Machine Gods (Star Crusades Nexus, Book 2)

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Bring them down!” she ordered in a firm, yet calm tone.

  The ship’s XO was more concerned with the massive energy build up on the station. He heard the words from the Captain though, and while still looking at the screen, pulled the nearest command intercom from a support bulkhead. Of all of the officers in the CIC, he was the grimmest. His face was pockmarked and rough to look at, and he walked with a slight limp from an injury sustained years before his military service. None of that had stopped him from an exemplary career as a combat officer in the Navy. He cleared his voice and called out over the public address system to the crew.

  “Incoming weapons fire, brace, brace, brace!”

  Admiral Anderson looked to his side where General Daniels was watching the attack unfold before him. Until nearer to the enemy, there was absolutely nothing for him to do but check on the status of his three battalions, and make sure they were ready for action. He looked on helplessly as he waited for something, anything to do.

  “Here it comes!” cried the tactical officer.

  On the mainscreen, a great red line appeared, running directly from the station and toward the Alliance warship. It was thick, easily ten meters wide, and reflected from the odd red particles that littered the region of space near the Rift entrance. At first nothing happened, then came the alarms, and shortly after that the sparks and fires. Just a second after this, the entire ship shuddered as if it had just struck a massive barrier.

  “Captain, we have breaches on all levels!” cried Lieutenant Powalk.

  “Emergency seals are active, and holding!” added the chief engineer.

  Before anybody could respond, the CIC flashed yellow, and a dozen computer units exploded directly in front of their users. Admiral Anderson was blasted to the wall with such ferocity that he was unconscious before he even hit the floor of the large open room. More systems exploded in a spectacular fashion, and the XO as well as Commander D'Vani, were also struck down.

  “Admiral, missiles are locked on. Do I have permission to…” said an unfamiliar voice, but it was nothing but a dull murmur to him now.

  “Admiral?”

  His view went black and quiet as more weapons fire continued to slam into the armor of ANS Victory. It was a testament to her backup systems, defensive turrets, and multi-layered armor that not a single deck had yet been breached for longer than the internal seals could operate. At the same time, the auto-repair units pumped sealant into ruptures and cracks in the plates. But nothing could stop the energy from the weapons wreaking havoc in the populated parts of the ship. A great surge of electricity ripped through the enclosed space, destroying electronics and displays with ease. Anyone touching the equipment was instantly incapacitated. Captain Parker moved to the tactical display, doing her best to avoid the injured or possibly dying around her. It showed a great mess of a battle as every one of their ships continued shooting at approaching rounds and missiles.

  That’s it, we need to get out of this place, T’Kari, be damned!

  She pulled the intercom to her lips, but another blast ripped through the ship. Shards of glass from the tactical display disintegrated and flew at her like a cloud. She was dead before her mutilated body crashed into the bulkhead. Of the command crew, only General Daniels was still standing. Just four more officers remained at their posts, including the tactical officer. He wiped his forehead and felt a sting as he rubbed against a piece of fractured glass on his forehead. Ignoring the trickle of blood running down his face, he took the intercom from where the Captain had tried to reach it. She’d left it active for the entire ship to hear.

  “This is General Daniels. I am taking command of the ship. Prepare for battle, we are taking the fight to them!”

  * * *

  Lieutenant Ortega watched the series of explosions rippling along the outer hull of the leading Crusader class warships. He was forced to push maximum power into his lateral thrusters to avoid a stream of metallic rounds that were targeted directly at ANS Victory.

  “Alpha Squadron, form up on me. Defensive pattern Delta,” he announced over the fighters’ intercom system.

  The fighters lurched to the right and moved into a figure of eight pattern around the fleet, along with the rest of the widely spaced out squadron behind them. These sleek new craft were Hammerheads, the latest addition to the Alliance Navy fighter arsenals. Only one squadron was active with the taskforce, the rest being the standard twin engine Lightning MK II fighters.

  “Now!”

  With a brief burst of power, the fighter pushed forward and built up speed. Behind it came the rest of the formation. Their engines glowed as they expended substantial quantities of fuel to accelerate. The Hammerhead fighters were the heaviest and most advanced fighters ever created and had been designed like most of the new Alliance hardware to be multi-use. With four engines and two crew sat side-by side, they were easily fifty percent larger than a Lightning. They carried more guns and ordnance, as well as a mission bay that could carry supplies, heavy ordnance, or even a complete combat unit of up to a dozen warriors. Sea Skua anti-ship missiles were fitted above and below the wings, but what really made the craft stand out were the gun systems. Turrets were fitted above and below the main fuselage, with each fighter equipped with automated weapon systems and 20mm Gatling flak cannons for defense purposes. Slung under the chin was a pair of massive 60mm railguns, each capable of destroying fighters and other spacecraft with ease.

  “LT! 7 o’clock.”

  Lieutenant Ortega twisted his head and instantly identified the threat; a pair of hypersonic missiles was moving at high speed toward ANS Victory. The scanner picked up a dozen more, each of them launched in salvos from the station.

