Tears of Kerberos (5 page)

“Gods!” he swore to himself.

He fumbled as he highlighted the code at the start of the document and transferred it back to Lieutenant Nilsson.

“The message has been encoded with an unknown cipher. This could be a serious breach. I need you to find out who it was intended for as quickly as possible!”

She looked at the text and started feeding it into various analysis tools but the data didn’t match any of the known Naval coding systems. She started the polymorphic analysis engine normally used to assess and monitor electronic jamming and sensory data. The computer system was the most advanced in the Fleet and could handle multiple wide band data streams and decode them in real-time. At first the system appeared stuck then it started to pick up key parts of the cipher.

“Commander, it shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

A light on the ship-to-ship communication channel started to flicker and she tapped the voice communications unit to activate audio. The authorisation signature of the Admiral popped up on her terminal. She turned around and caught the attention of Commander Anderson.

“Sir, incoming transmission from Admiral Jarvis.”

The Commander signalled for her to put the message through.

“Admiral,” he said as her image appeared on the screen.

“Commander, I take it you’re taking good care of my ship?” she asked with barely a smile.

“Of course,” he replied.

“I have just received word from General Shears on the surface of Prime that the colony of New Georgia is siding against us.”

“Against us? I don’t understand, Admiral.”

“It would appear that the sentiment of the general public, or at least their politicians, is that Confed Forces have no business on Colony territory. I suspect some of them must be colluding with the Zealots.”

“That could explain how they have been hiding so many troops underground for so long,” he said scratching his chin.

 
“Perhaps. Either way it looks like the troubles on the surface are about to become a whole lot more complicated. The official line from New Georgia is that they have declared the presence of Confederation Infantry as an occupying force on their territory. They have given all military units on Prime a twelve-hour ultimatum to leave or be interned. The other five colonies are in an emergency session of the Council of Seven, I don’t know how it is going to pan out, but knowing how this is starting to unravel I think we could be facing ground war.”

“What can I do, Admiral?”

“I need this to go private.”

Commander Anderson lifted a headset from the computer terminal and flicked a switch that closed off the audio from the main speaker system.

“We’re secure.”

“Good. I have an intelligence team on Kerberos that I am waiting to hear from. They are investigating a potential terrorist cell with intel on the insurgency. I am expecting to receive important information in the twenty-four hours…” she said before the Commander interrupted her.

“What are you expecting them to find?”

“There have been rumours for some time in certain circles that something is going on between the mega corporations on Kerberos and the left-wing religious faction and their militant off-shoots.”

“Interesting. We have already received an encoded narrowband transmission from the surface, we are in the process of accessing the data now,” he said.

“ I doubt that will be my contact on Kerberos, he’s not due to commence his operation for at least another hour. Who else knows about the signal?” she asked quickly.

“Just myself and Lieutenant Nilsson.”

There was an audible sigh from the Admiral before she continued.

“Good, make sure it stays that way. The situation here is very delicate, as is the intelligence operation on Kerberos. When you have the data contact me, I need to know how far this goes and what contacts the groups on Kerberos have made. Good luck, Commander, we will speak soon.”

“Understood, Admiral,” he said as he replaced the headset and turned back to the Lieutenant.

* * *

The ride through the lower atmosphere of Prime was rough and Spartan was forced to grip the thick metal handrails, as the clamps holding up his suit didn’t seem to be doing the job. One of the other CES suits had already broken loose and crushed the arm of one of the marines waiting patiently for the landing to commence. His shouting had echoed through the pressurised interior of the landing craft. It did little to help ease the tension that always preceded an operation like this one. Unlike travelling through space, the friction of the lower atmosphere was thick and created massive amounts of heat along the body of their landing craft. These parts of the flight were always dangerous, as any weakness in the skins of the craft could let in the heat and destroy the craft in an instant. That, plus the knowledge of the battle waiting ahead, was the ultimate sobering thought for Spartan. A final shudder came from the craft as it settled into a lower speed and more conformable flight.

Though Spartan had been in the Marine Corps for less than a year he had seen two combat drops already. One had been a contested landing on the moon of Kronus, the home of the now infamous Titan Naval Station. His second operation had been a much smaller one, though ultimately more dangerous action in space. He, along with a small unit of marines, had boarded a craft escaping from the burning hulk of CCS Victorious. On both occasions he had seen many good marines die and that had been just a few days earlier. He had expected to find some action in the Corps but nothing had led him to believe he would be facing three operations in less than five days!

“I’m gonna need a damned vacation!” he muttered to himself.

A crackle followed by a high-pitched whine indicated an impending announcement. That or the equipment had just malfunctioned.

“Marines, we hit the ground in four minutes. Hold on, we’re going in hot,” came the voice of the pilot.

On the wall behind the cockpit was a video display with maps and communication feeds to the units already in action. It had been switched off during the rough trip through the atmosphere, as the signal was unusable during re-entry.

“Man, can you see that shit?” Marcus was examining the moving map.

Spartan looked closely. It showed the outer perimeter and about a hundred people fighting in a series of ruined buildings. Blasts from charges and grenades flickered along the line but the greater numbers of shock troops were starting to break through. At two points in the line breaches had been made.

“They aren’t going to last long against that,” said Spartan.

The screen flashed and was replaced with the face of Lieutenant Daniels, the leader of the platoon. He was sat up front with the pilots in the most heavily armoured section of the craft.

“Marines, you’re about to land in the most violent warzone I have seen in my military career. I have also received word of trouble spreading through the other colonies on Prime. New Carlos is the largest city on the planet and the most important inhabited region in this entire System. It is imperative that you clear the outer markers so the engineer teams can establish a firm perimeter. This is a tough assignment. That is why we’ve been chosen. Stand strong and listen to your platoon commanders. Watch your comrades and remember your training. Good luck!”

