Star Crusades Nexus: Book 06 - Call to Arms

by Michael G. Thomas

  She looked to Captain Rivers.

  “Stay here and get at least twice as many heavy weapons in position.”

  He looked surprised at her request.

  “Sir? We already have a heavy weapon for every ten fighters.”

  “Exactly,” Teresa answered.

  The Captain said nothing for a moment, and Teresa appeared to become agitated.

  “I’ve seen the weapon inventory here. Prometheus isn't just being used as a shipyard, is it? Even ten years ago it was a factory world for the Alliance. There are crates of weapons in the lower docks.”

  “But, Colonel, those are all designated for Alliance shipments to the…”

  “Really?”

  The Captain saluted quickly and sharply.

  “Yes, Colonel. It will be done.”

  The last thing Teresa was concerned with right now was the potential problem she might be causing for Alliance logistics. As far as she was concerned, if Prometheus wasn’t held, then the weapons would either be destroyed, or more likely used by the enemy against them.

  “Now, the rest of you come with me. I want to see how the defenses at the Biomech hangar are coming on.”

  Olik recognized the importance of keeping his commander somewhere safe, but the idea of his Colonel staying alongside him and his fighters seemed to make him happy. Even better though was the tour of more of the layered defenses they had rushed into service. The only part that didn’t seem to impress him was the fact they would be so far from the frontline.

  “Everything is ready then, follow me.”

  With that, she marched away, and the odd assortment of Jötnar and marines moved with her. It was only a few minutes for them to reach the hangar, and she was pleased to see that a squad had already heaped up two layers of masonry around the large doors to shelter the marines protecting it. Portable defense units had been installed to bolster its strength, and there were four tripod-mounted weapons guarding the open approach.

  Not bad, she thought.

  She returned the salute of the men and women as they continued their preparations and then passed through the large doorway and into the massive open space. There before her was the ship that the Admiral had arrived on board, and inside it waited the precious cargo the enemy had apparently put so much faith in.

  “Where is the Admiral?” asked Captain Rivers.

  Teresa didn’t stop and continued away from the doorway and toward the circular defensive line that had been built in the last three hours. The shape was basic and included six small bastions, each large enough to accommodate a dozen marines and a few heavy weapons. A wall nearly a meter high joined them together and created a barrier that ran around three quarters of the ship. Over half of the defense line had been erected using the large shipping containers, each one large enough to house an entire Bulldog vehicle. The unprotected front of the ship pointed directly toward the massive layered blast doors that led out into a wide shaft. That in turn moved up to the surface.

  “Are her weapons active?”

  A crewman leaned over from the side of the ship and shouted back down.

  “Commander Osk had us network the forward gun systems into the defense grid. If anything gets the outer door open, it will have to deal with the entire forward arsenal on this ship.”

  He twisted about and pointed to the multiple turrets and gunports. In space they would be modest at best, but in the confines of a hangar deep inside an industrial world, they would prove undoubtedly powerful.

  “Excellent work, people. I think we might have a chance here.”

  It was almost as though the universe wanted to punish Teresa the minute she started to calm down. The communication system inside her armor activated, and an image of the Admiral popped up on one side.

  “Unidentified vessels have emerged from the storm regions. Prepare yourselves for what is about to come.”

  “We’re ready,” she said, looking back at the well-arranged defenses. There was an odd look to her face though, and it was just as well the partially mirrored visor on her helmet blocked her facial expressions to those a short distance away.

  “Because when we win this thing, and Prometheus is secured, I’m going to be taking Osk, a battalion of Jötnar, and any of my marines that will follow me to Sol. And if anybody tries to get in my way…”

  She clenched her fists inside the armored suit.

  “…there will be hell to pay.”

  * * *

  The operations room on board the Dauntless was less than inspiring and reminded Spartan of a throwback to military commands centuries earlier. If he’d given it any real thought, he might have remembered that the ship was much older than that. There must have been a water leak somewhere because damp vapor had managed to affix itself onto so many of the internal surfaces. Spartan could smell the damp in the air, and it reminded him of so many places, where he’d taken shelter in warzones, places like Prime and Hyperion.

  Hyperion, he thought happily.

  It was an odd thought, and there were probably very few people that would see a place like that violent and dangerous jungle world as anything but a deathtrap. He had more than just wartime memories of it though. Spartan and Teresa had spent many times on that world alongside their friends, including Gun and Khan. The great hunts were unlike anything else in the Alliance and had a knack for bringing people together.

  Or getting them mutilated and killed!

  He looked back at the small space being used as the operations room and sniffed the air once more. Due to the need for artificial gravity, it had been attached to the mission module. This meant a reduced size, but at least they weren’t drifting about the ship.

  “How much longer?” Khan asked.

  Unlike Spartan, who now wore a pair of military surplus camouflaged pants and an Earthsec black jacket, Khan was dressed in something rather less inspiring. Incredibly, the workers on Earth had managed to supply him with absurdly large black boots they had cut open, extended, and then reinforced with metal plating on the sides. The toes were encased in steel, and although it looked primitive, he felt quite proud of them. More hastily modified clothing that was then covered up by separate thin sections made from riot armor and strapped into place, protected his lower body. Spartan saw him examining the protection around his knees and laughed.

