Slaves of Hyperion (Star Crusades Uprising, Book 6) (20 page)

With almost perfect timing, they broke through and to the cloudy skies of the planet. The landing craft bumped and buffeted through the thick air, and moisture hissed over the superheated exterior of the vessel. At the same time, the built-in countermeasures suite activated.

“What the hell, now what?” asked one of the marines further back in the craft.

Teresa checked her straps and looked up to the fixed weapon rack above her.

“It means we’ve been detected. If they have surface to air weapon systems, we can expect them any moment. Why do you think we came in so fast?”

A fast sequence of flashes rippled from the sides of the craft as it released scores of superheated flares to distract any head tracking weapon systems. Almost simultaneously, a dull crump shook the landing craft and threw one man against the ceiling.

“You heard the pilot, make sure you’re strapped in. This is going to get ugly!” shouted Teresa.

On cue, part of the port armour plating ripped off to expose the side of the landing craft. Howling winds screamed in and sucked out anything not bolted or welded down. Teresa stretched out her arms and grabbed the rails above her for extra grip. Through the breach she could see yellow streaks of gunfire flashing around them.

“Will this never end!” she muttered under her breath.

More alarms sounded through the craft but were entirely pointless. Shells and bullets ripped into the flanks until holes started to appear in the metal. Teresa had been in crashes before, and she remembered the jokes she’d shared with Spartan about how few successful landings either of them had ever made. As far as she was concerned, any landing from space was usually destined to end with them being shot down. She looked about the cabin with a calm stoicism that would have done Spartan proud.

“Marines, remember your training. Keep your heads down and hands up. When we hit the ground, I want a fast dispersal. Get your arses out of here and establish a secure perimeter. Do not stay inside under any circumstances, or you’re likely to find yourselves in the middle of a burning bird.”

The men and women nodded to her, but she saw a few look past her and to the breach. It was understandable, but she knew that any marine not focused on the mission was a liability.

“Hey, Corporal! Yes, you! Get your eyes away from there and check your gear. We’re landing soon.”

The woman stared at Teresa for a little while longer, and as if she’d been struck about the head, woke up. She looked down to her right and went through her equipment checks. A crackle and a quiet voice in her helmet was the first contact she’d had off the boat since they’d left. She tapped a button to increase the volume.

“Sergeant Morato, report in,” said the voice, but with the crackling and howling noise it was hard to identify, even with the noise reduction filters.

“This is Morato. I have one uninjured bird, setting down on the landing site. Who is this?” she answered.

“Excellent. Captain Carlos here. We’ve just landed three hundred metres north of the landing co-ordinates. The enemy strongpoint is somewhere within fifty kilometres from here. Watch yourselves, there are...” his voice was drowned out by the sounds of shouting and then it cut.

Always the damned same!

“Thirty seconds!” called out the pilot.

Teresa knew that the lack of information from the cockpit wasn’t down to negligence. With the damage sustained and ground fire coming up at them, she had no doubts the two pilots were under immense strain just trying to get them on the ground safely. The readout in her helmet showed the current atmospheric pressure was with acceptable tolerances, but she couldn’t remember off the top of her head what the air situation was on the ground. Her suit showed a ninety-seven percent level for now, and that was more than enough for a day’s normal use.

“Brace!” shouted the pilot, but it was too little too late. The landing craft struck the ground harder than any landing Teresa had ever experienced. The initial impact would have broken her back had she not been encased in the protective PDS suit. The breach of the side of the hull ripped open and tore away to split the landing craft into two sections. She felt her body being thrown about and then it stopped. Internal sensors flashed on her suit to warn her about the pressure changes and a slight leak in her leg armour. It required no attention, as the suit was capable of projecting small amounts of adhesive to the damaged section. It was quickly fixed and would last for a number of hours.

“Okay, we’re down, now it’s time to get out!” she said and pulled the lever that maintained the seat locks. The belts snapped off, and she slid out of the seat and towards the ceiling of the landing craft. It hadn’t even occurred to her she was upside down. Just in time, she lifted her hands and crashed heavily into the metalwork. Incredibly, nothing was hurt and she rolled over, looking about the craft. This section consisted of two-thirds of the cabin, and already a large part was filling with muddy water. Outside the craft were lines of thick trees, but they must have found one of the few reasonably open clearings. Even so, the ground was waterlogged and maybe a metre deep in places. Tree stumps and foliage made establishing who was where almost impossible. To make matters worse, a wisp of fog hung over the ground like a permanently running smoke generator.

“Sergeant!” called out a marine to her left.

She turned around and spotted a dozen marines already pulling gear from the wreckage and helping to pull the wounded from the twisted metal. She noticed four had stopped moving, and one was pinned to his seat with two snapped metal bars pushing through his chest. The sight of the body reminded her of Sergeant Lovett and his never-ending question to find his fiancée.

“Lovett!” she shouted, half-expecting to find his to be one of the bodies. She was pleasantly surprised to be replied by a hand tapping her shoulder.

“Here.”

She looked around to see the familiar face of the Sergeant covered in mud. Scratch marks ran down his armour, yet there were no signs of major damage and more importantly, no signs of blood.

“Good. How many made it?” she asked, almost dreading to find the answer.

“Thirty-two came down, twenty-three made it out in one piece, including the two of us. The front section took one hell of a pounding in the landing.”

