The Great Betrayal

Chapter SIX

Spartan was punished again and again after the Great Uprising, even though he was one of many heroes to have lived through it. Unable to climb through the stifling structure of the Marine Corps, he forged his own path with the infamous APS Corporation. This high-tech private security company was torn apart by controversy, however, and once more he was cast aside. Many had forgotten his name when he vanished aboard a T’Kari Raider, one of the many ships forced to serve the Biomechs. Few expected to see him return, and even fewer could imagine the change they would find when he did.



The Rise of Spartan





Jack looked out of the tiny armored window on the side of the Hammerhead. None of the other marines could see it, but his forehead was covered in a fine sheen of cold sweat. He took in a series of harsh breaths and tried to slow his pulse, but it wasn’t working. He could see the flashing indicator icons on the overlay inside his armored helmet, but it did even less to help him calm down. An image of the battle with the Animosh returned, one where most of his friends lay dead around him. It was the thought of Hunn, the Champion of Hyperion lying in a growing pool of black blood that returned time and time again.

“Hold on!” shouted a marine.

The craft shook and buffeted as they hit the warm air above the urban sprawl of Helios. It was enough to snap him out of his thoughts and put his mind back on the mission. He tapped the release button, and the visor opened to let in the cool conditioned air of the spacecraft. He reached inside; his armored hand tried to wipe away the sweat, but with the glove it was difficult. He cursed and closed the visor before anybody could see his face.

Get it together, idiot!

He looked back at the tiny window, remembering the last time he was in this position. It had been inside the damaged hull of ANS Conqueror as she had made her way through the atmosphere. It ended in a violent emergency landing, followed by hours of hiding and fighting. This time was different though; at least he tried to tell himself that. Now they were heading down by choice, and it made him feel strangely distant to his comrades. He could see the swirling light brown clouds in the skies, as well as layer after layer of roads, rail systems, and tall buildings. It was how he had imagined Terra Nova would be until he actually went there many years earlier.

“Jack, you ready?” Wictred asked.

Jack said nothing but lifted his thumb in the universal gesture. Wictred seemed satisfied with that, looking about the craft at the other marines as they sat and waited. All of them wore their latest issue dark gray PDS Alpha armor and black tiger strike camouflage pattern. The gear had been introduced prior to the Helios Expedition and was a minor upgrade to the old version of the armor that had been used in the Corps for decades. It was designed to provide protection against the environment, as well as moderate enemy fire. It fitted close to the skin. Contrary to most people’s thoughts, the suit wasn’t designed to turn each marine into a tank, more it had been created to allow them to operate in any environments within a fully sealed suit. The visors on their helmets were a smoked black color, and the reinforced gorget section at the top of the chest covered the neck and chin; this was the most obvious visual change to the equipment.

“Remember the briefing. Our job is to secure the officials and to get them back to the birds. We go in fast and get the job done.”

The marines replied back on the affirmative, and Wictred nodded slowly. Unlike the other marines, he could never have fitted inside standard marine issue gear. Instead, Wictred wore the heavily modified armor produced back on Prometheus and based on specifications laid out by the Alliance military, with the assistance of engineers on Hyperion. The color scheme was identical to the PDS Alpha armor that Jack wore, but it more closely resembled a non-powered version of the exo-skeletal armor used by the massive Vanguards. For a second, Jack actually thought he was looking at one of those pieces of equipment, but the finish was completely different. The slab plating and rougher finish marked it out as a functional object, like everything Wictred’s people used. It was the first time Jack had seen Wictred wear it, and it looked much more aggressive than he’d expected.

“What do you think of the JAS gear?” called out one of the marines.

Jack heard the man’s voice and glanced at Wictred to hear his response. The armor’s name was a simple one, and he was pretty sure he’d heard it described as a Jötnar Assault Suit, as opposed to the Personal Defense Suits used by everybody else. At least that was what he’d heard in the barracks.

“It’s tight, not how I would have designed it,” he said smartly.

Two more of the marines looked at Wictred as he flexed his muscles. There was no fancy powerplant or hydraulics. Everything that moved was done purely through the strength of its wearer. He looked directly at Jack and lifted up both fists as if boxing. It gave Jack a perfect view of the serrated blades on the arms.

