Battle for Proxima Read online

  Battle for Proxima

  By Michael G. Thomas

  CHAPTER ONE

  Following the secession of Kerberos, the division of the Church of Echidna and the Zealot based insurgency coalesced into what became known as the Echidna Union. Those that had worn suicide vests in the past became militia leaders and local army commanders. The secretive underground became public and vocal. The term Zealot even started to fall out of favour, now being used often just to describe the non-Biomech forces used by the Union.

  A Brief History of the Zealots

  Spartan checked the suit’s built-in scanners and moved through spectrum modes. There was almost no light underground and he was forced to switch between infrared and thermal imaging to make adequate progress. The other Vanguard Marines stood out in his visor from their substantial heat signature. It was a problem when facing guided weapon systems and something the engineers had so far been unable to mask. A large metal pipe hung down low and he was forced to stop underneath. The structure looked barely inhabited but he was well aware of the dangers that dwelt deep inside this site and it filled him with dread.

  Spartan thought back to the news report he’d watched prior to boarding the assault shuttles to the planet. It was a month after the liberation of Prometheus. The propaganda coup of the video footage and information recovered from there had polarised opinion throughout Proxima. The response in the last forty-eight hours was an announcement from Kerberos concerning a new and worrying development. According to their religious spokesman Typhon, the colonies that had freed themselves from the yoke of the Confederacy were to form a new partnership. The name of this new foe was the Echidna Union and it comprised all the elements the Confederacy had been fighting to hold off. The Zealots, the extreme right wing of the insurgents had officially handed in their weapons and disbanded.

  This news concerned Spartan deeply as many of these places, including Kerberos itself, were areas he had already visited. Contact with the seceded colonies had been cut off and any vessels approaching them were now being seized or fired upon. Though the war was technically over, Avagana, the only remaining loyal colony on the surface of Prime, was known to be the epicentre of the insurgency. It was potentially the source of the Biomechs that had surged out for their assault months earlier. The colony was being constantly reinforced with combat forces from the orbiting taskforce, as supplies and materials were ferried back to the vessels of the Fleet circling above. It was obvious to everyone that although there had been no major combat for six months, both sides were gathering their forces for a single showdown. The Confederate military needed as much information on the enemy as possible. They could ill afford further surprises.

  Spartan had managed just two weeks rest on board the CCS Santa Cruz with Teresa, before their assistance had been requested for a special intel gathering mission on Prime, the most important planet in the Proxima System. This mission however wasn’t to the surface, it was underground in a place most combat units dreaded being near, the Bone Mill.

  The inside of the now ruined site was inky black, the only source of light being provided by the wide beam search lights fitted to the marines’ suits. In the past, it had been the home of the Metallurgical Research & Mining Company on the northern continent of Avagana. It was a massive site that continued hundreds of metres underground with scores of rooms, tunnels and rock faces that hadn’t been seen for months. The interior of the structure had been massively damaged in the months of fighting and bombing between the insurgents and the forces of the Confederacy. The added problem of thousands of Biomech warriors surging from the underground facility, had forced the marines to use thermite charges and bombs to finally seal the place up. With the phoney war still keeping both sides from open conflict, it was the perfect time to find out exactly what had been going on down there. The heavily armoured platoon made slow progress through the debris. Each of the marines stepped cautiously, looking for tripwires, bombs or signs of the enemy. Spartan watched his team carefully, helping guide them though the treacherous area. He noticed one marine starting to push too far ahead of the platoon.

  “Private! Take it slowly, advance unit watch your scopes for movement, nobody do anything stupid!”

  “You think we’re really going to find the source of the Biomechs down here?” asked Corporal Henderson.

  “Well, we know the ones on Prometheus were being manufactured. Either they did the same here or they must have shipped them in,” said Spartan as he glanced about the ruined structure.

  He stopped for a moment and looked back at his new unit. Spartan had very recently been promoted to Lieutenant, a far cry from his position as a private in the Marines Corps just months before. His platoon of had been selected from different units in the 5th Reconnaissance Battalion of the Confederate Marine Corps to form a new special assault unit, known as the Vanguards. The plan was for a new elite company to be formed that was made up of three platoons, each led by an experienced officer and ready to be used for the toughest assignments. Armour had been redeployed from ships and barracks across Proxima to give the company enough for them all, with suits to spare for repairs or losses.

  The name Vanguard was based partially on their duties of operating as the first unit into action and also on the name of their armour. It was all very new, but experiments on Prime during the heavy ground combat had shown the need for a more permanent heavy assault unit. This was the first formalised one of its kind. The Vanguard armour was a fancy name for what was formally known as Combat Engineering Suits or CES for short. These suits were the thick exo-armoured suits that had been used by sappers for clearing mines, explosives or digging battlefield positions for nearly fifty years.

  For now, the unit was based around a complete platoon that operated from the Marine Transport CCS Santa Cruz. The intention was to expand it to a full company and perhaps even a regiment when time, personnel and resources allowed. It was the dawn of a new type of fighting and one that suited Spartan’s aggressive style just fine. He was very experienced in hand-to-hand combat and small unit tactics. This had proven invaluable in operations from Prime through to Kerberos, Prometheus and even boarding operations.

