COLOSSUS
The Kurgan War - Book 2
By Richard Turner
©2015 by Richard Turner
Published 2015 by Richard Turner
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 1
The smell of smoke and fried electronic circuits floated in the room. The air filtration along with many other systems had ceased to function. Red emergency lighting bathed the bridge.
“Fleet Status?” asked Admiral Sheridan as he stared at the disabled tactical screen in his operations center. He held a medical dressing to his head to stop the bleeding from a deep cut on his scalp.
“Sir, what was left of the enemy fleet has jumped away,” reported Captain Killam, his operations officer. “Reports are starting to come in from the task force commanders. It looks like the Ark Royal took some damage along with the cruisers Azuma, Danton, and Garibaldi.” Killam paused for a moment to read the incoming information. “Our fighter losses are reported to be sixty-three with only seven of the crews recovered at this time.”
Sheridan closed his eyes for a moment. The losses would most likely be in the thousands when the final casualty list was tallied. He did not have the time to dwell on the dead. The admiral cleared his mind; there was still a lot to be done before victory could be declared. “Captain Killam, have the missile cruisers moved into position to begin planetary bombardment?”
“Yes, sir.” Killam passed the order. A minute later, he looked up from his console and said, “Sir, the carrier Saratoga has just reported that she has launched her first wave of fighter-bombers. They will be hitting the Kurgan command and control centers near the capital within the next ten minutes.”
Admiral Sheridan glanced down at his watch. He shook his head when he saw that it was shattered. He had been thrown into a computer workstation when a couple of Kurgan missiles penetrated his ship’s anti-missiles defenses and struck the engine room, crippling the vessel. “Commander Roy, how long until the first ground assault wave arrives?”
“Sir, the first wave will be jumping into orbit in fifteen minutes time,” reported Roy. “Sir, you need to transfer your flag. You cannot command the fleet from here.”
Admiral Robert Sheridan knew that his son, Michael, was in the first wave of soldiers about to retake Illum Prime from the Kurgan forces. It had been months since he had last seen his son. Like many parents in the fleet, he worried about the safety of his son. He hoped to see him, even for a few minutes, when the fighting died down.
“Sir?” prodded Roy.
“Yes, you are correct, Commander. Inform the shuttle bay to have my private craft ready to depart in the next ten minutes.” Admiral Sheridan turned to face Killam. “Malcolm, you will have to remain here and keep an eye on the fleet until I have established a new command center onboard the Saratoga.”
“Very good, sir,” replied Killam. “I’ll inform the Saratoga that you are coming.”
“Ok, Carmen, round up the staff and get them to the shuttle craft,” said the admiral.
“You heard the admiral, grab only what you need. Now get moving,” said Roy to the men and women who made up Admiral Sheridan’s personal staff.
Admiral Sheridan’s staff hurried to leave the command center.
Sheridan offered his hand to Killam. “I’ll see you in a little while, Malcolm.”
“Aye, sir,” replied Killam firmly shaking the admiral’s hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep everything in shipshape until you call for me.”
“I know you will.” Admiral Sheridan turned and left the room. The hallway was filled with wounded people making their way to the ship’s already crowded infirmary. Most looked like they had suffered burns when the engine room had been hit. He had never seen so many wounded and dying people before. He was used to visiting them in the fleet’s hospital ships but only after an engagement, not in the heat of battle. When he walked past a dead crewman lying facedown on the floor, sadness and guilt seeped into his heart. As the commander of the Sixth Fleet, it was his responsibility to look after the thousands of men and women under his command. Today, more than any other in months he felt the full weight of his duties weighing down on him. Sheridan stopped just outside of the shuttle bay to help a young crewman, horribly burnt and blind in both eyes, sitting alone waiting for help. “Is there no one helping you?” Admiral Sheridan asked.
Pain was etched on the crewman’s face as he shook his head.
“Come on, I’ll help you,” Sheridan said, helping the severely injured man to his feet.
Roy turned her head and saw what was happening. She grabbed the first person she saw and pointed him at the admiral. The petty officer ran over and took hold of the injured person.
“Sir, please, we must transfer your flag,” Roy said. “There is nothing we can do here. The crew of the Colossus will look after their casualties.”
Admiral Sheridan walked over to join his aide. He wearily asked, “Time until the ground force arrives?”
“Two minutes,” replied Roy.
It was out of his hands now. If General Denisov had planned it well, the invasion would be swift and decisive. However, everyone in the fleet knew that they were facing months of attritional warfare as the Kurgans fought to the last man.
