Fall of Terra Nova Page 5

  “Never stops does it?” called out Spartan as he ran over to the fallen man. Upon reaching him, two more marines were also helping to drag him to cover. Spartan knelt down but was satisfied the wounds were superficial. He pulled his intercom unit from his datapad and hit the medical bay button.

  “Lieutenant Spartan. I need medical attention in bulkhead...” he looked up at the wall to check the number, “A6. One marine down, light burns and lacerations to arm and face.”

  “On the way,” was the rapid response through the speaker. He replaced the unit and stood up, looking at the growing damage in the ship.

  “What happened here?”

  One of the marines, a young man with oil-covered overalls, called over from where he was working with a box of tools.

  “This section took a broadside from one of the cruisers. We’ve already patched the hull and armour breaches, but the bulkheads weren’t spotted until this morning. From what we can tell, she must have taken a dozen shots through here. It’s amazing the whole compartment wasn’t blown out into space.”

  Another groan from inside the ship sent a series of shudders through the flooring, and for a brief moment Spartan lost his footing. A loud cracking sound tore from his right, and he spotted another gash appear on the metal framing. Part of the bulkhead ripped away and twisted. Gun dashed forward and directly towards the damage. It all appeared to happen in slow motion as the crack expanded, and a large chunk of reinforced bulkhead ripped away and dropped down to the work crew. Gun arrived moments before and lifted himself up, grabbing at the massive chunk of metal. It dropped lower and the mighty Jötnar struggled to keep it away from them.

  “Move!” he roared.

  Two of the men and a woman pulled themselves free, leaving just one man who appeared trapped inside. Gun looked down and was about to move back when he saw the man still there.

  “Spartan!”

  He was already there, along with two burly marines who reached in and pulled at the man. They made progress, but another piece of snapped metal sprung out and slashed at the man’s leg. He cried out in pain.

  “Come on!” growled Gun, his patience and strength starting to wear.

  Spartan crawled inside and grabbed the piece of hardened steel, pulling the severed section to one side so that the others could pull the man out. No sooner were they free than Gun released the piece of bulkhead. It dropped like a rock and sent splinters around them.

  “Everybody out of this section, now!” shouted Spartan. They ran from the airlock doors and left their tools and equipment behind. Once Spartan was through the door, he looked back to see one man turn and move back to grab a case.

  “No, get here!” he shouted.

  The man paused, but the tone in Spartan’s voice proved more influential than the potential loss of tools. He was finally through the airlock, and Spartan slammed his fist on the seal button. With a great hiss the doors slammed shut. Spartan bent over, panting slightly at the unexpected exertion. When he regained his breath, he pulled the intercom from his belt-mounted datapad.

  “Lieutenant Spartan. Bulkhead A6 has just collapsed. Recommend depressurisation of the area and shutdown of the rotating sections. It is breached and tearing itself apart under pressure.”

  Gun look at him, a trickle of blood running from a light cut to his head.

  “Well?”

  “They’re sending a team out to investigate. Why do you always seem to get yourself cut?”

  Gun shrugged, bearing his teeth in an odd display of amusement.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The newly minted Vanguard and Jötnar combat unit provided the Confederacy with an assault juggernaut. Prior to this, the force was made up of sturdy and manoeuvrable forces that could table a variety of roles. By utilising the strength, toughness and armour of the new unit, it was now possible to make use of brute force to resolve issues. For the first time in hundreds of years, the balance tipped in favour of close ranged combat for the Confederacy. The Biomechs turned from being the greatest enemy to the greatest weapon in the Confederate Arsenal.

  Edged weapons in the Emergency

  The medical bay was in a poor state of repair like most parts of the ship following the space battle near Euryale. A number of explosive shells had penetrated multiple sections of the ship and left tears and ruptures in many places. Thankfully the damage to this part was mainly cosmetic. Only one power relay had been shattered, and four engineers were busy working on the repairs. CCS Santa Cruz was one of the heavily armed and armoured Confederate Marine Corps troop transporters. It was as large as the most powerful capital ships, yet capable of carrying a fully equipped battalion of marines along with their landing craft and shuttles. What made this ship even more important was that it was the home of the 5th Reconnaissance Battalion, the elite commando unit in the Corps. Although all marine units were well trained and highly capable, this particular unit was considered the best of them all. The ship was scarred from her recent fighting, but that hadn’t diminished her ability as either a troop carrier or as a fighting ship.

  Inside the medical bay there were over two-dozen separate sections, each protected by reinforced bulkheads. The last ran near a drugs cache used for dispensing tablets and fluids to injured personnel. In this particular area there were eight beds with each metal frame positioned relatively close to the next one. The wheels were raised and the legs clamped down in case of battle or loss of artificial gravity. Spartan lay back on the bed as the marine medic checked his leg. Stood next to him was his girlfriend, Teresa Morato, and Marcus Keller. Both were sergeants in the Vanguards and close friends that he had made during his first months as a marine. Marcus was from one of the few still remaining colonies of Germanic descent. His stature matched Spartan’s, but his ebony skin made him stand out in a crowd. Teresa looked over to Marcus.

