The Spartan Chronicles: Book One

[spartan_chronicles]

The 1st Wing XO was, well, worried. The foremost problem on his mind was Sheila Cartesius, the 1st Wing’s mechanic. She was fixing the fusion drive on the only remaining chopper on the base, but was not in fixing mode at the moment. Rather, she was in missing mode. Secondly, as usual the XO didn't have the foggiest idea where his CO, Salvador "Gecko" St James, might be. Adding insult to both those injuries, chopper jockey Hendrikus Cazemier was sitting on the XO's desk. Right, squat on top of it. Boots were soiling the XO's paperwork. Mud, grime, whatever it is that piles up in chopper 'pits.
"Hendrikus, would you get off my desk, please?"
Hendrikus was nicknamed "the Cyborg", but never to his face. Hendrikus didn't like nicknames, and could get mean if someone failed to respect that. So everyone had practiced pronouncing "Hendrikus".
“Gladly.”
"Chopper." Hendrikus grinned.
"Well, I don't have any!" the XO exclaimed.
Hendrikus took off his dark, ultra-expensive Morgan Prime sunglasses, and shot the XO a hard look from his steely-blue eyes.
"Look, chief. The Gecko is out there running Cartesius around, Zak knows why. My rotor is a heap of lego right now. XForce has people sitting out there, and the chairman is on the rampage again. Now I could go and slap some silksteel on your bloody pushbike and go out in that or you get me some blades. Capisce?"
The XO looked at him, and then did what had made him XO. He found the Cyborg some blades.
He wondered what the Gecko was doing sightseeing runs with mechanics for.

"Sweet Miriam, you can't be serious." Hendrikus spoke into his commlink as he saw what was waiting for him in the hangar.
"It's that or my bike, Hendrikus." the XO replied, and signed off.
Ten minutes later, the Cyborg gingerly lifted the dust ridden Unity chopper out of its clamps and cleared the perimeter.

"Sir? Is it likely that they will send a cab out this far?"
Captain Wells looked up at the private who had just spoken.
"Anything on that screen, private?"
"All clear, sir. No movement of any kind."

They were sitting outside in the dark of night, a huddle of helmets. Their thoughts were with the dead marine, and with bailing out themselves. The Screamers had driven the Hive troops off some way, but in the meantime the soldier of the XForce were still there, hoping for the impossible - a ride home, safely back to barracks.
"All we can do now is wait, and keep our eyes open. Your Captain doesn't know whether the 1st will move this far out, because your Captain has never had his butt burned this far out before. But if it's up to the Gecko, I know he'll do his darnedest."
"Right, Sir. Thank you Sir."
"Wake your relief and get some sleep." Wells said.
He turned over again himself, and smelled the rich, sweet scent of Chiron rise up out of the ground as he did so. They had covered hundreds and hundreds of miles of it over the last couple of weeks, and if that had taught him anything, it had taught him this - it was worth fighting for.

Wells woke with a start. Keeping his ears open, he checked his 'puter. Two hours since he had last been awake. He looked for the private on guard duty, and found her looking at him with a puzzled expression on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Wells cut her short with a brief gesture. He listened. The sound he had heard, or which he had imagined he had heard, was one of the most magical sounds of Earth. A rich, unearthly call of the wild. It had been one of the last sounds of dying Terra, and it had been one of the first sounds to reach virgin Chiron. Wells' adrenaline rushed, and then he heard it clearly. Their cab had arrived. It was the call of the gecko.
Startling even Wells, Hendrikus Cazemier lifted the ramshackle Unity chopper out of a hollow not four hundred yards away, and proceeded at a brisk pace towards them. They were up and out of there less than three minutes later.

Their reception in the Hawk of Chiron rec commons was decidedly festive. Friends and family found their loved ones back in full health, and the praise for the Crew was lavish. It was the Gecko himself, just back from yet another mission, who brought the crowd, back down to earth.
"I have a serious announcement to make. Commander Scott Allardyce of the 4th Wing is missing in action, together with pilot Julia Santiago."
A hush came over the gathering.
"Hit for six, skipper?" asked the XO quietly, but for all to hear.
"We don't know yet, XO. The signal from his emergency transponder was coming through for a while, but has now disappeared. In my quarters for briefing, please. People, please continue your celebration. These brave men from XForce deserve no less, and you may rest assured that everything possible is being done to rescue Commander Allardyce."

The Gecko was brief as usual. To those who served under him, it was a standard joke that the commander had probably read the wrong dictionary entry when he had looked up 'briefing'.
"Sparta Command has been in touch with Field Marshal Burge, who is out in the area as well. I plan to rendezvous with him as soon as possible. Sheila, get that fusion drive going. Drikus, get some rest. We may need a bit more than a souped-up needlejet later. Questions?"
There usually weren't any, and there weren't any now.

Out in the needlejet, on the long stretch out, the Gecko wondered what had possessed Googlie to get out there, then get himself shot in what Hargreaves at Fort Soup was reported to have called "a completely scatterbrained maneuver". A cold, cold feeling gripped Salvador St James's heart that perhaps this time there would not be anything for him to pick out of the fire. It made him feel as empty as the sky over Chiron.

[spartan_chronicles]

Ironholm
7.13.2225
03:55 hours SMT

Lieutenant Erik DeLyle, never had trouble sleeping, in fact falling asleep was much easier now, all he had to do was think of the number nine and just keep on repeating it and then he’d fall into a deep sleep. It was almost like his mind would shut down, the only thing about sleep these days was it was never very sound, he could awaken at the slightest noise in fact he had just woke up. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet, and for some odd reason he could see vast lines of red ones and zeros scroll across the blackness of his mind’s eye. He never concentrated on them he only watched them, because every time he began to concentrate on them the numbers would stop and other things would appear. The numbers would morph into menus with various options. One time he started concentrating on the numbers and the menus appeared and then he started concentrating on the menus. Next thing he knew he remembered how the impact rifle felt in his hands, he remembered how easy it was to field strip it, he remembered to how fix the firing bolt if it was jammed. The only thing was it wasn’t his impact rifle from basic training it was a Hive impact rifle. DeLyle had seen dead Hive soldiers with the exact same rifles but he hadn’t touched the rifles then. Yet, he knew exactly what they looked like if they were taken apart. He knew how to do field repairs on them, and he also knew that he could strip it and reassemble it fast enough to make Gunnery Sargent Wells say “Holy Jeez! Damn, DeLyle you’re high-speed son. High speed!” With that big grin he had when people learned what they needed to know. Gunnery Sargent Wells was the one who taught DeLyle how to do the same thing with a Spartan Impact Rifle, but DeLyle knew that Gunnery Sargent Wells never taught him this. How did he learn it exactly? He knew where he learned it but he didn’t know how. The Bioenhancement Center. Every night he dreamed about the insides of that place. How clean it was, the antiseptic smell, the cold cubicles with doctors surrounding him. He never had his eyes open but he could hear them. He could hear them talking. Except he never could understand what they were saying. The place was claustrophobic, not because the center was small, in fact the rooms and hallways were quite large, but it was like he was trapped in his mind and they were squeezing it, making it smaller. He started wondering if his men had experienced the same thing. Then as he started thinking of Private First Class Overson in particular suddenly he knew that PFC Overson temperature was 99.1 degrees, completely normal for him. DeLyle also knew that PFC Overson’s white blood cell count was at 22,398 just a little bit on the low side. It was probable that PFC Overson hadn’t been eating all of his nutrients ready for consumption (NRCs), however there was about 52 other things that could have contributed to this lowered WBC count, future monitoring was recommended. Before DeLyle could think anymore, the faint sound (YEEHEE!) called him from his thoughts. He jumped out of bed and wen over to his terminal. On the Morgan InstaLink (IL) was two new messages from Captain Moxon. They had marching orders.

04:03 hours SMT

“GEAR UP!” Sargent Max Goldstein shouted to rows of bunks filled with sleeping soldiers. Then at virtually the exact same time every single soldier leaped out of their bunks and started packing a combat load for their jump sacks. ‘Amateurs’ Goldstein thought, he always had a combat load packed, he was always ready to go. Everyone was silent moving very efficiently and in no time they were packed and ready to go.

