“Do you know many Biomechs and Jötnar are left in the Alliance?”
Khan shrugged.
“No. When a Biomech understands Jötnar, they can join us. Then they are Jötnar, like me. Gun said we have more Jötnar on Prometheus than all the marines,” he explained and then grinned to Spartan. “So says Ko’mandor Gun.”
Spartan looked back to the document and read further. The bit that gave him a sick feeling was when he reached a section on the early Biomechs. Two new terms were being touted, and it concerned him. Rather than the universal and easily understood Biomech, they were now being known as mutations or experiments. Both implied something dangerous, and the recommendations in most cases were destruction or testing of the specimens. It was the easy language of those that treated the creatures with a casual disregard.
Bastards, he thought with disgust.
“Hey, you two want to go to this meeting with the Admiral? He wants to talk about ship designs.”
To his surprise they both nodded furiously in agreement. He was a little confused and unsure as to what to say. If it were anybody else, he would have assumed they were joking, but humour was an art the Jötnar were still learning to use.
“Uh, okay. Finish your drinks and we’ll head over there.”
* * *
The Alliance Naval Architects Department was like no other place Spartan has visited before. The underground rail system had taken them on the short ten-minute journey to the complex deep inside the research and development wing of the Military Academy. Gone were the old fashioned marble buildings, to be replaced by stone and glass. Scores of uniformed personnel watched him as the decorated Lieutenant marched past with two Jötnar in tow. This particular part of the department consisted of a long, wide glass corridor with glass rooms off to each side. They walked briskly to a set of tall double doors at the far end. Once inside, he could see the size of the main foyer, with its dozens of personnel, computers and scale models of scores of different ship designs.
“Where now?” asked Khan who was becoming impatient.
In the centre of the room was a circular desk manned by three women, each of them impeccably dressed in their new style dark blue Alliance uniforms. Spartan approached the desk and beckoned for the two Jötnar to follow. As he reached it, the nearest looked up at him and smiled before spotting the two creatures. Her smile turned quickly to discomfort. Khan started to laugh.
“Looks like she hasn’t met my people before!”
Osk chortled in amusement at her discomfort, and Spartan was forced to interject before it got out of control.
“These are official representatives of our allies, the Jötnar. This is Captain Khan and this is Osk. I am Lieutenant...”
“Spartan?” she interrupted in a clipped and almost artificial voice. She smiled at him and touched her hair with her left hand.
“We’ve heard of your...reputation, Lieutenant. Perhaps you would like a refreshment?”
She stood to go and get him something, but Spartan lifted his hand to refuse.
“Thank you, but our time is limited. Can we see the Admiral?”
The young woman looked disappointed, as did her two comrades who both watched him with interest.
What the hell is going on in this place? He wondered.
She pressed several buttons on her computer system while continuing to smile at him. It didn’t take long before her face changed to evident disappointment.
“Oh, the Admiral would like to see you immediately in the simulation room.”
Spartan raised an eyebrow.
“Which is where?”
The woman laughed nervously, but Spartan could see it was nothing but clumsy flirting. She lifted her left hand and pointed to a long glass entrance in a dark corner. Spartan nodded politely and made his way to the door.
“If I can help you with anything at all, please come and see me,” she added as he moved away.
Spartan shook his head in amusement at the emphasis on the word ‘anything’. He made it to the door only for a green beam to shine down and scan him and his two Jötnar comrades. It only took a few seconds, and with a low beep the doors opened to reveal blackness. Spartan stepped inside and the Jötnar followed closely behind. No sooner were they inside did the door hiss shut behind and the lights altered slightly. Spartan moved forward and through a generated black wall into a long room. Inside was a sunken space, almost like a small stage. Around it sat a dozen men and women. Some wore military uniforms, others lab coats, and two wore suits.
“Lieutenant, glad you could make it!” said Admiral Churchill with genuine pleasure.
The two men shook hands, and Spartan turned to introduce the two Jötnar. The Admiral shook both of their hands, indicating for them to join him to a raised seating area overlooking the sunken stage area. Once sat down, he spoke in almost hushed tones.
“You might have already guessed that I didn’t ask you here to just talk about ship modifications.”
Spartan looked even more confused than the Jötnar at this comment. He moved back slightly in his seat before replying.
“Uh, well, I’m not quite sure what you mean, Admiral.”
“Well, I have been commissioned by the Senate to come up with a new class of ship, a craft that will become a universal warship for use in all kinds of operations. The Navy is to have its capital ships slashed to a total of thirty. That is a fraction of the size we are used to. Instead of battleships, cruisers and transports, they want a more economical class that can engage other ships, land troops and reinforce ground operations.”
Spartan was shocked at the number.
“Thirty ships? I thought we had a Navy of nearly three hundred ships?”
The Admiral nodded.
