Star Crusades Nexus: Book 06 - Call to Arms (18 page)

"Typhon," he hissed under his teeth.

The man smiled with unconcealed pleasure.

“In the flesh, as you might say. I have been authorized to grant you sixty seconds to hand over our ally.”

“Ally? I don’t know what you are talking about? The Alliance doesn’t negotiate with terrorists, Biomechs…and especially the dead!”

He’d expected a Biomech or another kind of semi-automated system to communicate with them. The fact they had chosen to reveal these agents from the past confirmed many things to him. First, Typhon was well known as the key figure behind the Biomech creatures in the last war. Second, he also knew the man had been killed, and this transmission now confirmed that this, and possibly the Typhon killed on Terra Nova, were nothing more than fabricated humans designed to do the machines’ bidding. There had been much speculation to this point since the end of the War, and he felt almost disappointed at the revelation. He looked to Director Johnson who looked equally fascinated.

So, now we know.

The Admiral turned his attention back to the three men. He examined their faces, gestures, and especially their clothing. It was something he’d seen only in the history books, the garb of the long forgotten and defeated Centauri League that had occurred over seventy years ago. On their chests lay the emblem of Echidna, the mother of beasts, and the hated symbol used by Biomech sympathizers in the Great Uprising. Typhon look unperturbed at what he was saying.

So, the Sons of the League and the Biomechs have been colluding, probably since the cease-fire seventy years ago. That would explain a lot.

“Nonetheless, you now have forty-five seconds to hand over our mutual friend.”

The Admiral straightened his back and ran his finger down his neck.

“You’re just another one of their pet projects, aren’t you? What started all of this? Why are you doing this?”

Typhon looked off camera again and then back at him. It gave the impression he was constantly asking for permission.

“My brothers and I brought the word of Echidna to the League in the last year of the Great War. In exchange for their assistance, we promised technology beyond their dreams. Surrender Krani to us, and we would offer you the same.”

Director Johnson looked almost happy as he listened in from the side of the room. Admiral Churchill was less interested in the past right then. He had been given a task, that of the destruction of the Biomech infestation in Alliance territory, and he intended to carry it through, no matter the short-term cost. He looked directly into Typhon’s eyes and gave him a withering stare.

“Yes, the last Typhon died like a cheap whore on Terra Nova.”

He then turned his attention to the man on his flank.

“And you, Pontus, I believe. Yes, you died in your failed attempt to bring in troops from T’Karan to overrun Hyperion.”

His eyes shifted just a little back to Typhon.

“Everything about you stinks of defeat. You had fifty years to plan the Uprising, to make use of the technology gifted to you by the machines, and what did you achieve? Nothing but the death of millions, and still you were defeated.”

Director Johnson moved into frame and nodded as though greeting them.

“We’ve spent much time examining the body of your master over the last months. It would appear they are centuries old, a species in decline, and facing certain extinction.”

Typhon’s face turned from amusement to what looked almost like fear. He glanced to somebody off camera again and then back, his face now more determined than ever.

“Hand over Krani now, or face the entire destruction of Prometheus.”

That was what he wanted to hear, and with just a single gesture, he sent the order to Captain Nikova. The machine lurched to one side as it noticed something happening.

“No, you listen to me. Prometheus is ours. You failed in your last attempt to screw over our colonies, and you’ll fail again. What did you call yourselves…”

He knew exactly what they were called, but he stalled, giving his own ships time to move into position.

“Sons of the League, yes, that was it. You believed you were the harbingers of revenge for the Centauri League. How pathetic. Your forbearers couldn’t win the Great War, and then you failed to take control of the Confederacy. And now you’re here, looking to cause more trouble again. If you ask me, I’d say your benefactors are not as powerful and all seeing as they believe.”

He spat on the ground, a gesture that was as offensive to his own crew as it was for them.

“Now, take your so-called brothers, and get out of our system.”

His words seemed to be having the right effect, but he thought just a little more might be needed.

“…And take your robot friends with you.”

He watched from the corner of his eye as the T’Kari ships moved in toward the Biomech fleet. The small ships were no match for even a single Biomech warship, but they weren’t intended for that. As they moved in closer, they began powering up their weapon systems to collapse the Biomech’s Rift and their only chance of escape.