“I like the weapons and armor though. It’s a start, and it is a good match for the Vanguard gear.”

Jack looked at the arms of the armor and noticed the obvious changes that had been made for the Jötnar. Their propensity for violent close ranged combat had meant the removal of anything designed for ranged combat. The limb joints were stronger, with multiple serrated edges on the arms all the way to the elbows. He imagined this type of new armor would make them even deadlier killing machines. It wasn’t surprising they were being mated up with the Vanguards to create heavy units. Jack looked at the rest of the marines in the Hammerhead and was still surprised at how small they were compared to the enlarged bulk of Wictred. He shook his head, doing his best to hide a laugh.

This is not going to do anything for Wictred’s ego!

“Don’t forget the rules of engagement, Corporal,” he called out to his friend.

Wictred frowned at this, and to others it might have looked as if it was more of a rebuke. Jack knew differently. This was Wictred being annoyed that he wouldn’t be easily able to use his new toys, at least not until they were in serious danger. Wictred protected his face with the left paw and struck a mock punch with the right.

“If any of them get too close, I’ll have to introduce them to my friend here.”

It was a modest distraction, but as he looked at Wictred, the thoughts of the Helion synthetics that had been far from his mind were now back and in full form. They had been much like Wictred, though more slight and closer to Jack’s height than his friend. He wondered how many were still on the planet and then banged his helmet hard against the bulkhead.

What the hell are you doing? Sort it out, now!

It was the continuous buffeting of the spacecraft that had brought him back to reality, and he was actually thankful for it. The memories of what had been were impacting him, and he needed to focus. Jack looked back to the window and spotted another of the Hammerheads moving in formation. The craft was smaller than the spacecraft normally used for this kind of mission, and it was part of the great change that had swept through the Alliance military. The days of all operations commencing with a massed landing craft assault were long gone. With better vehicles, weapons, and armor, the marines of the Alliance could make use of a host of new vehicles, from the small but fast Hammerheads to the eight-wheel Bulldog armored personnel carriers to launch lightning attacks ahead of the larger landing vehicles.

Do more with less, Jack thought, remembering one of the many briefings as units had been cut and new vehicles introduced. The only good thing was that as they had discovered more worlds and people, so had public demand for protection. It seemed the citizens of the Alliance were feeling nervous, and perhaps a little vulnerable after seeing the first footage of the alien worlds.

I remember one of my instructors telling me that nothing draws people together like the threat of a more powerful competitor. I’m not entirely convinced with that argument, but at the very least there have been substantial increases in defense spending throughout the Alliance, and that means more marine battalions, more bases, and most of all, more ships.

“We’re going in hot!” said one of the marines to the laughter of the others.

“This ain’t hot,” laughed another while he played about with the slide on his carbine. Wictred shot him a withering look from across the Hammerhead.

“Marine, this is combat, not some lame ass game. Keep your weapon stowed and your game face on unless you want to be first one with their head in the mud when we make landfall!”

It was harsh and unexpected from his friend. Wictred was young compared to his kin, yet this promotion in the Corps and his recent experience seemed to have changed him. Jack looked at the other marines and wondered why they had changed in such different ways since the last operation.

“What’s up his ass?” muttered Private Riku, only loud enough for the three marines including Jack around her to hear.

Jack almost snapped at her, but something deep down forced him to keep his mouth shut. Only a handful of those in the Hammerhead had seen combat, and those hadn’t seen anything like the combat he and Wictred had witnessed. Jack forced himself to stay calm and looked at each of them, making sure he could remember their faces. It wasn’t easy as the visors made it almost impossible to make out detailed features. Luckily, the insignia on their chests and the occasional individual markings on the armor helped a little.

“Hey, Morato. We’re gonna kick some serious ass down there!” said Private Callahan.

Jack looked at him and said nothing; his mind had turned blank. He knew the excitement and bravado was just as much a coping mechanism as was the alcohol still lingering inside his body. It had dulled his senses, yet everything around him seemed to be moving slowly, apart from the view out of the window. He looked back and watched a pair of Lightning Fighters drop down to avoid a burst of thermal cannon fire. One was hit on the left engine, and it quickly caught fire. Jack watched in fascination as the fighter’s internal fire suppression system stopped the fire. The engine was out of action and streamed a long trail of black smoke. That was when the internal speaker activated, and Jack knew immediately it was Captain Carter, their commander for this operation.

