Machine Gods (Star Crusades Nexus, Book 2)

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Nice shooting!” he shouted, grabbing the discarded weapons and ducked back inside the entrance to the tower. The jungle started to shake again, and this time he had time to raise his own weapon. A rifle emerged first; it was an L48, the same type that he and Thai Qiu-Li were using.

  “Hold your fire!” he shouted, hoping his friend could hear.

  Luckily, there was no gunfire, and instead of a machine, four marines appeared. Two were men in their twenties, both covered in grime, and looking about warily. Next to them moved the great bulk of two Jötnar.

  “Wictred, Hunn? You made it, huh?” he exclaimed in surprise.

  At the same time, dozens of the machines emerged from the undergrowth and rushed them. All five of them turned their guns on the enemy while Thai Qiu-Li poured down fire from above.

  “Good work, Jack!” shouted Wictred. “You’ve moved us into another dead end!”

  The two Jötnar roared with laughter, holding down their triggers with obvious glee. Jack shook his head as he added his own gunfire to theirs.

  There’s nothing happier than a Jötnar warrior in the middle of a battle!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The last real battle fought by the Confederate Marine Corps was in 338CC on the capital world of Terra Nova. In the final desperate action by Admiral Jarvis, she sent the heavy infantry, Vanguards and Jötnar into a direct assault at the Palace and engaged traitor forces loyal to the Echidna Union. The battle degenerated into a close quarter bloodbath until the heroes of the Marine Corps, including Major Daniels, Sergeant Lovett, Lieutenant Spartan, and the Jötnar were able to smash the Echidna Union once and for all. The casualties were massive on both sides, but it did bring the Uprising to a swift end. The Alliance Marine Corps would be the successor to its illustrious predecessor.

  Great Battles of the Marine Corps

  The new uniform for Teresa was far from ideal. Gone were the fatigues she was used to, and instead the black trousers and loose jackets that were now standard. The belts were worn around the waist but over the jacket to hold it in. At first, she was less than impressed with what appeared to be a scruffy alternative. Gun, on the other hand, had been forced to make do with what he had. His only concession to the Corps was the beret he wore jovially on his head. Luckily, the Jötnar tended to wear militaristic clothing and armor even as civilians, and he reminded her of exactly what the old Jötnar Battalion head looked like in the War. She’d had only a few minutes in her new quarters before rushing to the training hall towards the stern of ANS Savage. Gun marched noisily beside her as they moved through the new smelling warship.

  “She’s fresh,” Gun said with little real interest.

  Teresa said nothing and concentrated on making her way to her destination. Gun didn’t care one way or the other about the ship. It meant little to him whether it was an old ship covered in rust, or one directly from the shipyards. All that mattered was what it had done and what it would do. The fact that it was new meant it had only potential to its name, nothing more. He watched Teresa as they moved and nodded slowly to himself, well aware she was thinking of just one thing.

  “You’re worried about Spartan, aren’t you?”

  Teresa kept moving and tried to avoid his eye contact. It wasn’t a subject she really felt like sharing, particularly with somebody like Gun. He had definitely changed in the last years, but he could still be very gruff and avoided most of the niceties of conversation. When they’d first met, he’d know only a few basic words and most of those were to do with weapons, violence, and battle. Over the years, he’d become more and more articulate and was now able to hold complex and detailed conversations. There was nobody outside of her own blood that knew her as well as he did.

  “It just doesn’t feel right,” she said finally, almost blurting out the words. “It wasn’t long ago that we were both planning APS operations. Now the company is being stripped, our people are being relocated, and we’re standing on a brand new Navy ship with hundreds of marines waiting for us.”

  They moved on a few more steps before she spoke again.

  “None of this feels real to me, not one bit, Gun.”

  He nodded, thinking he understood what she meant.

  “You mean rejoining the Corps while Spartan is missing?”

  Teresa immediately felt guilty as he explained it in detail.

  “APS is dead, nothing you can do about that. What can you do to help find Spartan? He is somewhere, probably causing trouble, and having a good fight. This expedition is a good step, and it will mean you are doing something to help. You have three children who need you as well. Spartan would want you to show them strength and courage. We will find him, don’t worry. We will not stop until he is back. Understood?”

  Teresa looked at Gun with his oddly shaped body and great size. It was strange to think that back on Prometheus he and his kind had been the jailers of the place. Although it hadn’t been by any choice of theirs, she had seen many of her friends and comrades die at their hands before they gained their freedom and independence. Now all she saw was a friend. She took a along breath and rounded the final corner to their destination.

  “So, our new battalion. From what I hear, they are as green as they come.”

  Gun laughed.

  “Let me guess, you want to ship them into shape?”

  Teresa gave a short, grim smile.

  “Commander, when I am finished with them, they’ll put the fear of God into every other marine in this expedition.”

  Gun nodded happily, glad that for at least a moment he had the old Teresa back, for however fleeting a moment it might be.