Admiral Sheridan took his seat inside the shuttle. The door closed and the bay began to depressurize. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a picture of his son and his girlfriend, Tarina Pheto, standing arm in arm. The picture had been taken just over six months ago right after the liberation of Derra-5. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since then.
The doors beneath the shuttle craft opened out into space. The pilot brought the ship down below the Colossus. “Hang on back there,” announced the pilot. “There’s a lot of debris between us and the Saratoga. I’m going to have to thread my way through the wreckage.”
“Sir,” said Roy as she handed him a tablet.
Admiral Sheridan
took it and studied the picture on the screen. It was from the Saratoga’s command center. A second later, dozens of icons, quickly followed by hundreds more, appeared in orbit. The first wave of Marines had arrived.
“Good luck, Michael,” said Sheridan to himself. “God willing, I’ll see you shortly.”
Chapter 2
The noise inside the landing craft grew louder by the second as it passed through the planet’s atmosphere. To the one hundred Marines strapped to their chairs, it sounded like a ravenous banshee trying to claw its way inside.
Captain Michael Sheridan placed his mouth guard between his teeth and bit down. Once the landing craft departed the troop carrier, it had no artificial gravity. Not until it neared the planet’s surface did the gravity kick in again. The ship bobbed and weaved through the air to avoid a barrage of enemy missiles shot up from the planet’s surface. The experience of a drop was always worse than any amusement ride he had ever been on. He had bitten his tongue one too many times in the past during training and had vowed never to do it again. The only thought going through his mind was that he was flying into battle onboard a ship that had been made by the lowest bidder, who had never once seen combat. With the armed forces rapidly enlarging to fight the war, shortcuts had been taken everywhere. He silently prayed that his landing craft did not crash on landing.
“One minute to LZ Tripoli,” announced the ship’s pilot over the intercom.
Sheridan felt his heart begin to race. He had never actually been part of an invasion task force before. The only thing going in his favor was that Master Sergeant Alan Cole was still with him and they had been able to train with their company of Marines for over two months before they went into combat.
The air blowers in the back of the landing craft kicked on. Hot air blasted down on the Marines turning up the temperature inside the cramped space to over thirty-five Celsius, the exact same as on the surface of Illum Prime.
“Thirty seconds,” a voice blared over the speakers.
A young Marine sitting across from Sheridan turned green and threw up all over himself. The nauseating smell in the packed confines of the craft was noxious. A couple more Marines joined in and were sick as well.
“Knock it off,” bellowed Master Sergeant Cole. “The next person who gets sick will get a boot up the arse.”
Sheridan snickered. Cole was his close advisor and friend. He never threatened anyone; he always said what he meant.
Another warning sounded. “Ten seconds to the LZ.”
The restraints holding the Marines in place retracted.
Sheridan grabbed his lightweight M5A2 assault rifle and stood up. A sturdy weapon, it fired 4.22mm caseless ammunition at a rate of six hundred rounds per minute. It also had a grenade launcher capable of reaching out to three hundred meters built into the forestock. Laser and IR sights helped ensure accuracy in battle. Sheridan turned on his feet and looked at the closed back doors of the craft in anticipation of landing.
“On your feet, Marines!” yelled Cole.
As one, the one hundred fighters stood.
All of a sudden, the craft pitched to one side sending many of the Marines flying to the floor. Sheridan had to grab hold of his seat to remain standing.
A second later, the landing craft’s thrusters kicked in, rapidly slowing the descent of the ship. Inside the back, it felt as if they had come to a sudden, jarring halt. Sheridan felt his head snap back. He was happy that he was still wearing his mouth guard.
As the back doors dropped down, dust and sand thrown up by the landing craft’s engines swirled up inside the back of the craft making it difficult to see.
Sheridan was the first man on the ramp. He could see the desert floor racing up to meet the ship. He spat out his mouth guard and keyed his radio mic. “All right, people, this is where we get off. With me, let’s go.”
The instant the landing craft touched down, Sheridan jumped down and sprinted to the front of the ship. It was near impossible to see in the swirling clouds of sand thrown up by the dozens of other landing craft dropping off their Marines in the LZ. He dropped to one knee and waited for Cole and the rest of his headquarters team to join him. Although he could not see them, Sheridan’s three rifle platoons were spreading out on the ground. As per his orders, the Marines spread out like a triangle on the ground with one platoon in the lead with the other two in support. He had expected to meet some enemy resistance. Instead, the LZ was quiet and empty.