“Marines, this is it. Reports from embedded drones show columns of armor on the way to the precinct. Time is of the essence. Remember, the priority is the rescue of the Helion officials. Once secured, we moved onto Phase Two and hold the entire side until relieved. Good luck, people. Keep your heads down and your eyes open.”

Jack had only met the man briefly before boarding the Hammerhead, along with the rest of his team. He was a wiry man with a thin black mustache and a peculiar accent to his voice that Jack found difficult to place. He'd looked calm and confident as filed past and stepped to their positions inside. Jack looked at the rest of their formation from the window and found the Hammerhead with the black arrows near the nose.

That’s him, he thought.

“Marines, we’ve been spotted, and now they know we’re here,” said a familiar voice over the platoon’s private audio channel. The sound was crystal clear for a change.

They’d better have the comms working right this time.

“Animosh ground forces have blocked off the remaining route back to rebel lines. The precinct is now on its own and won’t hold against a combined assault. Our schedule has been stepped up, so we’re going in fast. You know your targets and extraction points, so do not dawdle.”

Jack looked to the other marines and could almost smell the raw nerves.

“We have three minutes on the ground before Helion aircraft will be on us. Good hunting,” said Sergeant Stone.

It was strange to not hear him ranting and raving at them. This was the first time they’d been into action with the Sergeant, and Jack was actually quite impressed with the reassuring tone of the Sergeant.

Perhaps I misjudged him.

“Twenty seconds!” said the pilot over the same channel.

It was the final signal for Jack, and it sent a massive surge of adrenalin though his body. He scanned the rows of indicator icons on the visor overlay to check everything was ready. Then he noticed the red icon that monitored his weapon.

You idiot.

He looked down and saw his L52 Mark II carbine sat there dormant, its power unit switched off, and its powerful energy coils completely impotent. With a quick twist, he activated the capacitor charging system and readied if for action. It didn’t take long for the weapon to charge, but it still sent a chill of mild panic through him.

“Five seconds!”

The Hammerhead was now shaking considerably as the engines redirected their power. Until then, Jack had barely even noticed the slowing descent. Even in simulated landings, they didn’t come down this hard and fast. His body seemed to increase in weight, and he thought he would be unable to breathe. The side door hissed open, and a dull yellow haze filled the horizon. The smoked visor quickly adjusted to the lighting conditions.

“Go, go, go!” shouted Wictred.

The dispersal from the Hammerhead was automatic, and it didn’t even feel like a real combat operation to Jack. Half of the marines were out before it was his turn, and then he was outside. Even as he moved out, he could see the shape of the two armored mules, now known colloquially as the Ram due to its reinforced frontal section. The machines were as big as farm animals and stood on two pairs of inward facing legs. Slabs of lightweight armor hung around their bodies, and as they were fully unrevealed and dropped to the ground, the differences between the two became clear. The first had open cages fitted to its top and flanks for the transport of supplies, ammunition, and equipment. The second Ram carried a dual L48 rifle fitted inside a motorized housing where its shoulders should have been. The frontal armor of this model was much more substantial than the other, and along its haunches were two reinforced cases for recon drones.

“This way!” called out a faceless marine, as he leapt over a piece of rubble and rushed away from the Hammerhead.

Okay, let’s go, Jack thought.

Jenkell, Frewyn, and Callahan spread out in front and moved toward the tower, with the Ram clanking after them. Jack followed right behind but kept his head down. His boots made a loud crunching sound as he crushed small stones to powder. From memory, he knew this structure was the captured Animosh precinct and was guarded at each corner by a massive tower. Green lines on his helmet’s overlay showed where he needed to go, and small green diamonds marked out known friendlies.

“Keep moving!” said Wictred.

He lurched past Jack. His friend’s large bulk and longer legs meant he could move faster over a distance, and he was in position and waiting for them by the time they reached the base of the tower. At this distance, Jack could see the improvised barricades that formed an almost continuous wall around the precinct, roughly ten meters from the structure itself. He jumped up and over the rough wall, almost landing on top of Private Frewyn’s foot.

