Kha'Dri World Ship, Taxxu Prime, Centauri Alliance
Gun reached the lower pair of blast doors and hesitated for a moment. Behind him came the rest of the trainees, plus a motley collection of technicians, engineers, and even a few more marines. He stepped out and scanned the horizon for signs of their enemy.
Where are they?
The place was truly gigantic, both a landing bay and shipyard with the space for a dozen battlecruiser class warships lined up like sardines in a can. The ceiling was so high it could easily have been mistaken for the sky itself. He looked to the left where two large transports sat on their pads. They were big ships, perhaps three hundred metres long, and bearing the colour logo of the Carthago Trade Consortium. At first glance they appeared little more than the same cargo vessels that loaded and unloaded at the World Ship every week, but there were minor changes. Plates along the upper hulls marked the position of retractable gun positions, and the ramps at the flanks revealed internal walls protected by heavy armour.
"CTC Mercenaries," said Lieutenant Yarmuk.
Gun nodded in agreement with the young officer.
"Yes, a lot of mercenaries. This was no accident. They've been planning this for a long time."
He snorted as he watched. At the same time, the rest of his unit fanned out. They were nearly a hundred metres from ground level, and at a wide observation point in this part of the World Ship. Gun had been here before, and often waited at this exact point to watch the coming and going of ships, or to gaze upon the construction of the new warships being built for use by the IAB.
"Sir."
A fully armoured Alliance marine extended his right arm and pointed to a small group near the bow of a transport. A large burn mark ran across his chest before ending in a deep gouge that had almost penetrated the final layer of protection. Gun watched carefully and grimaced as another party headed towards them. This time flanked by several people in smart black uniforms. A few of the trainees lifted their weapons, but Gun raised his hand to stop them.
"No, not yet. We have work to do."
With that, he turned his attention away from the transports and to the shipyards in front and to their right. A long metallic passage led ahead, roughly a third the way up the side of the first ship. Most of its form was hidden behind a vast array of massive scaffolds and gantries.
"What now?" asked the Lieutenant, "We can't escape aboard the new ships. Not even Victorious is ready for launch yet."
Gun pointed to the massive warship, and then looked back at his motley collection of individuals. For now they were safe, hidden behind so many obstructions. They could not be complacent, though, and the sporadic crackle of gunfire served as a reminder that the fighting was far from over.
"Victorious is four weeks away from her launch. Her interior is fully prepared, and everything we need to conduct a war is inside. I want to get every single one of you inside Victorious. Seal the doors, and prepare yourselves for orbital combat."
They looked to their commander in stunned disbelief. No one wanted to argue, but Lieutenant Yarmuk said what they were all thinking.
"Commander, the ship cannot leave, and her weapons will not work inside the shipyard."
Gun laughed, both at their confusion, as well as their failure to grasp his basic plan. He opened his mouth, but a short female trainee pushed to the front, glanced at the ship, and looked to Gun.
"The Grunts? You want to use them from the ship?"
"Exactly."
He nodded to the ship.
"Get inside and prepare the Ghost Soldiers. It's time to introduce CTC to the true meaning of violence."
They broke from the observation position and ran along the many narrow walkways. Some moved up higher, others carried on straight ahead. All of them were intimately familiar with the ships under construction, especially these new and more advanced versions of the Confederate class already in service. Their shapes were not easy to ascertain under the camouflage offered by the gantries, but even from here the massive rings at the rear of the ship were visible. These were the secretive generators for the interstellar drive, and the most lusted for piece of technology in the galaxy.
Gun moved as fast as the others, though his size made it difficult to navigate through some of the smaller parts of the scaffolding. In relatively little time, he reached a loading level a short distance from the operations level. As he moved inside, he felt a flush of pride at the design. He, Khan, Spartan, and Olik had provided detailed input. That, combined with the technological secrets given up by On'Sarax, were the sole reason these ships even existed.
On'Sarax!
As he entered the dimly lit ship, he realised he'd not even given the handful of surviving Biomech rebels a moment's thought. They might look and sound like the great enemies of old, but they were now as close an ally to the Alliance as he was. They'd proven their loyalty back in the war, and continued to prove it time and time again.
"This is the Operation Level," said Lieutenant Yarmuk.
Gun laughed and kept on until he passed a substantial training hall. Many of the technicians and crew were there, and every one of them looked lost. Gun stopped, and the trainees and marines behind him spread out, each expecting trouble.
"All of you have a job to do. Trainees and NCOs, get to the control rooms and into your harnesses. Engineers and technicians, I need you on this deck and preparing the drones."
He paused and then nearly laughed.
"Who here has Vanguard experience?"
Four hands lifted up.
"You come with me."
* * *
Fortress Alpha, Southern Depression, Karnak
12 December 2472
Nakoma ran her eyes down Spartan's armoured figure as though admiring some great classical sculpture, and when her eyes returned to his, they seemed to positively glow with fire. Spartan actually found himself drawn to the rage burning inside her, simultaneously despising everything he knew about the woman that had caused such untold horrors on Karnak.
"What do you want of me? Perhaps you seek a way out of this fight?"