“GO! GO! GO! GET ON THE READY LINE NOW! WE DON’T WANNA BE LATE TO THIS PARTY! MOVE IT! MOVE IT! GO! HURRY UP! GENERAL LOCKHART IS WAITING ON YOU, AND THE MAN DOESN’T LIKE TO WAIT! GO! GO! MOVE IT! DO YOU WANNA MAKE LIETENANT DELYLE LOOK BAD? MOVE IT! GO! GO!” Sargent Goldstein was yelling and motivating Echo platoon to really move. It appeared like it was working.

The last thing he wanted to do was show up last. A Company wasn’t considered formed until all of it's platoons were there, and a battalion wasn’t considered formed until all of its Companies were there. So whichever platoon got their last would really make that platoon look bad. It was his job as Sargent to make this platoon look good, and if there was anything that Sargent Goldstein was good at it was his job.

4:19 hours SMT

Five platoons had just rushed out and formed up. All the platoons were there now. Each platoon reported to their company and each company reported to their battalion. then each battalion commander reported to the XO of the brigade. Colonel Thomilson stepped up in front of the battalions. Colonel Jonathan “Tom” Thomilson pivoted toward each brigade commander as they saluted him and gave their report.

“Discipline Brigade reporting, all present and accounted for, Sir!”
“Sacrifice Brigade reporting, all present and accounted for, Sir!”
“Victory Brigade reporting, all present and accounted for, Sir!” Colonel Thomilson did an about face and then saluted General Lockhart.
“469th Division reporting, all present and accounted for, Sir!” The General returned the salute, he had a large eager smile on his face.
“Colonel, have the men fall out and be ready to go for drop by 05:00 hours.” They could have dropped right then, but “Loot” was living up to his reputation. When the men performed well, he rewarded them well. He had given the marching orders to Colonel Thomilson at 03:50 hours and at 04:21 hours there was the whole division ready to go. That was quick, quicker than what he expected or hoped for. So a little reward was in order. The Colonel did another about face so he was in front of the division.

“You, heard the General. FALL OUT!” Then the tight formations broke into utter chaos. One private took off his helmet and started walking away and Lockhart saw a tattoo on the back of his shaved head and another one on the back of his neck.

“Tom, what was the tattoo that private had?” He looked around and every single soldier he saw had a tattoo on the backs of their necks. “It looks like most of the division has them.”
“You’re right. I just noticed it a few days ago, myself. It started with a few guys in a company in 2nd Battalion over in Farley's brigade. They got Property of the 469th tattooed on the back of their head. Well it started to spread out of their company to all of 2nd battalion. Then a few guys from 3rd battlion in Gomez's brigade got it to. Well the original ones who got the tattoo done went and got Ozone Battalion’s symbol tattooed on their neck. Well some other guys in Ozone Battalion in a different company got almost the same symbol tattooed on the back of their neck but it was just a little different, modified for their company. So that really started the whole thing.”
“And how many of them have these tattoos?”
“Well not many of the officers, but I think every single enlisted man has it tattooed on their head. Then there is Ozone where it all started and everyone including ALL the officers have them. And just so you know, the company symbol is called a Glyph.” Lockhart smiled at this, he really liked the idea, and he couldn’t think of the last time that a unit had shown spontaneous unity like this.
“So are there any outstanding Glyphs, Tom?” He really liked this idea.
“Well, yeah actually some of them are really good. It’s really to close to call.” Thomilson like the idea to.

04:52 hours SMT

Lt. Colonel Gomez of Victory Brigade was going over the briefing.

1st Brigade-Lt. Colonel Thomas “Squelch” Reich
Major Chris “Deuce” Duesing: 1st "Alpha" Battalion (Siphon Chaos Assault Rifles/Sythmetal Armor)
Major Ivan “The terrible” Lincowski: 2nd "Delta" Battalion (Spitfire Chaos Rifles/Sythmetal Armor)
Major Gerald “J.R.” Molina: 3rd "Lambda" Battalion (Chaos Drop Rovers/no armor)
2nd Brigade-Lt. Colonel Eiton “tweak” Farley
Major Nathan Gatesly: 1th "Caffeine" Battalion(Siphon Chaos Assault Rifles/Sythmetal Armor)
Major Yancy “Oz” Alsbrook: 2nd "Ozone" Battalion (Siphon Chaos Assault Rifles/Sythmetal Armor)
Major Terance “Grover” Grove: 3rd "Raptor" Battalion (Chaos Drop Rovers/no armor)
3rd Brigade-Lt. Colonel Richard “Rico” Gomez
Major Tobey McClusky: 1st "Tau" Battalion (Siphon Chaos Assault Rifles/Sythmetal Armor)
Major Clintworth “Eastwood” Forbes: 2nd "Zeta" Battalion (Chaos Drop Rovers/no armor)
Major Muhammad “Dingo” Javed: 3rd "Omega" Battalion (Spitfire Chaos Rifles/Sythmetal Armor)

Standard Operating Procedures:
-We will drop into hive Controlled territory
-Our assignment is to hinder Hive forces from retreating and preventing any Hive reinforcements from arriving
-No air support or artillery support is expected for our mission.
-Maintain radio silence whenever possible
-Ground support for our forces is next to impossible
-We are not the rescue force our objective is the Hive forces

Note to all company commanders:
-We will be field testing the new Siphon Chaos Airborne Assault Rifles expect problems
-Camouflage and hit and run techniques are critical to our success, keep that in mind at all times


05:11 hours SMT

The morning sun was just starting to tickle a large expanse of fungal blooms when the sky lit up with hundred of sparkles of reflected sunlight. Then red rocket flares burst all over the morning sky like a fireworks show. A deafening rumble startled a few preboil mindworms and they scampered away as drop pods began to hit the ground. In a matter of moments the 469th had secured a perimeter and was scouting for signs of enemy units. They were far behind Hive and hopefully could cut the supply lines in half. More than one member of the 469th hoped to encounter some Hive units either retreating or advancing, either way they would attack it didn’t really matter. It was what they were here to do.

[spartan_chronicles]

SAC HQ, Sparta Command
7.13.2225

Squadron Leader Pat “Bearcat” Brewster surveyed the ops screen in front of him. As the ranking officer in SAC with Googlie’s disappearance, he had some decisions to make.

His first was to raise his fighter wing counterpart, Ben “Slats” Miller on the secure commlink.

“Slats here” he saw the familiar face. “What’s up Bearcat?”

“Oh, just pondering our options. With Googlie hors de combat we need to redeploy some of our assets, and I’m wondering how he would have done it, so thought I’d bring you on line for your usual sage advice”

“Yeah, thanks Bearcat. I’ve been doing some thinking too. First thought was what the hell kind of stunt was the old fool trying to pull in going aloft with Santiago. He hasn’t flown a combat mission in over two years, since they retired that first series of needlejets – you know, the ones with the ridiculously limited range”

“You said it, Slats. Now they are our transport craft and that’s what the old fart should be crewing”.

Brewster continued: “But that brings me to the reason for my call. With Googlie unavailable, I think we need to make some decisions on our aircraft.”

“Shoot, what’s on your mind?” replied Miller.

“Well, the action is heating up down in Fort Soup, so I’ve a mind to reinforce Dusty’s Penetrator there with another two, myself and Evans. That’d leave just Singh and his crew at Commanders Keep. I’ll have them deploy to Sparta Command to replace me here. I don’t like leaving HQ undefended”

“Good idea”, said Miller. “You’ve already got Lisa at Fort Soup plus I ordered Dexter Patterson back. I’ll send over the girls to Janissary Rock to keep an eye on Lal and his doings. I’ll stay here at Fort Survivalist and act as a reserve.”

“We’d better tell the crews to take their own mechanics and cram as much gear and weaponry as possible into their rigs – this may be a long one.” Said Brewster, signing off.