“Hey, watch it!” he snapped back gruffly.

Jack automatically dropped to one knee as the rest of the marines swarmed ahead. The scream of engines pulled his eyes toward another Hammerhead that had moved into position over the central structure. The engines rotated around, and as they did so, let out a roar that echoed for kilometers. The downdraft kicked up a storm of dust and dirt, striking the armor of the marines.

More Hammerheads flew down low, and in less than sixty seconds; an entire company of marines was deployed around the base of the precinct, both at the barricades and just inside the building. He looked at those still hovering over the lower part of the building between the towers. Three squads, a full platoon of marines, had now landed on the central roof, and Jack could monitor their progress inside the building. They moved quickly and in seconds were on their way to their rendezvous.

“Watch your sectors, people,” said Wictred in a calm, yet stern voice.

Jack turned his attention back to the barricades. At least thirty Helion civilians were hiding behind the obstruction with a variety of weapons. Jack gave them a quick glance, noting that less than half were equipped with firearms. The others carried hand tools and some nothing at all. One spotted him looking and lifted his hand to signal in the human fashion.

Where did he learn that? Jack wondered.

A black circle appeared in the man’s forehead, and he staggered back and to the ground. Another was struck in the shoulder before all of them ducked down.

“Incoming!” Callahan cried out.

Sensors on Jack’s armor detected the source, direction, and type of fire being put down on them. He glanced at the information and noted one important point; they were thermal rounds.

“Animosh!” he spat out.

Private Riku kept down low behind the barricade but twisted her head to look at him.

“How do you know that?” she asked angrily.

Jack moved down next to her, lifting his head just high enough to look out across the open ground at the blocks of buildings about forty meters away and on the other side of the wide open road system. There were no vehicles anywhere near the precinct, apart from those dragged into position to form part of the barricade. Jack pointed at a partially demolished three-story structure.

“In there, I promise you are Animosh fighters.”

She took aim with her L52 Mark II and looked at the distant rubble. As per their rules of engagement, she kept her finger off the trigger. They were not allowed to open fire indiscriminately.

“I see movement, are you sure?”

Jack nodded.

“Oh, yes, only the state political forces are allowed to carry thermal weapons.”

“You’ve seen them before?” she asked incredulously.

Jack had forgotten how little the others in the squad knew about him. Since his platoon had been reinforced, over half of the marines had been shipped in from other units. He’d only really talked with Wictred and never about what had happened on Helios. There had been rumors amongst the other marines but few facts about Jack. He nodded.

“Yes, they are fast and well equipped. Keep your eyes open.”

Wictred's voice came over the platoon channel.

“Hold your fire.”

Jack looked to his left, then his right. His comrades were spread out along the barricade at intervals of about five meters. Each kept down low but took careful aim with their carbines. The two Rams reached their position, and the one fitted with cages moved closer to the base of the tower and then lowered itself to the ground. From there, Jack could see the spare ammunition, medical kits, and backup radio gear.

And the other?

He glanced about and spotted it moving to a damaged part of the barricade. Without any human intervention, it pushed its way into the rubble, dropping down so that only the upper part of its structure was visible. The motorized turret activated, and the weapon pointed up at a light angle, waiting for a target and permission to fire. Jack was fascinated as the side case flicked open, and out flew a small hex-rotor multicoptor. The device was about the size of a marine’s helmet, but around it were six small ducted fan engines, each almost silent in operation. It powered up with a gentle buzzing sound and then vanished into the sky. He checked the overlay in his helmet and nodded to himself, as the other marines tagged the Helions and were already on their way to the evacuation Hammerheads overhead.

“Extraction in fifty seconds, stay frosty,” said Captain Carter over the audio channel.

Red threat indicators suddenly appeared on the overlay. The drone had detected them from its high position and was sending back detailed information on direction, vector, and velocity. Captain Carter’s voice returned, this time sounding less than impressed.

“Hostiles are in the area. If you are fired upon, you are cleared to engage.”

It was a minor change, but now Jack had permission to return fire, if and when the Animosh attacked. He could see the enemy’s aerial units moving ever closer, and the number underneath each object showed they would be in range of the precinct in just over a minute.

Damn, this is gonna be close!

“There!” cried Wictred from his position fifteen meters away to the right.