  * * *

  The T’Kari Raiders moved about the bridge of the Raider ship as they continued to take control of the vessel. At least, that was how it appeared to Spartan. He kept a close eye on them and their weapons, as well as what he could see outside.

  “So what’s the plan?” asked James Lovett.

  Spartan and Khan were still on their feet; the rest of their depleted team sat on the floor to the side of the room. Each maintained a careful eye on their surroundings as they contemplated what to do next.

  “That depends on a lot of things,” answered Spartan while watching the T’Kari he was sure was the leader of the group.

  “Such as?” asked Lovett.

  “Well, for starters, where the hell are we, and whose ships are those?” snapped back Khan.

  He pointed at the myriad of dots on in space. They all looked out through what was presumably the artificial screen, trying to identify them. Most were no more than dots, but a handful close enough they could be made out. The nearest of them all was brightly colored and thickly ribbed along its length. The rear was bulbous and fitted with multiple engines. Studded shapes ran along the top and side at regular intervals. The front looked like a crater or the open end of a pipe that disappeared into the dark interior.

  “I’ve never seen a ship like that before,” James Lovett said.

  “Me either. Looks like an assault ship of some kind.”

  They continued watching as dozens more of the same ship design moved into position around the first. From the gaping fronts of the ships emerged formations of smaller craft. Spartan nodded at the emerging craft, as the ship seemed to match his suggestion.

  “Fighters?” asked Khan.

  Spartan shrugged.

  “Who knows? Could be fighters or maybe transports. Either way, they aren’t ours. I’m counting at least fifteen of those ships. How big are they?”

  Spartan and Khan both watched with interest. Without a known vessel nearby, it was impossible to gauge the actual size of the vessels. Spartan concentrated his attention on the small craft and spotted three windows running along the front of each of the wedge shapes.

  “Okay, assuming the small craft are roughly the same size as Thunderbolts, I’d say those ships have to be bigger than cruisers.”

  Khan nodded in agreement, but before he could speak, a familiar shape moved alongside the othe
r vessels. This one looked very similar to the ships that had tried to seize control of the New Charon system, prior to the T’Kari breaking down the Spacebridge the enemy had used. It was a similar size to an Alliance cruiser but wider and shaped like a prehistoric fish from Earth. Thick metal plates ran across its hull in between the thick ribs that were very similar to those of the larger carrier type vessels. Now that they were close, Spartan could see that the carrier vessels were almost fifty percent larger than the ships that had blasted their way into New Charon.

  “Spartan!” Lovett called out.

  He turned his head and spotted two of the T’Kari approaching. Both had their weapons slung on their shoulders, much like a marine would. Even so, Spartan lowered his hand to his own weapons, just in case. Unexpectedly, a sound came from the leader of the Raiders. At least, they assumed he was the leader.

  “This is the harvesting fleet of the Masters,” he said through his translator.

  Lovett stood up angrily and looked to Spartan.

  “So they could understand us all along?”

  Spartan ignored him and instead took a step closer to the Raider.

  “Who are you, and what the hell is going on here?” he demanded.

  Khan moved to his right while the other five marines lifted their rifles to their hips. It wasn’t a direct threat of violence, but it made their intentions perfectly clear. Only Porter remained on the ground. Even so, he was easily able to operate his rifle and joined in with his comrades. The T’Kari bowed slightly and beckoned for the other T’Kari to approach. They moved toward him, forming up in a neat line. They wore the damaged and worn armor they’d first seen upon arriving on the Raider ship. The leader tapped a button, and the helmet opened up to reveal a scarred T’Kari face.

  “I am Tuke, I guide our surviving people in captivity,” he said through the translator.

  Porter tried to lift himself up, but it required the assistance of the others to help him to his feet. Spartan took a step closer to Tuke.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He looked at Spartan and then to his comrades before continuing.

  “We are T’Kari slaves. We were captured by the Enemy, and they forced us to fight.”

  “How many of you are there?” asked Khan suspiciously.

  “We have eight ships and three hundred and twelve T’Kari.”

  Khan looked to Spartan.

  “Well, what now?”

  Spartan looked at him and appeared confused. He walked closer to the large window and out to the ships. He could see more of the T’Kari ships and recalled the captured ship that had been seized by Captain Thomas of ANS Devastation. He looked back to Tuke.

  “What were you doing when we found you?”

  He inhaled from his respirator before replying; his high-pitched voice drowned out by the suit’s speaker system.

  “The Masters are suspicious. They believe your people are interfering with the T’Kari. We have been collecting information on your people and your ships.”

  Yeah, that sounds more like it, thought Spartan.

  “For what reason?”

  Tuke looked to Khan and then back to Spartan.

  “To help them prepare for the cull of your species.”

  Khan, Spartan, and his six comrades looked at each other with a mixture of surprise and horror at his words. The idea of war was one thing, but something as primitive as a cull made them seem more like cattle than people. Spartan pointed to Tuke.

  “You’re saying these Masters are getting ready to attack us? To kill our people?”

  He shook his head.

