Battle for Proxima (11 page)

The Vanguards Marines nodded, each waiting for the order to commence the operation.

“Sergeant Morato, we are going in. I will leave two marines here for you to stay in contact with. Let Hobbs know what’s happening. If we don’t return in ten minutes you know what to do.”

“Evacuate the site?” she said with a subtle hint of sarcasm.

“No, you mount up and get the rest of the marines down here to save our asses!” he replied seriously.

“Understood, Sir! Good hunting!”

Spartan looked to the rest of the Vanguards, each was covered in the grime, oil and filth from working underground. It was hard to tell exactly who was who. He could normally reply upon the tactical network fitted to each suit, but with the dampening field out there, they would just be a group of men in armour. Even so, they were all fully operational, well armed and raring to go. With his single hand gesture they split up into two files, Spartan and Marcus at the front, the rest following. One more signal and they moved off. Each was carefully checking for signs of danger.

The two full squads gave Spartan ample numbers for almost any scenario, but the lack of working communication gear or data networking, meant he had to reply on his own eyes and sensors as he moved forward. After fifty metres, the tunnel became wider until they were walking on recently placed concrete.

“Strange,” he muttered quietly and stepped further ahead. The walls were reinforced and ribbed, where metal reinforcement beams must have been crossed to secure the tunnel. On the thermal imaging unit, a number of slightly different colours showed about twenty metres further on. They were much too small to be people. Spartan lifted his hand for them to stop, lowering his weapon arms while he double-checked.

The thermal imager showed almost no discernable details and the dust in the area making the lamps almost useless. The more power he redirected, the brighter the cloud of dirt. He changed the settings until one, the electronic warfare sensor, flagged something ahead as a possible power source.

“Must be the dampening field,” he whispered quietly and then stepped forward. Right behind him the rest of the Vanguard Marines followed, each scanning left to right. The two at the rear moved backwards, checking for potential enemies.

Inside the confines of the armoured suit, Spartan was starting to feel a little stiff. Stretching his left arm, he twisted his neck slightly. As he moved, he spotted something, a flick of light. Then his right arm knocked back as if he had punched a metal barrier.

“Shit!”

More metal projectiles hurled through the tunnel, each one tearing chunks from the walls or clanging against the thick, hardened armour of the Vanguards. More rounds smashed into Spartan’s chest, one even cracked the glass visor. He protected his face with his left arm and looked about at his men. One Vanguard was down on his knee, sparks and flames running down the torso. Spartan turned back, spotting the thermal signature of heavy weapons fire. It looked like a single target with multiple barrels, probably a sentry turret. Three more struck his shoulder, one tearing off a piece of armour plating and sending the internal alarms off into a panic.

“Screw this!” he muttered and pointed both arms forward. He pushed his torso forward, anticipating the recoil and then opened fire. The noise, shock and recoil from the weapons were immense. The flash obscured his vision completely, but his sensors still showed the heat and electronic signature. Three more Vanguards joined in, each of them sending hundreds of large calibre explosive rounds into the enemy.

The return fire stopped and Spartan immediately lurched forward, covering the short distance to the device. As he approached, it was clear the unit was a remotely operated weapon. A number of thick cables ran along the floor and through a metal grating on the floor. The tunnel continued on for just a few more metres, before it reached a dead end.  Spartan looked back, the lights from the other marines showed they were approaching.

“Is the field down now? Can you hear me?” he asked.

Nothing but crackling and static returned.

He leaned down and examined the grate. It was thick iron and it looked like there was a drop of about five metres into a lightly lit room or space below. Spartan considered his options. He could withdraw and call for an engineering and tech team to investigate, or he could bulldoze his way in. He briefly favoured the safe, sensible option but then recalled his mission objectives. To obtain intel and technology on the enemy, and to attempt to ascertain their command structure and strategies. He could wait, but what if there were insurgents below and they were destroying evidence?

