Battle for Proxima (17 page)

Spartan marched smartly along the corridor and past the scores of marines who were busy getting their weapons and gear ready. To the untrained eye, the ship appeared to be busier than usual. To Spartan, it looked like a ship preparing itself for war. He’d already seen two sets of engineers welding additional internal mounts for automated weapons systems. The Admiral was taking no chances with being boarded. It reminded him a little of the weapons system in the prison compound on Prometheus. Back then, all it took was one well-informed man who was able to neutralise the entire system through the computers. An officer, dressed in his parade uniform, approached. Spartan glanced over at him, realising it was Major Howard. He saluted as he reached him. The Major was the ship’s executive officer and the second most important on the ship, after the Captain.

“Lieutenant Spartan isn’t it?”

“Sir.”

“I’ve just come back from a meeting with the Colonel. Looks like your ideas for the Vanguards have just been given the thumbs up.”

Spartan looked a little confused. He didn’t recall speaking to the Colonel about any particular plan.

“Ideas, Sir?”

“Well, Spartan, you only have yourself to blame. You’ve been out on too many adventures, more than most marines would expect to see in an entire career in the Corps,” he said with a wry smile.

Four marines in full PDS armour marched past, each of them carrying an L48 carbine. It was rare to see this level of security on the Santa Cruz. Things were definitely changing, hopefully for the better.

“The Colonel has been given one of the toughest nuts to crack. You’ll get the details shortly though your CO. Rumours are spreading that you are heavily involved in the General’s pet project.”

“The Jötnar?”

“Of course,” he said, as leaning in closely.

“The Colonel is not a fan of using the enemy’s tech in our own units, he is suspicious of their equipment and the possibility of it being used against us.”

He then straightened up before continuing.

“This operation is going to be a proving ground for a number of critical decisions. In a few days we will know the true value of both the Vanguard and the Jötnar Battalions. I hope that they are all worth it.”

Spartan sighed inwardly. He always seemed to be facing two fronts, one against the enemy and the other against those on his own side.

“I’m sure all Confed forces will perform their tasks admirably, Sir.”

The Major smiled widely at him.

“Lieutenant. You may not have been an officer for long but, holy crap, you’re starting to sound like one already!”

He moved off down the corridor leaving a slightly confused Spartan.

“Why do they want to keep testing us? Will we have to win this war on our own, just to prove we’re worth having?” he said quietly and turned around, resuming his walk to the training hall.

A clanking sound rattled along the bulkhead up ahead. Spartan automatically moved off to the side and took cover behind part of the bulkhead’s thickly ribbed sections. The sound reminded him of the Biomechs on Prometheus, where their heavy footsteps was usually accompanied by violence and battle. Dark shadows expanded along the floor until four marines appeared. Each carried electronic gears and were moving slowly in front of a mechanical device. Spartan moved out from the cover of the bulkhead, to the bemusement of one of the marines. The device was a heavily modified mule, one of the four legged robotic load carriers he’d seen during his recent action at the Bone Mill. It moved in an ungainly fashion, with both pairs of legs facing inwards, so that what were effectively knees pointed to the middle of the unit.

“What are you doing?”

“Sir,” replied the first man, saluting crisply as he tried to hold onto two boxes under his left arm.

“We’re running tests on the new mules. This is one of the combat mules that is ready for assessment.”

“Combat mule?”

“Sir. We have three units that are modified with armour and weapons for potential front-line support.”

He called over to the rest of the group, who stopped for a moment and moved back to Spartan. The mule waited next to them, its body moving slightly as it constantly adjusted its position to stay upright and stable.

“Tell the Lieutenant about the specs on the combat mule, Corporal.”

“Sir! The Mule M13 is designed to provide close fire support for marine units. As well as carrying additional supplies and ammunition, it can operate as a mobile pillbox or to use for suppressing fire in difficult situations.”

“How tough is it?”

“Very. The legs have been improved with reinforced actuators and the software is fast enough to be able to operate with one leg damaged or out of action. The unit can sustain repeated fire from medium calibre firearms and still function.”

