Slaves of Hyperion (Star Crusades Uprising, Book 6) (24 page)

Spartan’s interest piqued at the name of the ship. It was a small vessel, a Q-Ship by all accounts, and one used by Commander Anderson and a small team to effect a rescue of him and the General back on Prometheus. Captain Schaffer noticed his look of recognition.

“You’ve heard of her?” he asked.

Spartan nodded but said no more.

“Sir!” called out a science technician from behind his terminal.

“What is it?” replied the XO, his tone implying irritation at the interruption.

“We have an encoded transmission from the reconnaissance drones. One made it to Hyperion and scanned for seven minutes before being destroyed.”

“Send it here,” said the XO.

It took only a few seconds before the screen filled with detailed information from the drone. It didn’t take long for such a vessel to start its analysis, and it had transmitted from the minute it arrived. Detailed information on debris and planetary surface scans indicated there had been a space battle, but there was nothing useful from the planet. What was interesting was the set of long-range images of a group of ships in orbit. The officers examined them in detail, trying to establish which ships they were and what exactly was going on around the planet.

“Is that the Santa Maria?” asked Spartan as he did his best not to sound too desperate.

The technician was already working hard on the imagery and sent over a cleaned up version that clearly showed a crippled cruiser and a badly damaged marine transport. Both were still in orbit, but there were no signs of power or life.

“What the hell is that?” asked the XO as he pointed to three shapes on the port side of the great transport.

Once enlarged, the nearest looked like a vessel the size of a landing craft or naval tug. Though big, it was dwarfed by the size of Santa Maria and the unidentified cruiser. More interesting though, its shape closely resembled that of a large metallic bug. The group of officers squinted as they stared at the bizarre object.

The communications officer interrupted their amazement with critical news.

“Captain, incoming message from Admiral Churchill. He says it is urgent. It’s about Hyperion.”

Captain Schaffer glanced over to Major Daniels and nodded as if it was a message he expected. Even the XO seemed unsurprised at the news.

“Here we have it,” said the XO grimly.

Captain Schaffer nodded to him and then looked to the communications officer.

“Put him on the main screen.”

The face of the Admiral appeared almost immediately. He was inside a CIC much like on board ANS Santa Cruz, but none of them recognised the crew in the background.

“I will be there shortly. I have just received orders from Alliance High Command. Video and imagery has leaked to the press about our missing ships and also that we have a potential hostage situation on the planet. Rumours are spreading that the Zealots have captured General Rivers. It’s being played as a demonstration of Alliance incompetence. Our orders are simple, recce the system and launch a rescue mission if it is deemed safe enough. The fleet will be assembled in eleven hours, so that’s how long you have until we leave this area. It will be a ten-day journey from your current position.”

Captain Schaffer rubbed his cheek as he listened to the news. It was hardly unexpected, but he was concerned at the almost total lack of information.

“Admiral, do we have any more news on what happened out there? The last signal from ANS Minotaur was sparse at best. Do we have no intel on the area?”

Admiral Churchill looked behind him as if he expected to be watched and then leaned in as if to whisper.

“I will explain further when aboard your ship, Captain. Needless to say, there are concerns about Hyperion, concerns that go beyond hostages, ships or even the General.”

He straightened himself up before continuing.

“Get your ship ready. Once the taskforce is assembled, we will be off at full burn. Check your systems, we cannot afford to make even a single mistake. This isn’t as large a fleet as I hoped, but it will have to do. One marine transport, four cruisers, five destroyers and the Tamarisk, make ten vessels in total. It’s not like the fleet is back in the War, but it is still a formidable force. Is Major Daniels there?”

The Major moved from the right so that he was in view of the camera, and the Admiral could see him. Spartan stepped in as well, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.

“Ah, good, I see that wherever the Major is, I will also find Captain Spartan. I take it you have heard the same information as the rest of us?”

Major Daniels nodded.

“I thought as much. Make sure your troops are ready for battle. I understand you have been training four companies of ground troops. Check their jungle fighting and survival skills, Major. Something tells me they will need them. I have also arranged for a company of Terra Novan soldiers to join us. They are green but well trained. That should give us around five hundred ground troops plus your experienced officers and Gun’s unit of
Jötnar
. There are also a number of technical specialists along to assist. I have several intelligence specialists from Kerberos, as well as a Navy weapons research team to provide scientific and technical support.”

“Sir,” replied Major Daniels.

Admiral Churchill checked something on one of his screens and looked back at the camera. In the short delay, Spartan leaned close to Major Daniels and whispered as quietly as he could.

“Do you get the impression the Admiral has spent the last few days assembling a lot of people for this mission?”

The Major didn’t have time to answer, and all he could do was gently nod as the Admiral continued his short briefing.

“I therefore confirm that by order of
Defence Secretary Howalt Sones,
and on behalf of the Senate of the Centauri Alliance, I have been placed in supreme command of this force. From seventeen hundred hours today, Operation Sol Invictus is a go. Hyperion is our destination. The eyes of the Alliance are on us, and that is why I must bring you one additional detail. It isn’t what I wanted, but we have been asked to bring a media crew along with us to document the mission. It’s a three-man unit, and they have been vetted by Alliance Intelligence.”