_____________________________________________

Tulia was playing hide and seek with her friends among the few buildings that identified the airfield at Fort Legion. Actually, giving it the name airfield was an exaggeration, as in reality it was nothing more than a landing strip with a light paving of concrete analogue mesh laid over the smoothed out surface of rubble.

It was Tulia’s turn to seek, and she was standing by the deserted fire shed covering her eyes and counting to 100 to give her two friends time to hide in good places.

67…68…69…70…The roar was deafening.

Tulia opened her eyes and whirled around.

Flying low over the landing strip was the largest plane she had ever seen in her nine years on Planet. It differed from the motley collection of flyers that habituated Legion in that it was new, shiny, noisy and very, very sleek.

She watched in fascination as the Needlejet Interceptor made a low pas over the airstrip from east to west, and called her friends out of hiding:

“Benji, Yannick, come here, the game’s over. Come and see this”.

The two other kids evacuated their hiding places and ran to join Tulia. They stood by the old fire shed and watched the needlejet complete its pass and then make a big turn north and east round the base buildings to commence another run.

“Look”, said Yannick, excitedly pointing to two specks in the distance behind the needlejet, “there’s more coming.”

The Interceptor lowered its flaps to the full, and extended its undercarriage and commenced another run.

The children gazed in rapt attention.

Just short of the beginning of the landing strip the interceptor released a red flare, then another, then a third as it made a slow fly past over the strip, then accelerated and again flew its circle to approach from the east.

The flares floated to the ground, and continued burning brightly.

The specks grew larger, one a few hundred meters behind the other. As they took shape, Tulia gasped. They were even bigger than the Interceptor that had dropped the flares. As the first Penetrator approached, full flaps, and landing gear down, it came in almost brushing the final flare before its wheels touched down just centimeters from the beginning of the airstrip. Immediately the pilot engaged reverse thrust, and with an almighty roar the great plane settled on the strip and rolled almost to the very end, turning on to the apron while still carrying a fair amount of speed.

Yannick gazed at the ungainly beast. It bristled with weapons pods and every pylon had a pod of some kind attached. There were two temporary blisters just aft of the undercarriage, and even through the crew’s canopy he could see boxes and cartons piled up.

On its heels came the second, just as huge and ugly as it too settled on the strip and rolled to a halt. Yannick thought it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

There was an ear piercing screech as the little Interceptor made a high speed flyby, executing a barrel roll as it past over the now descending crew before standing on its tail and effortlessly climbing vertically into the afternoon sky.

Yannick watched in awe and admiration. “That’s what I’m going to be when I grow up,” he said, “a Needlejet pilot.”

_____________________________________________

“Holy Chiron”, Otto Perez said to his companion as the little garrison rover raced to the airstrip. “They might have given us some warning. Scared the crap out of the old woman when that first one made the circuit. Thought it was maybe one of Yang’s come to pay is a visit.”

“Now why would they do that”, asked Betty Stevens, his companion, who doubled as the base governor when she wasn’t bringing up her three kids. “It’s not as though we are militarily significant. We’re only just over 40,000 here and although it is a good mining base, we can’t be very attractive to an invasion force. Anyway, they did give us warning. About twenty minutes ago. They commlinked ahead to say they were low on fuel and were coming in to refuel”

“Maybe it’s the new Penetrator we’re assembling here that would attract Yang’s attention”, said Otto, unwilling to give in to Betty’s logic. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got two bloody headaches to deal with. How can we scrape enough fuel together to get these beasties up and away on their mission.”

Otto was the Base administrator, the Mr. Fixit to Betty’s political role. Betty chaired the base council meetings, heard the arguments, and decided on a course of action. Otto executed.

“They’re both fusion powered”, he said. Where can we get enough Ionized Deuterium to get them on their way again.”

They pondered as they drove to the airstrip.

Otto slapped his thigh. “I’ve got it,” he said. “We just converted and refitted our old Former to fusion power. We can cannibalize it for its fuel and either re-install the fission engines or leave it idle until a fuel convoy gets to us”

“What’s your druthers?” Betty asked.

“Reinstall the Fission motor”, was Otto’s instant reply. “I’d rather have something working than nothing, and who knows how long we’ll wait until we get fresh deuterium”.

“OK, Do it”, was Betty’s laconic response.

Otto keyed his commlink and chatted animatedly with a staff member back at base. He flicked the unit shut with a triumphant snap.

“Two hours,” he said. “The engineers can have the pellets removed and trucked out here in two hours. That should please our visitors”.

They rolled up to the Penetrators. The crews were out, stretching their legs. Otto drove right up to one group.

“Hi”, he yelled as he cut the engine. “Otto Perez, Base Administrator, and this is Betty Stevens, Base Governor.” They leapt out of the rover.

The skipper stood up. “Bert Evans”, he said sticking out his hand. They shook hands.

“Over there is Bearcat Brewster, Squadron Leader of the Penetrator squadron, and acting SAC Chief of Staff in Allardyce’s absence” he went on, pointing to a lanky figure ambling over to them.

Otto straightened visibly. Whether acting or not, to have the Spartan Air Command Chief of Staff visit was indeed a momentous occasion.

“What do you need, other than fuel?” he asked. “If you’d like to go down to base I can arrange transportation. Alternatively, a meal if you are hungry. Whatever.”

“Just refuel,” said Evans. “We need to get airborne as soon as possible. Things are heating up down by Fort Superiority and we need to get there as quickly as possible. Are you able to refuel us?”

“Well”, Betty replied. “Normally a small Base like us doesn’t carry much in the way of fuel, especially Ionized Deuterium. But you're lucky. Just a few weeks ago we commissioned a new Fusion powered terraformer, and we’ve cannibalized its drive to get the pellets for your use. They should be here in...” she consulted her commlink… “About 30 minutes. You’ll have time for a cup of java while you wait.”

Betty had noticed the children hanging around.

“Tulia,” she called. “Run over to the mess hut and see if Old jenny is there. If she is, tell her to brew a fresh pot of coffee for the fliers here.”

Tulia and her two friends scampered off.

Brewster had joined the group, and introductions were made.

“So, how serious is this skirmish?” she asked. “We pick up Morgan News here and they are saying it could escalate into a full scale war.”

“Aye, it might,” said Brewster, subconsciously picking up Googlie’s brogue as he played the role of SAC Chief. It depends on how big an invasion force Yang has landed, whether it’s merely exploratory as he claims, or whether it portends something larger. That’s why I need to get us down to Fort Soup as soon as possible.”

The coffee arrived, and as the crew milled around contentedly drinking, the rover with the fuel pellets came into view. The two engineers donned their protective suits and readied the aircraft fuel bays for the pellets.

Brewster ushered the group away from the bays. “We’d better not get too close,” he said. “I don’t think it’s unstable, but let’s not take any chances.”

The pellets were loaded, and the crew prepared to reboard the craft. It was a tight fit with four squeezing in where there really was room for three comfortably. But they managed.

Betty and Otto stood with the three kids as the huge Penetrators lumbered to the end of the landing strip, then one after the other engaged full power and roared down the strip, lifting the nose up at the last possible instant to utilize every centimeter of the runway.

As they soared off into the setting suns, Betty wished them luck.

[spartan_chronicles]

West of the Monsoon Jungle
7.13.2225

Googlie was snoring gently as Julia took her turn at watch. They were outside the fissure in the rock face, lying on a patch of soil amid the rocky ground. In the blackness of the night, the stars were beautiful. She looked over to where Sol was, faintly glimmering, our nearest neighbor, and our genesis, she thought.

As her eyes swept the night sky, she could barely make out the soft glow from Chiron’s third sun, dubbed Alpha C by the scientists.

Across the sky, the two moons were shining brightly, tonight with Pholus showing just larger than Nessus. Close by she could see the reflected light of the two suns off Eurytion’s surface, Alpha Centauri’s other planet, closer to Alpha Prime than Chiron, and presumably more inhospitable.