Spartan walked around the mule, noting the extra plating fitted over the important components and electronics. It was a bizarre shape, very similar to the walking stretcher arrangement he had seen previously.

“Weapons and capability?”

“We’re not at liberty to say just yet, Sir. The unit has been in development for years, but these three combat models have been rushed into trials prior to the operation. You will have to check with the Colonel if you want to know more, Sir.”

Spartan nodded and indicated for them to carry on. They didn’t wait, evidently the leader of the group was impatient to get going. The combat mule was an interesting idea, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with an autonomous machine carrying weapons. If the enemy were able to obtain control, how would we stop them turning them onto us? Still pondering the new piece of equipment, he returned to the last leg of his trip. One more bulkhead and he was outside the entrance. Ducking down, he stepped inside the training hall and was instantly hit by the smell of oil and grease. Along one side of the hall were a dozen Vanguard suits, surrounded by a full platoon’s worth of marines. Some were checking weapon magazines. Others were reading the hastily cobbled together manuals for the suits.

“Officer on deck!” shouted the Platoon Sergeant, a tall, tough looking man in his forties. Like most marine sergeants, he was lean, incredibly fit and hard as nails.

Spartan stopped, looking at the marines.

“As you were.”

The Platoon Sergeant approached and saluted smartly.

“Lieutenant Spartan, 2
^nd
Platoon, as requested. They are acquainting themselves with the revised suits.”

Spartan nodded and walked over to the suits, examining the first two.

“I have been asked by Captain Daniels to brief you on my experiences so far in 1
^st
Platoon. Up till now, this was the only full-time Vanguard unit that is fully trained and equipped with these suits. Some of you fought alongside me on Prime with the CES suits. That was an ad-hoc unit that was formed for one mission. The Vanguards are the next step. These new suits are tailor-made with our requirements in mind. They are equally suited for ranged or close quarter combat work and can be adapted with different weapon loadouts, depending on the mission. Even more important, is that this unit has been created exclusively to use this armour as a matter of course.”

He looked out at the group, recognising at least two of the marines from that terrible episode on the perimeter of New Carlos. He moved his gaze to the rest of the marines, trying to spot any that he may have fought alongside in previous actions.

 “How many of you have used the suits so far?”

Every person in the hall lifted their hands.

“Excellent. Captain Daniels has already shown me your dossiers and I must say, there is something you have that I like. Maybe because your profiles remind me of myself?” he said with a chortle to himself. He was met by nothing but silence.

“You have been chosen because you are the most independent marines in this battalion. You jump first and you fight first. That is exactly what we need in these units. What we do not want, is a one-man army. The Vanguard is special, but it isn’t invulnerable. You can guarantee that wherever we are sent we will always, and I mean always, be outnumbered. We will never be outgunned though!”

He walked along and stopped next to a very rough, worn looking suit. He could see a number of marks that indicted bullet impacts. There were even substantial scratch marks, either from falling debris or possibly close action against Biomechs. He reach out and touched the dented but unbroken metal armour.

“The Vanguard suit incorporates the improvements and ideas from seven separate operations against insurgents, Zealots and Biomechs. These operations have taken place on the ground, in tunnels and in zero-g combat. Every time we used the CES suits in battle we assessed their strengths and weaknesses. This is the culmination of hundreds of marines’ input and it is, in my opinion, the most important piece of equipment on this ship after the marine’s rifle.”

He pulled open the front and with a series of hisses and clunks it opened up to reveal its cramped interior. The armour was designed to fit around the marine, rather than being driven by one.

“Give me a hand, Corporal,” he asked as he stepped up into the suit. The marine pulled a series of straps around Spartan and then pulled on three levers that clamped the internal cushioned webbing into place around him.

“Okay, Sir?”

“Do it. Close her up.”

With the tap of three buttons the suit sealed up, and in less than ten seconds, it was powered up and fully operational. Inside the suit, Spartan felt massive. He was easily taller than every person in the room and now had the capability to rip through walls or even jump out into the vacuum of space. Tapping a switch in the right arm, he activated a series of relays that finished with the reinforced visor sliding up to reveal his face to the assembled marines. Due to the shape, his shoulder appeared slightly lifted and the same height as his head. It was a menacing and powerful look.