  “What?” Khan complained.

  “Why are you wearing all of that? I doubt the armor would stop a crossbow bolt.”

  Khan shrugged.

  “Probably true.”

  He then gave Spartan one of his infamous lopsided grins.

  “But it looks nasty, and that works for me.”

  Khan’s arms were bare, but his chest was wrapped in what could only be described as a dark gray vest and padded armor plates tied directly to his torso. It was a mess, and most of it he’d had to bring with him to put on once aboard the ship. Spartan recalled the looks from the other men upon seeing Khan dressed in his improvised garb. Only one had been foolish enough to comment.

  What was his name? Spartan thought. Jenson, I think. Well, he won’t make that mistake again!

  The gear Khan had chosen to use actually reminded Spartan of the kinds of equipment chosen by the Jötnar on Hyperion for their annual Biomech hunts. Of course, those were a mixture of ritual and sport, and it was expected that the armor would protect them just a little. After all, what was the point of a blood sport if the other side had no chance of winning? Gun had often complained to him that he expected the animals to have at least as good a chance of winning as his own people. If not, how was it a sport?

  He had a point, more a ritual killing, in my opinion.

  Spartan shook his head and began to wonder why his mind had shifted from the operation to what Gun thought about hunting on Hyperion. He looked down at his new left arm. It was proving useful, if a little clumsy. More importantly, he was now complete, even if his body ached from the numerous fractures and bone breaks he’d sustained in captivity.

  Get a gr
ip and focus!

  The seating was designed for human crews of centuries past, and Khan had taken to sitting on a pair of ammunition crates he’d unceremoniously dragged into the room. If any of the senior officers had remained there may have been a complaint, but with just Lieutenant Jenkins staying behind, there was nobody to counter order the two. The man leaned in closer and tapped the icons on the touch screen. Spartan shook his head at the speed and antiquity of the technology on offer.

  “Three more minutes. They will come down here, right on the flank of the shuttle landing station.”

  Spartan felt something and turned his head about to look around. The ship was unlike anything he had served on before. It wasn’t the age of the vessel either. It was the way the entire thing had been run. Normally, the ship would be crewed by a captain of some type with a crew of experienced people. The combat team or assault party was almost always a separate element with its own commanders. Earthsec did things very differently, and although there was a small number of crew on board, so far he hadn’t seen any kind of commander outside of Captain Cobb, who was in charge of the ground element.

  “Hey, who is in charge of this ship, anyway?” he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

  Lieutenant Jenkins smiled.

  “I wondered when you would get to that.”

  He indicated with his thumb to the rest of the ship.

  “The crew is nothing more than technicians. They have their individual stations and report to the command system on the ship. Course changes, corrections, and mission planning are all done on Earth.”

  “Okay, but who sets the course or docks the ship? Surely you don’t leave time-critical tasks like that to your bureaucrats back on Earth?”

  Khan looked around, equally confused.

  “Yeah, if something goes wrong, who makes a decision?”

  Lieutenant Jenkins shook his head as if he’d just heard a private joke.

  “No, it doesn’t work like that out here. You see; Earthsec is very rigid. All official transport is controlled from back on Earth. There is no captain on this ship because the computers on Dauntless are commanded directly from people on the ground.”

  “I knew it,” Khan muttered, “Didn’t I tell you?”

  Spartan was forced to lower his head and acknowledge his friend had been right.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  They moved their attention back to the large computer system and watched as Lieutenant Jenkins moved the flat, two-dimensional schematic along to show more of the site. Unlike the richly detailed information Spartan would have expected on an Alliance system, this one was very basic, with the plans already looking only partially up-to-date. As the imagery moved, it stuttered and jerked about while the computer system loaded the data. It moved a few centimeters and then vanished before reappearing with a number of off visual artifacts. Spartan shook his head in amusement as the system attempted to fix and reposition the missing data.

  “Man, how old is this tech?” Khan grumbled.

  Lieutenant Jenkins lifted his hand in mock apology and continued moving the imagery until it showed the landing area, as well the sections of the refinery complex.

  “There, you can see where the damage occurred during the initial attack.”

  Spartan looked at the imagery and then to Khan who looked equally annoyed.

  “This plan sucks. You know that, right?”

  Spartan nodded to Khan.

  “You’ve got no argument from me, old friend.”

  He then pointed at the screen.

  “John, you saw our reports, and you know what landings under fire are like. Do you think two shuttles and fifty private security guys are going to be able to pull this off?”

  A flash on one of the smaller screens showed the first of the shuttles had come down low and was near the taller structures on the surface. Light glinted from the metal and flickered white on the screen.

  “If the Biomechs have secured the refinery, then they will also have established a strong perimeter. They aren’t stupid, and they are tough to fight when they’re dug in.”

  “That’s why we suggested the discreet approach,” Khan said, with a wide grin on his face.