Jack tracked to the right and spotted the movement. At first it was just a handful of dark shapes, but then there were scores of armored figures, the dreaded Helion paramilitary forces. They wore a heavily faded and discolored orange uniform that looked almost blood red in the daylight. From their shoulder hung cloaks that partially obscured their forms. What really surprised the other marines were the weapons the Animosh carried. Unlike the uniform equipment of the Alliance, the Animosh utilized a variety of ranged and close combat weapons, including thermal rifles, maces, and lightweight shields. It gave them the look of a ceremonial riot police unit.

“Wait for it!” called out Wictred.

The Animosh moved out from cover and ran across the open ground toward the barricaded position around the tower while at the same time another Hammerhead swept down to land on the roof. A dozen Alliance fighters circled above them, each looking for any sign of trouble. The thirty or so Helions at the front stopped, dropped to one knee, and planted their shields on the ground; the rest formed up so that they were three deep and rested their weapons on special mounts cut into the meter tall plates of armor.

“I don’t like this,” Private Riku said, her normal nonchalance fading and being replaced with raw fear. Jack looked at her and nodded back at the Helions in the street.

“Keep your finger ready on the trigger,” he said, reassuringly.

There must have been hundreds of the Animosh, and the modest number of Helions on the barricades opened fire to little effect. Only the odd captured thermal rifle was able to smash the shields while the rest did little more than scratch the metalwork. It was then that Jack realized the only noise around him, apart from the odd round of gunfire, was the chattering and shouting of the Helion defenders. The Animosh were almost totally silent as they waited in their odd formation. Jack was reminded of some of the old films he’d watched depicting warriors in the nineteenth century on Earth. A time when large blocks of soldier would march into battle and line up to blast away with gunpowder weapons.

This is just wrong.

Then it came; a great flash of energy and then a volley of heat as a hundred weapons unleashed their firepower.

Jack almost missed the thermal blast as he dropped down to the ground. Chunks of the barricade tore off, and pieces of metal flew about like razor sharp pieces of glass. One thermal round struck a marine on the far right. It hit the man hard in the chest, burning a hole nearly a centimeter into the armor. Incredibly, he staggered, dropped to one knee, and then righted himself before moving back to cover. A loud sound, low in tone reverberated about the precinct, shortly followed by dozens of Helion rebels surging out of the precinct and to the barricades. Jack looked at them and recalled how similar they were to the T’Kari. They were generally slightly shorter than the average human, yet far slighter in build. They were quick, but that didn’t count for much in this kind of battle. Three were cut down in the gunfire before they could reach cover.

“Fire at will!” came the order.

Jack didn’t even bother checking who had said it. All he needed to know was that it was a flagged command order on his helmet overlay, and that they were under fire from the Helion paramilitaries on the street. He took aim at the center of the armored line and pulled the trigger. The L52 thumped into his shoulder as it accelerated the three magnetized slugs at the target. Wictred had already sent the silent command over the squad network to use the high-power setting. The rate of fire was heavily reduced, but the weapon did discharge its capacitor in one go, turning the carbine into something more like a railgun, but with the kinetic impact of light artillery. Three holes, each the size of his fist ripped through the shield, slightly to the left, and about the height of the Helion standing behind it.

Yeah, he thought with grim satisfaction.

The Animosh warrior moved, and he could only assume it was a kill. Even so, the damaged shield remained, and another gun barrel appeared and took aim. The staccato sound of the Alliance marines firing was the exact opposite of the steady and controlled volley fire of the Animosh. A Helion to his right dropped his rifle and ran to return inside the safety of the tower, but he was hit in the back of the head. The impact sent a shower of blood and brain matter over the wall.

Idiot.

Jack returned his gaze to the line of Helions. Some were standing their ground, but few had the training, skill, equipment, or even the inclination to join them. The marines went to work as if they were in yet another training scenario. He flicked the firing mode to normal rapid fire and aimed at the same point as before.

Let’s try something different.

He held down the trigger and could easily make out the buzzing sound as he emptied the entire magazine in a short burst. Through the small magnification in the optical sight, he could see the pattern the magnetized rounds made as they moved from left to right, hitting six separate shields. While he fired two high-power shots from another, marines slammed into the shields, joining him to create a hole three-men deep in the line. Wictred must have spotted it because the gap was immediately flagged as a priority on the visor overlay.

