Spartan shook his head angrily.
“But, Sir, this is admin and politics, and you know what I’m like at both. My reports are already on file. They know what I think, and they know the problems we suffered with local forces and commanders. Surely my expertise is better needed on the Santa Maria mission.”
Major Daniels stood up, indicating the discussion was coming to an end.
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. My hands are tied. Your knowledge and experience is required at Terra Nova. You will select the best reconnaissance team available, and it is my recommendation that Sergeant Morato is considered to lead it. I will, of course, leave the decision to you.”
He stood smartly to attention, and the three stood to face him. Spartan saluted and turned for the door. Major Daniels was already at his computer model of the system before they even left the room. Spartan nodded to the guards as he stepped out into the corridor and looked back at Lovett and Teresa.
Dammit, so I stay for meetings and discussions on Terra Nova while my two best NCOs get to finish off the enemy once and for all?
CHAPTER THREE
The fall of Terra Nova marked a major shift in the path of the Zealots and their devotion to the Church of Echidna. With the Core destroyed and the Union torn apart, many returned home. Most were bitter and many blamed the new Alliance for their troubles. The first decades after the Uprising saw many feuds and reprisals occur throughout the old Confederacy. It was a hard and violent time but if it were not for the events at Hyperion the old troubles could easily have reignited.
Origins of the Zealots
Spartan looked out of the observation window and towards the shape of the planet below. The rotating of this part of the ship meant he had but a small period of time to watch before the planet moved from view. Those not used to it could become sick and disorientated but not him. Spartan had served on multiple ships with artificial gravity, and although they all left him with a sick feeling in his stomach, nothing caused as much pain as that blue green orb below.
Terra Nova, I never planned on coming back.
He thought back to his last visit and the violence of their landing. It had been the final act of the War, and a terrible full frontal assault on the planet itself. So many had died on both sides. Even the Jötnar, his implacable allies, had lost scores of warriors in that last, desperate rush to end the War. It reminded him of his Biomech friends, the Jötnar who had sided with the Confederacy and proven to be some of the most stubborn and trustworthy warriors they had access to. He had not seen them in months and was actually starting to miss his friends.
Still, I’ll get to meet Khan on Terra Nova. That should be interesting.
He smiled inwardly at the thought of the outspoken Jötnar warrior on the planet. He was even less politic than Ko’mandor Gun, their enigmatic leader and could be guaranteed to cause a scene. That was something Spartan was quite looking forward to seeing.
“The next shuttle to the conference will leave in seventeen minutes. Please make your way to the landing bay,” said a calm voice over the ship’s speaker system.
Spartan glanced once more at the shape of Terra Nova as it whisked by and then walked away towards what many of them affectionately called the spiral. The people were waiting patiently as the rotating part of the ship moved along the central core. A number of long metal ladders ran the width of the section and appeared to move slowly around the core. A crewmember grabbed the metal and lifted himself up. He looked up and followed two more as they moved towards the rotating central core. Of course, in reality, the spokes and the rotating section were actually moving around the motionless central spindle. As they moved closer to the top, the spinning section appeared to slow down. It was all an illusion, however, as this part of the ship rotated at a complete three revolutions per minute. It was enough to create the same level of gravity as experienced back on Earth but was only used on the main habitation parts of the ship.
“Sir, good luck with the conference,” said the burly sergeant waiting to help those climbing onto the spiral wheel.
Spartan pulled up a few rungs before looking back.
“Thanks, I can’t wait.”
He continued to move along the ladder and quickly noticed the change in gravity. Each rung made him feel lighter as he moved towards the central core. He’d seen many a marine feel sickness at this point, and vomiting in low or near zero gravity was a sight he would have happily forgotten. A few more seconds, and he reached the central section. He pulled himself onto the platform and waited for a moment as he relished the feeling of weightlessness. The spokes extended out around him to the rim of the rotating section. He turned back to the cylindrical section and pulled himself along the tube-shaped structure. It didn’t take long for him to move through to the next part of the ship where the transport hangars were located. A young sergeant signalled to him from one of the larger craft.
“Sir, this is yours.”
Spartan nodded and continued to pull himself towards the vessel. It was a slow and complex procedure to transfer from the rotating section to the stationary parts of the ship, and usually only carried out when absolutely necessary. During combat operations, marines would often be stationed in the annex quarters, a number of zero-gee rooms in the next compartment over from the landing bay. It allowed them to transfer to landing craft and transports in seconds rather than minutes. He pulled himself inside the vessel and towards a seat near the port side window. Like the other dozen people already inside, he quickly fitted his harness. The last thing anybody wanted was somebody floating about when they hit the atmosphere and the gravitational pull of Terra Nova.
“Departure in four minutes, please check your harnesses and stow any loose items,” came the automated voice that he’d heard so many times in the past.