  “No, they are already prepared for the cull. We have been sent ahead of the fleet to halt our kin before they can close the Rifts.”

  “You serve them willingly?” called out Isamu bitterly.

  Tuke looked directly at the young APS operative.

  The Enemy have our families onboard their factory ships. If we refuse, they will be processed. Either we do this or they will take more and do the same with them.”

  He looked down, shame clearly on his face.

  “We have no choice but to obey them, but we do as little as we can. It isn’t much, but it will take them longer.”

  Spartan stepped in front of him, reaching out with his hand. He placed it on his pale flesh, lifting his face to look directly into his.

  “Not true, until today you had no choice, but now things have changed. Now tell me about these Masters? Who are they? What do they want, and lastly...”

  Khan stepped up to the pair of them and grinned.

  “Yeah,” he started, “where do they live?”

  The T’Kari pressed a button on his arm, and a three-dimensional model appeared. It showed what looked like a great spoked wheel that rotated around a glowing central hub.

  “We are here,” he said, pointing to one of the glowing shapes on the outside of the wheel. He then pointed to another shape on the outside of the wheel.

  “The home of the Enemy is here. All are connected at this point,” he explained while pointing to the middle of the wheel.

  “What is that?” asked Spartan.

  “Helios,” replied the T’Kari, this time without the translator. Though alien, Spartan was convinced he could detect almost reverence in his voice. It was just a word though and hadn’t answered Spartan’s question.

  “Helios?”

  “It is the center. The Enemy is finding a way to reach it again since his banishment.”

  “That is what this fleet is for?” asked Khan.

  Tuke shook his head.

  “Yes, the Enemy is looking to find a way back to Helios and the Network.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then the great cull will begin, and he will have his revenge.”

  * * *

  The lines of fresh marine recruits did nothing to dispel the gossip Teresa had heard about this Marine unit. She might have been promoted and reinstated into the Corps she’d left many years before, but this group made her almost feel it had been a punishment detail. There were grumbles and murmurs as the two moved into the training hall. Gun sniffed as they moved inside.

  “Smells like paint, no sweat,” he said disappointedly.

  Teresa knew full well that it wasn’t the sweat. It was the fact that this place hadn’t been used properly. He was a strong proponent of sweating in training rather than bleeding in combat. Though she recalled he seemed to like the bleeding part perhaps a little too much.

  Here we go again, she thought ruefully.

  Teresa examined the walls and noticed they were actually inside the landing bay itself. Additional security walls must have been fitted or lowered for use in training. It was a useful use of the limited space in the cruiser, and a timely reminder of how things had changed. Teresa had spent most of her time aboard Marine Corps amphibious transports like Santa Maria. They’d been civilian ships with heavy modifications for carrying a thousand marines, all of their equipment, shuttles, and even a large training space for them to prepare for combat. Both she and Spartan had spent the best part of a year onboard one as they were trained into marines, prior to the fighting on the Titan Naval Station. A young Captain saluted smartly as she approached the lead group.

  “Sir, Captain Michael Llewellyn at your service.”

  Teresa looked at him carefully. The man was slightly shorter than her, and she was no giant. He was balding and seemed to have a little too much fat around his waist for a marine of his rank. His pale face was podgy, and he appeared to be sweating even though he was doing nothing more than standing still. Teresa saluted. She’d read the notes on the unit on their way over, and it was less than inspired reading. The entire command unit for the Battalion had been involved some kind of fraudulent activity and were up on a court martial. Fresh officers were being drafted in as quickly as possible, but the eight hundred marines, spread over the two crusader class ships, ANS Savage and ANS Sentry, were considered the runt of the Corps. She wondered why they were eve
n being sent on the operation, when surely they need dependable units for such a critical mission.

  “Captain. Let me introduce Commander Gun, leader of the Jötnar.”

  Gun cleared his throat.

  “Captain, I am assuming command of the Battalion,” he said firmly.

  The man appeared visibly shaken at both the sight of Gun and also the unexpected news that a Jötnar had been given the authority to operate in such a way. He looked back at Teresa, seeking clarification.

  “That’s correct. As a former member of the Corps, Commander Gun has been granted provisional command of the Battalion until a more permanent replacement has been found.”

  She then turned and faced the four assembled companies in the training hall. Each of them wore the new style of black uniforms, along with their dark berets on their heads. There was something about the new style and color that left her feeling uneasy. It wasn’t the Corps that she had known.

  “Marines, my name is Major Morato, and I have been sent here on orders from High Command to whip you into shape. The Commander and I have seen the reports on your previous officers and also of your individual squad performances.”

  She nodded to Gun, who instead of nodding in agreement, decided to join in.

  “I have read the reports, and I am not impressed, not at all. I’ve fought with Army, militia, Marine and Jötnar units, and this one inspires me the least!”

  He walked out in front of them all and gave each of the four companies a long stare.

  “The Marine Corps has a long and illustrious reputation in the Alliance, and the Confederacy before it. I saw what your forbears did on a dozen worlds, and they were mighty.”