She made to move forward to check, but he held her back.

“Trust me, it’s a mess up there. Leave it to the medics. We need to protect what we have left.”

Teresa wanted to see the damage, but the two of them had seen plenty of action and the consequences of that. There was nothing interesting or glorious about the smashed bodies of their friends and comrades. Either way, her interest was overridden by the sound of gunfire to the west of their position. She listened for a second, instantly recognising two distinct tones.

“They’re ours!” she said firmly and looked to the marines who continued to drag equipment from the shattered remains of the landing craft. The gunfire from an L48 rifle had a very distinctive sound due to its large calibre ammunition and high velocity. Most of the sounds came from these with the odd thud from
L52 Mark II Assault Carbine
s that were carried by the ASOG troops; the sounds from the coil weapons was unlike any other kind of firearm.

“Only ours, though?” asked Sergeant Lovett rhetorically.

The internal comms inside Sergeant Morato’s suit crackled again, and the signal was able to burn through whatever had been causing the interference. This time it wasn’t the Captain, It was the XO from the Santa Maria.

“
Commander Petersburg
here. All units rendezvous at the second landing site. We are under attack and need immediate assistance. Hostiles are in the area. I repeat. Hostiles are overrunning our perimeter.”

Crap!
Teresa thought.

She, Lovett and another twenty-one marines and ASOG troopers wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. The last two were already out of the craft and carrying one of the destroyed landing craft’s pintle-mounted machineguns. Luckily, the Marine Corps had the foresight to modify the weapons mount system so that the gun could be detached upon landing for such an eventuality. She was pleased to see her six troopers were all safe, but of the marines she could identify only half. All were junior ranks, mostly privates with the odd corporal thrown in.

“Okay, here’s the plan. We’ll form into two units, one under me, and the other under Sergeant Lovett, here,” she explained while pointing to her old friend.

“Split up, half with each of us. Carry as much of the gear as you can. We need to get to the Commander and fast.”

A series of quick acknowledgements greeted her followed by a flurry of activity. Each strapped on what they could, and half of the marines lifted up the salvaged containers in pairs. It took just seconds for them to be ready to move out from the vulnerable landing zone. Its only advantage was the open space that provided a killing ground for their firearms.

“Good, let’s go!” called out Teresa.

The two groups of ASOG troopers moved out in front of the marines in four pairs. They moved fast and with their carbines held up to their shoulders. They trained for rapid deployment and were easily able to cover the ground quickly while protecting the unit. Behind them snaked the two columns of marines, half carrying equipment, and the other half checking the area for signs of the enemy. On her display in her PDS suit, Teresa identified the position of the Commander. It was almost four hundred metres from their position and through the thick jungle. They moved to the treeline, and as soon as she stepped inside, the available light cut in half. Her suit was equipped with light amplification imagery and easily adjusted.

“Watch your corners and expect trouble. There’s something out here, and it ain’t friendly.”

* * *

Spartan entered the bar to find Khan and a dozen others of his contacts waiting for him. The regulars that had been inside must have left in the last hour as no other soul was waiting, other than a single barman handing out a continuous supply of glasses. He walked into the middle of the room and looked at each of them. Most were marines, men and women he’d served with, but a few were there by reputation alone. Khan had brought Osk plus another of his brethren that he’d not seen before. Major Daniels sat in the corner, flanked by two sergeants. To his surprise there were also two soldiers from the Terra Nova Guards, both decorated men in their late thirties.

“Captain,” announced the Major, spotting Spartan’s arrival.

Spartan approached him and saluted.

“Sir. Do you think you could have found anywhere a little less conspicuous?”

Daniels smiled at him. The two went back a long way, and although their first encounters had been more confrontational, they’d learnt to respect and trust each other. He pointed to the Terra Novans.

“I didn’t have time to do much. The message from the Admiral got to me less than thirty minutes ago. The Santa Cruz already knows I am bringing a training crew with some of the finest and most specialised people in the Confederacy.”

“Ahem,” coughed one of the marines sarcastically.

Daniels smiled at the reminder.

“Yes, as I was saying, the most specialised people in the Alliance. I have your recommended PT instructors from the Marine Corps, tech specialists from Prometheus, and underground warfare experts from Carthago.”

Even Spartan looked impressed as the Major pointed out each of the individuals. As he reached the tech specialist, he was sure he recognised a face.

“Kowalski? What are you doing here?”

An old friend of his and Teresa’s, Kowalski had been working on Prometheus since before the final battle at Terra Nova. He was a marine and also one of the best hackers and computer experts in the military.

“Commander Anderson sent me and a team to request additional equipment and personnel for back on Prometheus. There are big changes happening there.”

“Yeah, I heard. Who else did you bring?”

The door opened behind him and another four people entered, including the large hulk of a familiar looking Jötnar. He pushed passed the others and grabbed Spartan, pulling him close to his vast body.

“Spartan!” he growled in a voice that anybody else would think was that of a creature about to try and kill him. Unable to breathe, let alone speak, Spartan was forced to wait until he released his grip and stepped back.

“Gun? You’re here with Kowalski?”

His old friend and leader of the Jötnar nodded.

“Not just me, I brought a whole squad of my brothers. Have you not heard? We have our own underground city on Prometheus. We called it the Arsenal.”