Spartan didn’t need to check. He’d done this so many times already. What he didn’t like was the dress uniform he’d been forced to wear. Though most of the depleted Marine Corps units were now disbanded or amalgamated, they had yet to receive any kind of new dress uniform. Even Spartan’s Vanguard unit had been unable to survive in anything like its original form. After substantial equipment losses and casualties, the survivors were now being used to train recruits on Prime and Terra Nova in order to raise more recruits for the elite unit. With major combat operations now over, most of the heavy exo-armour had been returned to the military stores for maintenance with just a handful retained on each of the Marine Transports. He’d been told that the unit was to be reformed with more manpower and equipment, but for now the unit had been placed as inactive, pending rebuilding. Since the formation of the ASOG units he’d been out of touch though.
Would rather be with them right now, he thought.
He had been forced to use his Marine Corps dress uniform until something more appropriate was designed for the ASOGs, assuming the unit didn’t change again after the Defence Committee had finished making their decisions. Apparently, this was all part of the peace dividend.
Cuts more like.
The door shut and Spartan was now stuck on the transport. He looked about and noted the points of escape as well as the emergency gear and weapon cabinets. Each of the transports had subtle differences, and like any man with experience in the military, he wanted to be sure of his surroundings in case of an emergency.
He thought wryly. How many times have I landed in one of these things, and there hasn’t been a problem?
* * *
The area selected as the VIP landing zone made Spartan feel uneasy. It was the exact same place he and his comrades had landed during the fighting, and he was finding it hard to suppress the feelings he had felt when landing under fire the last time. Back then the world had seemed alien, foreign, and almost exotic. Now the place was nothing more than a lavish reminder of the losses they had suffered. His transports circled the Palace as though they were looking for a sniper or some other miscreant before it dropped down and fired its landing rockets. From his view through the window,
he could see the long colonnade surrounded by waterworks and crowds of people. His eye was drawn to follow the path up to the main building itself. Upon seeing the front, he almost choked.
The Palace was one of the most famous monuments in the old Confederacy. A mark of lavish expenditure that stood Terra Nova out as being different to any other part of the Confederacy, even Prime. Larger than anything ever seen on Earth, it had been the seat of the Confederacy for the last three hundred and forty years and included the Council Chambers, as well as multiple barracks for the city-based armed forces. As his transport settled onto the ground, he noted the ceremonial guards, the infamous Terra Nova Guards Brigade. He was aware of their long lineage back to when they had still been the City Militia Battalion. Apparently, Biomechs massacred most of their six thousand troops in the months before Spartan and his forces had arrived. He wondered if these were survivors, or if they were all new recruits to a reformed unit.
Looks like I’ll find out soon enough.
The side doors hissed open, and four of the soldiers positioned themselves as an honour guard. Spartan stepped out first and took the salute of the first man. He watched him carefully; curious to establish what exactly had happened in the last months with the unit. The soldier in front of him wore the ancient uniform with scarlet tunic and a curiously antiquated glaive in one hand. Tucked neatly on his side was one of the newest L52a light carbines. Spartan had only seen one so far, and a pang of envy washed over him as he realised the static defence force on Terra Nova was receiving equipment before his own forces, even though his were in action almost weekly. He thought about asking a question, but his gaze was drawn to a slightly overweight officer walking towards him. The man’s epaulets brought him quickly to attention, and he raised his hand quickly to a smart salute.
“Lieutenant Spartan, welcome to Terra Nova. I am Major-General Jack Aitken,” said the senior officer with no hint of a smile.
His uniform was beautifully presented, and he carried nothing more than an army issue pistol on his belt. Spartan had met people like this career officer before, and it usually ended with an argument and him in some kind of trouble. He decided to try a little tact.
“Sir. It is nice to be here,” he said firmly.
The General looked at the transport and back at Spartan.
“Yes, I presume this is a more preferable greeting to the one you received on your last visit?”
Spartan tried to understand exactly what the officer was thinking, but the man’s cold expression gave nothing away. Like many of the senior officers he knew, this one was an expert at keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself. Some people thought the Biomechs were cold and calculating, but they were nothing compared to the senior commanders he had encountered. He was reminded of the incompetence he had encountered with local generals on Euryale and Prime. He just hoped this commander was cut from a different cloth. He looked at the General and the subtle indicators on his uniform and face. There was a scar on his left cheek, but it was well covered up. That told Spartan either he had suffered a major injury in the past, or he might belong to one of the infamous fraternities on the older colonies. Still, the number of medals on the man’s chest suggested he had seen a long record of service with presumably some experience of combat.
“You know how it is, Sir. Landing under fire is never a good experience for a marine...or soldier.” He added the last part, remembering how the distinction between marine and soldier had caused enough arguments back when he had been a raw recruit.
“Quite,” was his curt response, but this time Spartan was sure he detected more than a sense of annoyance, perhaps even of disgust.
Great, what have I done this time?