She felt a sense of fear at her aloneness enveloping her. They were never going to get out of this alive. The panic began to well in her mind, and her head began to throb.

She recognized the symptoms.

Mindworms.

She kicked Googlie awake.

“Snnrrffhmpphhhf. What the hell…”

“Mindworms,” she said. “Surprised you weren’t having nightmares.”

They drew their shredder pistols. “It’s funny,” said Julia. “When you were asleep I felt the mindworm’s presence, inducing the textbook sense of panic and hopelessness, but now that you’re awake I don’t feel it any more.”

She turned to look at Googlie and froze. The mindworm was about two meters from his head, on a ledge, and Googlie was holding his hands to his head, as if he were trying to pull his hair out by the roots.

Julia rolled to one side to get Googlie out of her line of fire, and saw that the mindworm was huge, about 50 feet in diameter. It separated, then again, and she saw that in reality it was three.

Pht...Pht...Pht...spat the shredder. She kept her finger on the trigger spraying the small projectiles over the nearest mindworm and tearing its tentacles from it as it turned to a bloody pulp.

With part of her mind she thought ‘Strange, I don’t sense them attacking me at all, apart from that first tentative probe’.

She turned her attention to the second. The remaining two had split up, putting some distance between each other, as though co-ordinating a joint attack.

Pht..Pht.....the shredder gun’s charge emptied.

‘Shoot’, she thought, ‘I should have had it on single burst, not raker mode’

She grabbed Googlie’s from where he had dropped it when the mindworm’s psi attack started. She flicked the mode catch

Pht...Pht...Pht...it spat, as she aimed more carefully. The second mindworm bit the dust.

Googlie was recovering as the weaker third mindworm paused its attack, as though momentarily confused at the loss of its brethren. ‘Could it know?’ Julia thought. She turned her attention to it.


Pht...Pht...Pht...pht...ph....as the charge dissipated the mindworm died.

“That was close,” said Googlie, now seemingly recovered. What do we do if another comes. Blow our whistles?”

Julia didn’t find his sense of humor funny – besides he’d already cracked that one. She studied the pistol. It was a PLU – Personal Laser Unit – fiber coupled diode energy weapon that scientists had adapted to fire small shredder fleschettes instead of the pulsed laser beam. The pulse energy activated the gas chambers that propelled the darts to their targets. It could be set for laser use, and doubled as a tool for the aircrew, as it could cut, at high intensity or stun at low intensity. After they parachuted to safety Julia had followed SOP and set the pistols to fleschettes.

However, uncharged it was useless.

She tried to recall her basic training, to see if anything had been suggested there. She was sure it had – it was only a few weeks ago – but like most trainees they concentrated on the “good stuff” and let the rest flow over her head. Recharging shredder pistols didn’t qualify as “god stuff”, so she was stymied. She racked her memory.

But Googlie wasn’t. He was busy dismantling the emergency locator beacon – or would have if he had had a knife or a screwdriver. His method of dismantling it was to bash it repeatedly against a rock until its casing broke.

“Aha,” he said, tipping it until a small battery dropped into his hand. He picked up one of the shredder pistols and flicked a thumbscrew to open a compartment in the butt. He pried out a similar battery, pocketed it, and inserted the battery from the beacon. He closed it up, flicked the catch and pressed the trigger.

Pht...Pht....

He turned round with a smug expression on his face. “They can’t locate us to the square meter, but they know the general location of where we are, and at least we have a weapon again.”

Julia looked at him. “Might it have worked with the torch batteries?” she asked sweetly.

Googlie looked at her somewhat bemused. “I don’t think so”, he said. “No, definitely not. Not powerful enough.” He said it convincingly enough that she wanted to believe him.

Instead she raised the other shredder, pointed it at the remnants of a mindworm and pressed the trigger.

Pht...Pht....

“It is”, she said. “I just replaced it. And we have a spare as well, from the other torch. But now no beacon”.

Googlie felt stupid and useless.

[korn469]

delete this post
[This message has been edited by korn469 (edited October 02, 1999).]

[spartan_chronicles]

7.11.2225

"Blast!" Gavin mumbled as he crumpled the orders in his hands.

"What is it?" His aide, Thompson, asked curiously. Cute little thing, really. Elizabeth Thompson. Twenty-three years old, freckles, dimples. Pretty blue eyes. Didn’t look like a soldier at all. Nevermind the fact that she was every bit as deadly as the rest.

He tried on a smile, and then let it drop. It didn’t seem to fit very well.

"It’s nothing." He said, reverting back to his more customary scowl.

Now it was her turn to smile. "We’ve got marching orders, don’t we?"

He glanced briefly in her direction. "I think maybe you read these things before you bring them to me, young lady."

She giggled like a school girl and shook her head, and Gavin Burge, Commander of the 47th Spartan Infantry sighed, wishing he were a much younger man.

"Well, since it looks like my leave just got put on hold, I guess there’s no sense in waiting to tell everyone else. Will you get on the horn to the company commanders, tell them all to meet me in one hour? And tell that damned Hobbes to start limbering his artillery, I want him to be ready when we have to move."

She saluted curtly, all business again, and headed for the door, leaving Gavin alone with his thoughts.

He sighed again.

_____________________________________________

The 47th Infantry was unusual in many respects. Mostly, it simply mirrored it’s commanding officer. It was a hodge-podge collection of different elements that didn’t look like much at first glance, but, on deeper inspection, was quite surprising.

Gavin Burge had been at the game for a long time. In fact, he was with the founders on landing day, and there weren’t very many of his stripe left. Most had been killed off in the early wars, but he had always been a careful, practiced man, and it had served him well. Not only had he survived those early days, but he had risen through the ranks as well, until he had arrived at his own command.

Now, using the wide latitude granted him because of his age and various connections, he did more or less as he pleased with his unit. True, he didn’t always have access to the best or most advanced equipment, but he was very, very good at improvising.

While he waited for the hour to pass, he broke out the command roster and started planning. No telling what might be lurking in the fungus, and he wanted to be ready.

Captain Arlin Hobbes: Light Artillery Support Company (SAM Battery)
Captain Shane Michaels: Phalanx I (Plasma Body Armor//Impact Rifles)
Captain Margaret Spires: Phalanx II (Plasma Body Armor//Impact Rifles)
Captain David “Sparks” Wheeler: Dragon Company (Plasma Body Armor//Chaos Chain Guns)
Captain Lawrence Durbarow: Crusher I (SynthSteel Armor//Chaos “Spitfire” Rifles)
Captain Lester Neeley: Crusher II (SynthSteel Armor//Chaos “Spitfire” Rifles)
Captain Katherin Banks: Support & Recon (Field Hospital Command//Two (2) Recon Rovers
Captain Huey Brinkman: Engineering Four (4) Land Formers (1 currently being overhauled) and two (2) Sea Formers, currently dry-docked at Blast Rifle Crag.

A good crew, his men. Sturdy and capable to the last.

Reports were that the Hive was on the move again. That could be bad. Yang was a psychopath. Dangerous thing, considering the power he wielded.

He had broken the peace with Sparta, and now it was time to play rough.

The thought brought a glint to his eye.

He waited.

_____________________________________________

"We move." He told them simply.

"Gonna get to play in the fungus?" Wheeler asked him almost casually.

"Looks that way." Gavin replied. "I want the men ready to march by first light tomorrow....I know that doesn’t give us much time, but we’re not only the closest unit to the area, but we’re also the most capable. Yang will remember the pasting we gave him back in ‘56....might make him a little bit leery about getting too rowdy."

"And if he *does* want to play rough, we’ll be ready." Michaels said, almost gleefully. "My Phalanx just finished their Fungal Training stint."

Gavin nodded. "Let’s do it by the numbers, people. I don’t want anybody getting sloppy out there. Yang’s a buffoon, that’s true, but let’s not forget that his people know their business. We don’t want any heads getting blown off unless they belong to the little wiry bastard in blue."

There were nods of agreement all around at the table.