  “Fighters, break and engage, don’t let them through!”

  He pulled the stick back and twisted the thruster control. Small outlets across the fighter spun the craft around even though it continued on its same track. By ensuring the front of his fighter was directed toward the missiles, he could give both the turrets a clear view. His co-pilot, Sergeant Taka Asan removed the safeties from both turrets. They opened fire immediately, sending vibrations through the reinforced hull of the fighter. Four streams of magnetized projectiles licked out and ripped the missiles apart. The next three fighters peeled off and activated their own turrets. In less than ten seconds, all but one missile had been destroyed. Lieutenant Ortega linked to the tactical officer onboard the targeted warship.

  “Lieutenant Powalk,” came back a short, impatient voice from ANS Victory.

  “Lieutenant, one got through!”

  “Understood, stay clear, it is all under control.”

  Over a dozen turrets from two of the Alliance warships concentrated on the missile and disintegrated it less than a hundred meters from the ship. The shattered metal fragments continued at high speed and smashed into the multi-layered armor. Great chunks of metal were ripped out and a seven-meter long gouge scratched the outside as though a massive metal talon had dragged its edge along the ship.

  Close one, Lieutenant Ortega thought, as he altered his fighter’s orientation back on course. The other fighters in the Squadron reformed and continued along their preset pattern.

  “This is an official command order from General Daniels, Alliance Marine Corps. The Navy command staff has been incapacitated in the attack, and as the ranking officer, I am therefore taking over command of this force until the Admiral is fit and able to resume command.”

  Lieutenant Ortega looked over to his co-pilot.

  “Great, old firebrand Daniels is in charge. You know what that means.”

  Sergeant Asan grinned with grim amusement.

  “All forces, you are authorized to use lethal force to defend yourselves. I want that station stopped, and I don’t care what you have to do. Weapons free, let’s end this before we lose a ship to these idiots!”

  Lieutenant Ortega checked his scanner and identified the nearest threat to the fleet. As expected, it was the station; the other sh
ips were a long distance away. Three other squadrons of Lightning MK II fighters were already changing their courses, based on new data from ANS Victory. The same orders flashed on his mapping unit. He nodded to himself before passing the information on to his group of fighters.

  “Check your targeting systems; we’ve been given the honor of assaulting the primary weapon system of the station. Stay close, and keep your defense turrets active.”

  He looked straight ahead through the reinforced canopy and toward the heavily armored station. Streaks of gunfire from scores of defense systems opened fire, sending lines of projectiles out in all directions. The torrent of gunfire was like flying directly up into a thundercloud. He gritted his teeth and checked the status of his squadron.

  “This is it boys. We’re going in!”

  The fighters maneuvered apart as they moved closer and closer to the target. Off on the periphery, at least six more Lightning MK II fighters attacked the flank of the station with a volley of missiles. Repeated defense cannons shot down every single one.

  “Target the weapon systems. Use gunfire, save your missiles!”

  They were now only a few kilometers away, and two Lightnings had been destroyed and one of the Hammerheads badly damaged. A streak of metal shards ripped into the left wingtip of Ortega’s fighter.

  That’s it!

  He flicked off the safety on his stick and pushed down on the trigger. A dull vibration shook the fighter.

  “Fire!”

  Three sets of quadruple 20mm coil-cannons opened fire. One set was mounted in the nose while small sponsons on each side of the cockpit housed another mounting. Twelve barrels fired at almost five hundred rounds a minute. They employed the same principles as the coilgun used by the marines, but upscaled to match the fighter’s size and power systems. The weapon was actually a simple projectile accelerator, using electromagnets to hurl magnetized rounds at super-high velocities.

  “On target, hits scored,” his co-pilot said in a calm and almost monotone voice.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Alliance Marine Corps at the time of the Orion Incident had entered the first major phase of its transformation into a fully mechanized force; the old transports and improvised troop carriers now replaced by the latest Crusader class warships. Though the military formations were now smaller, they were also better equipped and traveled aboard state of the art warships. The Vanguard armor that had been used so effectively in the past was in its fourth iteration and being rolled out to select battalions in the Corps. Now designated as heavy battalions, they were designed to operate as an alternative to tanks and other ground vehicles with access to more powerful weapons. They could be used independently or alongside their lighter armored cousins, either on foot or in their brand new eight-wheeled Bulldog transporters.

  History of the Marine Corps

  Jack entered their quarters first and immediately moved to his computer display. The brute force tools he’d left running had completed, and a light flashed on a dialog box, along with a status indicator. He slid into the curved metal chair with a clunk and leaned in closer. Wictred came in next and went directly to his locker.

  “Jack, leave it. You heard the Sergeant. We have to get ready.”

  Jack ignored him and opened up the first of the partially decrypted files. He checked the indicators and recognized the seals were accurate. It was definitely from his mother, but it was also just three of the seventeen packets that made up the complete file. With a few quick gestures, he combined them into binary container and sent the output through an audio-visual filter. In just seconds, an image of his mother appeared.

