Star Crusades Uprising: The Second Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  He looked out at the group, recognising at least two of the marines from that terrible episode on the perimeter of New Carlos. He moved his gaze to the rest of the marines, trying to spot any that he may have fought alongside in previous actions.

  “How many of you have used the suits so far?”

  Every person in the hall lifted their hands.

  “Excellent. Captain Daniels has already shown me your dossiers and I must say, there is something you have that I like. Maybe because your profiles remind me of myself?” he said with a chortle to himself. He was met by nothing but silence.

  “You have been chosen because you are the most independent marines in this battalion. You jump first and you fight first. That is exactly what we need in these units. What we do not want, is a one-man army. The Vanguard is special, but it isn’t invulnerable. You can guarantee that wherever we are sent we will always, and I mean always, be outnumbered. We will never be outgunned though!”

  He walked along and stopped next to a very rough, worn looking suit. He could see a number of marks that indicted bullet impacts. There were even substantial scratch marks, either from falling debris or possibly close action against Biomechs. He reach out and touched the dented but unbroken metal armour.

  “The Vanguard suit incorporates the improvements and ideas from seven separate operations against insurgents, Zealots and Biomechs. These operations have taken place on the ground, in tunnels and in zero-g combat. Every time we used the CES suits in battle we assessed their strengths and weaknesses. This is the culmination of hundreds of marines’ input and it is, in my opinion, the most important piece of equipment on this ship after the marine’s rifle.”

  He pulled open the front and with a series of hisses and clunks it opened up to reveal its cramped interior. The armour was designed to fit around the marine, rather than being driven by one.

  “Give me a hand, Corporal,” he asked as he stepped up into the suit. The marine pulled a series of straps around Spartan and then pulled on three levers that clamped the internal cushioned webbing into place around him.

  “Okay, Sir?”

  “Do it. Close her up.”

  With the tap of three buttons the suit sealed up, and in less than ten seconds, it was powered up and fully operational. Inside the suit, Spartan felt massive. He was easily taller than every person in the room and now had the capability to rip through walls or even jump out into the vacuum of space. Tapping a switch in the right arm, he activated a series of relays that finished with the reinforced visor sliding up to reveal his face to the assembled marines. Due to the shape, his shoulder appeared slightly lifted and the same height as his head. It was a menacing and powerful look.

  “The suit isn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it will allow you to do things no normal marine ever could. I have personally used these suits to fight Biomechs up close with edged weapons and firearms. As you can see, I have full mobility and speed, much more than in the CES suits.”

  To demonstrate, he moved to the middle of the training hall and dropped into a low fighting stance. The suit was much quieter than the earlier models, the creaks and groans now far less noticeable. He punched and jabbed with a series of quick moves, the suit moving as fast as he could move his own body.

  “It is reasonable to expect us to be able to punch, kick and grapple, if necessary. Just remember that you have mass and weight on your side. If you’re on a ship and you slam against a bulkhead you could cause substantial, potentially catastrophic damage. I want you to use the training units to work on your close combat skills.”

  “Sir!” called out one of the shorter marines.

  “Yes?”

  “Shouldn’t we be spending out time working on our shooting, Sir?”

  “If you should, then don’t you think I would have said that?” said a slightly irate Spartan. “Those of you that fought on Prime, raise your hands.”

  The two marines he had spotted previously lifted their hands.

  “Explain to the rest of this unit what we faced and how we responded on the surface.”

  “Sir!” barked the first man.

  “On Prime we fought a rearguard action against superior enemy forces. We were dropped directly into combat and engaged Zealots and Biomechs in close quarter combat and firefights.”

  “The result?” demanded Spartan.

  “Total victory, Sir!”

  “Exactly. We get the toughest jobs and we need to be ready to fight any foe at any distance. You are marines and that means you can already shoot. The odds of us being used for fire support are slim. If and when we are used, I promise you it will be right in the middle of the action. In this situation, we need to be able to fight and cut our way through the enemy to our objectives. It is critical that you can wrestle, knife fight and fence from inside the suit. You don’t have long left, I suggest you get practicing, and fast!”

  The door opened and in walked Captain Daniels and a group of officers from the other platoons and companies. Spartan quickly saluted as they entered.

  “Lieutenant. Glad you are here. They are interested to see what the Vanguards can do first hand in close quarter work. I told them you would be happy to demonstrate some of their fighting prowess. Apparently, not all of them are convinced the Vanguards won’t be overrun, due to lack of numbers and ability to use cover as effectively as marines.”

  “Marines? We still are marines, Sir. I recall we fought in close quarters, without issue, underground at the Bone Mill and in the ruins of New Carlos. On every occasion we were heavily outnumbered.”

  “I know,” he replied with a forced smile. “Perhaps you could indulge them?”

  “Sir,” replied Spartan.

  Captain Hobbs stepped forward with a cold expression on her face.

  “How many marines will it take to bring you down, Lieutenant?”

  Spartan took two steps forward, the heavy metal of the suit clunk on the metal flooring.