  Though the 1st Vanguard Platoon lacked the numbers for what they were likely to face, each of them was highly experienced in fighting the Zealots and Biomechs. Many of them had served on the surface of Prime during the battles months earlier. There were few groups of warriors anywhere in the Confederacy with the same level of skills and knowledge for this kind of warfare.

  “Lieutenant Spartan, you’re showing clear. No signs of Biomech activity within your operation area. Your entry to the Bone Mill is authorised,” said the Commander. He was observing the operation from the safety of a ground base three kilometres from the perimeter of the Bone Mill.

  “Affirmative, Operation Flare is active,” he replied, shaking his head.

  “Commanders, always the same!” he said to himself.

  The section they were now in had at one point been the loading area for trailers and equipment. In had previously been a mining station and in peacetime, hundreds of tons of raw materials had been brought up from this spot. The first two squads lumbered forward, half of the units were armed with retrofitted L48 rifles and the rest with the standard excavator gear. Though the suits had been given a new name they were still engineering gear. In close confines, the armour and digging equipment had proven surprisingly useful against the Biomechs, as well as suicide bombers and improvised explosives.

  At first glance, the Bone Mill appeared to be simply a mixture of hewn rocks and broken machinery. It was hardly surprising it had taken the Army engineers over a month to dig down far enough to give the marines enough space to get inside. The first squad to e
nter hadn’t been heard from again. It was now time for Spartan and his reconstituted platoon in their Combat Engineer Suits. The heavily armoured suits gave the operators greater safety against both the elements and the enemy hidden deep down in the darkness of the place.

  “Lieutenant, I’m picking up the objective, electronics are still operating five hundred metres to the east, roughly where the control centre should be,” said Corporal Jackson.

  Spartan checked his tactical display, ensuring his group were close together and in position. There was no chance he was going to let anybody be taken.

  “Switch to thermal imaging, if you pick up any insurgent or Biomech activity you know what to do,” he said quietly through the suit’s intercom unit.

  The group of heavy metal machines clanked and groaned as they picked their way through the debris. Later models would hopefully be improved in both size and sound, but for now they had to manage with what they had. The use of some of the excavator gear was essential for clearing some of the more difficult parts of the complex. As they broke past the last large chunks of debris, they reached the ruined landing zone. It had been a large rectangular area, suitable for bringing aircraft down to drop off men and equipment. It was over two hundred metres from the surface, with a mechanical access door for a ceiling long ago destroyed and blocked off. Just a few small chinks in the debris above them indicated it had once been clear. As they moved, a sensor light on Spartan’s suit flickered, indicating potential trouble.

  “I’m picking up a bloom three hundred metres further inside the tunnels to the east. There is no sign of movement, it could just be a blip,” said Corporal Antoniou.

  “Maybe. We aren’t taking any chances though,” Spartan said as he checked for further signals. He altered the filters before picking up the same source.

  “I have it, they are near the power coils for the elevators. The entrance is just ahead, through the service shaft. Sergeant Morato, take the shaft and clear it of any infestation. 2nd Squad, you’re with me. We’ll scout the Control Centre. Sergeant Lovett, get them ready. 3rd Squad, establish a defensive perimeter here on the Landing Pad until we’ve cleared the area. If anything moves towards you, call it in.”

  “Then destroy it!” added Sergeant Keller.

  “I expect nothing less,” said an amused Spartan.

  Sergeant Lovett and Keller acknowledged his orders over the radio before organising their own twelve man squads. Spartan hadn’t seen Lovett in combat, but his sheet said he had been involved in the operation to recapture the transit stations during the Siege of Titan. It had been a bloody mission and his platoon had suffered fifty percent casualties taking the complex. He, like Spartan, had been just a private back then. Marcus Keller, on the other hand, was his friend from his days training in the Marine Corps. As well as learning to fight, shoot and work as a team on board the Santa Maria, they had also seen their first action in the battle for the Titan Naval Station. The two had seen a lot of action together and the big, gruff German had proven a worthy ally in his many adventures.

  Marcus took his squad away from the group and started to site his men in defensive positions. As he moved away, he called out to his squad over the intercom. The men continued to work as he spoke.

  “Most of you have fought them, so you know how they work. The Biomechs are faster, stronger and more resilient than us. They can see in low light and some are strong enough to literally tears chunks off our armour. They can come from the ground, out of the ceiling or from any other direction. Spread out, clear your lines of sight and keep cool.”

  Four of the marines started to move debris out of the way to clear their firing arcs, the rest helped heap some of the masonry to give them a degree of cover and protection in case of an attack. It wasn’t pretty, but by the time they finished it would resemble a dugout firebase with very basic protection and clear lines of fire.