“Yes, but over half are due to be decommissioned due to age or damage, and that number also includes small vessels like destroyers and frigates. The smaller craft are not the issue; the plan is to rush a new vessel into production in the next twelve months to replace cruisers, marine transports and battleships. Any slower, and we’ll be forced to rely on broken down and failing vessels. Nine ships are being decommissioned this very month. We need replacements and fast. If we build different classes, we’ll face a major capability gap. I don’t need the best, but I need as good as we can get at everything, and fast.”
He looked at the three of them, and each looked as confused as the next.
“The basic recommendations have always been agreed by Navy High Command, a ship of about the size of an Achilles class cruiser with similar firepower. More powerful engines and the capacity to carries up to five hundred marines or a similar sized flight group. A flight deck to handle the landing craft when used for marines or gunboats, and fighters when configured for carrier operations.”
Spartan looked both impressed and surprised at the information.
“That is, well, optimistic. Can you deliver that level of miniaturisation into a single ship in the time you have?”
“We have to. The design will be flexible so that each ship can simply alter its crew and craft on board depending on the mission. So some can be used as pure marine transports, like Santa Maria, while others will operate aircraft and perform as carriers.”
“I assume they can do both with a smaller unit of marines and aircraft as well?”
“Exactly, you understand the plan, Lieutenant. Now, what I need is any advice you can offer as experienced ground troops. What worked and what didn’t aboard the Santa Cruz? I already have information from scores of experienced Navy personnel, but now I have one of the Alliance’s most respected marines and two of our best cousins, the vaunted warrior Jötnar.”
“Yes!” roared Khan with undeniable pleasure.
Spartan looked at the Admiral and did his very best not to look too happy at being offered the chance to play a part in something so important. He looked at the holographic models being shown in the centre of the room and then to the Admiral.
“Okay, so what can I tell you?”
The mere mention of Khan’s old military transport caught his ear and his attention. It didn’t take long before the four of them were arguing away at the merits and failures of the ships and the units stationed on them.
CHAPTER SIX
The fighting that engulfed the Proxima System proved once and for all that the divisions in the Confederate Military were a major weakness. Marines, soldiers and militia fought each other while Union soldiers and their Zealot soldiers ran amok. It was the violent lessons learnt on the scores of battlefields in the war that paved the way for the new order, the Alliance Military with her modern fleets and well trained marines. The days of politicians leading colonial army militia into battle died with the end of the Proxima Emergency.
Reports of the Proxima Emergency
Sergeant Morato and her team waited patiently inside the Marine Corps landing craft. In the zero-g environment, they were forced to rely on the straps and clamps to stay still while the craft manoeuvred alongside the suspicious transport. The medium-sized vessel was the standard craft used to insert marines into battle and was big enough to land a large unit directly into battle. On this occasion, however, it was just a single marine platoon led by a young Lieutenant Harper and her eight-man ASOG reconnaissance troop. The name was something of a misnomer, as the recon part of the ASOG teams contained the best-trained and experienced members of the ASOG unit. As well as being expert fighters, they were required to be the best at survival techniques, infiltration and a host of other specialisations.
“Sergeant, your troop ready?” asked the Lieutenant, a slight tremble in his voice betraying his frayed nerves.
“No problem here. We go in first, and I’ll give you the signal to follow. Remember, watch for friendlies. We don’t want any accidents in there.”
Teresa watched him nod in agreement before he turned back to the thirty marines in his platoon. With the significant downsizing of many units, it was only the most experienced and mentally stable that was left. So many had been granted long-term leave, and even more moved back to their home colonies to assist in the recovery effort. He gave them a quick pep talk, but it seemed they were all ready and competent. If they were anything like her, they just wanted to get on with the operation. Teresa did wonder why she hadn’t feigned mental instability to get out of another tour, but it was just against her nature. She had fought hard to get where she was now, just like Spartan.
I hate the waiting!
All of his men wore the dark grey PDS armoured suits as worn by marines for a good number of years now. Each of them was encased in close fitting armour and carried L48 carbines with the small-calibre box fitted. When in space-borne operations, it was critical for combat units to avoid large calibre weapons as they could easily penetrate the ship’s armoured skin and depressurise an entire section. The optional modification gave them more ammunition, a higher rate of fire and a safer round. Teresa looked back to her own unit but said nothing; they knew what had to be done. She and Lovett had done this kind of thing a hundred times before. The other six were almost as experienced.
“Okay, make sure you keep your weapons on low mode. I don’t want to get blown out into space, alright?” she said with a cheesy grin.
The other marines present thought she was being serious, but the rest of her unit knew a joke when they heard it. Unlike the marines, they were carrying the L52 Mark II Assault Carbines, much to the envy of the marines. These weapons could destroy large chunks of the transport if not handled correctly, but that wasn’t a concern to Teresa. If these experienced men and women couldn’t control their weapons, nobody could. They wore exactly the same armour as the marines with one simple exception; the grey paint had been interspersed with black tiger stripes. It was a minor detail, but it made the distinction between ASOG and marine very clear. A scraping sound indicated they had made contact with the target. The impact shook the marines inside, but it was nothing serious.