  “Teresa?” asked Hunn, walking through the doorway and stopping next to Jack’s shoulder.

  Jack had to skip the first minute, as there was too little data. He finally reached a segment with both audio and video that was working.

  “...do not know how long this operation will take. The 17th are a green unit, and Gun and I will have our work cut out... when...do not.”

  The audio cut out, and the video distorted badly. Hunn started to speak, but Jack lifted his hand for silence and leaned in closer.

  “...news about your father. He, Khan, and the others are missing...incident with Raiders.”

  “What did they say about Khan?” asked Wictred with obvious concern. Khan was his father, and the news was just as new to him as it was to Jack.

  The display flashed black and a red box appeared showing a restricted symbol. Smaller text detailed the restriction access that had been made, and an alert was sent out to the tech crews on the station.

  “Crap,” he muttered, quickly hitting the reset button on the system. He turned around on his seat and looked at his two comrades.

  “I don’t know what’s going on out there, but it looks like a group of our people, probably from APS, have gone missing, and it’s something to do with Raiders.

  “T’Kari?” asked Wictred.

  Jack nodded.

  “Yeah, didn’t they attack the Jötnar colonies a few months ago?”

  Both Jötnar nodded in agreement.

  “So, that’s all we know?”

  Jack shrugged.

  The door swung open with a loud bang, and in walked a Captain with a long black coat and dark glasses. At his flanks were four heavily armored marines, carrying L52 carbines across their hips. Jack could see they weren’t expecting trouble; none of them appeared ready to get involved in a fight.

  “Private Morato?” asked the Captain.

  Jack stood up smartly and saluted. The two Jötnar looked at Jack, then to the Captain before doing the same.

  “I’ve been sent to escort you and your comrades to the Admiral. He wants to see you.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The Captain stepped back outside, beckoning them to follow. Jack looked to Wictred who sighed and followed him.

  “Here we go again,” he muttered in a low tone.

  * * *

  The destruction of the T’Kari Raider was still a shock to Spartan, as he lay hidden in the rubble of the derelict station. All three of them were keeping as low and stationary as they could possibly manage. Above them moved some type of landing craft, and it was moving at a slow speed over the surface of the station. Spartan could see its outline through the shattered wall he was hiding behind. They had less than three minutes to hide when the craft had separated from the main vessel. It was now hovering over the bodies of the biomechanical warriors that had fallen in the ambush. Spartan watched, and his level of frustration was starting to grow.

  Now I’m getting just a bit pissed off with this!

  He had changed though. In his youth, he would have broken from cover and attacked the machine with any weapon he could find. When he’d joined the Marine Corps, he’d been in his late twenties and full of fire and anger. Now he was just three months away from his fiftieth birthday, and he had something to lose. He had a wife and a teenage son who’d now followed in his footsteps and joined the Marine Corps, and so he finally felt he needed to be a little calmer with the decisions he made. Throwing his life away fighting machines was no good when others needed him. As he lay in the rubble, he thought back of his time in the service, and the last few years where the military bureaucracy had culled so many of its active units and personnel in cut after cut. He’d taken the money in the end and started APS, along with Teresa.

  You idiot, you should have stayed in the Corps.

  Deep down, he knew it hadn’t been an option. In times of war, people like him were an asset. With the wars won, he was a firebrand; an officer who was probably way too much trouble than he was worth. He’d managed to get all the way to Colonel before the trouble started. Those from the War always treated him with respect, but there were plenty in the years that followed who considered him gruff and unsuited for the job. Peacetime postings had taken him from the frontlines, and possibilities for promotions or opportunities had faded. Maybe APS Corporation had been a good idea; he’d just left it too long.
At least, that was how he liked to think. The vessel moved lower, and a hatch opened up underneath like a long bomb bay. He estimated it must have been at least twenty meters in length, and easily capable of holding hundreds of weapons. It glowed an evil red and dark shapes moved inside.

  Oh great, what next?

  Spartan instinctively grabbed his assault carbine and held it close to his body. He extended his fingers around the selector, making sure he’d chosen the full-power mode. He didn’t expect he would get more than a few seconds to shoot, so every round would need to be as powerful and as damaging as he could muster.

  “Khan,” he whispered in his helmet.

  “Yeah,” came back a sarcastic reply.

  “You ready?”

  There was a short pause.

  “Always, why? You want to attack?”

  Movement caught his eye, but with great self-control, he refused to move his body. Instead, he moved his retina slowly, almost tenderly. The smaller craft appeared to be coming down lower and was about fifty meters away. A shape flickered, and then he spotted six armored shapes; this time much smaller than the ones that had been killed. These were very similar in armor and looks to the T’Kari Raiders, yet their upper bodies seemed larger and ungainly compared to Tuke’s people. Each was encased in armor from head to toe and carrying a large projectile weapon that was connected via a flexible mount to the torso. They moved about the bodies, fanning out to create a protective cordon.