Ghost Soldiers (11 page)

He looked back at the imagery on the right of the mainscreen, an area showing the region of space around the derelict. Green outlines flagged parts of the debris there.

"Those are hull fragments. I recognise the shapes."

He wiped his lower lip.

"Something happened out here, something violent. ANS Orion is gone, and with her the answers to what happened."

He turned to Captain Delatorre. "Suggestions?"

The naval officer swallowed uncomfortably.

"Uh...we maintain a safe distance, establish a protected cordon, and send in a team to investigate."

Spartan smiled. "Good."

He looked back at the screen again.

"I want two dropships for this, one for possible support, and the first for insertion."

"Khan, you will stay on the operations level and get 3rd Platoon ready. If we hit trouble, I want to know you're ready. I'm leaving the defence of the ship to you, old friend."

Khan struck Spartan's shoulder.

"The ship can only house ninety controllers; that's two full platoons."

Spartan smiled.

"I know. I want 3rd Platoon armoured and ready...as in old school ready. You understand? No Grunts, no drones, just marines in M-3 armour and ready to go. I need a reliable backup, one that can work without networked command and control."

Khan seemed to like that.

"Yeah. Grunts are one thing, but plenty can go wrong. Lose communications from the ship, and we've got two platoons of Grunts who'll do nothing but guard the ground they've taken."

He then clenched his fists together, and the metal of the suit made a groaning sound as his dense muscles pushed hard against it.

"If anybody's stupid enough to come aboard, they are welcome to try. I'm looking forward to a little exercise."

With that, Spartan left the deck and headed down below. Khan followed close behind and deep into the bowels of the ship.

* * *

It didn't take long for them to reach the vast section that ran the full length of the ship. Before them arrayed on each side, as though on parade were all the marines of 1st Platoon. Lieutenant Armstrong saluted as Khan and Spartan approached.

"1st and 2nd Platoons are ready."

Spartan nodded and looked back to Khan.

"Remember, get 3rd Platoon ready. We've got a full armoury and plenty of power packs."

Spartan then looked to the assembled marines.

"This is the first time we have sent in two platoons by remote. We lost a ship out here, and the only sign of survivors is a beacon deep inside her hull. We will be going in five hundred kilometres from Euryale, and that means no latency. Each of us will be as fast and active as an actual marine."

Spartan moved down the line.

"Normal rules of combat would dictate a division of active personnel and combat drones, but this is no normal operation. We cannot risk lives of marines, not without knowing what is over there."

He stopped and looked at a tall man. He was easily taller and broader than Spartan, and bore damage on his armour that looked like thermal scorches. They reminded him of the short, but violent struggle down on Spascia.

"This will go by the numbers, exactly as we planned it on the way here. Speed is of the essence. We will trade risk for speed. There could be survivors on board, and it’s our job to do what we can to save them."

He began to move ahead again.

"A full tactical reconnaissance in force, two platoons of fifty-five Grunts entering at six separate locations. We will have a pair of dropships waiting for us, along with a full weapons package."

Spartan looked to his left where the men and women of 1st Platoon were lined up. It was less than a half size-platoon, with only twenty out of the normal forty-five present. But each and every one of them was a combat veteran, people he knew he could trust.

"There will be no firing without my express authorisation. This may be a first contact situation, and right now we have no idea what happened out here. If there are survivors on the derelict, they could be hostile, and just as likely friendly. So, let's do this right."

He then turned to look at 2nd Platoon. This unit consisted of another thirty-five marines and was untested in battle, but their training was second to none. He'd intended on merging personnel between the platoons to bring 1st Platoon to full strength, but that would now have to wait; there had simply been not enough time since their return from Spascia. The two platoons could not have been further apart, one being mentally exhausted from the combat on Spascia, the other still itching for their first mission. Even so, Lieutenant Kipling was a seasoned officer with a number of combat drops under his belt. Even better, he was a rarity in the Corps, a man raised from the ranks of Sergeant, and to an officer. The circumstances were still heavily guarded, but the public record stated it was due to actions on Terra Nova during a terrorist incident.

"Captain Khan will be ready with the reserve, if and when they are needed. He has a platoon of veterans, as well as eight Maverick suits ready. If we hit trouble, he can provide extra muscle."

He glanced at Khan.

"Or if worse, he will be here to defend Euryale against any threat."

Spartan then moved to his cylinder, and the men and women of the two platoons did the same. Each waited outside, as though the cylinder would actually be the device that sent them in to battle. Spartan looked at Khan one last time, and they exchanged little more than a nod.

"Mount up!"

In just a few seconds all but Khan were inside their units and their armour connected to the communications system. Most were fitted into hanging harnesses, but a handful, including Spartan, used the new system. These used magnetic clamps to hold the armour in place. The communication nodes on the armour then matched up to those inside the cylinder. Spartan kept his eyes closed as the system ran through full diagnostics. The sound of Kanjana, the dropship control officer whispered into his ear.

"Dropships Alpha and Bravo are already in position over the first two drop zones. Prepare for full data transfer..."

Khan watched in silence as the cylinder closed, and he was left with just the senior marines of 3rd Platoon looking at him.