With a loud roar from its engine, the landing craft leaped back up into the air. Joined by the remainder of the ships, it made its way back up into space.
Sheridan stood up and looked around. Right away he saw why his ship had been thrown to one side just before it landed. Off to his right were the burning remains of a landing craft that had slammed into the ground. Thick, black smoke curled up into the air. Sheridan doubted that anyone had survived the crash.
Their pre-mission brief had told them to expect light resistance at their LZ. The bulk of the Kurgan forces were entrenched near the capital and were about to be hit by three mechanized divisions. Sheridan’s regiment had been assigned the mission of protecting the invasion force’s flank. Therefore, the chances of bumping into any significant resistance were deemed to be negligible.
A voice spoke in his headset. “Sword-One, this is Sword-Six, begin your advance.”
“Rodger, beginning our advance to the objective,” replied Sheridan. He recognized the voice of Sword-Six as that of Major Niru, the battalion’s executive officer. That could only mean that the burning wreckage was the unit’s commanding officer’s craft.
Sheridan changed frequencies so he could talk to his platoon leaders. “All stations, this is Sword-One, begin your advance. Scout out and keep one hundred meters between platoons.”
Cole walked over beside Sheridan. “Bloody hot here, ain’t it, sir.”
“Wait for the sun to go down,” replied Sheridan. “It’ll drop to below freezing. I bet you’ll miss the heat then.”
“Do you want Corporal Roberts up front?”
Sheridan turned his head and saw Roberts and his dog, Tammy, standing off to one side.
“No. I’d rather have them check out things on our open right flank as we advance.”
Cole walked over and passed on Sheridan’s orders. Roberts patted Tammy, who eagerly barked her response. Together they jogged away. With her keen sense of smell, Tammy had saved Sheridan and his people on more than one occasion.
Sheridan and Cole walked behind the lead platoon. Their final company objective was a small, rocky hill on the outskirts of an abandoned mining camp. First they had to secure New Rochester, a small farming community that had once been home to more than one hundred settlers. Within minutes both men were drenched. Their desert camouflaged uniforms stuck like a second skin to their perspiration soaked bodies.
“You know, you would think that someone could invent lighter equipment,” groused Cole. “When you add up what we’re wearing it weighs a bloody ton. Each one of us has a helmet, body armor, an assault rifle, ammunition, and a small pack filled with rations, medical supplies, and water. It’s a good thing we don’t have to run with this stuff on.”
“Master Sergeant, I am surprised. I’ve never heard you bitch like this before,” said Sheridan. “What gives?”
“I just don’t like the heat. I grew up in Seaton on the English coast. I prefer things a bit cooler and damper.”
“It’ll be cold soon enough.” Sheridan did not want to admit it, but he found the heat stifling as well.
A drone flew above them, keeping watch. Operated by a member of the headquarters, the UAV kept silent watch over the company as it advanced. It fed real-time information down onto a screen projected on the controller’s combat glasses.
The farming complex stood quiet. It looked abandoned. Garbage picked up by the wind moved across the dusty ground. A couple of wild dogs snarled and barked at the Marines before deciding to turn and run off into the desert. The lead p
latoon broke down into search teams and checked each building for survivors. Sheridan and Cole moved up to the edge of the community and watched. As expected, there was not a soul to be found. From his experiences on Derra-5, Sheridan knew that the Kurgans would have taken the young people and families that chose to leave to a Kurgan planet, to be re-educated and indoctrinated into the Kurgan religion. The remainder would have been forced out into the desert to fend for themselves. He doubted anyone but the hardiest of souls could have survived for that long out in the harsh, desolate lands of Illum Prime.
Sheridan saw his lead platoon leader, Second Lieutenant Cardoso, stop to check out something posted on the side of a building. He and Cole walked over and joined the young officer. Cardoso was looking at a poster showing a happy-looking young human couple with their children standing together in a field of wheat. Fluttering above them was the crimson flag of the Kurgan Empire.
The sign read: Together as one. Peace and prosperity can be yours.
“What do you think of the poster?” Sheridan asked Cardoso.
“I doubt it would get me to join their side, sir,” replied Cardoso.
“You don’t have children, sir,” said Cole “I bet many of the people here chose to leave with their children.”
“But the children would be brought up as Kurgans.”
Colossus (The Kurgan War Book 2) Page 1
