Karnak. We will jump in three minutes. I need all systems online. This is going to get rough.”

  Five-Seven acknowledged and proceeded to issue orders to his Thegn crewmembers. Colonel Black watched him work and then looked at the group of warriors as they left the deck to head to the Jackal dropship.

  “It’s going to get very, very rough.”