The General indicated for him to walk with him, and the two men moved away from the transport and to the main path. On each side were the beautifully cared colonnades, worked on by master craftsmen over many decades. As they moved towards the Palace, he glanced briefly over his shoulder and to the skyline. He recalled the sight of the burning Yorkdale, the Confederate heavy transport that had been used by the Jötnar. They had landed hard, but their numbers had been what was needed to get inside the Palace.
It took several minutes for them to reach the main steps that led up to the great arched entrance. This had been one of the bloodiest parts of the battle. Spartan looked around and spotted the odd sign of damage and repair work. The General noticed.
“You recognise some of your handiwork, then?” he asked unapologetically.
“Sir?” answered Spartan in surprise.
“Yes, sadly the Brigade was never able to help in such a way as yourself. You see, while you were planet hopping, we were surrounded and disarmed by the biomechanical monsters. Do you know what happened to most of my men?”
Spartan shrugged. He honestly had no idea.
“Me either. The last I heard was that nearly three thousand had been shipped away to work at other sites. They have not been seen or heard from since.”
Spartan was shocked at the revelation. He had no idea the forced relocation had occurred on Terra Nova, and certainly not to this level.
“I thought the Biomechs had fought an action against the Brigade prior to our arrival?” he asked.
The General shook his head.
“No, the political coup was absolute, and any military units that refused orders from high command were forced into the camps. We were ordered to assist, and my men refused.”
Spartan nodded; gladdened to hear the unit had not sided with the vile and callous enemy. It often surprised him with the speed in which supposedly good and honourable people would change their allegiance and loyalties when something they valued was threatened.
“I had no idea. Why didn’t you fight back? Didn’t you have the largest military unit on the planet?”
The General glared at him, and Spartan knew he had struck a nerve. For some reason, he had a knack for insulting or upsetting those in authority, even when he was making an effort to not do so.
“The planet was overrun, and the militia already infiltrated before we knew what was happening,” he said solemnly and stepped closer to the main door.
Another dozen guards stood to attention, each proudly carrying their ceremonial glaives and one in the centre with the standard. It was a bizarre sight to Spartan, who had managed to miss most of the pageantry associated with the military due to his rapid training and deployment during the conflict. The General stopped near the standard bearer and looked at it for a moment. It was made of silk and moved gently in the very light breeze. Just like those of a bygone age, this one contained the names of the famous battles the unit had been involved in. Spartan was surprised to see there were signs of damage and repair. As well as the symbols of many battles, it also included the names of famous individuals plus iconography of Terra Nova. It was as much a work of art as it was a battle standard.
Surely they wouldn’t have carried that into battle?
Spartan was familiar with the idea of symbols and standards, but the idea of these lightly armoured soldiers was alien to him. They wore bright colours and displayed their flag openly. It would make them easy to spot and therefore easy to kill. The General touched one of the repaired holes and turned back to Spartan.
“What would you have done, Spartan? The Biomechs outnumbered my troops three to one, and all we knew was that we had lost contact with Alpha Centauri, and that our government was executing any that resisted. One flank company, the one that carried this standard, marched on this Palace.”
He pointed to one of the few holes on the ground that had not been filled in.
“See this mark, Lieutenant? This is where the company stood, and this is where they fell. Only two men survived that day, and it is their individual courage that saved this standard from the Biomech monsters.”
Spartan could now understand the bitterness the old General felt. He had been denied a death in battle unlike that which most of the warriors of the last few years had faced. He’d tried
to do the right thing, but the glory was not his or his unit’s. Instead, most had been killed or sent away, probably to work on mines or to be used in the early stages of Biomech development. He remembered the ships with so many people in storage, the vats on Prometheus, and the great factories that produced the creatures the enemy had used so effectively. He nodded in acknowledgement to the General; now well aware he had overstepped the mark and decided discretion was the better part of valour.
“The Biomechs were a terror. I saw many good men, just like yours that paid the price, some in the fighting and others in the processing plants. We’ve dealt with those now, and the only Biomech facilities still standing are those for the synthetics. At least that is something.”
Major-General Aitken looked at him but said no more. It was the mention of the Biomechs and the facilities that seemed to hurt him the most. Spartan made a mental note to do a little digging later on with regards to what had happened in the many months before the discovery of the Anomaly. The commander turned to the entrance and marched forward. Spartan was forced to double-step quickly to join him, and they moved inside the massive structure. Inside, it was a totally different world to the last time he had been there. Large displays from scores of corporations littered the place, as did the banners and insignia of the new Alliance. It looked more like a corporate event than the sombre seat of power that it actually was.
“As you can see, Lieutenant, it has become something of a circus.”
“Sir,” he answered quickly.
Spartan scanned the open space and noted the majority of those there were businessmen and women in smart suits. They could, of course, be politicians, but was there really much difference between them? A captain and his aide approached the General and spoke quietly. Spartan noticed both wore the uniforms of the same unit, which intrigued him.
Star Crusades Uprising: The Second Trilogy Page 64