  “How many have you got?”

  Hobbs, apparently unfazed by his approach, signalled to a team towards the rear of the room. The group had been quiet until now, from the look on their faces they were all too familiar with her.

  “This is one of my most experienced and decorated squads. You might recognise some of them from the Battle of the Bone Mill.”

  “Battle?” laughed Spartan, instantly regretting his obvious enjoyment.

  “You supported us during the operation to recover the tech? That was a successful mission, one I think you’ll find aptly demonstrated the Vanguards.”

  “It did. You were insubordinate, undisciplined and too eager to rush ahead without obeying the strict chain of command. As you are aware...”

  Captain Daniels stepped in to intervene.

  “I have to meet with another platoon shortly, perhaps we could get on with the demonstration?”

  Captain Hobbs nodded, obviously not impressed at the interruption of her rant. Spartan looked at her carefully as she waved over the squad of four marines. Each was already wearing armoured PDS suits and none were carrying weapons. They moved to the series of lockers on the inner wall and proceeded to remove sparring weapons. Three took out what looked like padded metal clubs, the fourth took a padded metal sword. Hobbs walked up to them and in one quick action removed the padding on the sword to reveal a thin, blunted piece of curved metal. She did the same with the other three until the entire squad was stood before Spartan, each carrying metal weapons and eager for a fight.

  “Four, is that it?”

  Hobbs said nothing. Her expression was unsettling though. Spartan had seen that look before, usually from somebody who had something up their sleeves. He shrugged inwardly. All he could do was his best and just hope she hadn’t done anything stupid. He looked at the four marines, who in almost perfect synchronisation lowered their own visors and lifted their weapons ready to fight.

  “Everybody else get back, we need the hall!” he barked and then lifted his arms into what looked like a fighting
stance.

  “Ready?”

  The marines all nodded.

  “Come on then!”

  The four ran at him, each spaced apart by two or three metres. Spartan lowered himself slightly, his legs bent and relaxed. The first man reached him and started stabbing with the metal spear. The left arm of the Vanguard armour was reinforced and equipped with a modified excavator blade. A quick parry from Spartan easily brushed the blow aside. He swung in his right arm but had to redirect to deflect attack from the other two.

  “Where is the fourth?” he growled to himself, still beating off the attacks from the marines.

  Under normal circumstances he may not have noticed the movement, but something caught his eye. Glancing upwards, he saw the shadow of the last marine moving along the ceiling. The marine was above him!

  “Shit!” he snarled and without thinking he dropped to one knee and rolled to the side. No sooner had he moved than the fourth man crash down next to him, missing Spartan by just a metre and slamming his heavy metal rod down to the ground.

  The other three positioned themselves in a loose line. Spartan simply stood there, not moving, glaring at each of them. To one side, he noticed Hobbs, it looked like she’d signalled to someone. But he may have misread it. All four of them rushed him, each waving their weapons.

  “No more messing about!” he growled.

  Dropping both arms, he struck upwards and hit the first two in the chest with the tip of the arms. Both flew backwards and onto their backs, neither moved. The remaining marines kept at arm’s reach and swung for him, trying to attack the more delicate parts of the armour or possibly the face. It didn’t matter, neither was able to cause any substantial hits. Spartan pushed forward and immediately felt as though several hundred kilos of weight had just been added to his left arm. A series of alarms started flashing inside the suit. A computerised voice spoke from deep in the bowels of the armour.

  “Armour malfunction, firmware overwrite. Safety protocol activated.”

  One by one the computerised components shut down, until he was left with just basic motor functions and almost no power. The visor darkened as the photosensor shut down, now unable to detect light levels. Knowing that in just a few seconds he would be immobile, Spartan struck the override switch that transferred full manual control of the armour. The visor was still darkened, so he struck out with several meaty punches with his arms. They felt slow and cumbersome, his muscles strained as he moved the deadweight. Something clanged, he must have struck one of the marines.

  “Where the hell is it?”

  He rummaged around in the right arm, trying to find the switch that was connected to the cable override to the visor. He thought he had it, but a heavy impact on his left leg caused him to drop down and lose his position. As he hit the floor, he finally found the lever and pulled on it hard. The visor popped open, exposing his head at least allowing him to see. One of the marines was looking down at him, holding the blunt sword above his head. With a mighty effort Spartan dropped to his side and kicked out, striking the man and knocking him down.

  “One left.”

  Panting as though he had just run a double marathon he stood up, the malfunctioning suit still in one piece and partially operational. The final marine stood in front, the metal rod in one hand and shaking his head.

  “What’s the matter? Too much work for you, Corporal?” shouted Spartan.

  Not waiting for an answer, he stomped slowly forward and towards the man. Sensing danger, the final marine stepped back, looking for cover.

  “Stop!” shouted Captain Daniels, who was stood off to the side with the rest of the officers and marines who were watching the bizarre matchup with interest. Spartan stopped and flicked the escape switch. The suit clunked and part of the front popped open. He pulled the release cords and dropped out of the suit and onto the floor. It wasn’t enough, Spartan straightened himself and marched towards the panicking marine. Free of the confines of the dead weight, Lieutenant Spartan felt fast and free as he moved up to within one metre of the man.