"Oh and by the way, we’ll be doing two days of forced marches to give us some extra time to get set up. When we get there, let the men take the rest of the first day to recover. Tell them you persuaded me. A little of the "good cop, bad cop" for the troops, you know?"

More nods, and a few smiles.

"Good. Dismissed. We’ve got a lot to do, and you’ve got better things to be about than loafing around in my office."

And the meeting ended.

Sure, it wasn’t protocol, and it certainly wasn’t what an outsider might expect to see, but Gavin Burge was hardly the typical Spartan Commander. He did things in his own way, and protocol be damned. These were *his* men....his command.

When the last of them had filed out of his office, he slumped slightly in his chair. "Getting a little too old for all this nonsense." He half whispered. "War is a game for the young....not an old fossil like me....but, one more tango with Yang’s boys, and maybe they’ll let me retire." He chuffed at that. "Not bloody likely."

"Are you talking to yourself again?" Thompson asked him, peeking through the door.

"I am." He replied. "And I’m answering myself, too. Best conversation I’ve had in years."

She smiled. "Except for talking to me, right?"

"Well yes....’cept for that."

She stepped into his office. "One more batch of paperwork for you to deal with before we move."

"Killjoy." He said darkly, and she laughed at him.

He grumbled as he leafed through the orders and communications. "God how I miss junk mail." He said offhandedly.

"Junk mail, sir?"

"Old Earth phenomenon....what I wouldn’t give to see a letter that started off with, "You may have already won ten million....""

Thompson looked lost, and he nearly grinned, then fought the impulse. "Nevermind....I’m just getting senile."

She smiled again, and left him with his thoughts.

"Awwww Hell’s Bells....last thing I need are new recruits!" He muttered as he saw the transfer orders. He was about to set them aside in disgust, but one of the names caught his attention. Allardyce. Ian Allardyce. Transferred in fresh from training school. Specifically requested the Infantry, too.

Deeper in the stack was a letter from Ian’s father. Good old Scott. Hadn’t seen him in....how long?

Too long, he decided. And yes, it *was* his turn to buy....

He snapped on the Comm-Viewer at his desk. "Elizabeth, get me Commander Scott Allardyce."

He waited while the screen darkened.

Elizabeth came back in a moment. "Sir, the Commander is currently unavailable, would you care to leave him a message?"

Gavin thought for a moment. Yes....leave the word "Vodka." for him. I think that will do quite nicely, as messages go."

He decided right then that Elizabeth Thompson looked absolutely delicious when she was confused. He snapped off the Comm-Viewer so she wouldn’t see him smile, and once more wished that he was a much younger man.

_____________________________________________

7.12.2225

All business.

In the office, it was one thing to relax protocols, but the field was another matter. In the field it was all business or nothing.

The Fungal Wall loomed ominously in the distance. They were still some fifteen klicks from the positions they’d been ordered to take, and even now it looked threatening.

He swiveled in his mobile command chair and did a quick check of his units. Everybody was status green. Okay.

Showtime.

"All right ladies and gentlemen, I want a standard approach. Dragons take center, Phalanxes flanking, you know your positions."

He watched as the men smoothly arranged themselves for the advance.

"Crusher units, partial stand down, but be ready to deploy if it looks like we’ve got company coming."

He quickly surveyed the terrain. “Banks.”

"Yes sir?"

"See that low ridge to southeast of our position? I want you to recon it. See if we can move Hobbes’ guns up there."

She did not need to reply, and rom his monitoring station, he saw the rover begin moving out ahead of the rest of the unit.

The advance continued, slow and steady.

"We are not the Gods of War." He mumbled to himself. "That’s a title reserved for the high flyers and special ops. forces...." He sighed. "No sir, we’re the Dogs of War....that’s us." He stared hard at the monitor. A gaze penetrating enough to wither even some of his veterans. "But they’re *my* dogs, and I don’t mean to lose any of them....not today, and not to the likes of you, Yang."

Banks’ voice chirped in, interrupting his thoughts. " Sir, the ridgeline looks clean. We’ve spotted debris. Looks like one of Yang’s artillery pieces."

Gavin nodded. "Hobbes, move up. And while you’re at it, see if there’s anything you can salvage from that debris....Sparks, get your Dragons out in front, Arrow-Formation now, full advance."

"Where do you want us?" Brinkman asked.

"You park the Pile Drivers behind the ridgeline. I want them out of the way unless we need them. Hobbes can give you cover from there. Banks, you set up with him. The rovers will provide what little ground fire you’ll need."

"Not that anything will get past us." Spires added.

"Right on!" Michaels chimed in.

"All quiet, people." Gavin told them gruffly. "Let’s get in position. I want our front line crew dug in on the southern slope of that ridge line before the suns set."

He watched their progress.

Hobbes arrived under the cover of Banks’ rover team.

The Dragons and Phalanxes crested the ridge and started down.

No sign of movement from below.

That was good.

That was very good.

He almost allowed himself a smile.

When things went right, they went very, very right, but when....

"Christ, look at them! Pouring out of the beds!"

His attention snapped back to the monitor.

"Sparks! Report!"

"Worms sir! And a helluva lot of them! I think maybe Yang’s boys pissed ‘em off."

*And now they’re gonna take it out on us....terriffic*

"Battle positions! Gamma Six. Phalanxes, prepare to defend. Sparks, I want you to initiate first strike as they approach, then fall back and let the Phalanxes close ranks around you."

"Yes sir." Sparks said crisply. All focus. That was good. The mark of a veteran.

The worms came.

Streaming out of the Fungal Beds and toward his lines.

Steady.

Steady.

No fear.

Closer.

Closer.

Almost in range.

The Chaos Chain Guns erupted in a blast of death and mayhem. The leading boils were charred to nothingness,. but it did not stop the advance.

Despite orders to the contrary, Sparks hung around long enough to exchange fire with them again before retreating back behind the Phalanxes. Three of his men fell, clutching their heads as they died.

Then the Phalanxes opened up with their sturdy Impact Rifles. Cool and detached, the veterans fired, re-chambered and fired again, creating a withering barrage which utterly shredded the boils.

Soon, silence reigned.

"Status!" Gavin bellowed out.

"Checking sir....six dead, eleven wounded."

"Hobbes, any sign of movement from your position?"

"No sir. All quiet."

"Get those guns set up....all speed. I want you to be ready if anything else comes out of or over that bed."

"Yes sir."

"Thompson....send word to the High Command that the 47th has arrived, and are awaiting further orders. We will hold this position and await developments."

"Sir, High Command has already contacted us, and the news isn't good, Yang's forces have been spotted on the move further west of here...."

There was more. He could tell by the tone in her voice.

"And?"

"Commander Allardyce is missing."

"Missing?"

"Shot down somewhere over the Fungal Bed."

Gavin's heart skipped a beat. "When was this?"

"Yesterday." She told him breathlessly.

"Yesterday? And they haven't pulled a search and rescue yet?"

"There have been some delays...."

"Delays Hell!" He swiveled in his command chair. "Banks, get your rovers ready....everyone, swivel your position sixty degrees, looks like we missed the first part of the Party....some of Yang's men may already be inside the perimeter we're expected to hold....Crusher units, fan out. One on each side of the ridge....Hobbes, you'll have to do without your customary cover for a little while, Sparks, as soon as your men are set up, I want you to lend Banks a platoon....double-time now people, we've got a purpose."

He turned back in his chair. "Elizabeth, tell the High Command that we've got assets at the ready to assist in the search and rescue."

[spartan_chronicles]

TOP SECRET:
7.12.2225

TO: Doctor Juan Bonaventure
FROM: Major Wesly Holbrook
RE: Project PYRRHO
STATUS: ARCHIVE/UNCENSORED

Juan:

I have just completed my review of Project PYRRHO, and as an officer in the Spartan Armed Forces I must say that the project has significant military value. However, as a citizen of the Spartan Federation and as your good friend I must confess that I find Project PYRRHO to be morally questionable at the very least, and to be ethically unacceptable at worse. I spent time observing members of the 469th during their first stage of training at the Iron Holm Command Center, and then their training (programming would be a better term) at the Bioenhancement Center prototype. Without a doubt the Bioenhancement Center has given these soldiers a definite edge over troops who just received training at a Command Center. They have just completed the final stages of their training with the highest score to date, and I’d say that they are among the elite of our army.