“You fools, so be it,” snapped back Typhon. “The Sons of the League have a new master, and they will have their vengeance!”

“Admiral!” yelled Captain Horner.

By the time he’d turned, the first of the T’Kari ships had been vaporized by a massive amount of gunfire. Every single ship in the Biomech fleet concentrated its fire on the vessel. The second almost had time to power up its weapon system before it too was smashed by heavy gunfire.

“Now we will recover our comrade, and your new friends will suffer unimaginable agony.”

Typhon’s expression changed to laughter, but it was so excessive and odd that it received nothing but a mixture of confusion and amusement. Finally, he stopped and wiped what looked like drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Admiral, I suggest you surrender Prometheus, and fast. If we find even a scratch on the metal work of our friend, we will unleash a terrible horror on this world, a horror the Helions are only too familiar with.”

His lip lifted up into a cruel smile, and the Admiral had to turn away to hide his own feelings. If the weapon he was referring to was the nano-weapon used against Helios, then they were in a lot of trouble. There was little, if anything he could do about that right now though. He gave a hand signal to cut the transmission and breathed a long, clear sigh at the conversation. Director Johnson nodded as though impressed at what he'd seen.

“I think they bought it.”

He closed his eyes for a second and slowed his breathing to calm his nerves.

Colonel Morato and the cargo are in the correct place, and ready. Yes, now we have to give them a fight, and it has to look good.

He reached for the ancient looking intercom microphone and moved it near his mouth. He started to speak but found his throat dry and empty. It took three attempts to clear his throat before he could finally say what he wanted to.

“Men and women of Prometheus, the enemy from the War has returned, and this time they intend on crushing us, one world at a time. Look to your officers and sergeants, follow the plan and remember...there is no mercy for the Biomechs and their soldiers. Leave none alive."

He lowered the intercom and looked to the video display that still showed Captain Nikova, the commander of ANS Dreadnought.

"Begin your attack. Good hunting, Captain."

She saluted smartly and then moved from the camera, and he was left to watch as the ships of the Alliance moved on the much more powerful Biomech fleet. He was pleased to see the first explosions occur along the two nearest enemy transports. A few seconds after that, the volley fire from many more vessels on both sides began, with ANS Dreadnought providing over half the firepower of the Alliance side.

So, this is the beginning of the end.

Could the warriors of the future take advantage of the military developments of the conflict around Helios? Some military theorists pointed to the machinery used to create the first generation of Jötnar. Why not combine that with the hardware used to build the supply Rams used by the Marine Corps. The arguments for this level of cybernetically enhanced war machines would only gather pace as the violence and combat losses took their toll.

Robots in Space

Spartan found the trip down from Dauntless to be exciting rather than dull. It had surprised him, and he could only put it down to the mixed feeling of boredom and impotence he'd been feeling while in orbit. He looked to the other side of the shuttle where Khan was wedged alongside a rack mount containing a dozen of the TEK-40 Bullpup rifles.

"How much longer?" his friend asked.

Spartan looked up at the analogue clock fitted along the top level of the shuttle and almost laughed. He'd not seen such a low-tech piece of equipment on board a spacecraft before, certainly not one designed for actual frontline use as this shuttle was. The circular device was bordered in tarnished brass, and the second hand moved with a gentle stutter. Spartan had never really been much of one for tradition, but seeing something so antiquated on a spacecraft bordered on absurdity to him.

"Well, if that old thing is right, we'll be on the ground in less than three minutes."

Khan nodded.

"You're sure we've got the right landing area? This area is still pretty close to the access doors."

Spartan smiled.

"When am I ever wrong? The back entrance is used for the crawlers and loaders to move inside. We’ll have space to move and plenty of cover."

He then looked to the front of the craft and raised an eyebrow.

I just hope the pilot’s up to this.

With the landing now out of his hands, he turned back to something he could influence, his equipment. He checked his jacket and ensured the buckles and straps were all correctly adjusted. Spartan was only too familiar with the detailed reports on the surface of Mars. Back in the early days of exploration, it had been a terrible place to have to live. The world was harsh, a cold planet with a barren surface and a thin atmosphere that consisted almost entirely of carbon dioxide. Even now the temperature would be incredibly cold. Like the other operatives that had landed, he had access to a thick balaclava that covered his head, leaving space just for his eyes and mouth, and would in turn be covered by his respirator.