The message flickered and then cut back to the map.

“Another message from our fearless leader!” said one of the marines as he banged his rifle magazine on his head.

 
“Sixty seconds!” the pilot shouted.

A hiss spread through the craft as the vessel depressurised. Although the marines were all wearing fully enclosed suits, the craft were always pressurised to provide full protection for the crew and passengers in case of any equipment or armour faults during space operations. It was also common for the craft to carry unarmoured passengers, especially when used for medical evacuation or transport missions. The system was fast and in just seconds the indicator on Spartan’s suit confirmed the status of the vessel. The metal shutters clunked open a few centimetres, giving each of the marines their first view of the warzone. As the shutters moved into position the escape hatches and access ramps disarmed, ready for landing under fire. The last thing the marines needed was to be trapped on board stuck in a firefight.

On both sides of the craft were great clouds of black smoke from the many fires spread around the countryside and outskirts of the city. On the sides of the landing craft were door guns, each one a large calibre projectile weapon capable of shredding a man. They were used to fend off light aircraft or to provide ground support during a landing. Spartan had used one in the low gravity ground conflict on the Naval Station and had experienced the devastating firepower of the weapons firsthand. With their speed reducing, the gunners moved to their exposed positions along the sides of the craft. The weapons unlocked from their secure, armoured lockers where they were kept safe during re-entry.

Jackson looked up to Spartan who was busy checking the settings in his suit.

“You ready, man?”

“Hell, yeah!” he said with a grimace.

“Is Daniels coming down with us or is he staying with the ship?” Marcus asked.

As if to answer the question the figure of the Lieutenant appeared. He wasn’t wearing any armour and for a moment Spartan and Marcus were confused. Then the Lieutenant turned and pulled himself inside his CES armour. Two of the marines helped seal him in.

“Hell, do you think he could have left it a bit later?”

“Maybe he was hoping to stay with the boat, Marcus?” said one of the marines who had been listening to the side.

“Hey, I’ve served with the Lieutenant, I’ve seen him in action and I know where his loyalties lie. Now button it, Marine!” growled Spartan.

He turned away from the annoyed marine and looked down at his tactical display. It showed the health and positions of the entire platoon, as well as links to the other marine units in the air and on the ground. He tapped a button and most of the data vanished to show his own platoon and the dangers in their immediate area. The last thing he needed was an information overload in a hostile area.

A great roar rushed from the vessel’s engines as they reversed thrust to slow their descent at the very last minute. It was comparable to the kick felt when an aircraft reversed its thrusters when landing.

“Ten seconds!”

The door gunners were already engaging targets but from where Spartan stood he had no idea what they were firing at. The clatter of weapon fire hit the hull of the craft like rain but none of the rounds penetrated, they must have been rifles and pistol ammunition. That was a good start.

They must have hit the ground hard as the seal on the right of the boat holding him upright snapped clean off. It took a superhuman effort on his part not to smash against the bulkhead. As he straightened up, the side door dropped down with a heavy thud and the unit was instantly exposed to the ongoing battle. Without pausing he flicked the seal switch to release his suit and then bounded for the door. The suit was frustratingly slow, no quicker than a man moving at a jogging pace. He went through the doorway and jumped the two-metre drop to the ground scanning the perimeter as he landed. In front were the ruined residential zones that ran out from the outskirts of the city. Most of the buildings were only a few storeys tall but a few were much bigger. A concrete flyover ran from one side to the other, he couldn’t see any traffic on it.

 
Already there were scores of fighters, some marines, some army and many more were volunteers from the city. Most were firing from the windows of buildings, others looked to be running back into the city. A loud noise came from behind and Spartan turned to see his landing craft lift up and then blasted off away from the battlefield. As it moved away the full scale of the battle was revealed to him. Scores of buildings had been demolished. Amongst the rubble dozens of marines were fighting a desperate battle against a great horde of the enemy shock troopers. Mixed in with the bio-engineered soldiers were a number of militia and Zealot fighters. The Zealots were in much smaller numbers than Spartan had expected. Even so, with these enemy numbers he was amazed the defenders had lasted so long.

“Frontline is collapsing, all commando units move to the perimeter and stabilise the line!” came the order.

“First platoon follow me!” Spartan shouted over his radio unit.

The armoured units from his craft moved into a loose line next to him as more arrived into the thick of the action from the other landing craft. But in less than twenty seconds he had enough to start his counterattack. Each of the CES units looked like an armoured monster, bristling with armoured plates, hydraulics and weapons. Spartan moved as quickly as the suit would allow him towards the brutal battle ahead. With the first two-dozen CES units were two platoons of lighter armoured commandos who spread out firing their L48 rifles at any targets they found. The precise rifle fire flicked along the line, as each shot picked off the enemy units one at a time. The commandos with the assault variants of the L48 provided suppressing fire as the rest moved forward. Spartan reached the rubble first to find three marines fighting one of the shock troopers. One was missing an arm and the other two were desperately stabbing away at the thing with their bayoneted rifles. He pushed past them and slammed his hydraulically powered arm hard into the creature’s chest. The strength of the suit was impressive. With one move the creature was knocked back several metres where it crashed into four more of them. As he lifted his right arm he faced them and held down the trigger. Normally the recoil from the L48 rifles would be heavy, but with the weapons mounted directly onto the suit’s chassis the unit absorbed the bulk of the recoil. Both weapons fired together bathing the enemy in scores of small but deadly flechette rounds. The creatures were instantly shredded, but many more were moving in to attack.