  “Is everybody from your squad transferring to the Yorkdale?” Teresa was a good part shorter than Spartan, and her tanned skin and black hair was in stark contrast to his pale but muscular looks.

  “Yeah. I passed the news on to my squad, and you could say just a few of them are pretty pissed at the whole thing.”

  Spartan groaned a little from the discomfort the medic was creating as he pulled and prodded his leg. He lifted himself up slightly, so he could see the two. Unlike most marines, he had personal experience of both the Biomechs and the Jötnar. Though they were essentially the same, he knew that meant nothing. The Zealot insurgents and suicide bombers were men and women just like the marines, and that didn’t make them the same. It was the kind of racism that Spartan really detested. On top of that knowledge and experience, Spartan also had a relationship with the leader of the Jötnar. He and Gun had fought shoulder to shoulder in battle.

  “Look, I don’t want this either, but we did the right thing. Gun and hundreds of others would have been killed. We owe them.”

  Teresa nodded in agreement, but Marcus looked less than convinced.

  “What?” Spartan demanded.

  “I know Gun helped us, but what do we really owe them? I mean, they are just Biomechs after all. Wipe their brains and they could just as easily hunt us down and kill the lot of us.”

  Spartan wiped his forehead in his hands and shook his head.

  “Marcus, I thought more of you. If the enemy wiped your memory and reprogrammed you, they could turn you into a serial killer or rapist.”

  “Or both?” added Teresa unhelpfully.

  “Great, thanks,” answered Marcus.

  The medic cleared his throat, wanting their attention. Spartan looked at him, yet he said nothing for a few seconds. After giving them all an irritated look, he finally spoke.

  “You are happy to discuss your situation with them?” he said as he looked at Spartan.

  “Of course. What situation?” he asked, and he was starting to feel a little less secure. He was no stranger to wounds, but there was always the nagging fear of something more permanent that even the best medics and scientists could man
age.

  “Very well.”

  The man pressed a button on his datapad to bring up a detailed colour model of Spartan’s body. The image was focussed specifically around his damaged leg.

  “You are no doubt aware that your injuries are healing nicely. All of the shrapnel from your last engagement has been removed, and muscular damage has been repaired and is regenerating nicely.”

  The image zoomed down closer to the lower part of his leg.

  “We are having some issues with this leg. The projectile damage smashed a number of nerve endings as well as shattering a great deal of bone. The scans show the damage itself has been repaired, but the leg will never be as quick or reliable as before.”

  Spartan looked confused.

  “I thought the bone had been reinforced with metal?”

  “It has, but the damage is more widespread than that. I would suggest the range of movement and lifting power is about eighty percent of what it was prior to the damage.”

  “Can’t you improve on that, Doctor? I kind of need that leg for my duties.”

  The man shook his head firmly.

  “Not a chance. Be thankful this took place on a Confed Naval ship. If this were a civilian transport, you would have lost the leg. You muscular capacity is still listed in the battalion’s top five percent, so it’s not likely it will hold you back too much. Perhaps this will encourage you to spend a little more time commanding and a little less fighting with the rest of the marines?” he suggested in a tone that made Spartan think he knew something else. The medic turned to move away, but Spartan reached out.

  “Great, thanks. Hey, Doctor?”

  He turned back to look at Spartan, but at the same time glancing over to the many other patients in the bay.

  “What is it, marine? I am quite busy following the last slaughter.”

  Spartan look surprised. The medics aboard Confed ships were usually more stoic than this. Maybe he had seen too much? Spartan looked down and shook his leg.

  “When can I use the leg?”

  The man shrugged.

  “No reason you can’t do that right now. Just remember to avoid heavy lifting, and report to your ship’s doctor every week for the next three months. When the war is over, maybe somebody on Terra Nova can give it a look over. What with the advances the Union have made in synthetic biology, you might even be able to replace or upgrade it in the future.”

  He moved away to examine another patient and left the three marines alone. There was an uncomfortable silence as Teresa and Marcus waited for Spartan to speak. Marcus took his opportunity to change the subject before it took a turn for the worse.

  “Upgrade your leg? Do you think Confed scientists will be able to make use of the synthetic research this quickly? What about the raw materials?”

  “I heard they still need biomass to feed the equipment. I suppose they could chop off your leg and put it in the machine to build a new one,” Teresa said with a wicked smile.

  “Nice,” replied Spartan, but his mind had already moved on from his leg. Right now he seemed far more interested in Marcus.

  “Marcus. Is this Biomech issue going to be a problem? If you’re transferring to the Yorkdale, there’ll be nearly two thousand of them. There won’t be a space on the ship without at least a few of them wandering about.”