Nakoma turned her back on the trio. At the same time, two of her guards moved a little closer. Not enough to be a threat, but a not too subtle reminder that trust was a rare commodity in this place. Spartan said nothing, so she began to circle him like some large predator circling her prey.
"I've heard the rumours, and I've heard the guns, Major."
The words made no sense, but Spartan could hear the scorn as the translators did their work. Her voice gave the impression she was spitting the words right at him, as though they could hurt him merely by being spoken.
"If you want to see an end to this, you will need to let me help."
Spartan didn't flinch. He had his own questions for her, but the days of confinement underground seemed to be working. He’d learned the technique from Syala, a cold, simple method of getting information. The strange thing was that it required him to do nothing but stand there and listen.
‘Leave them uncomfortable, and then let them speak,’ she'd told him, ‘Sometimes they talk rubbish, and other times they tell you things you never thought to ask.’
Again, Spartan said and did nothing, so the circling continued.
"This Princeps, as he calls himself. He's a Karnak half-breed. He refused my people exile for good reason. I can get you close to him."
Spartan smiled.
"Really. And quite how would you manage that?"
Spartan immediately realised he should have stayed silent for longer. It had taken all his self-control not to blurt out his desire.
Victory, that's all I want to know about. I want my flag flying from Montu, and this war over!
If he'd said what he'd thought, she would have lied to him, or perhaps just laughed at his desperation. He really was in that much trouble, and he didn't want to admit it to Khan, but he was down here for inspiration. He'd fought this war his way, and been betrayed. Some wanted to surrender and to give up
, others like Nakoma would be happy to see the world burn. His own plans were somewhere in the middle, and he prayed that this warlord could give him the answers.
"I've got all the time in the world, Nakoma. I like this planet, and I like killing. Actually...I think I like it even more than you do."
He gave her a coy smile.
"I'll kill whoever they want me to kill, and whoever I decide to kill. There's not many of you left that are worth a bullet in any case."
His hand slipped to the blade on his flank. They may have handed in their firearms, but nothing would keep them from leaving their short knives behind. Experience had taught them all that a handy blade could be the difference between life or death.
"Killing is my business, Nakoma...and you already know I'm damned good at it."
He licked his upper lip and wondered if the attention she now showed him was actual or pretend.
"What I'm wondering, is what use you are to me down here? There are nearly three hundred of you, and you're using up a lot of my food, power, and security."
He leaned in close so their faces were almost touching.
"Your armies are broken, and your enemies think they've already crushed you. Did they even look for your body at Tanau?"
For the first time, he noticed her flinch as the words translated before him.
Good. She won't help me, or anybody else, but she does have a burning hatred for these new leaders.
Spartan had encountered the hostility and rivalry between the clans before, but never had he seen such bitterness to one individual. A gentle shudder through the floor served as the ever-present reminder that the artillery duels and airstrikes continued amid the rubble on the surface.
I have to use it.
"What value do you have, Nakoma? What can you offer me that's worth a damn?"
Her eyes narrowed and then drifted off as she gave something serious consideration. When she answered, all three of them were stunned.
"I have thousands warriors in hiding near the mountains of Montu. They are scattered and leaderless, but all hate this regime with a passion."
One of her entourage stepped in and howled something in protest. Khan lifted a hand to stop him coming closer. It may have been stage managed, but even Spartan was intrigued by what was happening.
"I see, and you think you can take the city?"
Nakoma laughed at his suggestion.
"No, we cannot do that alone. You cannot defeat the traitor, Tenskwatawa, and until I have recovered my strength, neither can I."
Spartan lifted his hands in mock submission.
"So...we are at an impasse. Again, I ask what it is you can do for me?"
"Spartan, I sent the interstellar signal to your people, as you requested. Are they not coming to help you?"
Spartan swallowed at hearing that question, it was one he wanted to know the answer himself. He knew Gun would do whatever it took to help, but what if Nakoma's transmission had been blocked, or worse still, ignored as some kind of ruse? The Alliance wouldn't let him leave Taxxu with a war fleet. But for all those ifs, he knew that Gun would not let him down. They were brothers, warriors that had spilt so much blood together they might easily have been twins.
"My people are coming, Nakoma, and soon. When they arrive, this truce of ours...I'll need to..."
"Very well," said Nakoma, cutting him off, "Let me go, and provide my people with passage North. Give me a month, and I will have my warriors ready. On the signal, I will assault the capital."
Khan laughed at that.
"Let you go? You'll run to Tenskwatawa and beg forgiveness, like the slave you are."
Nakoma hissed and moved closer to Khan. Her stature could not have been more intimidating, and she arched over like some terrifying predator about to launch itself upon its prey. Khan watched her, his face expressionless, but his hands held down low and slightly in front, ready to fight. It was the old Marine Corps method of close quarter combat, and Spartan could see he was ready, even if he looked unprepared for combat. Nakoma waited there, poised and ready to strike, perhaps even hoping Khan would react and instigate a final showdown, allowing her a meaningful death rather than the perpetual waiting down in the gloom.
"You want to know about Montu. I want to hit the capital as well."
Khan grunted in agreement.