Right, that looks good. Next, weapons!

He unplugged the TEK-40 from its mount to his left and checked that his last-minute modification had worked. The two of them had used what little tooling was available on the ship to link two of the weapons together with two fused plastic modules along the bodies and stocks. Spartan had made one of the engineers on board attach a metal bar to the triggers that joined them together. Khan, on the other hand, had taken two but removed as much as possible and added nothing more than a larger piece of metal on the trigger. The two guns were more like pistols, and he'd decided to carry one in each hand rather than follow the same route as Spartan.

"Spartan, you're moving in on the shuttle bay now," said Lieutenant Jenkins.

The man had been pretty upset at being left behind, but Spartan had finally persuaded him to remain, as he was the only person on the ship he could genuinely trust to monitor the situation from above. Apart from the pilots, the only others in the shuttle were the remaining four operatives, each armored and equipped in the same fashion as those that had already vanished.

"You guys ready?" asked Spartan.

The men nodded at him but none looked as if they particularly recognized his authority to lead the mission, one that consisted of just six men, as opposed to the substantial force that had already landed.

"I don't think he heard you," growled Khan.

The four men might be unsure about Spartan, but their attitude toward Khan was universal. He was treated as a beast, almost a monster, and one they were continually nervous of. As he tensed his muscles, they could see the straps straining to keep him tied down in the craft.

"Yeah, we're ready, for whatever this is," said one of the older men. Spartan looked to the man and watched him carefully. The weapons and equipment will all subpar, but he was surprised at the amount of gray hair showing on the man's head.

Old men and boys, this is going to be fun.

"Remember, this is a recon operation. We land, get inside, and head for the communications tower, picking up any strangers on the way. We get local access to the security net, and from there, Lieutenant Jenkins will direct us to the prisoners."

"We should just go in and get them all, man," muttered one of the younger men.

Khan could just about reach the man, and he struck his helmet with the back of his hand.

"Wake up, you fool. Cobb landed with all of his men and got his ass handed to him. That's what happens when you initiate a mission with zero intelligence on the ground and no respect for your enemy."

Khan nodded as he spoke.

"Yeah, these machines are tough. If we're going to get out of here alive, we'll need to land smart and fight smart."

"Khan's right," added Spartan, "We can't just waltz in there and be the hero. If we are gonna save your friends, we need to land in one piece and get some solid intel on what the hell is going on down there. Hell, there could be a hundred machines there or just five."

"What difference does it make?" asked the young Earthsec operative.

If Spartan hadn't been strapped in, he would have struck the fool directly in the face. Instead, he was forced to rely upon a less preferable form of communication to him.

"Kid, I've killed hundreds of their creatures, warriors, and machines. Trust me, they are tough, and they'll chew you and your buddies up before spitting them out. Listen to us, and maybe you'll live. If you want to do your own thing, well, just do it, but well away from us."

He lowered his head just a little and frowned.

"You got that?"

The young man bowed his head and said no more.

"Insolent pup!" laughed Khan.

Spartan raised an eyebrow and then looked back at the live overview of their landing area. He had audio communication to Dauntless only, but it was better than nothing.

"Jenkins, any updates?"

"That's a negative. The landing site looks clear. Watch yourselves down there. Oh, there’s one more thing."

Spartan almost didn’t want to ask.

“What is it?”

There was a pause of nearly three seconds before the familiar sound of Lieutenant Jenkins returned.

“The weather. There’s a small dust storm coming in within the hour. After that though, hell, you’ve got one mother of a dust storm coming in. I estimate you have a little less than seventeen hours before it hits. It’s a Martian Category One storm.”

"Understood, Dauntless. Spartan out."

“Uh, Spartan. Have you heard about Category One Martian dust storms?” asked the young operative.

Spartan didn’t particularly want to speak with him, but they were only a moment away from landing. He needed people on his side, not waiting to do their own thing once their boots were on the ground.

“And you do?”

“Yes, Sir,” said the man, finally using a mark of respect for the man leading the mission.