With that final statement, his video communication ended, and the screen changed back to a wide-angled view of the small fleet of destroyers stationed around ANS Santa Cruz. Captain Schaffer took in a long breath before speaking.

“The press, on our ships?” he muttered, evidently unimpressed with the news.

“Well, this is it then, gentlemen. To your stations and prepare your forces. We might only be a day out from Terra Nova, but that will at least cut some of our journey time. I need everything ready, so when the second the fleet is assembled, and the Admiral on board, we can leave. A lot can happen in ten days. I just hope that if anybody is still alive on Hyperion, they can hold out for another ten days.”

The officers saluted, and Major Daniels and Captain Spartan left the CIC to enter the main corridor. They walked in silence back towards the main marine habitation areas before the Major spoke with a clam but concerned voice.

“I know Teresa is out there. But she’s not on her own. She’s with friends, and if the General is still alive, I can promise you he will be working on a plan. If anybody can survive for weeks in the wilderness and surrounded by Zealots, it’s Teresa.”

Spartan did his best to smile in agreement, but deep down he was worried, very worried.

* * *

General Rivers woke up to the feeling of the worst headache he’d ever experienced. There was something strapped to his face, and his first instinct was to rip it off. As it came off, he could smell the rich air of Hyperion, thick with hints of vegetation and dampness. The humidity felt like a warm fog in his throat. He inhaled, but the air seemed thin and stretched out. His vision started to blur, but he heard somebody’s voice, and the mask was replaced on his head.

“Keep it on, Sir. The air isn’t great around here. You’ll get used to it.”

His eyesight started to return, and he could see trees moving past him and up into the air. It took a few more seconds before he realised he was lying prone on a makeshift sled and being dragged through the woodland.

“Soldier,” he called out weakly, “what happened?
Where is Pontus?
”

The soldier, a man in his filthy PDS armoured suit, leaned closer to speak.

“General,
we were forced to abandon ship because of the ground fire. I think one cruiser escaped.
 
We tracked your beacon on the way down and
ditched
some twenty
klicks from here.
We found you and three Zealot bodies over a kilometre from the crash site. There were some Biomechs in the area but we moved them on fast, Sir.”

General Rivers shook his head, desperately trying to remember what had happened. Brief images of the struggle in the craft and a fight in a swamp came to him but no specifics. Pain behind his eyes returned and he slumped back and took several more breaths before speaking again.

“Where are we going?”

“Well, Sir,
we’re heading for the rendezvous point under Captain Carlos.
They’ve established a fortified compound until rescue gets here.”

Compound?
He was now totally confused as to where he was.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Sir? Hyperion. The boats and pods are scattered all over. We ditched four days ago, and it’s taken us this long to cover the ground.”

“We?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir, we crashed with thirty-one crew from Santa Maria. Your guards made it as well. They are up ahead with the designated scouts.”

His mind was starting to clear. Something must have happened on their journey through the atmosphere because he didn’t recall ever setting foot on Hyperion.

“What happened to me?”

“Not sure, Sir. We were hit coming through the atmosphere. Luckily, we didn’t burn up coming down. We lost half the crew when we ditched. So far, we know Captain Carlos, Sergeant Morato of the ASOGs and about two hundred marines and crew are heading for the compound.”

A high-pitched scream came from the woodland as if somebody or something wanted to speak to them. He noted the posture of the people about him as the crewmen with their masks and the small number of marines levelled their weapons to the mist clouded trees.

“What’s happening?” he demanded.

“It’s the jungle, Sir. There are Biomechs out there, but they haven’t attacked us. They are watching and following though. We managed to kill one, and they are definitely Zealot controlled. They even have the Echidna markings on their armour.”

General Rivers slumped back onto his crude sled and tried to understand exactly what was going on. The dispersed landing was one thing, but he still didn’t understand why they were all travelling so far when commonsense dictated they stayed near the landing sites and waited for help.

“Okay, ten minutes break. Send out pickets, watch yourselves out there!” called out an unfamiliar voice. The tone shifted, but it could just as easily have been his hearing as it was to being their voice.

The group stopped, and he found his sled was being rested against a fallen tree. He could see the others moving about now and was surprised to see a few working without their respirators or PDS suits. Most slumped to the ground where they stood, but at least three or four slung their weapons and moved out to the perimeter to check for signs of the enemy. He looked about to try and find a friendly face, but they all looked like faceless crewmen. One person appeared to be in charge of the group but was too far away to be seen. He lifted his hand out and touched his face. He could feel the thin plastic mask, but there was no other armour or obvious wound. He pulled his hand back and spotted the officer in charge move passed him.

“You, Sir!” he called out. The louder he spoke the more his head hurt, and he winced at the pain.

“General, how are you feeling?” asked the officer. The tone of voice had already dropped in volume but also changed in pitch. He was as surprised to see it was a woman as he was to see the firm voice wasn’t a marine, but in fact
Lieutenant Nilsson
from the Santa Maria. The ship’s communications officer looked as though she had taken charge of the survivors.

“
Lieutenant Nilsson
?” he asked in surprise.

“Yes, Sir. I’m the next more senior here. The rest of the officers were killed at the next crash site. We’re heading for the compound to the south. It’s the designated rally point.”