In terms of upgrades each of the soldiers have better reflexes, enhanced senses, improved strength, and stamina. Body chemistry has also been modified, their baseline level of adrenaline and testosterone are each at twice normal levels. In order to take advantage of this increased amount of adrenaline and testosterone, dopamine receptors in all the cells have been engineered to accept adrenaline, however the only downside to this is that dopamine can no longer be utilized. To better utilize the high amounts of testosterone we have reconfigured areas of the brain to that once controlled sexual urging to now only use testosterone as a fuel for aggression. Visual processing centers for the brain have been enhanced at the expense of other areas now deem to have a compromising factor to the soldiers. Members of the 469th now no longer have need of maps because the Mind/Machine Interface allows direct access between precise three dimensional maps stored on an implanted microchip and the visual processing centers of the brain. The chip also comes with a built in compass. They think of where they are and they can imagine a map to overlay on top of their vision. It is virtually impossible to get lost with this technology.

What all of that means in human terms is this, they aren’t that human anymore. Altering the dopamine receptors have pretty much made all pain relievers completely ineffective to them. However, on the bright side some 95% of all pain processing centers in the brain have been engineered for other purposes (like built in maps). The other 5% are directly connected to medical diagnostic chip along with internal temperature and white blood cell count. With a database of thousands maybe even millions of wounds and known illnesses, pretty much they don’t need a doctor to tell them what’s wrong they already know. The high levels of adrenaline cause them to be very hyper and always full of energy, and the increased levels of testosterone make them more aggressive. MUCH more aggressive than usual, and though it has not really been mentioned sex drive has fallen on average 60% and sexual dysfunction is at 22%. The average amount of sexual dysfunction for a group of men at their age and for their fitness level is less than 2%(barring factors such as drug use). One thing that particularly disturbed me is that after the training at the Bioenhancement Center one private tried to sing but he couldn’t anymore. It appeared that before the training he was quite a good singer. I did an informal survey and nobody that I asked could sing. Juan I’m not talking about singing in rhythm, I’m talking about the ability to sing at all. The part of the brain that controlled singing was deemed useless and was engineered so that every soldier could strip, clean and reassemble every know small arms in our arsenal and the arsenals of Yang, Lal, and Morgan (blind folded no less). Also all know configurations of planes and vehicles in use by the various factions are there along with various insignias and patches of more notable divisions. Eventually they could relearn to sing but the rhythm was never quite natural, it was too much like a metronome for me. When I heard a unit go by doing a popular jodi it sounded very eerie (you know, the one about Deidra). It didn’t sound like a jodi at all but something else.

No one has lost their sense of unity, and in fact pride and discipline have increase, but that doesn’t reassure me at all. We have turned them into a pact of very vicious wild dogs, and all they wanna do is kill. Yes they are VERY well trained but that haunts me late at night. I have been having more bad dreams lately Juan, I really don’t think this is a very humane thing to do. My test have also uncovered that REM sleep is down 40% and the amount of disturbing imagery in the REM sleep they have has went up six-fold from 3% to nearly 19%. What this means is that one in three of their dreams have disturbing imagery. If they could still feel fear then I would consider that one out of three dreams would be a nightmare, but they can’t so all I can say is that they have disturbing imagery. My god Juan if we have taken away their power to feel fear, and their power to feel pain. Is it possible that we have taken away their power to feel happiness, to feel love? I want you to take a look at something, it’s not very well informed on the specifics of this operation (no probe teams have been able to infiltrate this operation) but Pravin Lal does have some interesting ethical points on the whole operation from just the little amount he knows. I’m not going to include the whole report just the first paragraph. Read the entire report if you get the chance.

The Warrior's bland acronym, MMI, obscures the true horror of
this monstrosity. Its inventors promise a new era of genius, but
meanwhile unscrupulous power brokers use its forcible installation
to violate the sanctity of unwilling human minds. They are
creating their own private army of demons.
^
^ -- Commissioner Pravin Lal,
^ "Report on Human Rights"

Well Lal is probably only paranoid that we’ll gain a significant military advantage out of it (which we will) but those are valid points. Beside the fact that we can now completely deconstruct a man’s identity (so far we have yet to try this particular process on women but I’m sure it could easily be adapted) and the fact that I have deep personal ethical issues with the whole process. I must recommend moving Project PYRRHO to the next stage of implementation, we have enough technical know how to build the Cyborg Factory as it has been nick named by the soldiers of the 469th. I also must say that I base this recommendation solely on the fact that if we do not act now many more people could lose their lives later in a conflict.

I want you to know that my sister has a new place in Admiralty Base and she says that there are some beaches close by that are absolutely wonderful. After I finish with Project PYRRHO I’m going to take a vacation, I’m sure you could use one too, so once you finish with your worm taming tell me and we’ll get away from this insanity. By the way, have you gotten any of those mind worms of yours to learn how to play fetch yet?

As always,
Wesly Holbrook
[This message has been edited by spartan_chronicles (edited September 30, 1999).]

[spartan_chronicles]

CLASSIFIED:
7.12.2225

TO: Doctor Juan Bonaventure
FROM: Major Wesly Holbrook
RE: Project PYRRHO
STATUS: PUBLICATION

Juan:

I have just completed my review of Project PYRRHO, and as an officer in the Spartan Armed Forces I must say that the project has significant military value. Not only that, as a citizen of the Spartan Federation and as your good friend I believe that Project PYRRHO to be one of the most enlightened projects I haved worked on in years. I spent time observing members of the 469th during their first stage of training at the Iron Holm Command Center, and then their training at the Bioenhancement Center prototype. Without a doubt the Bioenhancement Center has given these soldiers a definite edge over troops who just received training at a Command Center. They have just completed the final stages of their training with the highest score to date, and I’d say that they are among the elite of our army.

In terms of upgrades each of the soldiers have better reflexes, enhanced senses, improved strength, and stamina. Body chemistry has also been modified, their baseline level of adrenaline and testosterone are each at twice normal levels. In order to take advantage of this increased amount of adrenaline and testosterone, dopamine receptors in all the cells have been engineered to accept adrenaline, appartanly there are no downsides to this. To better utilize the high amounts of testosterone we have reconfigured areas of the brain to handle this increase. Visual processing centers for the brain have been enhanced along with other areas of the brain. Members of the 469th now no longer have need of maps because the Mind/Machine Interface allows direct access between precise three dimensional maps stored on an implanted microchip and the visual processing centers of the brain. The chip also comes with a built in compass. They think of where they are and they can imagine a map to overlay on top of their vision. It is virtually impossible to get lost with this technology.

What all of that means in human terms is this, they are much more likely to come home. One unexpected benefit is that pain can easily be controled. Some 5% of pain processing centers in the brain are directly connected to medical diagnostic chip along with internal temperature and white blood cell count. With a database of thousands maybe even millions of wounds and known illnesses, pretty much they don’t need a doctor to tell them what’s wrong they already know. The high levels of adrenaline cause them to be very hyper and always full of energy, and the increased levels of testosterone make them more robust. I though I'd see what it did to sexual function and it has not really been a factor. The average amount of sexual dysfunction is less than 2%. After the training at the Bioenhancement Center one private tried to sing and it appeared that before the training he was quite a good singer. Juan I’m talking about singing in good rhythm. He quickly regained that ability. The part of the brain that controlled singing was enhanced and was engineered so that every soldier could strip, clean and reassemble every know small arms in our arsenal and the arsenals of Yang, Lal, and Morgan (blind folded no less). Also all know configurations of planes and vehicles in use by the various factions are there along with various insignias and patches of more notable divisions. Eventually they could relearn to sing and the rhythm was quite natural. When I heard a unit go by doing a popular jodi it sounded very nice (you know, the one about Deidra). It didn’t sound like a jodi at all but something else, it was just that good.