  Marcus shrugged and said nothing. Teresa glanced over to Spartan, and she immediately recognised the look on his face. It wasn’t one she particularly liked to see. She was all too aware of what Spartan had gone through, at least what had happened in recent times. He was still very quiet about the years before joining the Marine Corps, and she wasn’t about to push him on it. Her own team had arrived in the very last stages of the battle on Prometheus during the breakout and riot. Gun had proven his worth, and there were few he would trust more.

  “Not good enough. I assume your thoughts on the subject are shared by some of your platoon?”

  Marcus nodded in agreement, but his facial expression betrayed his doubts. It was strange. Spartan had known him for what seemed like an eternity, and this was the first time he had ever broached such a subject. Spartan slid off the bed and lowered himself carefully onto his injured leg. The newly fitted metal leg brace gave him an almost bionic look. Sadly it added no strength, and it simply kept his leg pinned into place. Teresa helped him down as she grabbed onto his arm.

  “Right. You’d better get the platoons assembled. I think it’s time the Vanguards and me had a little chat. Don’t you?”

  Marcus nodded again, but his expression was of disappointment. Spartan looked at him for a moment before walking away. He wasn’t happy with what he had heard, and it wasn’t just because of Gun and the Jötnar. Marcus was one of the few people he had confided in, and he was a man he could trust. He’d fought shoulder to shoulder with him in some truly awful battles. The only others he trusted as much were Teresa and Jesus. The group of four had met when they were stationed aboard the Santa Maria back when they were still recruits. With Jesus dead, and Marcus doubting his decision, he was quickly running out of people he could trust. His mind slipped towards Gun and his people. Could he really trust them? What about Marcus? One day he might have to make a choice, and he prayed he would make the right one.

  “Come on, Spartan, let’s get this over with,” said Teresa with forced a smile.

  That brief moment was enough to shake his thoughts, even if for just a moment. Teresa was probably the only person able to gain his full attention. Even she only managed a few seconds before his thoughts returned to the Jötnar.

  “Yeah, let’s do this,” he replied seriously.

  * * *

  Major Daniels stood at the far end of the training hall with a handful of sergeants and his two platoon commanders present. Spartan was in charge of the 1st Platoon and Lieutenant Weathers the 2nd Platoon. The rest of the hall was made up of the survivors of the two platoons. Each of them was already an experienced marine, and many had served alongside Spartan during the heavy fighting on Prime. The experiments with the modified CES armour during the defence of New Carlos had been pivotal in the decision to develop the new armour for the unit.

  “Marines. Some of you may have already heard of the organisational changes proposed by General Rivers and the command staff. Forget what you have heard, the facts are plain and simple. The Vanguards have blazed a trail of destruction and violence that no other company in Proxima Centauri can even dream of.”

  A cheer rang out from a good number of the marines, but most just wanted to hear the news about the unit rather than the rhetoric.

  “Both underground at the Bone Mill and on the surface of Euryale, we have fought against overwhelming odds and prevailed. Even when hit by superior strength, we have fought them with gunfire and with blades.”

  He paced a little and looked to Spartan who gave him a low nod.

  “You may have noticed that we aren’t making many friends. Our equipment and strategies are based around heavy assault, and some consider us to be loose cannons in the fleet. On top of this, we are always going to be the minor player in the battalion. To be truly effective we need to expand, and that will require space and resources.”

  He paused for effect before continuing.

  “Now, against my initial requests, the decision has been made for the removal of the company from the Santa Cruz. As of today, we are no longer part of the 5th Reconnaissance Battalion.”

  A group of marines stood near Sergeant Keller started complaining loudly. It took stern words from their sergeant before they quietened down.

  “I understand the work we all had to endure to get a posting to this unit. The 5th is the most experienced, best-trained and effective unit in the Marine Corps. That was until today. Those of you that wish to remain with the unit will transfer with rest of the Vanguards to the Yorkdale. A new heavy assault unit is being assembled using the Vanguards and the Jötnar together. From today, this new unit is called the 1st Assault Battalion and will be commanded by
myself, in my new role as Major of the battalion, and Commander Gun of the Jötnar. I will be assisted in this duty by a number of officers who will be transferring to assist in the running of the dozens of combat companies.”

  He tapped a button to show a simple diagram of the structure of the existing Vanguard Company and its two platoons.

  “This company will form the bulk of the 1st Assault Company. Elements of the most experienced Jötnar, as well as our Vanguards, will fill this unit to almost one hundred and fifty warriors. This is a large and powerful unit, and one I’m sure many of you will relish getting involved with. Over time, as more armour and weapons become available, we will transfer more marines to the Yorkdale to join the other companies. Lieutenant Spartan will assist Jötnar Captain Khan with the company.”

  The room remained completely silent. Major Daniels looked to Spartan and gave him an urgent-looking nod. Spartan moved to the middle and looked out to the tired looking marines.

  “None of us wanted this, but in the end I think it will make us stronger. We have been given access to heavy armour from the Army as well as all production Vanguard armour units from the marine arsenals. We will start by creating openings for new recruits to join us, and to help build training and equipment fabrication facilities on the ship itself. It won’t be long before the unit grows to many hundreds of Vanguards.”