"You heard the man. Get the rest of 3rd Platoon here in fifteen minutes. I want them in full tactical gear and ready for combat."

Of the many races that inhabit the star systems connected to the Helion Nexus, one continues to attract controversy. The Helions and T'Kari spoke of them in almost mythical tones, of the race that fell, but not to a foreign threat. None in the Alliance even knew what this race looked like, or even their history or background. All that was known of the Trusska was the way they vanished. Most stories described how they destroyed themselves in some mass suicide, but other stories mentioned great monsters that they unleashed. Small fragments of text recorded planetary evacuations, and one videostream log showed flashes and explosions. The only thing truly known was none alive had seen this race, and there was no consensus on what happened with this ancient civilisation.

Orion Historical Registry Project

Dropship Firestorm, Sector Sixteen, T’Karan

Ten seconds. Keep focussed.

Spartan knew the transition into the CD1 Grunt was a strange experience. Previous testing had already shown him the best way was through a calm transfer, one he'd practised multiple times. Some of the marines liked the jar, the blast of adrenalin, and the moment of confusion as one fused with the machine. Not Spartan. Unlike any of them, he'd spent time inside the machines of the enemy, machines that were vastly more complex and powerful than what he had access to now.

Five seconds.

The time to move from flesh to machine might be short in real-time, but to Spartan it seemed an age. He recalled the training sessions back on Taxxu, where he'd controlled all kinds of armour from the control units they'd devised. The Grunts were not the largest, but they were the most cost effective and useful. A remotely controlled Maverick suit might be useful, but there were many occasions where a man-sized soldier was needed, not a monstrous titan.

Now.

Spartan opened his eyes and everything changed. It felt as though his time on board Euryale was nothing more than a dream, and that this new reality was the real world. He was in the vacuum of space, something that was cold and deadly to all life. He looked up and watched the shape of the Jackal class dropship moving away into its holding pattern. The engines puffed away as it made subtle course corrections. As had been planned, the heavily armed dropships would pull back and continue on their route to land squads at key locations around the derelict.

"Keep moving."

Spartan then checked the mapping and control overlay and counted his squad. He noted each of them until positive that all fifteen had dropped. They were already making good progress to the massive derelict vessel.

"1st Squad, with me."

The CD1 Grunts were each fitted with a small propulsion unit, a device slightly bigger than a man's head, but flatter and installed on the backs of the warriors. Barely visible puffs of gas were expelled from a series of moveable ducts to move them in zero gravity. The shape of IAS Euryale was easy to find on the display, but at a distance of five hundred kilometres was little more than a silver spec in a star field filled with specks.

Here we go.

He looked ahead in the direction of the derelict. Robotic drones waited at key locations, bathing sections of the structure in white and yellow light. Four of the Grunts had already landed along the ridged section to the right of the massive habitation dome. From back aboard their ship, the dome has seemed modest in size. Now all Spartan could see was the derelict, and it spread out in all directions. The dome looked like a mountain, yet dark and grim, covered in the marks of wear and decay.

What happened out here?

Spartan dropped down another thirty metres and then made contact with the ribbed section. His feet immediately attached to the surface with a reassuring clunk. There was no sound, but he could feel the vibrations through the armour. It was only then Spartan remembered he was not actually there, but in reality, five hundred kilometres away and inside a vertical tube on Euryale. He shook his head with amusement.

This tech could be abused in all kinds of ways.

They had discussed this, and Khan had made some good points back during the early development. The main one, of course, being that it would be easier to risk military forces if the cost was mere currency. It might increase the likelihood of military operations when diplomacy may have worked instead.

That's for another time and another place.

Spartan moved ahead six paces and joined the first fireteam. In front of them was a large hexagonal blast door, easily large enough to drive a Bulldog through. It was solid and had at one time been marked out with letters. The paint or metal was now long gone, leaving just a stain on many of the sections.

"Open it."

A Grunt moved to the right and positioned right in front of the section. A few seconds later, a number of sparks flew off as they began the slow job of cutting.

"Spartan, what's happening down there?" Khan asked.

Spartan activated his shoulder-mounted lamps and looked to the blast door.

"We're cutting our way inside. No signs of contact."

The superheated plasma from the torch continued burning through the door until finally the Grunt stopped. A second attached a device to the side and then moved back. The unit shuddered, and the cut section pulled out, drifting off and away from the derelict.

"Okay, looks like a full depressurisation. Continue inside."

Two moved in before it was Spartan's turn. They used their jets to reach the breached entrance, and then their hands and feet to pull inside the vessel. Spartan noticed his oddly shaped arms as he moved and marvelled at the spectacle of it all. He pushed to the front and took twenty paces until reaching another blast door. This one was in much better condition, and to his surprise there was a series of yellow lights running on a panel to one side.

Interesting.

Normally, he would have ignored unfamiliar controls, but using the Grunt armour gave all of them the ability to take chances they might never have done. Spartan looked over his shoulder and made sure the rest of the squad was now inside. Lieutenant Armstrong, the officer in command of 1st Platoon, and Sergeant Tyler were right behind him. The Lieutenant moved to Spartan's right and examined the lights.

