Battle for Proxima (12 page)

“What’s the plan?” he asked.

“Well, you managed to get your intel off planet. Hopefully, it is on its way to Naval Intelligence and they can do something with it. As far as we are all concerned, we have a simple job. Number one, it is our duty to avoid capture and to survive.”

“After that?”

“Assuming we survive, we will work out how we can fight back and get these bastards off the planet. Trust me, Confed will eventually regain control of these colonies. For now, we have to keep our heads down and find a way to get in touch with the Fleet. When they arrive they will need all the information we can get. Who knows, if we’re smart, we might even be able to cause a bit of trouble down here and make their arrival a little easier.”

The Special Agent nodded in agreement, looking behind to check on the rest of the men.

“Captain, you’ve not led ground troops before, right?”

“No, why?”

“It’s strange. I’ve not met a Naval officer before that grunts would listen to in a situation like this. Have you seen combat?”

“You’re kidding? I was on the Crusader over Prime. We saw combat alright, a good portion of the crew was killed. Why do you think I’ve been promoted so fast?”

“Right, I heard about the battle. The video feeds were shown extensively after the victory. The reports said Confed Marines boarded the ship and gutted her from the inside. Is that true?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Zero-G combat on board a warship isn’t fun, though.”

“Get down!” cried one of the marines. The call was just in time as three Army Lightning MK I Fighters appeared. They were the older two-man craft, equipped with automatic cannons and air to ground missiles and rockets. Although much the same design as the more modern space-based fighters, these craft were unable to leave the atmosphere. This inability to leave the planet was down to the avionics, jet engines and fuel the fighters carried. To offset this weakness, they carried greater numbers of ground attack weapons and ammunition than the more advanced space superiority fighters. They were the perfect multi-role fighter-bombers and deadly to exposed infantry. They rushed past, leaving a screaming howl behind them as they moved off into the distance. A smoke trail from one arced downwards, striking a hidden target. Several seconds later, the dull crump of the blast rolled across the countryside.

“Poor bastards, the Union must be picking off survivors, small groups like us,” said a despondent Jenkins.

“Listen, there are fifteen of us. We have the equipment, skills and knowledge to survive out here. If we stay in the open, we’re screwed. I suggest we get to the outskirts of Yama City and make shelter in one of the construction sites. There are less people there and plenty of cover,” suggested Captain Erdeniz.

Special Agent Johnson nodded in agreement.

“Makes sense, Captain. When I left the city, the Union were organising groups of militia under Zealot commanders to patrol the streets. If they spot Confed personnel, I reckon they’ll be shot on sight. This isn’t a revolution. It’s extermination of any that oppose them. I wouldn’t be surprised to find them establishing camps throughout the colony.”

Captain Erdeniz looked at him whimsically, surprised at his suggestion.

“What? You think it won’t happen? Trust me, it has happened before and it will happen plenty of times again. The tradition of locking up the opposition goes back millennia. Don’t forget though, after incarceration you often find extermination!”

Captain Erdeniz nodded slowly in agreement.

“You’re right, it is a strong possibility and something we need to get evidence of. Do you have any contacts we can make use of in the city?”

The Special Agent pulled a small paper notebook from his pocket and waved it at him.

“This is all I was able to smuggle out. It’s low tech, but I do have coded entries for several contacts and suppliers. I don’t know if they are still active but they’re our first option.”

“Good,” said the Captain, turning to the rest of the group. “Keep your heads down and keep moving. We have a journey of twenty klicks to the outskirts and we need to get there in one piece. Let’s go!”

The small group, barely more than a normal marine squad, continued to move ahead. Their progress was slow, but each step took them one further from the burning ruin of Fort Hood.

* * *

The Crusader, the only battlecruiser in the Fleet, fired its engines and started the slow change of course that would push it out of the powerful gravitational pull of the gas giant Khimaira. As the mighty warship moved away, it was joined by a number of smaller vessels, each one taking up position to provide escort or supplies for the ship.