“Screw this, I want answers!” he growled then slammed his excavator arm into the ground, near the grating. The hardened metal easily smashed through the floor. In one quick movement he ripped out the large grating, exposing a hole twice his size. He looked to Marcus, who was standing next to him, and then pointed down. It looked liked he was sighing inside his suit, he could equally have been laughing. Impatient to see what was happening, Spartan jumped into the darkness and fell for what seemed an age. The impact on the ground smashed up into his legs. Though the suit absorbed the bulk of the impact, it still felt like he had jumped from several metres up onto a concrete sheet. As he straightened his back, he hit the power on his floodlights to expose the room. It was easily a hundred metres wide and packed with machines and equipment. A number of artificial divisions split the area up into what looked like work areas. A noise from above reminded him the other marines were going to join him. He jumped to the side just in time to avoid being landed on by Marcus.

Something caught his eye and he quickly turned to his right to see what looked like three enclosures. Each one was the size of a training hall, and full of life and movement. His eyes almost failed to recognise what he was seeing, until the movement erupted into what must have been at least eighty, maybe ninety, Biomechs of all shapes and sizes. Spartan lifted his gun and to his left, Marcus did the same. More marines dropped in behind them but it didn’t matter, they had to fight or be overrun in this dark hole in the ground.

Spartan pulled the trigger and gritted his teeth, the guns blazing away and cutting a swathe through the approaching horde. As they moved even closer, he recognised the creatures he had first seen during his boarding action, as well as a number of the larger creatures on Kerberos.

“Die!” he screamed, the rooms flashed yellow with gunfire from the Vanguards.

It was a massacre, the fight was over in less than twenty seconds and the area was littered with body parts and blood. Spartan’s visor was splattered with blood that gave the area a weird red glow.

Marcus stepped forward, followed by three Vanguards. He must have spotted something, as he rushed to a large metal device on the wall. Without hesitating, he fired five rounds into the unit. A bang echoed through the room and was immediately followed by some kind of shockwave that hummed through Spartan’s head.

“Spartan, are you receiving me?” came Teresa’s voice.

“Holy shit, you cleared the jamming device!” said Spartan as he waved over to Marcus.

“That’s affirmative, Sergeant Morato. We have cleared the area and the transmitter.”

He looked about the room, it was packed full of computers and electronic systems, most of which seemed to be fully operational.

“Spartan, have you seen this?”

Spartan followed his arm to where a large number of pipes and cables ran into a spherical device. As he moved closer, it was clear the object was biological. He stopped in front of the unit and looked at the pipes.

“I don’t understand. It looks alive. What is it?”

“From the shape, Sir, I’d say that we have some kind of brain connected up to this system.”

“Brain? Why connect a brain into a computer system?” he asked.

“No idea, but it would be safe from software virus issues and able to run systems without human intervention. Other than that I haven’t got a clue.”

“Captain Hobbs, Spartan here, I have something down here you will to want to see.”

The radio was quiet for a moment.

“So far, Lieutenant, all I’ve seen off your handiwork is broken hardware and bodies. What do you have?”

“Some kind of AI system, a hybrid of living brain and machine. You need to get the techs down here, fast!”

“Hybrid AI system? Maybe that’s what is running this place. Secure the area, my team will be with you shortly.”

“Yes, Sir.”

 Spartan looked back at the device. The tubes running to the brain were carrying a fluid, presumably a type of artificial blood. Perhaps even real human blood. Marcus moved closer, looking at the brain in bewilderment.

“This is some weird shit, Spartan.”

Spartan turned his attention from the machine to the Sergeant.

“You’ve got that right!”

CHAPTER FIVE

The Centauri Confederacy should have been a shining beacon in the history of humanity. The first mutually beneficial empire created peacefully on new worlds. History tells us a different story, one of weakness, destruction and betrayal. A story, where the self-importance of the colonies allowed them to be subverted from within. Prime was the first of the planets to suffer unrest and the last to finally succumb to the offerings and temptations of the enemy.

