Ghost Soldiers

by Michael G. Thomas

  "Done," said Five-Seven.

  It was impossible to see the device in action, yet every living thing on the vessel felt the electromagnetic pulse sweep through the vessel like a sonic boom. As the wave passed over the systems, it knocked them out, one by one. Everything cut from power systems, to weapons, engines, gravity, and life-support. The purge occurred just as the last of the turrets struck the structure of the ship. The resulting combination of shut down systems and gunfire sent shudders and vibrations throughout the vessel.

  Like many of the fail-safes, the overload protection for the capacitors was mandatory. Rather than suffering a fatal overload, they were designed to cast out the energy into space. It was the only way to save the ship from a cataclysmic build-up that would be powerful enough to split the ship in two. Blue sparks flashed around the outer hull as one of the forward gun battery's capacitors vented and then shutdown, just before it could unleash another volley.

  "Watch out!"

  This time Khan’s voice was unamplified, yet spread across this part of the ship with ease. Some of the flashes of energy rippled through the interior, setting off a series of chain reactions that blasted computers and electrocuted more than a dozen personnel. Khan felt a shudder through his armour, but the current did little more than give him a jolt as it passed by. All of the internal systems in his armour were offline, either from the pulse of the purge system, or from the additional electrical disruption of the capacitor overload.

  Typical.

  Khan hit the mechanical release, and the front of his armoured helmet hissed open. Unlike the close-fitting PDS armour of the Marines, the JAS armour was bulky and rather crude in its appearance. The helmet had the look of a medieval jousting helm, but sunken low into the torso. There was nothing but darkness on the ship, not even the emergency systems coming back online.

  "What happened?"

  A Thegn called out in the darkness, "The purge wiped our control system, but the build-up from the main guns overloaded the master control system. We will need to reinstall our command system from the solid-state backups."

  Khan muttered.

  "I know that. Why is nothing back on, though? The secondary backup systems are designed to operate without assistance from the computer."

  On cue, a handful of the dull red emergency lights flickered on, and then a single engineering display activated. It took time for the system to warm up, and as it did so, the light from the display became brighter until it was the single most powerful light source on the deck.

  "There, that's better."

  Gravity remained off, along with all the other computer-controlled systems. Five-Seven and two of his Thegn officers pulled themselves to the unit and crowded around the display. They seemed to take to the zero gravity with ease, like birds to flight, much to Khan's annoyance. He moved much more slowly, not before crashing into two seats and breaking a console.

  "Well, what's going on?"

  Five-Seven shook his head.

  "We were too late. The aft turrets must have damaged the coolant system on the phased fusion plant."

  Captain Delatorre was now with them, and at the same time a number of additional systems started up in their safe, un-networked state.

  "If the coolant is gone, won't the fusion plant be a problem?"

  The Thegn engineering officer nodded and spoke into the intercom. A moment later he turned back to them.

  "The system is already overloaded. Our crew are sealing the aft compartments and moving back through the ship. The powerplant is going to go critical."

  Five-Seven, Captain Delatorre, and Khan said the same thing simultaneously.

  "When?"

  A few movements of the Thegn's hands changed the display to a status indicator. It provided a simple overview of the ship's basic statistics. Everything was there, from the internal gravity to air quality, temperature, residual power, and radiation. The Thegn pointed to the bar that was increasing in strength at the top.

  "Less than an hour, and when it goes, the blast will destroy the ship."

  Khan shook his head.

  "Not if we dump the core."

  Five-Seven and the Captain both stared at him.

  "Dump the core!"

  The Captain’s voice implied incredulity.

  "Without the core we have no way of powering the ship for more than a few days, or day, perhaps less. No core, no interstellar drive."

  "Less," said Five-Seven, "The blast from the capacitor overload wiped out most of our stored energy. We have fifteen hours, sixteen at the most. Every minute it runs gives us more air, and more time."

  * * *

  The strength of his opponent was incredible. Spartan could see his own arm distorting under the pressure, yet still he refused to back down. To his left a Grunt spun about and began screaming as though in the middle of some terrifying nightmare. It lifted it hands to its face and then disappeared off inside the gloom of the ship, running like a malfunctioning robot.

  What's going on?

  Spartan activated his networked communication system and then spotted more shapes off into the distance. At first he felt relaxed, and then realised they were not more Grunts, but something else. The imagery provided by the Grunt's own sensors was flawed, and he found himself cursing his reliance on technology rather than his own eyes.

  "All squads converge on my signal! We're being surrounded. If it moves, shoot it!"

  He then altered the channel to communicate with those on the ship. Bizarrely, he was actually just speaking with them from one part of the ship to the other, but to him and his current reality, he was aboard the derelict. The massive creature that had him pinned began to shift. Shapes detached from its body and threw themselves at the Grunts. He kicked out hard and fell to the ground, finally released from the vice-like grip of his tormentor.

  "Khan. The operation has failed. Unknown enemy..."

  More of the small shapes came into view. Four stopped and turned to face him. A gentle glow from where their faces should be, marked out a single eye on each of them. Then they began to move.