“Admiral, we are receiving a message from an approaching ship, the recognition codes are from the CCS Aurora, one of the Leander class frigates that defected at the start of the uprising.”

“What is their course?” she asked.

“They are in high orbit around Khimaira and en route to reach our position in less than thirty minutes,” replied the tactical officer.

“How did they get so close?” asked a confused sounding Captain Tobler. He’d only just transferred from the 7
^th
Fleet. He was possibly the most experienced warship commander in that Fleet, but he was still getting used to the ship and its crew. The Admiral had seen the reports on the epic escape of the survivors of the Fleet. She had tried her best to keep the crews together but she’d desperately needed an exceptional officer to replace the losses on the Crusader.

“Unknown, Sir, they just appeared on the scanner.”

Captain Tobler looked concerned and moved quickly to the right of the CiC, where Lieutenant Nilsson was at her communication console.

“Lieutenant, respond with audio only. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Aye, Sir.”

She turned to the display and tapped her earpiece.

“This is the Battlecruiser CCS Crusader to unidentified vessel. Please respond.”

Commander Andrews, now promoted to the position of Executive Officer, stood a short distance away, observing the situation from his own tactical console. Unlike the Captain, he was at home in the CiC, having spent the last two tours as the ship’s senior tactical officer. There wasn’t another person on the ship with his skill and knowledge of the flagship of the Fleet. Lieutenant Nilsson continued to broadcast, but after four more attempts turned back to the Captain.

“Nothing, Sir. They are receiving us but not replying. It’s as if there isn’t anyone on board the ship.”

“Keep trying, Lieutenant. If they are not replying, it must be either because they are unable or unwilling to.”

That was enough for Commander Andrews, who pulled the intercom from the computer terminal in front of him and hit a button on the control board. The lights in the CiC dimmed and were quickly replaced by red emergency lighting.

“This is the XO, we are under possible attack. Battlestations! All crew to their stations! This is not a drill! All gun positions ready in sixty seconds! Secure outer sections and open the gun ports. Prepare for battle!”

Admiral Jarvis, from her position in the middle of the room, examined the vertical tactical display. This was the strongest Fleet she had yet been able to assemble and it seemed odd to send a single ship this close to them. Captain Tobler approached and checked the disposition of the Fleet with her.

“Thoughts?” she asked.

“I’ve seen this before. Sometimes they send a single ship packed with weapons, possibly nukes for our vessels. We split up and the blast causes confusion. That’s usually when the raiders move in for the kill.”

“I agree, Captain. Get Wasp to send her CAP to intercept. If the ship has friendly intentions it can stay at a safe distance, otherwise she can burn. If what you say is true, this ship could have the equipment on board to cripple half my Fleet!”

“Burn? Are you sure, Admiral? We can always try and force them to a safe location.”

“No, we don’t have time for this. Either they stop, or they burn. There are no other options. I do not have a single ship I can spare. The loss of one capital ship could be the end of our counter offensive. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Admiral,” he replied curtly. He wasn’t completely happy about the attitude of the Admiral. He had seen just as much combat against the Zealots and their allies, perhaps more, yet the Admiral seemed to be taking the war personally. He could understand her argument, but he was just as concerned at the possible loss of the frigate to overzealous gunners. A frigate was hardly a major ship, but it had its uses and could be carrying hundreds of valuable military or civilian personnel.

He looked carefully at the tactical display and checked the disposition of the Fleet. A quick scan and he found the correct ships and also noted the icons showing the three groups of fighters circling the Fleet. He tapped the visual representation of CCS Wasp, the Fleet’s main carrier, and requested a video link with the captain. It took just seconds before the image of Captain Hardy appeared.

“Captain, the Admiral wants birds in the air to intercept the hostile. How close is your CAP?”

There was a brief pause before the Captain replied.

“Already on the way. I have four Lightning fighters roughly three minutes out. They have orders to perform a full scale reconnaissance.”

