Star Crusades Nexus: Book 03 - Heroes of Helios Page 2

  “Remember the briefing. Use low velocity rounds, protect the civilians, and avoid damaging the ship, for God’s sake!”

  Jack glanced down at his L52, checking the barrel was correctly twisted for what must have been the tenth time. It was a quick and easy setting and forced the weapon to reduce the velocity of the magnetic projectiles. It was normally a mode used for silent operations, but in this case it was to do with avoiding damage to the ship. With another signal, the tech specialist they’d brought stepped up to the door and attached a breached unit to the wall. A small articulated arm extended out, and he placed it on both the circular door and another on the control pad. A rubber-coated cable ran directly from the device to a unit on the marine’s back.

  “Twenty seconds,” he whispered on the unit's secure channel.

  Each of the marines heard this and tensed ready for what was to come. It was only then Jack noticed the bars on the right of his suit that indicted air pressure and temperature. All the levels suggested the ship contained breathable air and a fully sealed environment. He’d already heard the sounds as he moved, yet it hadn’t occurred to him this meant the interior of the ship was now perfectly suited for human habitation, just without the benefit of a system of artificial gravity. Jack thought of the design of the ship, and its antiquity amused him.

  Old school, Spartan would love it.

  The comments from the Sergeant came right back though, and he remembered some of the videos they had watched demonstrating what happened doing depressurization. It wasn’t pretty for those without protection, and even those in armor would be taking a major risk. The statistics for finding lost crew in a ship blowout still shocked him.

  Another good reason not to blow holes in the side of the ship!

  The possibility of an external breach was always a concern, even when wearing a suit such as his. Rapid or explosive decompression could kill those that were unprotected, as well as sucking out the unwary marines into space. Their orders were clear; they were to avoid damaging the ship, its cargo, or passengers.

  Jack watched the circular door with great care as the tech specialist accessed the computer system. He could see the screen and knew exactly what the young man was doing. He even noticed the man make a minor but obvious mistake, as he navigated through the ship's systems. He wanted to move forward to help, but it wasn’t his place and he knew it. The tech might not be perfect, but he’d done nothing that would harm the operation; it had just taken him two seconds longer than Jack knew it would have taken him. A magnetic seal unwound and clunked open, revealing a bright white light. Without the suit's protection, Jack would have been blinded for critical seconds. Luckily, the visor was designed to protect against the power of something like an unexpected solar flare. It adjusted its reflective and abort capabilities while deactivating the infrared mode.

  “Go!” Sergeant Stone called out.

  They were through the door and into a communal area of the ship. The floor was slightly rounded, and Jack could feel himself moved to the side. He hit the moving floor and then found himself planted as if on the ground.

  Artificial gravity, he mused, forgetting for a few seconds that many ships made use of rotating sections to produce useful levels of gravity on long journeys. The other marines joined him, and soon the entire unit was taking advantage of the gravity being offered.

  “Stay frosty and keep your magboots active. It won’t be like this for long.”

  They moved past the tables that were built into the walls and extended out just a few meters. Cupboards and lockers covered the outer surface, and bright strip boards bathed the area in a white light. On first glance, the place seemed untouched, but already Jack had spotted marks on the walls and scorch marks on the units.

  There’s been a fight here already.

  They reached the end of the room and another of the circular doorways. This time it was already open and led out into a small open area, with doors leading to other sections in the ship. Sergeant Stone stepped out and continued on. Jack glanced at his schematic overlay of this Ontario class freighter. The next section was one of the habitation segments, including a recreational area and access to sleeping quarters, then came the engineering, and finally the bridge.

  “Okay, third team has reached the motor control units. They will deactivate the system on my mark. Be ready people,” the Sergeant said without pausing.

  They passed through the small square space and the next door into the recreational area. Computer displays were fitted into plinths along the walls, as well as a holographic projector unit in the center of the room. There were large burn marks on the walls in this section as well as black colored stains.

  Blood.

  Jack shook his head at the sight; he knew full well that if they’d taken lives, the hostage takers would be prepared to go further. He could only hope there were no explosives on board. The rest of the unit moved into position, all of them stationary like armored sentinels.

  “Now!” cried Sergeant Stone.

  A sick feeling spread through Jack’s body as the artificial gravity cut inside the ship. Two seconds later, the circular door blew open to reveal the large habitation area. Directly in front was a man in brown trousers, a dull shirt and flak jacket that was open to the waist. He hung onto the grab rail on the wall while his legs flailed about in the air. In his right hand was a heavily modified pistol.

  “Watch out!” he cried, but it was too late.

  A powerful flash erupted from its muzzle, and the first marine at the door was knocked backward from the impact. Jack didn’t have time to check the injuries but pushed himself through the gap and deactivated his boots. The rest of the marines pulled inside and reattached their boots to the ground. Jack, however, sailed through the interior of the ship in total silence, spinning slightly as he went. Everything appeared to him as though it was a slow motion dream. Sergeant Stone had already killed the armed man with a double tap to his head and chest. More armed men tried to find cover, but it was too little, too late. Jack took aim at a man reaching for a thermal shotgun and fired a single round, striking the man in the stomach. The impact blew him back, and he spun out of control. Jack grabbed the closest wall and pulled himself down and directly behind the targets. He scanned quickly with his eyes, and the visor flagged the potential hostiles as his retinas darted about.