  “Next time, don’t hesitate. Strike hard and strike fast. We don’t have the luxury of second chances in the Vanguards. Understood?”

  “Sir, yes, Sir!”

  Daniels and the others moved closer as several of the marines helped their comrades out of their dented and buckled armour.

  “What the hell happened to you?” asked Captain Daniels.

  “That’s what I would like to know. The suit powered down and started installing some kind of subroutine.”

  “How is that even possible?” asked a sceptical Captain Hobbs.

  “Sir, look!” called one of the marines who was busy looking about inside the suit.

  Daniels was first there, pushing his head inside the armour and examining the mass of electronics.

  “What is it?”

  The marine pulled his head back out from the suit, in his hand he held a mass of thick cables, each one neatly burnt and clipped.

  “Part of the loom and the backup to the main power unit has been burnt right through. It couldn’t have happened in the fight. If you look here, the cut ands burn marks are too precise.”

  Captain Daniels looked confused.

  “What are you implying, Corporal?”

  “I’m not, Sir. I’m suggesting that there are only two things that could have happened here. Either somebody must have had a blowtorch accident during maintenance or else it was left like this on purpose.”

  “Blowtorch? Inside the suit!” repeated Spartan. His tone suggested he was far from convinced by the explanation.

  “I agree. It does seem unlikely. Are you sure there is no external damage? A tool or weapon could have worked its way inside during the training or even regular maintenance?” asked Daniels.

  “No way, Sir. I’ve just checked the area around the damage. The armour is intact, not even a scratch on the metalwork. I reckon you could take a 20mm cannon round in that plating and still walk away.”

  Captain Hobbs moved closer to the suit and examined it with a cursory glance, then went back to Captain Daniels and Lieutenant Spartan.

  “If you ask me, this simply shows the suit is accident or error prone. A simple malfunction or problem with maintenance, and the suit is rendered useless to all. All, but the most bestial of men,” she said looking directly at Spartan.

  Captain Daniels could see and sense their hostility but appeared unwilling to try and place himself between them. He did speak up, though.

  “If a fighter jet or weapon malfunctions, what does a marine do? He improvises, he overcomes. That is our mantra and one that Spartan himself aptly demonstrated. If I am not mistaken, he was able to eliminate three of the four attackers and then chase down the fourth. This was even with a barely functioning suit. I would call that a damned successful test, Lieutenant.”

  Spartan stared intently at Captain Hobbs as he replied.

  “Thank you, Sir. The engineers have done some excellent work on the suits.”

  He then turned back to Captain Daniels.

  “I don’t understand how this kind of damage could occur. I’ve been in action against heavy weapons and sustained substantial battle damage, and still not seen this kind of internal damage. I’ll get the crews to double-check the other suits for similar issues.”

  Captain Hobbs started to look uncomfortable as the other two officers discussed the damage. In an attempt to steer the conversation away into another direction, she cleared her throat. Captain Daniels paused and looked towards her.

  “I concede Spartan is quite capable in a physical confrontation of brawn and strength. The question is, can he do the same for his entire unit? You see, being an officer is more than just a uniform. Some of us are meant to be officers, others are better suited to other roles.”

  Spartan took a half step forward, his brow tightening with tension.

  “Really? Is that what you say to yourself every morning?”

  Captain Daniels grabbed Spartan and
dragged him away from the group.

  “Lieutenant! That is enough.”

  Once they were out of earshot he spoke quietly. “You have to watch your mouth, Spartan. People like Hobbs will have your ass. She is a career officer and I promise you, she will have friends in high places. Understood?”

  Spartan looked around him towards Hobbs, and then moved back.

  “Yeah, I understand alright.”

  Captain Daniels shook his head in frustration and moved back to the rest of the group.

  “I suggest we keep the testosterone for the battlefield. There are more than enough enemies to go round for all of us.”

  “I agree,” answered a jubilant looking Captain Hobbs.

  She indicated to several of her junior marines to follow her. Moving towards the door, she stopped in front of the now dripping and filthy Spartan. Compared to the rest of the marines in the room, he was by far the roughest looking but also the most physically intimidating. Even the Platoon Sergeant paled in comparison to the strength and bulk of the man.

  “Look at you, Spartan. Really, are you what we need? You have only just moved up through the ranks and lack some of the more, well, civilised behaviours we would expect in the Marine Corps. If you want to lead marines, you need to be more than just a man that bleeds and sweats!”

  She turned smartly and headed through the door, her small group of marines following closely behind. Spartan’s face turned from calm and passive to taut anger. It was only quick intervention by Captain Daniels that stopped him stepping forward.

  “Stop, you have work to do here, don’t you?”

  Spartan said nothing, his face giving the Captain all the answer he needed.

  “Get back to work, Lieutenant, I’ll check on you and your unit later. Understood?”