  I don't think so.

  Spartan dropped down to one knee and squeezed the trigger. The carbine kicked back, once, twice, three times, and then stopped. Steam vented from the sides before he realised the coolant unit built into the power cell had breached its capacity. Without looking down, he released the cylinder, pulled a second one from the harness on his armour, and clipped it back into the unit. The unit hissed until followed by a green indicator.

  Better.

  He lifted the muzzle to find the two remaining things in front of him. The first shot blasted a hole in its face, and the shape quickly coalesced into a mechanical warrior, not dissimilar to himself. Then the second leapt at him, knocking both to the ground. Pinned to the floor, Spartan swung his remaining free arm and grabbed at his foe. He grunted as he struck the creature twice with his carbine, like a wild man swinging a club.

  ...cannot see it.

  "Khan, send the recall!"

  The audio crackled, and his vision blurred. A few messages came back, but it was hard to tell exactly what was happening. Spartan's vision vanished, only to return for a brief moment. He could see the large enemy creature was back, and it had grabbed him once again. This time it pulled him in close as though examining him with interest. Control of his right arm went, returning for a moment, and then in front of him was the monster’s arm.

  Oh...great!

  Even that short moment of time had given his opponent the edge, and it used the opportunity with speed and savagery. Spartan could do nothing as it snapped his left arm at the elbow and struck him in the chest with the back of its limb. The only time the illusion of reality was broken was when he felt himself flying through the air. His chest should have been numbed with the strike, but it did little more than to register a heavy impact.

  Here it comes.

  Spartan braced his body for impact, but nothing happened. He watched the shape of his enemy, while Thegn
s staggered about in brutal close quarter combat. They used their firearms where possible, but once too close, or when grabbed by the enemy, they resorted to the same techniques that had been used for millennia; punches, kicks, locks, and breaks, and every time they failed. His vision cut again to nothing but stillness. His forward view flickered intermittently, and then he could feel that he had lost control of his legs.

  Damn it, the suit must be dead.

  Spartan leaned to the right and found another Grunt knocked to its back with a blurred shape on top of it. A Grunt struck it in the side. Spartan twisted his limbs to grab his remaining weapon, his sidearm. It wasn't easy, but he managed to get the shape in his sight by partially breaking his own forearm.

  Now!

  Spartan held down the trigger and unleashed a long burst from the small weapon. At this range the hardened slugs struck both the enemy and the Grunt. Flashes marked the impacts, and he almost yelled as the enemy staggered backwards.

  Yes!

  His excitement was short lived because his vision vanished before he could see what had happened. Everything vanished, from sound and vision, to touch and even the communications system. His body felt cold and lifeless.

  No, not now.

  He shook his head, shouted, and then felt something grabbing him. His voice was strange, louder, and with an obvious echo, as though he was in a small room or chamber. His instinct was to fight, so he punched and kicked. The difference in controlling the machine to his muscles was a stark one. Spartan had always been strong, but in the years since the war, he'd worked hard on improving his strength and fitness. Few in the Marine Corps could match him now, and certainly not in the arena of violent close combat. His feet kicked against air as he drifted out into zero gravity.

  "Open your visor," said somebody nearby.

  Spartan shook his head again, trying to get his bearings. His gut instinct was to defend himself. Sounds could be copied, as could the electronic information travelling between him and his suit. He struck out again, but once more hit nothing but air.

  "It's over, Spartan. The battle is over."

  As the adrenalin began to subside, and he listened more carefully, he could recognise the sound of Lieutenant Armstrong. He'd seen the man killed on the ship, and it took a moment for the wrench between simulation and reality to sink in. He tried to turn around, but he was still floating.

  You're back on Euryale. You have to be.

  Spartan carefully deactivated the faceplate while lifting his arms up, and his hands ready to fight. He expected to see the interior of the ship, but as the visor moved open, he immediately felt cool air rushing in and darkness. Instinctively, he kept his hands ready, looking for signs of danger. Everything around him was a mixture of dark reds and blacks, and the shapes of people holding on to grab handles or the cylinders from which they'd all been waiting inside. Already he could see he was back on the ship, and his pulse slowed a little.

  "What happened? Did we lose contact with the suits?"

  Lieutenant Armstrong helped Spartan to the ground where he then activated his boots. They clamped reassuringly to the floor plate. Internal systems were already reactivating in his suit, though there was no data connection with the ship. Instead, each of the M-3 Armour suits connected to the next, creating an ad-hoc network.

  "Over half of us were already back here when the connection was lost," said the Lieutenant.

  Spartan moved closer to the man and looked at his dark silhouette.

  "And me?"

  "Spartan. Contact with you and the other Grunts was severed in the middle of combat."

  "The enemy?"

  Lieutenant Armstrong shook his head.

  "No, Sir. The creature was winning; that much is certain. But it was something that happened back here, on this ship. Connection was cut with no warning."

  The man sighed.

  "That's why our warriors are still out there...defenceless."

  Spartan considered what he was hearing.

  "No, not defenceless. The Grunts are programmed to follow their final orders, up to a certain point. If they were in combat, then they will continue until the mission is successful, or they are destroyed."

