Ghost Soldiers (2 page)

Formed after the bloodbath of the Biomech War, the IAB was a collaboration between the Alliance Navy and Marine Corps, and the Special Weapons Division of the Carthago Trade Consortium. It would be the first line of defence against emerging threats to Alliance territories, and tailor made to overcome heavy resistance at any price. This unique unit would be based away from the human worlds of the Alliance, due to its substantial use of alien personnel and technology, something that was an anathema to the war-weary citizens of the human worlds. It made use of volunteers from all treaty worlds and was funded by a grant paid by every colony, human and alien alike. Its membership would include all races in command, crew, logistics, and combat operations, unlike the strict requirements of the rest of the service. The Marine Corps would continue to provide the manpower to garrison colonies, protect ships, and conduct major military operations. The IAB would only be used where conventional forces were deemed unsuitable.

The Interstellar Assault Brigade

Three hours later

Dropship Fury, Spascia City

The Jackal dropship shuddered as it dropped out of the upper atmosphere and continued down at hypersonic speeds. The air breathing engines fired up as soon as it left the coldness of space and began to build up power ready for their combat insertion. A narrow vapour trail marked their course as they moved downwards. The dropship was aerodynamically and aesthetically advanced, with smooth surfaces and long, graceful lines. They moved out of orbit and towards the city faster than most missiles.

“Eight minutes, we’re in the descent curve, Major,” said the pilot.

Spartan nodded and acknowledged as he waited. He activated his open channel to the other combat units.

“Keep your eyes open and watch the tactical network. We just lost up to a platoon of marines on the surface.”

He took a long breath inside the tight confines of his advanced battle armour.

“We’re the cavalry. We will go in so fast, the enemy will think this is all a dream.”

He was positioned towards the front of the passenger area, along with two other similarly equipped warriors and the hulk of a Jötnar Assault Suit. All of them were massive, each not far short of three metres in height and armoured from head to toe. While the JAS armour was designed for close-range work, the Maverick suits were general purpose and equipped with numerous combat systems, as well as the vaunted HEC-1 heavy weaponry produced by CTC.

The three were held in place by large clamps that rose from the ceiling and also lifted out from the ground. Spartan was still free, though, and used those last seconds to move along the line to encourage his warriors. He licked his lips and brought up the current drone footage of the incident for them to see.

Not good.

“Take a final look at the prize, gentlemen; this is going to be one hell of a baptism of fire.”

The small aerial vehicle moved in a slow circle nearly three kilometres away from the target, and that was as close as was possible without being shot down. It showed the compound being used by the gang, as well as the carnage from the botched Helion rescue. There were more than thirty buildings, all partially constructed and now under their control. One in particular pushed up to a height of eleven storeys, and atop it flew the flag of the Spascia Liberation Front. Sergeant Tyler, the career sergeant with a long list of previous battles, grimaced as he watched what was happening.

“Idiots, Sir. Their attack was a mistake.”

Next to him was Lieutenant Armstrong. The man was young for a new officer, younger than normal in any case. Spartan recalled his record in the Academy was impeccable, the very essence of the by-the-book officer. Yet for all his knowledge, he’d never seen actual combat. He shook his head as he listened to his older and vastly more experienced sergeant.

“The attack is understandable, though. This is Spascia, one of their most significant worlds, historically, anyway. With more support they...”

Spartan shook his head.

“I don’t think so. We told them to wait it out until experts could be brought in. These criminals are opportunists, relying on the fact that the only real security here are the rookies in the new division.”

Sergeant Tyler nodded quickly in agreement.

“I agree. And like we keep telling Command, the 7th are just not ready. They need a year, maybe longer. You can’t create a division in a few months.”

He was referring to the 7th Marine Division, the brand new Marine Corps unit that had been activated on the planet just a year earlier, and nicknamed the Solar Warriors by High Command. The name was supposed to honour the significance placed by the Helions on their star in daily life, but it had become something of a joke inside the Corps. The majority of its membership was Helion, but with a substantial number of human commissioned and non-commissioned officers mixed in. It was the first Helion division ever raised and would in theory add at least ten thousand marines to the order of battle. The Lieutenant nodded slowly.

“I can’t argue with that.”

Spartan had served with enough marines to know he needed to step in. The officer needed confidence, and that wouldn’t happen if he were belittled in front of the unit.

“So, Lieutenant, what is your assessment of the enemy’s position? Why did the Solar Warriors fail?”

The young man swallowed, but luckily for him, the armour hid his face from Spartan.

“Well, Sir, they are too well entrenched for a normal operation, and the SLF know this. Our eyes on the ground show that every day they force those nearby to work for them. Give it another three months, and the whole of Spascia will be under their thumb.”

He turned slightly towards his experienced sergeant.

“Sergeant Tyler is, of course, correct. A Marine division sounds nice in theory, but that’s not what we have. They are years from being fully operational. It takes a long time to train cadets, but it takes a lot longer to make them marines.”

Spartan nodded in agreement. He’d seen the footage the same as the others, and he also knew what would happen to rookies when sent up against such a hardened target. It had fallen apart just as he’d said it would, but not even the fast ships of the Interstellar Assault Brigade could have arrived quickly enough to beat them to it. Even the pleading of a veteran like Spartan would not get them to hold back, even for a few hours.