“The storms on Mars are infamous. Once they start, the place goes on shutdown, and nothing lands or leaves till it’s over.”

“So we wait it out,” suggested Khan.

“No way, man,” laughed the operative, “Category One storms last weeks, often even months. I know a survey team that came to assess one of the refineries, and they were stuck here for thirteen months.”

He looked at Khan with a grim expression on his face.

“If we are down here when it starts, then we’re trapped.”

Spartan glanced at Khan whose expression had changed from interest to marked surprise. Spartan then moved his attention back to the man.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Darwin Moneaux.”

“Okay, then, Darwin. We will be out of here in seventeen hours. You got that?”

The man looked less than convinced, but Spartan extended his hand and pointed to the floor of the shuttle.

“Son, I’ve landed on all kinds of planets and stations. We are not staying here a minute longer than necessary. Even if that means blowing the place sky high. Twenty hours from now, we’ll be back on the Dauntless and laughing about this.”

The shuttle swung down low and along buildings on the other side of the landing area. Spartan had specifically requested they avoid the obvious landing site and came down in the dusty road on the other side. Unlike the landing area, this one was devoid of damage but was littered with several abandoned ground crawlers and containers. Spartan pulled the respirator unit down from where it had been resting on top of his head, and the other operatives did the same. They’d been unable to find one for Khan, so he was going to have to manage with just the air supply fitted to a makeshift mask over his mouth.

“All ready?” asked Spartan.

All of them nodded in reply.

“Good, stay close to me and be quiet. This is a recon, not an assault operation.”

The landing was fast and a little harder than expected. They hit the ground, and the skids retracted nearly a meter, almost throwing the craft back up into the air. Spartan grimaced as it lurched about, slid to the right, and came to a halt. He didn’t even check to see where they were and hit the access button. The side door snapped open and exposed them to the bitter atmosphere of Mars. Even though the world had been subjected to centuries of terraforming, the icy cold chill slammed into them all. Spartan stepped out and felt the peculiar low gravity that made him feel uneasy and stronger at the same time.

“Go, go, go!”

Spartan was out first, and he moved quickly. His fabric and armor-covered body looked odd against the faded surface of Mars. Spartan looked back at them to check they were moving, but with the respirator and balaclava fitted, there was no way to see his facial expressions any more. Satisfied they were following, he turned back and continued on his path toward the loading doorway. They moved out in a skipping movement, each taking advantage of the reduced gravity to cover ground more quickly than normal. In seconds, the six were out from the open ground and waiting at the massive loading door. A six-wheeled construction crawler lay abandoned to one side and covered in layers of colorless dust.

“Get it open!” snapped Spartan.

Two of the Earthsec operatives moved to the control panel and inserted their override security unit into the system. Almost instantly, the large door shuddered and then hissed as it lifted. The thick metal device lifted up two meters and then squealed loudly before sticking.

“Typical!” grumbled Khan.

He moved closer, bent to one knee, and grabbed the base of the door, pushing it up high with both of his hands. Even Khan strained against the weight of the door, but in a few seconds it moved up another meter before jamming in tight.

“Inside,” he muttered.

Spartan was in first, his pair of TEK40 rifles raised to stomach height across his body. The other four operatives followed close behind, and Khan brought up the rear. There was no light, and all of them were forced to activate their lamps that were fitted onto the weapons. The hard yellow light cast long, hard shadows inside the loading area, but so far they had picked up nothing suspicious.

“Dauntless, Spartan here. We’re inside,” he said over his mouthpiece.

“Affirmative. Looks like you got in quietly for a change.”

Spartan nodded, completely forgetting the only communication remaining was audio. The Earthsec teams were less than advanced when it came to the use of technology, and although his armor came equipped with a camera, it was only for the benefit of those orbiting Mars.

Typical Earthers, it’s all about top down monitoring and control.

He recalled the plan of the refinery he’d been looking at on the screens inside the shuttle. The structure of the site was relatively straightforward, with a massive shaft buried deep underground and then a series of habitation zones, transport tunnels, storages tanks, and pipelines. The water towers were actually buried deep inside the rock with a small section no more than twenty meters extending out to the surface.