  A pair of marines helped move the shaking body of a wounded comrade. Spartan recognised him immediately. It was the young Private Barclay, barely twenty years of age. He could see no physical trauma, yet she muttered and choked as if something had scared her half to death. Sergeant Tyler moved in from above, much to Spartan's surprise. He moved with relative ease in the zero gravity environment.

  "Something got inside the connection to Barclay's Grunt. I don't know how it happened, but that thing on the derelict; well, it spoke directly to her, like a devil in her brain."

  He shook his head.

  "Frankly, I'm amazed she's still conscious."

  The wall-mounted speaker crackled to life.

  "This is Khan. What's happening down there?"

  Spartan took four steps to the intercom unit and keyed the button.

  "Khan, I lost contact with the derelict. What's happened?"

  Private Barclay began screaming again, and as Spartan looked back, he spotted a junior officer pushing a needle into her arm. The effect was almost instantaneous, and the unfortunate marine quietened down.

  "Spartan."

  Khan almost sounded relieved saying his friend's name.

  "We've got problems, big problems. Whatever you found out there, it managed to get into our systems, took control of the computers, and turned our weapons on us. The core is damaged and the cooling system out of action."

  Khan took a breath before finishing.

  "The core is going to go critical. We will have to dump it in the next hour, and that's going to leave us out here, stranded. Half of the decks are reporting casualties, and multiple door and bulkhead systems have locked down. Most of the systems are not active, and that means a lot of our crew are missing."

  Spartan could hear the frustration in Khan's voice.

  "Captain Delatorre has sent a distress signal to the Admiral Jarvis Naval Station, but they are over two weeks away. Five-Seven is taking us away from the derelict as fast as his engineers can manage, but we won't get far before we lose power."

  The light flickered one last time and then sprung back into life. Artificial gravity returned, and it took a few moments for Spartan's eyes to adjust.

  "Understood, Khan. Restore what you can. I will be there shortly. I'll get my marines to search the ship for survivors. They are best equipped for the job."

  With the operations level now fully lit, he could see the grim expression on the faces of the men and women he'd led to the derelict. At least a dozen were been taken away to the sickbay, and he could only assume it was for the same reason as Private Barclay.

  It found its way into their encrypted data connections. How is that even possible?

  He tapped the button on the intercom again.

  "Khan, I'm coming to you. Make sure Captain Delatorre is ready for me."

  Lieutenant Armstrong and Sergeant Tyler turned to face the arrival of more marines. These were the seventeen men and women of 3rd Platoon, and were fully armoured and equipped for battle. At the front was Lieutenant Anne Lee; the oldest of the junior officers, in her late thirties, and sporting short cut white hair. She was short compared to most of the marines, but she moved with certainty, much like Sergeant Tyler. Her hand came up quickly as she saluted Spartan.

  "Major. 3rd Platoon is ready."

  "Good," he replied. "You're a little light on numbers, aren't you?"

  The Lieutenant did not look amused.

  "We make up for it in skill at arms...Sir!"

  Khan laughed at her answer, but it wasn't a dismissive laugh. He knew their reputation, and more important, they were led by Lieutenant Anne Lee, a real firebrand. The marines looked fresh, which was unsurprising to him. Both 1st and 2nd Platoons had taken a mental beating in the fighting on board the derelict, with some still being helped out of
their cylinders.

  "Lieutenant Lee, I need you to send fireteams throughout the ship. Find our crew and call them in. I need the ship searched and secure."

  "Sir."

  With that, the officer was gone, and in her place came Lieutenant Kipling of 2nd Platoon.

  "Sir, I don't understand what happened. We were at the derelict’s power unit when..."

  Spartan nodded.

  "I know; the connection was severed. What did you find down there?"

  The man shook his head.

  "Not much, just bodies. We did send back footage, but the place is a mess."

  Spartan licked his lips.

  "Very well. Get to it. We have a lot of missing and injured personnel throughout the ship."

  * * *

  Captain Delatorre and Khan were in the middle of a heated argument when Spartan arrived. He looked at the computer units and control systems throughout the deck and noted the damage, presumably from the ship-to-ship battle. He'd not been present during the short exchange, but his Grunt armour had notified him of the incoming fire. Multiple computer systems were damaged, and there were signs of impact damage and fire on one of the walls. Off to the left was the observation point, the spherical, fully transparent part of the ship.

  Looks like they had fun of their own while I was gone.

  The mainscreen was back on and showing the distant view of the derelict. Kanjana was there as usual, inside the spherical section that gave her such a view of space. She was busy speaking with the Thegn officers. Upon his entrance she looked at him, and her expression softened.

  "Spartan, finally. I thought you'd fallen asleep somewhere."

  Her voice was thickly accented and unusual to hear, though her slender, almost white form already marked her out as Anicinàbe. She moved from the sphere and up the steps to join them. Her movement was subtle, yet quick, and barely noticeable to the others who were far too busy with their own problems to notice Spartan's arrival. Only when he moved into view with Khan did the argument stop.