“Here we go. Remember, watch for friendlies!” said Teresa.
Almost in perfect synchronisation each of the ASOG fighters activated their visors. With a quick buzz, the fronts of their helmets clamped shut to encase them in an airtight suit. The PDS armour was proof against light small arms but not designed for complete protection against heavier weapons. Unlike the massive power assisted suits of the Vanguards, they were more a replacement for the earlier body armour and webbing carried by soldiers and then marines.
“Five seconds,” said the co-pilot in a quiet voice over their suits’ intercoms. The interior lighting had already switched to red, and they all clung to the rails in case of a sudden impact. Then came the final crunch. The external hatch slid open, and the automated coupler unit created a bonded vacuum seal between the two craft. It took seconds for the procedure to complete and was followed by the diamond-edged cutters that proceeded to take away the target’s exterior hatch. Teresa watched the action from a live external feed taken by the landing craft. She could see the glowing metal where the cutter was busy at work but not much else.
What are we gonna find in there?
In answer there was a much louder clunk as a chunk of metal drifted against their own airlock, a slight hiss, and the interior hatch slid open. That was her signal and without hesitating, she pulled herself away from the wall and kicked. The weightless drifting was an odd sensation, and she was acutely aware that without contact to the walls, she had no control. Her head and arms entered the airlock first, and she failed to find the nearest rung. As soon as she made contact, she made four hard pulls and was inside the vessel. The rest of her unit followed. In less than thirty seconds, they were aboard and inside what appeared to be a large storage area. They spread out, each using one hand and their legs to manoeuvre around the floor, ceiling and walls while keeping the right arm free to handle their rifles.
“Talk to me, Sergeant, what have you got?” asked the impatient Lieutenant still waiting on the landing craft.
Teresa had already switched to thermal imaging and then infrared, but so far this section seemed empty. A quick glance at her team confirmed they had found the same.
“Nothing in the landing area, Sir. We’re moving to the crew section.”
She pulled herself along what looked like the ceiling to the next section. From the external shape the crew on the Santa Maria had sketched for her, they were about a quarter the way inside. The craft was easily double the size of the landing craft, and Teresa estimated it could carry about two hundred people or a large amount of cargo.
Corporal Smith, a veteran of the Euryale campaign, lifted his hand, the common signal for the team to stop. They all waited, completely motionless save for their breathing inside their suits.
“I’ve got readings in the habitation section,” he explained over the suit’s sound system.
Teresa checked her own data that was being collected from her comrade’s suit. The networked integration was one of the new features of the PDS armour and being trialled by some of the ASOG troops scattered through the sector.
“Yeah, I see it. Looks like two-dozen tangos in the next section. Wait...one is moving.”
On her HUD she could see the shape of the heat blooms as they were projected inside her visor. If she altered the power mode on her rifle, she would be able to blast through the separating wall and destroy the target. Unfortunately, a high-power blast would breach the hull, depressurize the craft, and kill whatever was in the room.
“They could be survivors from the Atlantic Star. Move on!”
Corporal Smith moved through the small connecting corridor and into the multi-room habitation area. It was laid out like most transports with lines of seats, but with the lack of power or lighting, it was hard to tell what was inside. Teresa entered the first section and moved alongside her Corporal. Both lifted their rifles and scanned the area. At the far end, about ten metres
away, were five people. None appeared armed although it wasn’t easy to tell by using the thermal and infrared overlay alone.
“Alliance Navy, who are you?” she asked.
Her thermal imaging sensor overloaded and quickly deactivated as the internal lights switched on and bathed the habitation area with light. At the same time, three more of her team arrived and spread out with their weapons at the ready. At the end of the space stood a bearded man with long robes and a beautifully detailed sash. On either side of him stood two creatures, much like the Biomechs she’d seen before. But these were different, smaller in stature and less animalistic in look. They carried firearms but of a pattern she was completely unfamiliar with. There was one thing they all had in common, the colour red. All five carried blood red symbols of a snake goddess emblazoned on their chests. Two of her men moved ahead only for a fifth guard to appear. He swung a mace type device that embedded in the man’s shoulder. The armour managed to absorb the impact but still sent him spinning out of control. Teresa twisted slightly and placed the central figure in her sights.
“Hold your fire!” she barked.
The man lifted both his hands, but she couldn’t tell if they were the common sign of surrender or simply to get attention. Either way, his guards lowered their weapons a short distance, and the stray guard moved back to the side wall while two of Teresa’s team pulled the wounded man back behind them.
“Greetings, soldiers. My name is Pontus, and I bring a message of peace and reconciliation on behalf of my brothers. I wish to speak with your Captain.”
Corporal Smith looked to Teresa, and she could just about see his bemused expression through the smoked visor. He raised an eyebrow and looked back to the man. She didn’t recognise the name Pontus, but these were clearly not Alliance citizens, and the symbols were very similar to the Echidna iconography she had seen so many times before.
Star Crusades Uprising: The Second Trilogy Page 69