  Seven hostiles, two down.

  He lifted his carbine and took aim. The impact from the butt of the carbine was normally modest, but in this zero gravity environment, it worked like a small thruster and pushed him toward the wall. Jack was already positioned to counter the effect and loosed off three more rounds. The other marines fired precision shots, taking care to only strike the hostage takers. As the rounds struck home, Jack spotted the first of the civilians further ahead inside the habitation area. It was a woman, possibly in her early thirties. She wore tan colored pants and a loose top, nothing more, and her face was discolored and bruised.

  “Sarge, front sector,” he called out.

  Sergeant Stone propelled himself through the melee without shooting and moved toward the next door and the entrance to the bridge. Two marines were struck by thermal shotguns, but although hit, neither seemed seriously wounded by the civilian weapons. The marines cut them down with ease and then chased after the Sergeant. Jack was closest to the door and pulled himself through to find Sergeant Stone’s feet clamped firmly to the ground, and his weapon raised and pointed at a group of five people. Jack automatically lifted his carbine and pointed the weapon in the same direction.

  “Take it easy,” whispered Sergeant Stone in a stern and calm tone.

  The woman and an older man were tied to their seats in the bridge and behind them were the five men. Each was firmly anchored to the ground or wall, using their feet or hands on the grab rails. Three pointed pistols at the Sergeant while the other two threatened their prisoners. Sergeant Stone deactivated the visor on his helmet, and it slid open, revealing his grim looking face.

&
nbsp; “This is over. Give up the prisoners and you’ll get a fair trial.”

  Each of the men smirked or grinned at his comments. Jack knew the lopsided smiles as more than just smirks though; they were the look of contempt. It sent a shiver through his body.

  They are serious.

  He glanced to his left and right, immediately suspecting trouble, and was rewarded by movement in the shadows. A robed man spun out with blades that glistened, embedding one in the armored flank of Sergeant Stone. The man grunted in pain before twisting left to strike his assailant. The man was fast though and used the low-gravity to his advantage as he maneuvered around the armored marine. Jack moved right and kept his weapon trained on the men. Not one of them moved.

  “Trouble on the bridge, I think we have Neo Bábists here!”

  Even as Jack said the words, he couldn’t believe what he was saying. The Alliance was filled with hundreds of religious groups and philosophical movements, but since the discovery of the Biomechs, a number of them had grown in prominence. Those religions that placed an emphasis on an end of life scenario or an apocalyptical event had found much to associate with. The Neo Bábists were one of those groups and shared the belief of the End Times and the manifestation of God. Since the first ships arrived in the Orion Nebula, it had spread like wildfire amongst those that feared the return of the Biomechs. By encountering sentient and violent life on these new worlds, the Neo Bábists had used this as a demonstration of the coming danger. Most adherents were harmless, but a militant faction had collaborated with others to try and halt exploration and expansion to hold off the eventual Judgment Day.

  The marines tried to move in to help, but as with Sergeant Stone, they were halted by the hidden enemy. From behind consoles, computer units, and storage lockers emerged the enemy. They were poorly equipped and armed, but they moved and attacked with purpose and ferocity.

  “Put them down!” shouted Stone.

  Gunfire rippled through the bridge and habitation sector. Magnetic projectiles thumped into flesh while thermal shotguns melted through body armor. It was a bloody mess, and yet the group near the two prisoners still stood their ground. Jack moved closer and then spotted the cables running from their bodies to the seats. Small metallic devices were fitted at the base as well as around their waists. Jack looked into their eyes and knew immediately what the origin of the contempt had been.

  Bastards, they’re going to blow this ship up.

  “It’s a trap!” he shouted, but it was already much too late.

  The man to the left lowered his weapon and then reached into a pocket. His expression had already changed to one of apparent pleasure. Jack didn’t wait and aimed his rifle at the center of the man. He pulled the trigger, and three small holes appeared in the captive woman’s chest. The magnetic projectiles ripped through her and then slammed into the man’s stomach. The impact forced him backward, and the device spun from his hand.

  The remaining four lifted their guns and opened fire on Jack. Dozens of rounds struck his armor. He felt pain in his leg, and then the bridge spun about. He made out the shapes of the marines, gunfire, and Sergeant Stone before spotting the approaching bulkhead. Then came the blackness.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Where were the tanks or heavy artillery of the Marine Corps? It was a question often asked during the Great Uprising and a question still asked today. From its inception back in the Confederacy, the Marine Corps had always been an amphibious assault force. Marine armor and overwhelming firepower was the key to success. Vehicles were simply transports; something required to get the men and women of the Marine Corps into battle. Artillery and armor implied a loss of initiative and was avoided at the loss of many marines' lives. Finally, the introduction of Vanguards as official armored units in every battalion gave the Corps something to fill the gap. The new question was were the Vanguards there to support the lighter armed marines, or was it the other way around?