"Controls for the door?"

Spartan shrugged, and the metal limbs of his robotic suit lifted up a fraction. Unlike normal remotely piloted machines, the communication system from the ship to the suit was complete. Everything was replicated, directly from the mapping of the brain and to the limbs of the suit.

"Looks like it."

He reached out and pressed the largest of them. A double door came down behind them and just two metres from the entrance they'd cut into blast door. As soon as it clamped shut, the door in front began to open up. Thick metal plates lifted from the middle, and the bottom half began to descend before sticking. The upper section almost opened completely, and then it partially jammed, leaving a half-metre section of metal exposed.

"Stay close," said Spartan.

He stepped through the gap, bending down carefully to avoid striking the seized pieces of metal. He made it through, but the next Grunt managed to jam his arm, and it took the efforts of Sergeant Tyler to release him. It was slow, laborious work, made much more difficult by the lack of both light and gravity. Anything they needed had to be brought with them. As the rest of the fifteen Grunts moved inside, Spartan went ahead with the first fireteam. The five other Grunts all carried XC1 carbines, the latest state-of-the-art development from the Special Weapons Division.

"Fan out, we need light."

The five grunts activated all of their external lights, using pairs of shoulder-mounted wide-angle beams to fill the interior like flood lamps in a sports field. Extra light emitted from the front of the heads of the Grunts, moving as the heads moved.

"What is this place?" Private Watkins asked.

Spartan now had a good view of the interior, and both he and the others were stunned by what lay before them. Spartan had expected to see the sparse interior of a ship with exposed bulkheads, hard-edged furniture, and narrow passageways. Instead the passageway was massive, almost square in shape, and covered in the most bizarre surface textures Spartan had ever seen.

"Armstrong. Have you read anything about this kind of design before?"

The young officer might not have been particularly experienced, but Spartan had read his file three times. The man was more than just the best in his class; he also devoured information at a rate matched only by a computer. He was known as something of an expert on alien history and mythology. It was one of the key reasons he'd ensured the man was not just in the IAB, but also the man in charge of 1st Platoon.

"It's fascinating."

He reached out and touched the wall, only for it to pulse at his touch. A bright bluer pattern spread through the wall and then rushed away, leaving one like that of a circuit board on the wall, floor, and ceiling. White and blue current seemed to flow slowly through the surface, giving it an almost living feel that was at odds with the flat shapes and hard edges.

"It's like being inside a computer system."

The Lieutenant bent down and touched the floor. Lines ran long it like the paths of a circuit board, yet these pulsed with the movement of slow grey coloured matter. He looked back to Spartan.

"This doesn't match anything I've seen before. The Klithi might have something similar, but nobody has ever been inside their Traveller ships."

"Very well. Keep moving."

Spartan went further inside the passageway, the others continuing in a loose formation behind the lead element. After a minute of walking they reached another blast door, but this one opened with little effort, and Spartan immediately stopped in astonishment. In front of him was what looked like a massive glass structure, rectangular and as big as a house. It was pale blue and flickered with a myriad of subtle shades of blue and white. The patterns on the wall moved with energy, but all seemed to flow towards or directly away from this object.

"Wait, I've got something," said Tech specialist Gal Gavrel.

"Squad, take defensive positions."

Each marine separated and moved to the walls for cover or dropped to their knees. They lifted their carbines and scanned from left to right, looking for signs of trouble. Even though the interior was now partially lit by the white and blue hues of the ship, it was still dark, and the Grunts lit their lamps to provide effective illumination. A great cloud of vapour pumped out from the walls and out into the interior of the ship.

"Steady!" said Sergeant Tyler.

As always, it came down to the experience and calm of the non-commissioned officer to keep the unit in fighting form. The officers gave the orders, but it was the Sergeant that did the work. More of the steam-like gas continued to flood inside, and as it filled the space, the sensors on Spartan's armour confirmed an atmosphere was being built up inside the ship.

"2nd and 3rd Squads, converge on the habitation dome. 2nd Platoon, keep your squads moving further back into the ship. Locate its power or control systems. Remember, we are looking for any signs of Orion's crew. Tag and seal anything you find."

Acknowledgements came back quickly from each of the squad leaders. There were supposed to be three squads of fifteen Grunts in each platoon, and each platoon was commanded by one of the lieutenants fresh from Taxxu. Due to circumstances beyond his control, the two platoons now only consisted of fifty-five Grunts, but that was more than enough. Spartan's plan was simple. The twenty Grunts that comprised 1st Platoon would head towards the habitation area, the section he expected to find the most data from, and it was also the source of the signal. The larger number from 2nd Platoon would move through the rest of the ship to collect information.

"Major, my 2nd Squad is still stuck outside," said Lieutenant Kipling.

The voice of the commander of 2nd Platoon was as cool as ice, unlike most of the officers Spartan had dealt with. The man's experience of combat operations, and more important, of how things could and usually did fall apart was apparent.

"Problem?"

"No, Sir. The hatches were seized shut on the dorsal structure. 1st Squad is moving to the side of the derelict. We spotted a partially open landing bay, part of an abandoned cruiser. If they can get it open, it will give us better access to the ship."