Lords of War (Star Crusades: Mercenaries, Book 1)

LORDS OF WAR

  STAR CRUSADES: MERCENARIES

  By Michael G. Thomas

  Part of the STAR CRUSADES series

  Second Edition

  Copyright © 2014 Michael G. Thomas

  Published by Swordworks Books

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  CONTENTS

  PREFACE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  EPILOGUE

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  PREFACE

  The crowning achievement of the Alliance would be found not in the tragedy of the Biomech War, but in the decades that followed it. Hundreds of ships were left shattered and adrift, while colonies, cities, and entire worlds lay scoured of life. Millions had been killed and many more wounded, but that disaster could have been multiplied by the humanitarian catastrophe that followed. In this darkest hour, it was the unity offered by the Alliance that could offer stability, security, and more important than anything else, the resources for rebuilding. In a galaxy sick of death and war, there was little stomach for anything less than peace and an inward look to the future. No longer would Helion, Byotai, T’Karan, and Humans be in competition. They would be united under one banner, and all would share in its defence via the might of the Alliance Navy and its ground forces.

  A Brief History of the Alliance

  The Final Days of the Biomech War

  Millions were dead, and entire planets were already scoured by the burning fires of orbital bombardment and atomics strikes. The focus of the war had now shifted from the besieged worlds of the Helions, and the dozens of space battles, to the mass of warships coming through the Black Rift. This great host had arrived through the gateway to the Enemy’s domain, and now every last ship and warrior was being flung at them in one desperate, last battle to end the war.

  “Incoming!” Sergeant Mathews yelled.

  Streaks of energy struck the advancing marines as they moved in through the ship’s port hangar bays. The first squad, including Sergeant Mathews, was vaporised by the first volley. This was immediately followed by hundreds of rounds from small arms. Another blast struck nearby, but a pair of Marine Vanguards took the impact, returning fire with their arm-mounted weapons. These special combat variants of engineering walkers took multiple hits, and one was destroyed outright before they could break clear of the landing ground.

  A large squad of Jötnar warriors passed them at a fast pace, firing their heavy weapons as they waded into the scattered defenders. The panicked Thegns and a handful of machines were ripped apart in the initial onslaught. These monstrous creatures matched the characteristics of ancient trolls in stature, yet they were the elite warriors of the Alliance, built and armed for war. They moved so quickly that the more conventional Alliance Marines were forced to run to keep up.

  “Don’t stop. We’re running out of time. We must take this ship!” Khan said.

  His voice was loud enough, but through the external speakers it drowned out the sound of gunfire. Of all the Jötnar on board the battleship, he was the most famous, and led his kin on a bloody rampage that left creatures and machines torn asunder. Like the others, he was well protected inside his bulky, crimson coloured Jötnar Assault Suit. A piece of armour so heavy and reinforced, nobody other than his own species could bear its weight.

  I must find him, and do what must be done to end this. For us to live, he has to die.

  It took then less than ten minutes to push deep inside the ship, with squads and individuals soon breaking formation, as the defenders engaged them from hiding places in the walls and high up on gantries. As Khan led the troops into the ship, he found memories surfacing of the plan, and try as he might; his doubts began to return. The war, the battle, and even this assault seemed to be falling apart before his eyes.

  Focus, you know what you must do. Keep on mission. Remember the plan!

  Through the centre of the ship was a large, intricately decorated hallway; so large a small ship could almost have travelled the full length of it, until reaching the vast formed shape of the training arena. This was the most direct route, but it was also one that made Khan nervous. He was the first inside, closely followed by his comrades and large groups of marines, as well as their Thegn allies.

  “Keep your eyes open. They could be anywhere.”

  The Thegns spread out, many moving to the flanks and using their extraordinary climbing ability to scale the smooth walls. These alien creatures were of a similar size and build to the human, yet they wore no clothes; their outer skin having been made to produce a natural amour. In their arms they bore large numbers of small arms, many of which taken directly from the Marine Corps arsenal.

  “Look,” said Olik.

  The slightly shorter Jötnar lifted his right arm and pointed at movement in the clouds of vapour ahead. Khan nodded and activated all of his suit’s armour.

  “Steady!”

  They moved at a slow pace now, with the marines staying low to the ground. Screeching noises announced the arrival of the SAAR robots, the wheeled machines used for scouting. They rushed ahead, and two were blasted apart in as many seconds. On they moved until little more than a hundred metres separated the mongrel horde of the Alliance, and the denizens of the battleship. The mist began to clear, and Khan could see the true horror of what lay before them.

  “What are they?” Olik asked.

  They were machines and not that different in shape or size to the Jötnar. Light glowed on their arms, as they pointed powerful weapons at the battered forces of Khan. He glanced to Olik and then to the rebel war machine, On’Sarax. This machine contained the mind of one of The Twelve, the rebel faction that now fought with the Alliance in this bitter war. She was one of their greatest warriors of the past, and her armour was unusual in shape. There was no obvious head, but a single blue lamp flashed whenever she spoke. Four arms hung down, two on each side.

  “They are Ghost Warriors, the robotic foot soldiers of my people. They are deadly and undying.”

  Khan laughed, though not quite understanding her explanation.

  “We’ll test that.”

  He looked back to Olik and then at his other comrades; all were breathing heavily from their rapid advance through the ship.

  “It is time, my brothers.”

 
; He then looked towards the approaching enemy, even as they started to open fire.

  “We end this...today! Attack!”

  Every single warrior opened fire, from the lowly Thegns up through the marines and Vanguards, and then on to the machines of The Twelve and the Jötnar. Through that inferno they charged, and so began the bloody battle. Khan and his party went for the centre. He arrived just as one of the enemy Ghost Warriors was ripped apart by a machine. The machine paused, looked up, and pointed the blades on both arms at him.

  “Khan!”

  The machine was faster than the others, dodging blows and stabbing at every opportunity. Olik managed to knock it aside but was then forced to deal with four more machines. Khan tried to attack, but a small group of Thegns leapt up at the machine. The guns of the Ghost Warrior cut them down, and it then focussed its full attention on him. Khan lifted his arms to defend himself, but already he recognised the stance and fighting style of the machine.

  “Spartan?”

  At the same time, Khan activated the vast curved blades on each arm. They were unique to the JAS armour and almost the size of a man. A marine made the mistake of passing between them and was shot down by Thegns running about the feet of the massive warriors like bugs.

  “Yes, it’s me...old friend.”

  For a second, Khan froze, stunned at what he could see. He had expected to find his old friend, the hero of the Alliance, and now the man leading this enemy host. In fact, it was necessary that he found him, yet seeing him here, encased in alien armour, and cutting down his friends made his blood boil with rage. This was not how he’d expected to find him, and it was simply too much for him at that moment.

  We end this, now!

  He looked quickly to his flanks, seeing the carnage all around them and roared, a hellish howl that echoed through the exquisitely constructed arena.

  The two ran at each other, their blades and armour crashing in a thunderous explosion of sparks and screaming metal. Both stabbed and struck, using every ounce of their strength. Spartan may have only been a man, but there was a reason he had been the Alliance’s most celebrated hero. Inside that armour, he fought and moved with the speed and power of a Jötnar, while exhibiting the skills and cunning of that most famous warrior.

  Each attack ripped prices of metal away and gouged great marks along their armour. All around them moved the shapes of thousands of warriors, desperately fighting in the bloodiest single skirmish of the war, one that would forever known as the Battle of Retribution.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The price of peace would be a drastic cut in the numbers of front line warships. Lessons had been learned, though, and this time a reserve fleet was created at Terra Nova, housing almost a hundred ships that could be reactivated in a matter of months. A Naval Reserve was established amongst citizens that could crew these ships in times of emergency. The Alliance naval bases at T’Karan and Prometheus were supplemented by a new base at Helios Prime, and would serve as front line facilities for each of the three Grand Fleets and their attached MEFs (Marine Expeditionary Forces). These would be based around a single battleship class vessel and a flexible mixture of heavy cruisers and destroyers. The newest members of the Alliance provided ships as needed for operations, giving extra force if required and allowing the Grand Fleets to double in size in a matter of days.

  Naval Cadet’s Handbook

  9 Years Later

  Transport ‘Astral Clipper’, Karnak, Demilitarised Zone

  The heavily armoured ship rolled over for the last time as it began its approach to the planet of Karnak. The ship was massive, at least as big as an Alliance cruiser, but instead of guns and weapons systems, this ship was heavily loaded with cargo. Her ungainly shape disguised the twelve storage areas, each filled with food, equipment, and pre-fabricated components for the Byotai settlers. Her hull was long and wide to encompass the large storage areas. The bridge was situated in a raised point at the nose, and three large thrusters arrayed in a triangle at the rear powered her.

  “On approach, Captain. ETA to glide path, twenty-nine minutes.”

  James Palmer, or more commonly known simply as Palmer, was an older man in his late forties, perhaps early fifties and sporting a short white beard. His head was bare, and his face pockmarked from some debilitating illness long in his past. He was a helmsman with enough experience that he could have managed the entire ship on his own.

  “All systems report active, all hatches sealed and compartments ready for atmospheric flight.”

  This was always a tense time for the crew, the entry into a planet’s atmosphere. The Astral Clipper was designed exactly for this job, but one breach in the hull, or a damaged thermal plate could leave them vulnerable during the descent. Captain Simmonds was a trade captain with more than forty years experience, and he knew full well the horrors of planetary re-entry with a damaged ship, having seen it destroy craft on three separate occasions.

  “Run the checks again. We’re taking no chances.”

  The helmsman nodded and brought up a screen to check the status of each component once more. It was an advanced system, the best that was available to civilian vessels in the Alliance, and enabled the use of a very small crew. As he looked at the data, he spotted unusual sensor activity. At first it looked unimportant, but as more data came in, his pulse sped up.

  “Wait, Captain.”

  He turned about in his chair.

  “I have contacts on approach. Defensive measures are detecting scanners. They are checking the hold.”

  “Palmer, put them on the mainscreen.”

  Like most civilian crews, men and women with long years of experience, often from military backgrounds, operated this ship. The act of scanning another ship was the same as stopping an individual at a spaceport for a routine inspection. It happened often, but it was as invasive as it was obtrusive.

  “I don’t like this,” said Captain Simmonds.

  He felt a shiver in his body, one that ran up his spine. The forward-looking front window transformed to show the view off to their rear. Three shapes moved towards them.

  “Who are they, and why did they not show up on radar during our approach?”

  A pattern of dots lit up around them, and Captain Simmonds knew immediately what was happening. He wasn’t a military Captain, but that was hardly necessary to recognise an attack.

  “Brace for impact!”

  The impact from the gunfire sent shudders through the vessel. Only the great bulk stopped them from being hurled from their seats. Alarms sounded, and clouds of steam vented from one of the coolant pipes running above their heads. The ship’s engineer was already on it, pulling on two levers to temporarily seal the flow.

  “Light damage,” said Engineer Barbero.

  He’d moved from the pipes and was checking the status of the ship.

  “Penetrations on the dorsal hull, no systems compromised. I’d say those were nothing more that solid slug automatic cannons. A warning shot, perhaps.”

  A flashing light caught the attention of all three.

  “Missile alert,” said the Captain, more to himself than the others, “That’s no warning. They intend on bringing us down.”

  The two men looked at each other while the helmsman took manual control of the ship. It shuddered slightly as he applied power to a section of the thrusters.

  “Can you get us away from the planet?”

  The man was already struggling with the controls, simultaneously checking the figures coming in via the computer. With each line of data, he looked more and more concerned.

  “No chance, Captain, not now.”

  The Captain nodded.

  “Activate our defensive measures, light them up!”

  Both turned about in their seats and brought up targeting screens. The ship was heavily automated, with just the three of them in the cockpit and another two crew working in the transfer area. Captain Simmonds tapped the transmit button.

  “This is the Captain. We are u
nder attack. I repeat, and we are under attack by three unidentified vessels. Get to defence stations, draw weapons, and withdraw to the habitation sector.”

  The ship continued on its course while multiple interceptor turrets pushed out of concealed positions. There were far more guns that would be expected on a transport, substantially more. More hatches opened up until eight separate automated railgun mounts were fully extended.

  “Track, lock, and fire at will,” said Captain Simmonds.

  The two moved the targeting array via the computer so that each moved four gun mounts. They were fitted with the latest in short-range Sanlav defence turrets. Four barrels connected to a gimbal mount and an ammunition bin of five hundred rounds per gun. These railgun projectiles were much more than the traditional solid shot or high explosive. They activated at a fixed range and split apart to send a cloud of sharp material into the path of a fighter or missile.

  “I’ve got weapon lock...firing.”

  The railguns were high-speed kinetic weapons, simple and reliable. These designs had been replaced on many of the larger ships, but they were more than adequate for civilian ships. Each mount loaded in hardened mechanical slugs to the chamber of every barrel, and then expelled it using the electro-magnetic sled. There was no propellant, just the power sent from the primary engines to the weapon systems.

  “Good impacts...” said the Captain under his breath.

  The three fighters were now close enough that the optical mounts could show every detail. They were not military craft, that much was certain, and each one was completely different in configuration.

  “They look like Byotai industrial tugs and loaders, but their markings have been removed,” said the engineer.

  “You saw the reports. Anicinàbe militants have been threatening the Byotai for weeks now. Maybe they’ve been hijacked.”

  Engineer Barbero shrugged.

  “Or they could just be Byotai freelancers after our cargo.”

  Captain Simmonds nodded while taking aim at the first one. He pulled the trigger, and long lines of Sanlav rounds struck around the target. Dozens of them exploded and sent shards into the nose cone, but the vessel kept on coming.