“I know, trust me, I know. These Helions have enough firepower to hold off an entire company of ground troops, right now, and their air defences...well, they are strong, as our friends on the surface have found out.”

Sergeant Tyler highlighted several locations on the tactical map visible inside their suits.

“Any strong attack will send them out into the suburbs of Spascia. If that happens, I can guarantee we will lose our hostages, and suffer a lot of collateral damage as they run amok. Worse, they will just hold the ground they have and bleed us, and the prisoners.”

Spartan looked back at the mapping data to check they were on course.

“We will do things differently, I promise you. The IAB was created for just this kind of operation. One where we expect, and can absorb casualties.”

He then moved his eyes carefully along his checklist. He was still finding it odd getting used to his new rank in the IAB, something he had neither wanted, nor expected. An alert flashed up from the marines already on the ground. They were from the Recon Unit, the elite section in their unit and the only fully human combat unit on the planet; the message was tagged as an urgent flashcom. Spartan lifted his hand, signalling he needed to stop the conversation for now.

“Proceed.”

“Major. Alpha and Bravo Squads are in position and waiting for the word. Hostiles are in position around the facility, and the anti-air systems are still manned following the failure of Operation Hammer.”

Spartan was convinced he could sense sarcasm as the marine used the name of the operation. He ignored it, knowing only too well the dangers and risks being taken at that very moment by this small, but elite unit.

“...The weapons are presently inactive, but they will go live in ten seconds, no more.”

Spartan nodded to himself as he made mental notes.

“The prisoners are still in the single storey structure between the gun towers and the building used as a barrack hall. We have estimated enemy numbers, one-fifty, plus change. We’ve tagged sixteen anti-armour weapons and multiple strong points. Plus the captured Vanguards.”

The man’s tone changed a little, indicating urgency.

“The compound is a fortress, Sir. It is going to take an army to get them out, and whoever hits the barricades is going to take losses, heavy losses.”

Spartan licked his lips again, already feeling them begin to dry. He was going in with half of that, but that didn’t worry him. It was the lives of the five Alliance marines that concerned him the most, and there was no chance he would leave them behind with this enemy. He could sense the concern in the spotter’s voice. It was almost as though the man was trying to dissuade him from the attack.

 
“Understood. Maintain your current position. We’re en route. Keep your eyes on the enemy, and continue tagging targets. When we arrive, we’ll need rapid intel and overwatch. Do not, I repeat, do not assault. Leave that to our teams. We will be there shortly.”

Spartan moved his eyes a fraction and then brought up the tactical map. At the same time, he shared the data with every single person involved in the mission. As well as the position of patrols and guards, he made a special effort to mark the heavy weapons, ones that were easily capable of crippling an aircraft, and certainly hurting or killing those in the combat landing.

The craft buffeted once more, but not one of the passengers seemed particularly bothered. Spartan had seen so much combat that the missions now all seemed to coalesce. This one was different, though. This time it was his own unit, one built from his experiences in the Alliance military, and outside of it. It was special, and one he had to pay a price to be a part of. He’d refused reinstatement in the Marine Corps five times in total, but in the end, the only way he could command soldiers in the unit would be to accept a partial reinstatement into the new unit; by having the Interstellar Assault Brigade fully absorbed into the Alliance military as an independent security unit. His special status meant he would only have to serve in the IAB, and could not, under any circumstances be transferred without granting him permission to leave.

The research labs, shipyards, and factories of the Special Weapons Division would remain in Taxxu, and still managed by the mega corporation known as the Carthago Trade Consortium. In exchange for privileged access to the new discoveries being made at Taxxu, they would provide everything the IAB needed, including new ships, weapons, armour, and equipment that were leagues ahead of anything used in the Alliance.

The arrangement was mutually beneficial, and as a consequence, meant Spartan and his comrades retained a major stake in the Special Weapons Division. All of this was possible due to the vast increases in trade and communication throughout the Alliance. The great rebuilding project that was breathing life back into the barren worlds shattered by the war was creating new opportunities for thousands of corporations, all keen to expand and increase their profits.

All Spartan and his comrades really cared about was that they could return to combat, but on their own terms, and outside the control of other units. The fact that Spartan's tiny group were now wealthy meant almost nothing to them.

Armour…check.

Small coloured indicators flashed for each system, and he mentally checked them off as each one appeared. The designs were exactly the same as those used inside Vanguard armour suits, and as he watched them, the familiarity of combat routine quickly returned.

Power, communication, life support. All good.

He rolled his head and heard the sound of his neck click, sending a shudder down his spine. This could not be seen from the outside of the Maverick armour. Though fast and agile, the entire head had been incorporated directly into the torso carapace. Thick plating completely blocked off the face, with nothing open or exposed. The armour was a faded crimson, but heavily marked and worn from previous training exercises. Parts of bare metal could be seen through the paint, showing how it was constructed.

Weapons.

A hatch on his shoulder split up into small sections to allow a motorised weapon mount to rise. It pushed up quickly, barely making a sound. Fitted to the mount was the HEC-1 Cannon, a deadly, plasma weapon based on Khreenk technology. He tested its range of movement, and then it dropped back inside the armour. Next came the L52 coilguns, the standard weapons of the Marine Corps. Two were fitted in mounts on the arms, with just the last part of the muzzles pushed out from the armour.