No one has lost their sense of unity, and in fact pride and discipline have increase, and that really reassurea me. Yes they are VERY well trained and that helps me to sleep at night. My test have also uncovered that REM sleep is up 40% and the amount of disturbing imagery in the REM sleep they have has went down six-fold from 19% to only 3%. What this means is that one in three of their dreams used to have disturbing imagery. Now that number is significantly lower. My god Juan is it possible that we have given them even more power to feel happiness, to feel love? I want you to take a look at something, it’s completely misinformed about the project's specifics(no probe teams have been able to infiltrate this operation) and Pravin Lal really tries to make us look bad and spread lies about the project and he doesn't even know anything about it. I’m not going to include the whole report just the first paragraph. Read the entire report just for laughs if you get the chance.

The Warrior's bland acronym, MMI, obscures the true horror of
this monstrosity. Its inventors promise a new era of genius, but
meanwhile unscrupulous power brokers use its forcible installation
to violate the sanctity of unwilling human minds. They are
creating their own private army of demons.
^
^ -- Commissioner Pravin Lal,
^ "Report on Human Rights"

Well Lal is probably only paranoid that we’ll gain a significant military advantage out of it (which we will) and the points he makes are completely invalid. I must recommend moving Project PYRRHO to the next stage of implementation, we have enough technical know how to build the Cyborg Factory as it has been nick named by the soldiers of the 469th. I also must say that I base this recommendation primarily on the fact that if we do not act now many more people will lose their lives later in a conflict.

I want you to know that my sister has a new place in Admiralty Base and she says that there are some beaches close by that are absolutely wonderful. After I finish with Project PYRRHO I’m going to take a vacation, I’m sure you could use one too, so once you finish with your worm taming tell me and we’ll get away from all the excitment. By the way, have you gotten any of those mind worms of yours to learn how to play fetch yet?

As always,
Wesly Holbrook

[spartan_chronicles]

"Let's just go see, eh?" Bernard whined.

"Our orders were to report directly to HQ", replied Captain Ranjit Singh, to his MO, Bernard Gauthier, "and that's just what we'll do."

"Aww come on, man, it's not out of our way, I could have programmed a route that would take us over and you wouldn't have known," butted in "Sunny" Osaka, the Penetrator's Operations Officer.

They were flying at an altitude of about 12,000 meters, and had just left Janissary Rock where they had refueled en route from Commanders' Keep to Sparta Command. During the refueling break they had read some of the messages on the officers' commlink in the mess, and had seen Captain Elyias' report on the Monolith Ring.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," said Ranjit, caving in to the pressure. "Set a new course and give me the correction."

As the bearings came through, the big Penetrator lazily dipped a wing and turned slightly to the north.

"Drop to 2,000, we'll get a better view," said Sunny. "We've enough fuel to get back up to cruising altitude for the run to HQ, and then some".

Singh obliged.

_____________________________________________

Captain Elyias sat watching his men play an impromptu game of poker. He was amazed at his men's adaptability. They could equally well be siting back at base in the mess hall, playing and arguing over whether the deal had been fair, what the ante really was, and occasionally blows would be struck.

It was no different here in the dunes. The same cast, the same bets, the same arguments, hell, probably even the same deck of cards, carried all over Chiron's surface by these indefatigable troopers.

The sound in the distance intruded into his daydreaming.

"Incoming," he yelled. Take cover.

The men scattered to their foxholes and looked south where the sound was coming from.

"Must be one of ours, low", said Rufus. "Can't be Lal's or the Hive's or the Tits would have scrambled to intercept.” That was their fond name for Googlie's all girl crew of Jill Hughes and Sandra Keen, who operated out of Janissary Rock.

The men raised their heads.

The huge fusion penetrator came into view and flew overhead, waggling its wings as it passed over their positions, and carrying on to the Monolith Ring. They watched with the envy that every trench grunt felt for the flyboys. Rufus spat on the ground. "They're welcome", he growled. "I like my two feet on the ground.” Snarls of agreement came from several others in the squad. "Are they goin' to fry the worms, Sir." Asked a young trooper of the Captain.

"I dunno", Elyias replied. "I haven't heard that the big guys are all that effective against them. The new Chaos Copters spell death to the worms I've been told. Pity it's not a squadron of these we're seeing."

They watched the penetrator fly over the monolith ring where the mindworms were congregating.

Suddenly its wing dipped and it commenced a violent turn to port, losing altitude rapidly. The men watched in fascination.

It turned 180 degrees and came back towards them. They watched as the telltale flash of the missile launch indicated a firefox missile coming their way.

"Jesu Christo, he's firing at us,” yelled the young ensign as they all ducked for cover in their recently vacated foxholes.

Captain Elyias stood his ground. 'We're toast', he thought. 'Foxholes won't help us. They carry tactical nukes, and that was one of them'

He watched with morbid interest as the missile came nearer, then suddenly it arced upwards and looped back over the monolith ring heading due north towards the northern ocean.

The big penetrator roared overhead, then stood on its tail and ignited its fusion afterburners, rocketing into the sky. They watched it until it was a mere speck, then followed its contrail until it faded into the distance.

"What was that all about?" asked Rufus, emerging for the second time from his foxhole.

Elyias replied "No idea. Be interesting to read the pilot's log when we get back to the Rock."

_____________________________________________

As they approached the monolith ring Sunny said, "We should be seeing the Captain and his platoon soon".

Just then Bernard said "Oui, there they are, one click ahead at one-o’clock."

Ranjit Singh picked them out among the sand dunes, and as they passed overhead, he waggled his wings in acknowledgement.

The ring was ahead of them. It seemed to encompass an area of some nine or ten square kilometers, and they could count nine monoliths, stretching proudly to the sky, glinting dully in the afternoon sun with a brownish golden tint. The wreckage of the Peacekeeper units could clearly be seen near one of the monoliths.

Ranjit felt it first. The murmuring of thousands of angry voices in his head, malevolent, hatred, violent. He tried to block it out, but he couldn't.

He commlinked Bernard. "You OK?"

"No, you bastard, I’m not. I want to kill someone", he said.

The voices grew louder, angrier, more insistent.

"Yeah, let's wake up those grunts. Who do they think they are, always making fools out of us at base, with their practical jokes."

Ranjit felt the pressure to turn the plane and fly back to the troops on the ground. He fought the controls as they continued through the center of the ring.

The voices in his head were screaming now, and he had a strong desire to tear off his flying helmet and stuff his fingers into his ears to quieten them.

"Let's nuke the bastards," said Bernard, sitting in his MO's seat shaking with anger and rage.

Singh snapped.

"Lets", he said, and stopped fighting the impulses.

The penetrator lurched, and began its turn back to the foxholes of captain Elyias and his men.

Bernard armed one of the tactical nuclear missiles. Singh steered the course straight for the ground forces.

"Launch when ready", snarled Singh, as they crossed the monolith closest to the men.

"Launched" shouted Bernard in triumph as he punched the launch button.

Sunny came to with a start.

"Holy ****, man, what you doing?"

Ranjit looked at the missile accelerating from the penetrator.

"****, ****, ****, was all he could say.

"Mon Dieu, what have we done", cried Bernard.

Meanwhile Sunny's fingers were flying over the keyboard on his on-board command console.

"Talk fast", he said. "I need answers"

"Primary Target?"

"None keyed in,” said Bernard.

"Good", said Sunny. "Any range program, or secondary target."

"None"

"Good.” His fingers were still flying. He hit a 'transmit' labeled key and looked up with a grunt of satisfaction. "Reprogrammed" was all he said.

The missile looped upwards and passed over them on its newly programmed route out to the Northern Ocean where it would spend itself harmlessly.

"Now with all due respect, Sir, let's get out of here".

Ranjit Singh stood the penetrator on its tail and engaged the fusion afterburners, and rocketed away from the mysterious monolith ring with its legions of mindworms.