“Jack, to the left!” Private Frewyn shouted.

He lifted the carbine and twisted thirty degrees. One of the mechanical combat machines was moving from cover and into the open ground between the buildings and the Animosh precinct. It was slightly smaller than Wictred, more like a large man and bipedal. Its armor was closefitting and smooth, and resting in its hands was a thermal weapon that looked like a support version of the weapons the Animosh used. It moved quickly and was halfway across the open ground before it was hit by fire from three marines. Dents appeared in its armor, yet it kept going before ducking down behind a burning Animosh troop carrier.

“Wictred, combat drone, Sector Four. It’s heading right for us!” Jack shouted on the communication channel. He tried his best, but there was a surprising note of panic to his voice at the size of the machine. Then he spotted the other two moving behind it and also taking cover. He opened his mouth to speak, but Wictred had beaten him to it.

“I have them, three combat drones, flagged for support fire. Bring them down!”

The icons for the support units lit up and surrounded the three shapes instantly. It was all part of the new firmware for the PDS, and Jack had to admit, it seemed to be working well. The only problem was that the support units were lightly spread out with just a single sharpshooter for each squad of twelve.

I need to help them.

He looked behind him and located the support Ram. It had dropped down to avoid being hit. With a simple request through the comms system, it activated and moved over to him while keeping as low as possible. It was alongside him in less than ten seconds. Jack clipped his L52 onto the special mount on the front of his armor across his chest and reached into one of the mesh cages on the side of the Ram. It detected his IFF signature and unlocked to give him access to the weapons cache inside.

Where are you?

On the right were three of the old L48 rifles, weapons that dated back to the Uprising and well before. He grabbed the nearest, checked it was loaded, and then twisted back to his position. The Ram made a quiet clicking sound and scampered off almost like a dog to a group of three marines, presumably to take them more ammunition. He lifted the weapon to his shoulder and zeroed in on the three machines. They were hard to hit as each had taken up a solid position in cover. Every few seconds, one would push a weapon out and fire, and with each blast came a casualty. He counted two marines and as many Helions killed or wounded before he was ready.

Just to the side.

Jack squeezed the trigger halfway, and the laser rangefinder instantly calculated the distance to the target. A single button tap then added on an extra meter. He finished the pull and fired a single large-caliber projectile from the rifle toward the machines. With any other weapon, this round would have been wasted, but the L48 was a different kind of beast. Where the L52 was the latest state of the art coil weapon, the L48 was a traditional firearm that utilized advanced variable ammunition. The heavy explosive round rushed past the machine and exploded a meter behind them, showering the two nearest with ultra-hot metal fragments. Jack fired three more times before the return fire forced him back into cover. As he waited there, he could see on his overlay that one was damaged, but all three were still in the fight.

“Hammerheads are leaving, good work, marines,” said the Captain on the Company wide channel.

Jack looked up and saw the shape of the three Hammerheads flying away from the precinct. A group of Lightning Fighters took up flanking positions around it as a flight of Animosh ducted fan scouts arrived. These vehicles were just big enough for a single rider and were powered by a ducted fan fitted front and back. They opened fire on the Hammerheads, but it was too late. The state-of-the-art craft tore them apart with their automated turrets while they lifted up and accelerated up into the sky.

Well, that’s done.Now all we have to do is hold this place.

He lifted his head from cover, noting the Animosh formation had broken up into smaller groups and had moved even closer to the barricades. More fire from the machines raked across the line, and he was forced to give his attention to them rather than the advancing Animosh.

“Corporal!” he called to Wictred.

“Here,” came back the quick reply.

Jack wondered where he was, looking quickly at the visor overlay to find his friend just inside the tower of the precinct. He was heading for the door, now that the Hammerheads were on their way.

“The machines are drawing our fire from the Animosh. It’s a diversion.”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

The door burst open, and Wictred appeared like an iron-plated titan.

“Concentrate your fire on the Animosh!” he called out, both on the audio channel and through the external speaker on his armored suit. He then turned his head and looked at the three machines out in the center of the street and in cover.

“I’ll deal with them!”