"Okay," said Spartan, "We all have reasons for hitting the capital. But, and this is a big but. When this is all over, I expect you and your people to leave this world. Go home. Go and fight anywhere you like, but not in this sector."
Kanjana moved to Spartan and pulled him away. Nakoma hissed at her fellow Anicinàbe.
"Listen to the she-wolf lament."
Spartan regarded her in mock surprise, but then looked at Kanjana. He spoke quietly enough that Nakoma would be unable to hear them, but not enough that it appeared he was whispering.
"What is it?"
"Spartan. You can't let her go. You know what she's like."
Spartan nodded along as she carried on.
"Once gone, she will vanished and spend her life seeking revenge."
"Exactly," said Spartan, "and that is why we're going to use her to get this job done. If there's anything she can do, it's revenge."
Spartan looked back to the impatient Nakoma.
"How far will you go for your revenge, Ogimà?"
She smiled at the question.
"I will go to hell itself until I see the burnt bones of the half-breed traitors. We had a pact of flesh and blood, and they cast my clan aside as if we were garbage."
Spartan knew at that moment he could rely on her to get this one job done. Kanjana saw the change in Spartan's face and sighed in frustration.
"You can't do this. Can you honestly tell me you trust her?"
Spartan kept his eyes pointed directly to their mutual enemy.
"Ogimà Nakoma cannot be trusted. She is a vicious, vindictive bitch that likes nothing more than cutting people up and outright murder."
He walked back to the alien and pulled out his knife in a single, quick motion. As he brought it up to her face, she extended her tongue and hissed with excitement, as though this very act seemed to arouse her senses. He then drew the blade up her body until it touched her tongue.
"But I do believe one thing...she can be relied on for this one task. We are enemies, but today we have a common foe. Together, we will watch Tenskwatawa burn alive, and not until then will we talk about peace. Agreed?"
Nakoma lifted her right hand and turned it so that the inside faced outwards towards Spartan. She was a small, slight figure, yet her bare head and gleaming eyes gave Kanjana the chills as she watched her move. For a second, it appeared the clan chief would attack, and as she raised her hand higher, even Spartan tensed up. Then her arm moved and her hand flashed across her body. From where Kanjana stood, it looked like a slap. Instead, the flat of her hand ran across Spartan's blade. It cut deeply, spilling dark red blood across her body. She then rubbed the cut palm against her face, licking the blood before extending it out to Spartan. He grasped her bloodied fingers and squeezed.
"Good. Now, you've heard of the renowned Byotai guerrilla fighter, Uktakki the Black?"
The leader of the exiled Spires Clan shook her head. Her attitude had already shifted from elated joy back to suspicion. She'd just committed to a course of action, but Spartan was bringing up another entirely different subject.
"Well, he's certainly heard of you. He will go with you, as well as the rest of his Black Platoon and a few squads of militia to provide tactical support. He will liaise via our underground communications. You will leave one hostage for every five warriors you take, chosen by my people."
He pointed at her chest.
"Screw with us, and they hang. If you renege on the deal, Uktakki puts a bullet in your brain. As simple as that! We work together on this one, and we both get what we want. Right?"
Nakoma began to argue, but Khan stepped in.
"No discussion, no deals. Y
ou can take your people with you, and we'll match that with our own. Now get them ready. You leave in..."
Spartan discreetly lifted three fingers.
"...three hours."
Spartan turned and headed back through the wide-open space, and towards the heavily guarded entrance. Nakoma watched them go, her expression impassive and almost disinterested. Spartan didn’t look back until he reached the far end. He called out to her so that every other member of the Spires Clan could hear what he had to say.
"You all have your freedom, and you have your opportunity for revenge. Take it."
With that, they were gone, and once the door sealed shut behind them, Spartan let out a long sigh. Khan sniggered, but Kanjana still seemed horrified at the prospect of letting the murderer and war criminal free.
"I cannot believe..."
Spartan grimaced. "I know, you think I've gone mad."
"Well, you have. What happens if she actually succeeds?"
Khan continued to chuckle, but a firm look from Kanjana soon stopped him. He checked with Spartan, and upon seeing his expression knew exactly what they had arranged, without having ever talked about it. The two could fight an entire battle without needing to speak, but even after all these years, Kanjana was still unable to grasp some of the unspoken conversation.
"Kanjana," he started, reducing his volume as the three walked away from the pair of guards. As the light faded, he continued.
"Succeed or not, there's a reason Uktakki will be going with her. He can handle himself, and he'll do what needs to be done."
"What?"
Kanjana stopped and placed both hands down to her hips, like a petulant teenager. Spartan nearly laughed, realising the young woman still had no idea what he'd just arranged, or the danger he'd put Nakoma in.
"Win or fail, Uktakki has already been given his orders. The minute the operation is over, so is Nakoma's life. Uktakki pleaded with me to do this a week ago. Now he'll get his chance."
"But...but...she could take the capital, and then turn on Uktakki. Who could stop her?"
"Oh...don't worry about that. By the time Nakoma gets through the capital's defences, she won't have time to think about betraying anybody."
War Zone (Star Crusades: Mercenaries Book 5) Page 10