  Spartan nodded to himself, as he watched the group move quickly and efficiently under their Sergeant’s orders. He knew he could trust Marcus to watch his back. Turning to the remaining squad, he signalled for them to follow in the direction of the shaft that ran to the Control Centre. According to the plans he’d examined, the Centre was originally connected to the safety and communication systems. Whether that was true now though he had no idea. A lot had happened since the Zealots had first overrun the complex. As they moved away, he glanced over to his side to spot the twelve Vanguard Marines moving slowly inside the corridor towards their objective. He looked back towards his own objective and starting scanning the area. Taking a few more steps, the intercom buzzed.

  “Lieutenant, it is only wide enough for three of us at a time. It’s going to slow us down,” explained Teresa. She looked inside the low ceiling and damaged corridor. Parts of the ceiling had collapsed and there was water running down the walls, presumably from a ruptured waterline somewhere else in the base.

  “That isn’t a problem. Just take it slow. You need space in there, move in two by two, and give yourselves room to breathe. I don’t want you bunching up.”

  “Understood, Sir,” Teresa answered with a hint of familiarity in her voice that she was trying to hide, with little success.

  Sergeant Morato and Spartan had become close, very close since they met on the CCS Santa Maria before the war had begun. After a period of being separated, due to fighting and Spartan’s capture, they had pushed hard to be in the same unit. They were both hot headed and equally used to getting themselves into trouble with other people and authority. Teresa had recently been promoted following the Prometheus incident. The new rank gave her responsibility for a full twelve-man squad, serious responsibility.

  “We’re moving on,” she said and pushed ahead to the front of her squad. As she moved the other eleven followed, each looking around them as they walked. The concern of Biomech attacks, from the ground or ceiling, was always a present danger to ground units. If they were careful they had a major advantage in combat. Even a small squad like theirs carried enough firepower to take on several companies of conventional infantry. Underground and in the enclosed spaces their armour and weapons would make the group almost invulnerable, providing they weren’t overrun or succumbed to friendly fire. This was often a danger in the maelstrom of combat.

  “1st Squad, keep watching. I’m still picking up the bloom. This place has already been fumigated, so if anything is left alive it won’t be human!” she said, pushing away.

  “Not human equals something we kill!” laughed Private Willis before being flashed a harsh stare by Sergeant Morato. Her stature may have been small, but in or out of the suit she was a real firebrand, and he knew it.

  The group stomped forward, the heavy metal suits crushing the broken masonry and metal beneath the powered metal feet. Each movement produced a series of whines and whistles as the gears and pneumatic parts moved in the dusty environment.

  Spartan waited for a moment at the entrance of the shaft to the Control Room. 1st Squad was already making its way to their objective and he wanted to make one final check before pushing on. Inside the suit was a scan of the hand drawn maps he’d made just minutes before the start of their operation. They hadn’t the time to map it onto their tactical mission software, but the image of the complex was still useful. He just had to remember that the structure was now so different it made the original maps almost useless for anything other than rough planning.

  “Okay, follow me and keep alert, I want every marine to come back from this one!” He stepped inside first.

  The shaft was wide and easily big enough for half a dozen marines to stand abreast. He looked back at the warm yellow glow coming from the twelve marines as they bathed the tunnel in the powerful beams. Each was equipped with at least two armoured searchlights fitted to their shoulders as well as extra navigation lights. It made them easy to see but that wasn’t an issue in this place. It was better to be able to see than to be discrete and end up falling into a pit to your death. They moved at a slow, careful pace, ea
ch checking his sensors for potential trouble. The intercom crackled with an emergency signal from the sentry aircraft that was providing intelligence and surveillance operations in the area.

  “Lieutenant Spartan, we’re picking up a seismic disturbance under your location. Advise caution!”

  “Understood.” He switched to the tactical net so he could speak to the entire platoon.

  “Incoming seismic disturbance, brace yourselves!”

  Each of the marines positioned themselves in a stable location. Those near the wall or debris grabbed onto them with their armoured, but fully articulated hands. No sooner had they moved, than a series of small quakes shook the tunnel. Chunks of masonry dropped around them, several knocked one of the marines down. It was over in seconds, but not before clouds of dusts made visibility on all but thermal scanners impossible.

  “Report!” called Spartan.

  Each of the squad commanders called back to report no injuries. Spartan was please to see the fallen marine lift himself up and shake as the dust dropped off in clouds.

  “Good work, keep moving ahead,” he said. They didn’t get far. Just thirty seconds after continuing through the two tunnels, further vibrations started to spread through the structure.

  “Lieutenant, part of the Landing Pad has just collapsed, we’ve redeployed to the side walls for cover,” said Marcus over the intercom.

  “Understood, all squads watch yourselves. I think we’ve been noticed,” said Spartan. He lifted up his right arm with its twin linked L48 rifles loaded and ready.

  “Sensor readings have just gone off the charts. We’re picking up movement ahead, unknown number of heat source and they are coming this way,” said Sergeant Morato.

  “Okay, remember your training, people. Listen to your squad commanders and maintain discipline.” Spartan didn’t like giving orders from a distance like this. He was used to small groups where he could see and assist when things became difficult. Right now, in this situation, all he could do was help his own small group and hope that the training he’d been working on provided effective.