“Understood. The Admiral’s orders are to move the ship to the outer marker or to fire on her. She is not to be allowed inside the defence perimeter. If she does do so, then our guns will be turned on her.”

“Sounds sensible, we can’t take the chance. Let the Admiral know two of the fighters are equipped with Skua anti-ship missiles. They have the firepower to do the job. They are already patched into your tactical systems. The Admiral can monitor the operation from your CiC. Wasp out.”

Captain Tobler lowered the intercom, still slightly surprised at the brisk, almost indifferent response he had received from the senior officer of the Fleet’s carrier. He watched the officers move about the CiC, each of them helping organise the escorts and fighters to screen the battlecruiser from the potential threat. He looked back at the screen, double-checking the dispositions and noted that the Fleet was properly spaced. He must be missing something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Surely the enemy wouldn’t waste one of their ships in a futile rush towards the large number of warships, unless they had a trick up their sleeve?

* * *

Commander Anderson stood in the roughly repaired command centre. The bloodstains from the fighting had gone, but it still looked nothing like a Confed installation. Bishop, Kowalski and Gun were standing near him as they watched the large video screen. In the middle, was the oversized and slightly distorted image of General Rivers.

“Commander, good to see you again. I have read your report and understand you have confirmed our agreement with Representative Gun?”

“Yes, General. As per your instructions, all combat units are being loaded onto the ships and prepared for battle. So far, we have nineteen hundred Biomechs woken and the same number still in their capsules. The first group have agreed to the proposals and Gun here has an understanding with them.”

“I see, go on?”

Gun looked to the Commander and then at the screen. He appeared a little confused at the image, perhaps wondering how the General was able to speak without being there. Either that, or he was just thinking about something else.

“General. My people fight for two reasons. We fight to be free, we fight for revenge!” he snarled.

“I understand. I will do my best to ensure you get both. Commander Anderson, what is the status of the nineteen hundred? Are they ready for combat?”

“Not quite, Sir. Their discipline is, well, a little unorthodox and they have only the basics of firearm control. They will follow orders though and can fight.”

“How about officers?”

“I have selected a team of officers and NCOs from the people I have here to provide a full complement of twenty companies. You have your two battalions, Sir.”

“Excellent. You have been allocated the civilian heavy transport, the Yorkdale. She has been drafted into service and is the largest and toughest civilian ship in that sector. Ensure the Biomechs are loaded and ready to leave in twenty-four hours.”

“What about the rest, Sir?”

“They can stay on the site until they are ready. I assume that is acceptable?” he asked, looking specifically at Gun.

“Yes, they are the last. We are not Biomech!” he stated firmly.

“I’m sorry? What?”

“General, I forgot to add. During our discussion, the term Biomech was raised. It is offensive to Gun and his comrades. They are not happy with the same name used for the enemy.”

“I assume they have something in mind?”

“Yes, Sir. One of the techs here made a joke and referred to Gun as a Jötnar. Apparently it is the name of some kind of mythical giant. The Biomechs have already started calling themselves Jötnar. Most of the personnel here have started doing the same.”

“I see. Well, you presented me with a fait accompli. Jötnar it is. It was the intention to name the units as the 1
^st
and 2
^nd
Biomech Battalions. I assume the 1
^st
and 2
^nd
Jötnar Battalion will be the correct nomenclature?”

Gun nodded and then turned and grinned towards Bishop, who did his best to try and avoid looking directly at him.

“There is one final thing I wish you to all consider, especially you Gun. As the leader of your people, and the most experienced warrior amongst them, it would be useful to give you a position in the Confederate Military. Command structure is important and this will integrate you into our military system.”

“What position?” asked Gun.

“Leaders of allied or mercenary units have been called many things in the past. We have not done this before in the Army or Marine Corps, though. My suggestion is we make you their Commander. You are both a leader and a warrior. This will ensure your people, and ours, understand your status.”