[spartan_chronicles]

"Gavin." the Gecko said.
"Salvador." Burge replied.
No handshake, no hugs, no embraces. The two men looked each other in the eyes briefly, then walked away together to the Field Marshal's quarters.
"Weird-looking plane you have back there." Burge said.
"An old needlejet. It's stripped down to make it light enough to do VTOL."
Burge thought for a second.
"Eh?" he commented.
"Go figure that one out for yourself." the Gecko grinned. "Meanwhile, let's see how we can get the old coot back to his precious desk."
They had entered Burge's tent, and sat down at the map table.
"Care for something? Not much in the way of spirits, I'm afraid."
"Allow me." the Gecko said, and dipped into his kit bag.
"More vodka?"
"This time, Scotch."
Burge grimaced.
"Don't tell me. From the Lady's personal supply."
"Pure Firth of Skye, Gavin me buddy. Highland malt to warm the heart."
"I wouldn't mind a bit of that, I'll admit."
Catching a change in Burge's tone of voice, the Gecko looked up.
"What's new, Gavin?" he asked.
Burge told him.
The two old battle friends leaned forward over the map, their expressions grave. The priceless bottle of whisky stood untouched a little to the side.

[spartan_chronicles]

Hendrikus' image as he appeared suddenly on the top of the ridge was huge. Muscles rippled, a thin film of sweat made them glisten like a razorbeak's tail feather. Julia Santiago looked up at her savior, and, despite herself, let her jaw drop in awe. This man was awesome.

"Havin' trouble, lady?" Hendrikus spoke levelly.
Julia pointed weakly to the Hive bunker to the North, and the chittering murmur of the mindworm boils right to the East.
Hendrikus' steadfast gaze followed her outstretched arm, and he smiled cynically.

"Bastards." he grunted, and raised his Morgan Annihilator gatling riot gun. Off he went at a steady trot, ducking missiles and laser blasts as if he were in a snowball fight. A barrage of miniature missiles from the launcher across his back saw off the mindworms, and he never even paused to look.

Now firing the Annihilator, Hendrikus gave the Hive bunker a fair peppering. Nimbly rolling in under the parapet, Hendrikus unhooked a Morgan Lullaby hand grenade from his belt, lobbed it up into the bunker, and waited two seconds. Hive screams were muffled by the reassuring blast of the grenade.

The sun at his back, Hendrikus ambled back to where he had left Julia Santiago. She looked up at him, awestruck.
"Oh, Hendrikus..." she said, her eyes shining.

_____________________________________________
DEMO VERSION - GET YOUR COPY OF "MY PRIVATE WAR" NOW FROM YOUR LOCAL MORGAN GAMEPLAY OUTLET - IN SHOPS NOW!
_____________________________________________

"Damn." Hendrikus grunted, and discarded the holo goggles. He looked at his 'puter, and saw a single message from Cartesius.

"Lego operational." it said simply.

Hendrikus got up and went into the shower.

"Damn." he said again.

[spartan_chronicles]

Betty Sterling entered the Governor's boardroom with Otto, and closed the door as Otto walked over to the console, and activated the holo projector, and they then took their seats at the table.

The meeting started on time, with the various Spartan Federation Governors signing in. The scene being holographically projected was the council chamber at Sparta Command. Corazon Santiago was present in person there, with Marlo, Command's Governor, and Alfredo, their Administrator. Alfredo was chairing the meeting.

"The first item on the agenda is an update on our current research into Monopole Magnets. As there is little more to report than last meeting, suffice it to say that our scientist are confident that we can commence the conversion of our formers to build mag tubes in a few weeks time.

The second agenda item is a roll call of our production status. I'll start:

Each called in turn:

Sparta Command: *** penetrator needlejet *** almost complete
Centurion Cave: *** something *** midway
Hawk of Chiron: *** AAA Cruiser *** midway
Assassin’s Redoubt: *** Tree Farm *** just started
Fort Legion: *** Fusion Lab *** just started
Hero’s Way Point: *** transport foil *** midway
Hommel’s Citadel *** Chaos Rover *** midway
Pointa Sur: *** something *** just started
Survival Base: *** Children’s Creche *** almost complete
Training Camp: *** Probe Team *** almost complete
Blast Rifle Craig: *** Interceptor Needlejet *** midway
Defiance Freehold: *** Former *** just started
War Outpost: *** Drop Shock Troops *** almost complete
Bunker 118 *** former *** almost complete
Janissary Rock *** Supply Crawler *** just started

Then the sea bases reported:

Admiralty Base *** Sea Former *** almost complete
Fleet Base *** Sea Colony Pod *** just started
Hydrodock *** Ocean supply crawler *** almost complete
Sea Outpost *** Garrison Unit *** almost complete

Finally, the annexed University bases renamed reported:

Parade Ground: *** Garrison Unit *** almost complete
Ironholm: *** Aerospace center *** almost complete
Fort Survivalist: *** Former *** midway
Fort Superiority: *** Sp-Cyborg Factory *** almost complete
Pointa Nor: *** Garrison unit *** just started
Fleet Anchorage: *** SP-Citizen’s Defense Force midway

"Thank you", said Alfredo. "Now our leader would like to address us briefly".

He sat down and Corazon Santiago began speaking:

"Fellow Spartans, you, the Governors and Administrators of our Bases have a tremendous role to play in the coming months as we gear up yet again for what is looking more and more like a resumption of widespread hostilities with the Hive.

"Chairman yang is refusing to return my commlink calls, and even more ominously, so is CEO Morgan.

"This does not bode well.

"I want each of you to see if there are ways to hurry production of those base facilities that are almost complete or midway to completion, then I must ask you to turn your factories and people to producing military materiel.

"We are short in every category. On the defensive side, ideally I would like every base protected by a Fusion Chaos Interceptor, and have a Chaos Copter on standby for mindworm eradication. I would also like each base to have at least two strongly armored sentinel garrisons, plus an empath squad, again for Mindworm control.

"On the offensive side, we need more armored vehicles and artillery, more Penetrators, offensive copters, more drop shock troop brigades, and we need to be constantly upgrading and refitting our 47th infantry.

"Training Camp is about to commission our third Probe Team to complement our current two. I would like to see more.

"And I have not even mentioned our navy. Command of Chiron’s oceans is vital to our eventual domination of The Hive, and as they develop their needlejet capability, we will need to ensure that our cruisers and skimships are AAA protected.

"The onus therefore falls on you, the Governors and Administrators, to ensure that our military needs are met, without losing sight of the need to establish the necessary base facilities to encourage population growth, keep our drones occupied and productive and yet continue to stimulate the research needed to keep us ahead of the other factions.

"This is a tall order, I know. But you have come through in the past, and I am confident that together we will prevail again.

"Only the strong survive. We must be the strongest. Good night".

Santiago's holo held steady for a moment, then faded.

Alfredo stood up again.

"Well, we know what is expected of us all. Let's go forward and deliver on these expectations.

"Meeting adjourned."

The holo faded and Betty and Otto were looking at the blank tabletop.

Otto said:

"The Fusion Lab. We're not too far along that we will be wasting mineral allocations if we change. What would make most sense militarily?"

"Well," Betty replied, "let's look at this logically.

"We're a mining town, so we can produce the necessary minerals for a hi-tech production. We're only 40,000 in population, and mostly miners, so we're probably not fertile ground for drop troops or missile batteries. Our schools are average, and we have no college or university, no laboratory, and as a result, our contribution to the research scientists is low. We manufacture. That's what we are good at."

Otto chimed in;

"And without significant expenditure on our landing strip we really aren't much good for stationing Penetrators here. An interceptor, maybe, but not Pens."

Betty took up the theme:

"So it's a toss up between armor and copters?"

"Yes," Otto replied. "And the scientist who is here supervising the construction of the fusion lab is from Commanders Keep, where they've been producing copters for a couple of years now. We could retain him, and switch production fairly efficiently."

Betty made the decision.

"Announce it tomorrow. We'll salvage as much of the Fusion Lab materials as possible, but gear up to produce Chaos Copters."

Otto nodded his agreement.