  History of the Marine Corps

  The door of the Alliance landing craft opened with a dull groan before striking the firm ground. Bright yellow light bathed the interior of the craft and almost blinded the small group of marines. First out was Commander Gun, the Jötnar leader of the 17th Battalion. Technically, he was actually a Colonel, but the honorific title of Commander had stuck with him since the Uprising two decades earlier. He was now both the leader of his Biomech people and a high-ranking officer in the Alliance Marine Corps. The Commander Gun’s armor had been patched up and repaired, and his face was open to the elements. His massive form made him look twice the size of his second-in-command, Major Teresa Morato. She followed in her combat armor that looked equally as battered and worn as the Commander’s. Teresa stopped as soon as her feet touched the ground, and she looked ahead to the lines of soldiers who stood smartly to attention. Gun continued forward and made it ten meters before stopping and looking back.

  “I think the General wants to see us, soon,” he said with a wicked grin.

  Teresa nodded but her mind was elsewhere. After hours of bloody battle, they’d been granted less than three months rest where she’d actually spent the bulk of it chasing around to check on her marines. Following that, the small Alliance expedition had been split up with all of the warships returning, with the exception of the damaged ANS Victory. Memories of some of the minor borders fights flooded back to her, especially those that had worn down her battle fatigued fighters. She knew they needed to be sent back, but with all the changes that had occurred recently, the Helions would only trust warriors from aboard the renowned ship.

  This isn’t right. We need a break, before my men do.

  She looked up and noted the large number of Alliance fighters moving at a discrete distance. They were not taking chances with this posting, and it was just as well. The last group of Alliance civilians had been granted only a short audience with Helion officials before being escorted to the Rift. This time they’d returned with a more sizable contingent as well as those involved in the fighting to secure Helios.

  They can’t turn us away this time.

  “You ready to make an impression?” asked Gun.

  “Always,” she replied in a quiet yet firm voice.

  More ships had arrived since to replace them, as well as civilian ships bringing Alliance officials, yet it seemed that pain and sacrifice were something only the 17th would have to endure. She’d already lost count of the number of messages she’d sent manually to each of the bereaved families. The assault conducted by the men and women of the Battalion to secure Helios from the ravages of a rogue enemy Guardian ship had cost them dearly, and it was always difficult to explain to citizens so far away, why their sons and daughters had died fighting in a place where they weren’t even wanted.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and let the memories slide away. They were not gone, of course, just temporarily moved from her conscious thoughts.

  Concentrate on the task at hand. You have people to meet and deals to make. Then you can go back to thinking about the dead and the missing.

  An image of Spartan flashed into her eyes for a second, but she dismissed it just as quickly. She was well aware that finding him was going to be very difficult. That was when she spotted a delegation at the end of the procession and moved one foot in front of the other. Gun waited for her to reach his side before they moved on.

  “Have you heard the news on the ship we took?” he asked.

  “The Guardian ship?” she replied with suspicion.

  Gun nodded in reply. Teresa was one of those that had fought on the vessel, along with Gun. It was massive, and easily capable of taking on multiple Alliance ships. It had arrived in the middle of a vicious battle between the Alliance ships and the Helion station that guarded the entrance to the star system. Only by the sacrifice of Alliance marines had the ship been stopped, and they had even captured its commander alive, the first to be caught.

  “So, what news?”

  “The Helions want it for their own research.”<
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  “What?” she snapped back, “No way are we handing it over. We paid in blood for that lump of junk.”

  Gun grinned to himself.

  “Don’t worry; I don’t think Anderson is going for it. It cost us a lot to take it in the first place. Plus, we have the commander.”

  He yawned and scratched his jaw, probably even less interested in the pomp and ceremony than Teresa was.

  “The Senate sent an official out here for this…event. I wonder who they sent?”

  His tone suggested a rhetorical question, and Teresa found herself curious at the suggestion it might be someone they knew. The two continued moving through the procession, and Teresa’s attention now turned to the soldiers. There were many skin colors and heights, but not one of them reached her relatively average height. She noticed their pale skin was taut, and their limbs appeared thinner and relatively insubstantial compared to hers. Their uniforms were equally odd with a strange orange hue, a color that seemed far from suitable as a color of war. Stranger though, was that none appeared to be wearing armor. Even their weapons looked primitive, but it was hard to tell from a glance.

  Maybe their weapons render armor useless. Or maybe they are just useless. The T’Kari are hardly the best warriors we’ve ever seen.

  They continued on until reaching another group of soldiers. They were armed in a similar fashion, yet these people were taller and better built than the first. Even so, they were still no stronger than she was. This group had rougher features to their faces and a more pronounced bone structure around the jaws, almost feral in nature. She tried to imagine what her husband Spartan would look like next to any of them and had to stop herself from grinning. Gun though marched past them like a giant; his arms each as thick as their torsos. Teresa could see the look in their eyes, a universal indication of what they felt. The involuntary gesture told her they were truly shocked at seeing him there, a monster covered in burned and battered armor and the markings and colors of the Alliance Marine Corps. Her eyes located the civilians a short distance away.