“The suit isn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it will allow you to do things no normal marine ever could. I have personally used these suits to fight Biomechs up close with edged weapons and firearms. As you can see, I have full mobility and speed, much more than in the CES suits.”

To demonstrate, he moved to the middle of the training hall and dropped into a low fighting stance. The suit was much quieter than the earlier models, the creaks and groans now far less noticeable. He punched and jabbed with a series of quick moves, the suit moving as fast as he could move his own body.

“It is reasonable to expect us to be able to punch, kick and grapple, if necessary. Just remember that you have mass and weight on your side. If you’re on a ship and you slam against a bulkhead you could cause substantial, potentially catastrophic damage. I want you to use the training units to work on your close combat skills.”

“Sir!” called out one of the shorter marines.

“Yes?”

“Shouldn’t we be spending out time working on our shooting, Sir?”

“If you should, then don’t you think I would have said that?” said a slightly irate Spartan. “Those of you that fought on Prime, raise your hands.”

The two marines he had spotted previously lifted their hands.

“Explain to the rest of this unit what we faced and how we responded on the surface.”

“Sir!” barked the first man.

“On Prime we fought a rearguard action against superior enemy forces. We were dropped directly into combat and engaged Zealots and Biomechs in close quarter combat and firefights.”

“The result?” demanded Spartan.

“Total victory, Sir!”

“Exactly. We get the toughest jobs and we need to be ready to fight any foe at any distance. You are marines and that means you can already shoot. The odds of us being used for fire support are slim. If and when we are used, I promise you it will be right in the middle of the action. In this situation, we need to be able to fight and cut our way through the enemy to our objectives. It is critical that you can wrestle, knife fight and fence from inside the suit. You don’t have long left, I suggest you get practicing, and fast!”

The door opened and in walked Captain Daniels and a group of officers from the other platoons and companies. Spartan quickly saluted as they entered.

“Lieutenant. Glad you are here. They are interested to see what the Vanguards can do first hand in close quarter work. I told them you would be happy to demonstrate some of their fighting prowess. Apparently, not all of them are convinced the Vanguards won’t be overrun, due to lack of numbers and ability to use cover as effectively as marines.”

“Marines? We still are marines, Sir. I recall we fought in close quarters, without issue, underground at the Bone Mill and in the ruins of New Carlos. On every occasion we were heavily outnumbered.”

“I know,” he replied with a forced smile. “Perhaps you could indulge them?”

“Sir,” replied Spartan.

Captain Hobbs stepped forward with a cold expression on her face.

“How many marines will it take to bring you down, Lieutenant?”

Spartan took two steps forward, the heavy metal of the suit clunk on the metal flooring.

“How many have you got?”

Hobbs, apparently unfazed by his approach, signalled to a team towards the rear of the room. The group had been quiet until now, from the look on their faces they were all too familiar with her.

“This is one of my most experienced and decorated squads. You might recognise some of them from the Battle of the Bone Mill.”

“Battle?” laughed Spartan, instantly regretting his obvious enjoyment.

“You supported us during the operation to recover the tech? That was a successful mission, one I think you’ll find aptly demonstrated the Vanguards.”

“It did. You were insubordinate, undisciplined and too eager to rush ahead without obeying the strict chain of command. As you are aware...”

Captain Daniels stepped in to intervene.

“I have to meet with another platoon shortly, perhaps we could get on with the demonstration?”

Captain Hobbs nodded, obviously not impressed at the interruption of her rant. Spartan looked at her carefully as she waved over the squad of four marines. Each was already wearing armoured PDS suits and none were carrying weapons. They moved to the series of lockers on the inner wall and proceeded to remove sparring weapons. Three took out what looked like padded metal clubs, the fourth took a padded metal sword. Hobbs walked up to them and in one quick action removed the padding on the sword to reveal a thin, blunted piece of curved metal. She did the same with the other three until the entire squad was stood before Spartan, each carrying metal weapons and eager for a fight.