 
Proxima Prime

The bright sun of Proxima Centauri was already flickering along the horizon and casting a dull glow across the surface of the planet. As it slowly faded, the light from the twin stars of Alpha Centauri replaced it, each casting their own hue of light across the ground. The sky was unlike anything seen on the old worlds of Mars and Earth, with their single life-giving sun. Kerberos may not be the centre of its own solar system, but it was the heart of finance and industry in Proxima Centauri. The end result of this was that the single inhabited continent on the planet was massively urbanised with factories, shipyards and commercial structures occupying vast swathes of territory. Between the corporate structures lay five major wasteland areas, each ripe for exploitation once the companies found the time and money to do so.

This industrious planet was also now the heart of the enemy camp, the base of operations for the Echidna Union and their ambitions. Officially, the government was still in control but following the coup, Typhon, the leader of the Church had become the figurehead of the drive for peace and harmony. At least, that is what all the advertising said. In reality, the smouldering remains of Fort Hood, the Confed outpost burning in the distance, told the true story. The government departments had been absorbed one by one, until they existed in name only. Rumours said that the civilians had been quickly cowed down by colonial militia, Zealot political officers and the Biomechs.

 A number of fires burned as fuel and ammunition stores continued to expend themselves in a fiery mess. Corporal Jenkins surveyed the lost position through his binoculars, before sliding back down the dusty slope to the well-worn riverbed.

 “Captain, I’ve got two patrols moving towards us, ten-plus infantry and a pair of Biomechs. They look serious, I mean really serious. They are following a standard search pattern.” The Corporal had lost his helmet at some point in the fighting, his armour was scorched and marked.

“What about equipment? Are they armoured? Heavy weapons?”

“Uh, Captain. The Biomechs are the big ones, you know, the ones that were on the news on Prime. One of them has a big gun on his arm, I couldn’t tell about the other one.”

“What about the infantry?”

“They’re regulars, Sir. Army uniforms and armour from what I could tell.”

“Army? You sure they aren’t looking for us?”

A rattle of small arms fire erupted from the distance, along with a series of explosions and shouting.

“I think they’re looking for us alright, Sir. The local Army units must be working for the Union now.”

As the Captain stood with a bewildered expression on his face, the other marines and soldiers started talking, at least one of them turning to head back. There was a series of heavy weapons fire, from no further than a kilometre away, it was quickly followed by a chorus of shouting.

“The bastards, I said we couldn’t trust them. This whole thing is just a coup by the socialist unions to do less work!” snapped one of the soldiers.

A marine, still wearing his scorched PDS suit, moved up to him, a look of cold anger in his face.

“Unions? Are you kidding me? Didn’t you see the news? The public wanted to split from us. Less work, no military service with housing and welfare for all. Why wouldn’t they want it?”

He turned away, firing off one final salve as he walked off. “You reap what you sow and right now, I don’t think they are partying in the streets in Yama City.”

The group continue to make slow progress, each of them weighed down by the equipment they’d managed to salvage prior to their escape. They all carried side arms and rifles, but were woefully lacking in heavier ordnance or explosives.

“What’s that?” shouted one of the men. A vicious barrage that crashed all around them immediately answered him. The shockwave threw them to the ground, covering them in dirt and dust. Captain Erdeniz stood up, shaking his head as he tried to clear the ringing in his head. Special Agent Johnson moved closer, but before he reached the officer another artillery barrage forced them down to cover. Sporadic gunfire indicated somebody was still alive to shoot back. One of the marines started to get up to try and climb up the embankment so he could shoot, before being dragged back down by the Captain. He pulled him down so hard the man rolled to the bottom, landing on his back in the dust.

“Keep your head down, you idiot! If they spot us we’ll be dead in less than a minute! It isn’t just you, we have the last survivors of the Fort here. The time for being a hero is over, now it’s time to survive!” he said angrily.

More shells and rockets continued to land in the distance. At least one other group was trying to do the same as them. With a quick hand gesture, the Captain ordered the group of marines and soldiers to move along the riverbed, away from the scene of the devastated base. Towards the front was Special Agent Johnson, but now he wore a rough camouflaged jacket and a borrowed army helmet.