Fortress Alpha, Southern Depression
Spartan smiled as he looked at Syala's face. It wasn't easy to see her on the videostream, but if he concentrated, the darker patches lightened enough to make out her eyes. Her head was uncovered, and the shoulder sections of her armour visible. Behind her, three of her mercenaries waited patiently, covered from head to toe in their bulky and durable assault armour. They were among the best trained and equipped unit Spartan now had access to, and they were being wasted in their entrenched positions. Unlike him, Syala was on the surface, but hidden inside the ruins of the old communication relay tower in Hyndla.
"Khan sends his regards."
Syala laughed, knowing full well the old warrior wouldn't have ever said such a thing. Spartan lifted the dull glass of water next to him and took a long, slow drink. It was tepid, like just about everything else about this planet. Even so, it was nice to be able to relax for a few minutes. Syala had been talking almost nonstop for the last ten minutes, and he just sat there listening.
"They sent in another patrol last night. Arana was waiting for them. It was...well, not pretty."
Spartan coughed as he fought back a laugh, something that was becoming less and less common for him. With Syala he felt a kindred spirit, an independence tempered with deep down passion that could transform into anything in a brief moment.
"We ran into a group of Byotai that were heading to the front-line. They were unarmed and leaving the fight. I sent them back, but it looks like trouble. Are the rumours true?"
Spartan nodded.
"Yeah. Morale is low. Not many of them have seen a proper fight before, and almost none have seen a war. If they want to keep Karnak, they'll have to pay the blood price for it."
Syala looked almost saddened by that.
"I don't think they have the heart for a protracted war. Another few weeks of this, and it will be over. They'll beat us without ever having to fight a battle."
Spartan didn't like hearing her talk this way.
"Our mutual friend is already mobilising supporters for the last offensive. This has to be it. We will create the opening, and she will break through."
Syala thought about that for a moment.
"I don't like it. What if she joins them?"
Spartan nodded along as she talked.
"Then we’ll lose even faster. I'm running out of options."
"What about you?
"I'm okay, I guess."
Syala paused, as though nervous at what to say next.
"Tanis and the Blood Pack have been doing his part. Tanis is pretty helpful with running things down here. And I tell you now, Spartan, we need all the help we can get."
There was a different look to her. She was worried. Based on what had happened since their failure at Tanau, that didn't surprise him.
"The last assessment shows they're putting in two or three fresh units every day."
Spartan nodded. She continued describing the fighting and some of the strange events they'd seen over the last days. After several minutes, she stopped and looked at him without speaking. This went on for a number of seconds.
"What is it?"
Spartan's lip lifted a little at the corner. "I missed you. It's been a while since..."
"I know. This whole place is starting to get pretty depressing."
Spartan tried to laugh at that, but little more came out than a guffaw.
"We were supposed to have left months ago. My unit is getting restless. I tell you now, Spartan. Either we use what we've got, or we will lose everything. We need an end to this, and get back to our day jobs. What good is there for them to get paid just to die down here for somebody else's fight?"
That made Spartan chuckle. Syala and her sister had raised the Black Widows years ago, and their single source of income was mercenary contracts. All of them had been well paid by both the Byotai rebels, as well as the turncoat Tenskwatawa. This was not particularly important to Spartan. After all, his wages were paid directly from the Alliance military now that he was back with the IAB. There was no doubt the odd mixture of different mercenary units were losing heart. Each knew that injury or death was possible in this line of work, but this wasn't their war, and they weren't here to just add another body to the death toll.
"I understand, really, I do," he said, trying to sound positive.
"Okay. What's changed? Last I checked, we were kind of getting our asses kicked. Sometimes that's fun..."
She turned her head coyly.
"But maybe not by the thousands of these new soldiers. We've been watching them arrive, and there are a lot."
Spartan had expected as much.
"What's your assessment of them?"
Syala shrugged.
"Well motivated, trained, and equipped, but green. We've encountered several squads so far. They fight well, but it's clear none have ever seen combat."
"That's what I thought. They've been getting ready for this for some time, haven't they?"
Syala nodded.
"Yeah, you can say that again. They've been drilled by professionals in firearms drill and CQB. Call me mad, but if I had to guess, I'd say ex-Marine Corps instructors based on their tactical deployments."
Spartan lowered his eyes as he gave that some thought.
"And their gear?"
This time Syala's eyes opened wider with interest. She loved kit, especially anything designed to cause death or destruction.
"They have a lot of advanced tech, Spartan. The last attack nearly caught us by surprise. I took a few wounded before we got behind them. The range and penetration on their weapons was impressive."
Spartan knew her mind was wandering, and he watched with amusement as her words faded away. It took a moment before her eyes returned to him with renewed vigour.
"Actually. Now that I think of it, some of the equipment is very similar to the gear our marines use. Their guns especially, a simpler version of the coilgun, and it seems good. Not what I'd expect from a nomadic people our politicians have described as space-faring Red Indians!"
She held up one of them and moved it closer to the camera.
"Have you looked inside them?"
Spartan rubbed his forehead, unclear at the point she was trying to make. He'd thought much the same, though until now he hadn't drawn the link to their own technological developments. Syala pulled the side plate off with ease and then disassembled the weapon as though she'd done it a thousand times before. Spartan leaned in close as he looked at the charging chamber, electromagnetic housing, and ammunition feed.
"That looks a lot like the CTC proprietary internal for the L52. Looks like they've reverse engineered the tech."
Syala didn't seem to be quite as convinced.
"Next generation assault carbines and body armour that most of our people would kill for. This isn't right. Spartan. A decade ago the Anicinàbe were wandering nomads, right?"
Spartan nodded along.
"A people with minimal tech and no interest in anybody else. Next thing we know, this Tahkeome guy has built up a powerbase, an army, and is on the march. He's received a lot of materiel and technological help."
"Who would do that, and why?" asked Syala.
Spartan thought about it and fought back his frustration.
"Like the CTC executives always say. Follow the money trail and find out who benefits."
Syala didn't look terribly impressed by that.
"So, who gains by Tahkeome succeeding?"
Spartan's brow tightened, and he tried to take his mind off the question as he looked into Syala's eyes. There was so much that reminded him of Teresa there, but where his wife had tempered her passion, Syala was the opposite. When her blood was up, there was nothing he could do to pacify her, and that was probably the key characteristic that attracted him to her from the start. The two sisters had much that he admired, but of the two, Syala was most definitely his favourite, something of a kindred spirit. As he watched, her face faded and was replaced by images of the enemy. He tried to shake it, but Syala had planted a seed in his mind, and now all that appeared were legions of these new, heavily armed soldiers.
"I doubt it’s Tahkeome. Who really cares if he wins or fails? Self interest always comes first, so there has to be a way to profit from his success over anybody else."
"Okay...so what else then?"
Spartan knew the answer right away.
"It's not Tahkeome. It's his regime. This new empire he's building from the ashes of two different peoples. If he succeeds, he will be the number one super power, and he'll need everything from agricultural machinery through to roads, ships, and weapons."
"Don't we need those things?"
Spartan smiled at her naivety.
"Of course. But we're still paying for the last war. With the Helions smashed, we're the ones picking up the tab, and it's going slowly. Who will pay for civilian and military rebuilding this far from the core colonies?"
"Ah, right. So, a new and resurgent empire will have money or goods to exchange for everything else. It's a massive market and opportunity. And if a fight is coming, you'll want to be financing and supplying the winning side, won't you?"
The two came to the same conclusion within a fraction of a second.
"Hang on, it can't be," said Spartan, "The weapons look a lot like ours, but what if they're not reverse engineering them. Could Alliance intelligence be financing this? Maybe sending them equipment and weapons?"
Syala laughed at the suggestion.
"Why? Create a new powerbloc on our doorstep? No, this has to be somebody that will benefit from creating new machinery, equipment, weapons, and technology."
Spartan looked down at his carbine resting against the wall of the room. He carried the XC-1 wherever he went, yet rarely spent time just looking at it. He bent down and lifted the gun to his arms. The model name ran down the side of the barrel assembly in a stretched, wide font engraved into the surface. What caught his eye more than anything else was the triangular arrangement for the corporation that built the weapons.
CTC!
He swallowed as his mind shifted to the mega corporation. They were now the single, largest research and manufacturing entity in the Alliance, with more employees than even the entire state bureaucracy.
No, it can't be.
The more he thought about it, the more obvious it became. His facial muscles tightened up as his mind ran through the many permutations. Just knowing how involved he was with the company left him feeling physically sick.
"What is it?"
Spartan grimaced.
"I can't believe I missed it. It's CTC. It has to be."
"The Carthago Trade Consortium? As in the single biggest manufacturing source in the entire Alliance?"
Spartan sighed.
"Yeah, and they've turned their backs on us. I need to get a message out to Gun, and fast. If we've worked it out, then others might have as well. And CTC won't sit back and wait. We were so busy looking for enemies outside with Tahkeome, we never looked at those that might be right next to us."
* * *
A single light hung from the ceiling of the storeroom, filling the place with a gentle glow that barely showed the details of the two figures inside. One remained upright, the other slouched over a table. He lifted his head up and began laughing. He spoke, but the words were not even recognised by the translators and served to irritate Khan even more. He moved in close and stared hard at the officer who spat on the table, and then spoke in barely understandable English.
"I've already told you. Lay down your arms today, and you will be treated...well."
He laughed again.
"Actually, no, you won't be treated well. But you might live, as a slave soldier, or perhaps a cleaner. Who knows what..."
Khan swung his fist at the alien officer, catching him just below the chin, a light blow from him but enough to break the jaw of most people. Decanus Seanoi's head twisted about, but incredibly he remained conscious. Khan leaned in close.
"Play the smart ass again, and I'll take your head clean off."
The door opened, and in walked Spartan in his full armour. His helmet was on, though the visor was open. Khan knew that it meant trouble.
"Yeah?" Khan asked.
Spartan looked to the chained prisoners and the blood dripping from his mouth.
"I thought you were just talking to him?"
Khan shrugged innocently. "I was, but he pissed me off."
Spartan raised his eyebrows and signalled to the door.
"Come with me."
Khan moved away from the prisoner, who started calling out after him. He paused for a moment, but Spartan gave him a stern look, one he knew meant something was going on. They moved outside, and the heavy door swung shut with a dull thud. The wide passageway was a hive of activity as soldiers of all types carried equipment.
"What's happening?"
Spartan leaned in a little and spoke quietly.
"I just got word from Nakoma. She's twelve hours from making contact with her people."
"And?"
"Uktakki is still with her. He says they've assembled nearly three hundred clan warriors just getting there."
Khan's eyebrows rose further.
"He thinks the attack is looking likely, assuming she can rally those still in hiding. It's a good force, but not enough to win on its own."
He placed a hand on Khan's shoulder.
"We can do this together, old friend, but not apart."
Khan considered his words for a moment.
"Okay, fair enough. What else?"
Spartan grinned. He knew Khan understood there was more than this to explain. They'd known each other long enough for both to know that. The future attack was days away and relied on a number of variables. The interrogation of Decanus Seanoi was not high on that list of priorities.
"Nakoma says she has information that an attack is imminent. They know about our bases underground."
Khan's right eyebrow lifted in wry amusement.
"And you believe her?"
Spartan nodded.
"Yes. Why would she lie? She can't win this fight unless we can create a diversion for her forces to break into the city."
Khan had no immediate answer for that. Before he could say more, loud voices caught their attention. Khan lifted the corner of his lip up in irritation.
"I know that sound."
The two walked from the closed door and along the passage that led to a larger communal area. This was originally a generator room, now it functioned as a common area for more than a hundred Byotai, many of which slept wherever they could find space. Most were sitting down or resting, all apart from one group off in the corner.
"Look, there."
Khan pointed to where a dozen or so Byotai were in a heated argument with four uniformed members of the so-called Hyndla Brigade. Sergeant Tyler was there, with his IAB uniform on and chest armour fastened tight to his body. A fresh bandage was wrapped around his head, and just above his left eye to hide the recent wounds to his body. He spotted Spartan and Khan enter and indicated for them to hurry on over. Spartan glanced at Khan.
"Come on."
Spartan led them towards the group, and as they moved closer, neither could avoid looking at the dirt-covered and exhausted citizen soldiers. There were few true warriors among them, and with each passing day, the number of refugees increased. Perhaps a quarter was armed, and far less had anything close to resembling combat armour. As they walked past, their eyes rose to look upon the armoured soldiers.
"Spartan," said Sergeant Tyler.
The two exchanged a firm handshake. It was hardly protocol, but down here they were not soldiers, they were mercenaries, and technically that made most of them civilians.
"What's happening?"
Tyler leaned closer and whispered.
"I don't know, but this kid is looking for trouble. Enough of them seem to be agreeing with him as well. I don't like it."
The two loudest of the militia stopped talking and then faced off towards the angriest of the group. He was a young Byotai, his skin still dark and marked with vibrant black and brown shapes. He was bareheaded and wore a Helion breastplate that had been punctured twice by bullets. The young fighter started to shout just as Kanjana rushed in. She wore her usual tightly fitted armour, and her Anicinàbe form had an instant effect on the young Byotai. She looked back to Spartan, and her expression immediately concerned him.
"Spartan, we've got a problem."
"Oh?"
The Byotai continued his rant, but the suit's translator managed just the odd word, leaving him with a confused tangle of nonsense. He looked to Kanjana and lifted his hands in exasperation.
"Well?"
"His name is Kronir, and he says that you, Khan, and the others are using them to fight your own private war with Tahkeome and his allies."
"What?"
Spartan hadn't meant for his words to come out so loud, and it drew in more of the Byotai. Some started shouting over the sound of the young fighter, but soon there were more than enough on both sides. After nearly three minutes of the arguments, Spartan waded into the middle of the group.
"Enough!"
Kanjana translated, but some still started to talk. Kronir muttered, and Spartan moved right up to him so that their faces were centimetres apart.
"Tell me now, what's your problem?"
As Kanjana translated the alien's grievances, Spartan found his temper worsening. The complaints and accusations were long and complex; made much worse in that nearly half of those inside seemed to agree with him. Finally, he lifted a hand and halted the performance that seemed to be getting louder and louder. The blame for the fighting infuriated him, especially after having seen so many killed in the last months.
"We came here at your request and have spilled so much of our own blood."
His expression hardened as he recalled the Humans, Helions, Khreenk, and others that had died in this fight.
"Tenskwatawa betrayed us, and now he will strip this planet for his new masters. Your own race has been overrun by these people, will you roll over and let them take it from you?"
A few of the agitators stepped back, with some grumbling. Kronir did not move, though his expression did soften for a fraction of a second. Then, as though somebody whispered in his ear, he changed.
"No. My family are prisoners now, and they will keep taking us until this is over."
He pointed an accusing hand at Spartan.
"You promised us victory, and instead we live in the dirt, and each day more of us die. We had a chance to join Tenskwatawa. Governor Nak Sekieki joined them and so have many more. My family are dead or hostages of Tenskwatawa because we refused to negotiate for peace."
Kanjana tried to plead with him, but he took umbrage at the lithe and beautiful Anicinàbe trying to placate him. She managed a few words before two of his comrades moved to his flanks and drew knives.
"Hey, that's enough!" said Spartan.
His own right hand moved to his flank where he always carried a sidearm, but he intentionally avoided letting his hand actually come into contact with the holster. He watched Kronir carefully, waiting for a sign that would force him to intervene. Kanjana lifted out a pale hand, and he hit it aside.
"Now you've betrayed us all, Biomech slave."
Spartan had not heard a Byotai speak in this way before, and the connection between him and the Biomechs was an unwelcome one. More Byotai entered the area, some perhaps looking to rest, others attracted by the sounds of argument. Kronir pointed at Khan.
"We fight here in this ruin, and for what? Karnak is a wasteland now. It is nothing to us. Victory or defeat, we still lose."
Spartan tilted his head and examined the features of the young man's face. The Byotai expressed themselves differently to other races, but there were similarities even he could pick out. He'd seen what joy and fear looked like, and there was no pleasure on Kronir's face, but he did get a strong sense of relief. Spartan turned to Khan and breathed more easily at spotting a unit of six Helion mercenaries moving along the back of the room. The Byotai were reasonably reliable, but his mercenaries could definitely be counted upon. Spartan nodded as Kronir finished his rant.
"I understand. And if you want to become slaves to Tenskwatawa, then leave. Your people are already fading into history, another race and society without the backbone to fight for what's yours."
That appeared to have little effect on the Byotai. Instead, his lips opened and closed as though wanting to say something, but each time he stopped and took in more air.
"Spartan," said Khan.
He looked to his friend who was already reaching for a blade. Both turned their gaze to Kronir who opened up the long coat that ran to his knees. At the same time, they inched backwards, both sensing danger. Kanjana saw what they were doing and moved discreetly away, giving the impression that Kronir had won this round of the argument. As the coat moved further away, it uncovered a long ammunition belt, covered with cabling running up to his neck. He spoke more slowly this time, and Spartan took a step back as he listened.
"Spartan, you cannot win this war for us, but it must end, even if that means we must first lose this war."
Spartan knew exactly what was going on, and his body told him what to do well before his mind explained it. He threw himself against the nearest Byotai, knocking several to the floor. Khan did the same, almost breaking the limbs of those nearby. Kanjana tried to run, but a pair of Byotai males unintentionally blocked her path.
"Back!" Spartan yelled.
The young Byotai moved after them, though evidently in no great hurry. No one translated his words now, but the computerised translator in Spartan's armour had little trouble with the slow and deliberate words used by Kronir.
"Only with your death can any of us find peace. I do this for my family, and for the memory of our people. With your death, we will have our promised peace."
As she struggled past them, Kronir exploded in a terrifying flash of light and blood. The blast was not massive, but more than enough to disintegrate his body, as well as the handful right next to him. Spartan and Khan avoided the worst of the blast but were still hit by a few small chunks of debris, as well as the splatter of fresh blood. Kanjana took the full brunt in her side and hit the ground, with blood running from multiple wounds to her arm and torso. The two Byotai that had blocked her path were nowhere to be seen, their shattered bodies now scattered through the large room. She'd have joined them had she not been wearing her modern armour. Another of the Byotai revealed explosives strapped to his chest, but this time the mercenaries were ready. A Helion opened fire, hitting the alien in the forehead and sending his body crashing to the ground. Others ran screaming, but some stayed to check the many wounded crying out in pain.
"Kanjana!"
Spartan ignored the others and rushed to Kanjana's side, leaning in to check the wounds. Khan meanwhile moved to the centre of the room, with weapons drawn and looking into the crowd. Helion mercenaries swept in to assist, and most of the last remaining Byotai survivors broke and ran for the exits. With the numbers gone, it was easier to pick out the remaining hostile Byotai who then drew sidearms and blades. A door to the side opened, and more Byotai moved in. Most were civilians, and all carried weapons taken in the recent fighting.
"Help her!" Spartan shouted, "She took the blast for us."
A Helion combat medic knelt down, only for a Byotai to leap onto his back and plunge a blade into the back of his neck. The tip pushed out from the front of the neck, and he slumped down, blood bubbling and gurgling from his wound. Spartan twisted about and leapt up, slamming his fist into the Byotai's face, sending him staggering backwards. At the same time, Khan extended a blade on his Thumper and swung the weapon at the stumbling Byotai. The blade caught him at the base of the neck and removed the head in a single, clean movement. A great cry roared from the dozens of other Byotai, and they surged forwards.
"Protect Spartan!" Khan ordered.
Shots rang out as the three remaining Helion mercenaries rushed in, and in a matter of seconds, a loose cordon formed around Spartan. Shots continued flashing back and forth, but Spartan wasn't interested. He turned back even as bullets glanced off his armour and onto Kanjana's face. She was naturally pale, but already the colour was running from her. A red spot marked her forehead, and it took a moment before he realised she'd been hit by gunfire. More bullets hit him, and Khan grabbed him just as two of the Helions dropped to the ground. There were at least thirty Byotai in there, and all seemed eager to end their lives. The gunfire stopped, and one moved to the front, while the cries of pain from the wounded continued.
"You murdering bastards," muttered Spartan.
The single Byotai moved closer but stopped out of Spartan's reach. He lowered his head a small amount and then indicated towards the dozens of his followers, most of whom pointed their guns at Spartan or Khan. Spartan snarled as he looked at them, giving particular attention to their eyes. He recognised the fear in them, and that appeared to make him even angrier.
"Lay down your weapons."
The words were in accented English and clearly rehearsed. Spartan listened in disbelief. As his hand moved down to his sidearm, a number of the Byotai muttered and pointed their guns at his face. Spartan's hand fidgeted near the pistol, and Khan held his Thumper levelled as though undecided.
"We have sent terms to Tenskwatawa," said their representative, "The war ends today, and your bodies are the currency we must..."
"No chance!" Khan roared.
There was no hesitation from him, and he threw himself forward and towards the cowering Byotai. Several had been watching him for signs of trouble and opened up with the guns at close-range. Several chunks of the Blood Pack armour tore off and broke, but even as bullets pushed into his body, he reached them. Khan swung his Thumper while firing the weapon. At this range, the large calibre shells tore bodies apart in a terrible fashion. He didn't stop there and barged into the crowd, firing and swinging the weapon from left to right. Some were shot and others cut apart by the blade.
"I'm with you!" Spartan yelled.
In a single fluid movement, his hand flipped out the powerful L52S Mark II Assault Pistol. The first rounds struck his M-3B armour, but Spartan ignored them. Alerts warned him of breaches, but there was a good chance he wouldn't survive this. He sidestepped, throwing off their aim, and then fired, making sure his first shots hit the leader of the traitors.
"Bastards!"
The first five rounds punctured the Byotai's face, ripping him apart before he could even open his mouth to speak. Spartan slipped on fresh blood and nearly fell, but with the benefit of avoiding a heavy volley of rifle fire. That one slip might have given him enough to allow Khan to truly go to work. Several tried to get out of his way, instantly creating an opportunity for Spartan.
I'm taking you with me!
The L52S spat out round after round, emptying the sixty-round magazine. Like the L52 it was based on, the coilgun could defeat almost armour at this close-range. Its calibre might be modest, but modern 6mm bullets were works of genius. Though standard armour-piercing heads, they also expanded upon impact, creating larger wounds that could create bigger holes in armour, or even more horrific injuries.
Go to your blade.
Spartan dropped the machine pistol, and it fell away until hanging at his side, the elasticated lanyard keeping the weapon next to the holster mount on his flank. Out came the old M11 tactical bayonet, a piece of equipment Spartan always carried at his side. The tool was simple, little changed from the weapons used in the twentieth century; high carbon steel with a heat-hardened tip and serrations along the blade's edge near the handle. The grip was rubberised and helped him maintain a firm grip as he extended it out in a pick grip, with the point aimed at the ground.
"Let's go!"
More than a dozen lay dead, and as Spartan reached the group they began to panic. Khan decapitated another, and as the blood sprayed over Spartan, he joined in, making him look even more terrifying than he already was. Two of the militia ran at him, one with a pistol that refused to fire, no matter how many times the trigger was pulled, and the other with a metal club covered in small spikes. