Star Crusades Nexus: Book 03 - Heroes of Helios

• 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
  

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The 4
^th
Heavy Strike Group was the newest formation created prior to the Orion incident and played a major part in operations for the next generation. Comprising the latest ships, fighters, and equipment it was the finest force in the Alliance Navy and built to tackle a massive variety of missions. Too late to take part in the incident at Helios, it would prove its worth in subsequent actions. The brand new Conqueror class ships were a modification of the successful Crusader class, substantially wider, and capable of carrying even more fighters and landing craft, albeit with reduced offensive armament. The twelve ships, including a single Conqueror heavy cruiser, would set the standard for Heavy Strike Groups for years to come.

Ships of the Alliance

The Hammerhead assault fighter shook from the impact of a dozen large caliber rounds. The thick frontal armor easily brushed the impacts aside, and it continued forward at high speed. Behind it followed another two fighters in a wide V formation. Four powerful thrusters powered the angry looking craft; two mounted next to one other on each side of the craft’s stubby wings. The fighters bristled with turrets, but it was the massive pair of chin-mounted railguns that marked them out as something different. These barrels were large enough to be fitted to gunships or even small frigates and looked completely out of scale on the small craft. Another burst struck the port wingtip and managed to cause minor damage to one of the engines. The fighter shook, but it wasn’t enough to hold it back from its purpose.

“Hold on!” called Sergeant Stone.

The grim faced Sergeant looked at the small group of marines with a cold, dispassionate expression. Of all the marines in the craft, he was clearly the veteran, a man of many years their senior and with untold campaigns under his belt. The other marines of the squad wore brand new and completely unblemished armor, whereas his was scratched and marked from unknown warzones. Opposite him in the rear cargo area sat Private Jack Morato, son of Spartan, the famed Alliance commander and entrepreneur who had now been missing for more than half the year. Not that Jack had the time to worry about his father though. Since free-passage had been negotiated with the Helions, space traffic had quadrupled throughout T’Karan space. This had resulted in a commensurate increase in illegal activities of raiders, smugglers, and traffickers. Jack and the others, plus the entire Alliance Navy had been very busy. He gazed at the Sergeant’s armor plating with interest. There weren’t just scorch marks from extreme heat but also bullet indentations, as well as scratches from the claws of biomechanical enemies, the bane of the Alliance.

“Sergeant Stone, where did the ship come from?”

The Sergeant looked at him but said nothing. He’d already briefed them on the way down. The rest of the mission was of no interest to him, or them.

“Don’t worry about it. We know it’s a stolen Alliance transport, and it has private security escorts, combat drones in fact. Concentrate on your job, Private.”

Jack kept his mouth shut for a change and lowered his eyes to look at the battle damage on the marine’s armor. It was a matter of pride for the more experienced marines to repair their gear but to never change the appearance. Bullet impacts and burn marks would be retained long after the battles were forgotten. Jack remembered how similar it was to the gear he’d worn for his short time in APS Corporation, though back then he’d been involved in some clandestine operations with the largest private military contractor in the Alliance.

This is something else,
he thought.

The fighter vibrated as the guns fitted to the upper side of the hull turned on their attackers. The turrets shook the structure, but it was the large caliber guns fitted in the chin of the fighter that were most obvious. Each time the guns fired the fighter lost a little of its forward momentum as if reverse thrusters were being fired. Sergeant Stone examined the camera feeds from inside his armored suit and smiled at the progress they were making.

“You know the drill, people. This is a clean and simple rescue operation. We clear out the escort fighter drones and then board her.”

The main guns fired again, and each of the marines shook at the powerful vibrations that rumbled from nose to tail of the heavily armored fighter. Jack imagined the dogfight and wished he could actually see what was going on.

“We’re on the clock, don’t forget. In forty minutes this ship will enter the debris cluster, and then she’ll be gone. We’ve lost two ships in the last month in this sector and it’s getting worse. Until we send in Kill Teams, we’ll just have to stop ships before they get here.”

The Kill Teams were a rumored detachment of the best marines in the fleet. Once operational, they would operate from frigate-sized warships and conduct guerilla battles against pirates and organized crime. Their creation had only just been announced, and most of those Jack knew had put their names down to sign up. After his brawling incident, he’d decided to keep his head down and avoid drawing attention to himself.

They’ll just have to wait
,
for now.

Jack selected a file from within his suit and projected the data directly onto the inside of his visor. It drew a detailed image of the debris cluster running in a massive disc around the T’Karan sun. According to the figures, the belt was thin and sparsely filled with rock and dust, apart from three key locations. These regions were filled with rock from the size of a man’s fist up to a large moon. Worse though was the density of the debris fields. The statistics showed a large number of probes, drones, and even small spacecraft had been damaged or even lost trying to navigate through the region. It had been marked as a navigational hazard, and marker buoys had been deployed at key locations as a warning to other travelers.

A destroyed planet, I wonder what caused that? Knowing our luck, it won’t have been something natural.

As he considered the possibilities, the image of the Biomechs and their monstrous war machines and spacecraft returned. Even though it should be impossible, he had no problem whatsoever in visualizing their technology being utilized to destroy something as large as a moon, perhaps even a planet. He turned his attention back to the imagery and the trade routes to the Helion Spacebridge, or Rift as they were commonly called.

Yeah, that’s it.

He looked at the point of space on the route his ship had been following that took it directly into the wake of a long ruined husk of a planet. It was this area that had been identified as the site from which the Biomech Guardian ship had been hiding for months, perhaps years for the chance to break out and make a run to the Helios Rift.

“This is no T’Kari vessel. This is an Alliance flagged heavy freighter. Check your schematics for the design. The habitation section is on the nose, and everything else is storage. Last count shows a dozen hijackers and the same number of civilian crew.”

A voice took the Sergeant's attention away for a moment. He spoke to an unseen crewmember via his helmet-mounted communication. Jack took it as an opportunity to glance at the other marines on board. There were a dozen of them in the cramped interior of the Hammerhead. They were armed and equipped in the usual Marine Corps fashion. Their latest model PDS armor fitted close to the skin and provided a completely sealed environment from heat, weapons, and the void of space. Their faces were covered with improved MK II tactical helmets that incorporated additional armor around the face and a narrow but stronger vision slit. An armored collar extended up from the chest to help protect the neck. The shoulders were larger than previous models, to house thicker plated of armor as well the more complex arrangement of electronics and redundant circuits. Across their bodies, in a special harness were the L52 MK II assault carbines. A super advanced coilgun with triple barrels and state-of-the-art small caliber ammunition.

This mission makes no sense. Why seize this ship out here?

He looked at them and then turned his attention to the approaching ship. The schematic showed the massive shape, something so big it made the Alliance Crusader class warships look like escorts in comparison.

What are Alliance citizens doing taking a ship like this and hiding it out here?

The fighter shook again as the turrets opened fire. Jack tried to understand what was happening, but his imagination simply ran riot with thoughts of a massive space battle rather than the one sided fight between three Alliance heavy fighters and a pair of heavily modified combat drones. There were no windows inside the Hammerhead for the passengers to make use of, and the external video feeds were only available to the unit commander, in this case Sergeant Stone, and he’d elected to keep the information to himself.

“Okay, the fighters are down. Get ready, we’re moving in,” said Sergeant Stone.

He noticed Jack’s lack of attention and leaned over to smash his armored fist onto the Private’s helmet. The sound could be heard throughout the small craft and caught the attention of every single marine there.

“Get your head together, son. This is combat, not some prissy simulation.”

“I don’t get it, Sergeant.”

The Sergeant almost ignored him but something inside, either intrigue or more likely a sense of irritation, turned him around.

“Get it? Who gives a damn? There are raiders, pirates, and criminals in every part of space that we’ve ever visited.”

He then pointed to Jack’s weapon.

“Now, check your gear for the last time. You’ve got thirty seconds before we land this bird.”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

The group of three heavy fighters split apart, each moving to their preselected landing positions. With such as massive civilian ship as their target, the fighters were easily able to move away from the known windows or camera systems. Next to the size of the ship, they were more like fleas on a dog and barely discernible. Jack’s craft moved into position along to the spine of the vessel where a series of maintenance hatches gave access to the third storage area. With the small shape of the distant star in the background, the fighter lowered into position and activated its landing clamps. The devices were incorporated into the retractable undercarriage and allowed the craft to create a permanent bond with the target.

“Okay, ladies, this is it,” said Sergeant Stone firmly.