  The two of them were hardly known for their subtlety in combat operations, but even Khan could appreciate the benefits of a more considered approach to what could prove a deadly operation. Lieutenant Jenkins sighed and moved along the screen to watch the view from the second shuttle.

  “You remember the landing on the Titan Naval Station, don’t you?” asked Spartan.

  It was a painful memory for the two of them, as it had been their baptism of fire. After months of training and work, the unit had been thrown into a full-scale assault where hundreds had been cut down in the first waves. The survivors had become the veterans for the rest of that long war.

  “Don’t forget, that was only against Zealots and their rebel friends. The Biomechs are something else. They are able to take on a Jötnar in hand-to-hand and have the firepower to deal with decent armor.

  “I know. I read your report, and I saw the video briefing you gave Earthsec command before we left. They have given your tactical assessments of their strength to Cobb and his unit commanders. The plan comes directly from Cobb though.”

  “Plan?” Khan laughed out.

  The three of them waited and watched as patiently as they could. The lower levels of the refinery complex were a dangerous place at the best of time, and now they had to contend with battle damage. It wasn’t just impact damage where the small number of Biomech landing teams had crashed down, it was also the destruction wrought by the fighting that had taken place.

  “Look at the surface. There is more structural damage than the last footage suggested. We’ve got two collapsed towers, and the refinery site is venting.”

  Spartan shook his head violently and pointed at the smoke rising from the refinery.

  “I can promise you the Biomechs won’t have damaged anything significant there. Look at the buildings nearby. The place is secure. The enemy will have shattered the defenses and then moved on the site best suited for establishing their compound.”

  Khan nodded in agreement.

  “Yeah, he’s right. They’ll have their people and our prisoners working on modifying and installing equipment to service their plan very quickly. They are not like us. The minute they secure territory, they begin exploiting it.”

  Spartan pointed at the refinery and the number of green diamonds that had started to appear on the biometric overlay.

  “These are life signs, correct?”

  Lieutenant Jenkins nodded, and Spartan traced his hand around where they were positioned. The small icons moved very slowly though. It was hard to tell if it was because the target was static, or just that the technology was slow assimilating new data. The Lieutenant pointed to one of the towers nearby.

  "That's one of the damaged relay stations. We modified it to track the biosignatures of anybody still alive on the station. It isn't perfect, but it gives us an idea of what's down there."

  Spartan scanned the imagery with a quick eye, taking in the details and adding up the numbers in his head. As he identified each one, the furrow of his brow seemed to widen.

  “Apart from what, maybe two dozen, the rest are all in this one area and moving about. This is where they are housing the prisoners while they build their factory system. I can guarantee you that.”

  Lieutenant Jenkins didn’t seem convinced.

  “You honestly think they will drop small teams onto Mars just to build a factory? Why Mars? You can see the place. It ain't anything special.”

  Spartan placed his head in his hands and took a number of slow, careful breaths. Finally, he lifted himself back up and looked directly into Lieutenant Jenkins’ eyes.

  “You fought in the War, and you must remember what they did at the Bone Mill?”

  The mere mention of that place seemed to drain color from the poor man’s face.

  �
�Exactly,” continued Spartan, “The Biomechs managed to get some of their technology established down there. Now, we know the Zealots used this equipment to create a massive, and I mean a massive army hidden underground. Hell, it was on one of our own colonies, and we didn’t see it.”

  Spartan paused and then thumbed the screen with his good hand.

  “You know why we didn’t see it? Because they built it inside a collapsed mine and refinery complex. They had access to technology, machinery, and thousands upon thousands of trapped workers.”

  Khan nodded at the screen and the shape of the first shuttle as it came down to land.

  “Yeah, and what does that place look like?”

  Spartan scratched at his cheek, considering the situation.

  “They will have this place up and running in months, maybe even just a few weeks. You can expect the first batch of their creatures to be ready. At that point, the only option left will be atomics.”

  Khan rubbed his forehead and then stood up and walked a few meters away from the screen. He reached a line of seats, all of which were far too small for him. Next to them was a rack fitted out with twenty thermal shotguns, all locked by a triple bar system so that they couldn’t be easily removed.

  “Look, they’re landing,” said Lieutenant Jenkins.

  He pointed at the bank of ten screens that showed views from the shuttles, as well as the Captain and his six squad commanders. Spartan and Khan moved closer and watched with fascination as the first of the craft moved to the surface surrounded in a cloud of dust.

  “It begins,” Spartan said quietly.

  “Right,” agreed Khan, “and it will end just as quickly.”

  * * *

  The landing of the two shuttles was an impressive sight and might have been enough on its own to encourage surrender to most foes. The lightly armed craft swept in like aircraft at an air show. Even before landing, their height had dropped to barely ten meters above the ground. At that height, the landing lights activated and bathed the surface in a dull glow. Contrary to the suggestions of Spartan, the team had elected to land during the night cycle. The rusty iron oxide littering the surface kicked up when they swept in, leaving a trail of what looked like mini cyclones right behind them as they screamed in at high speed.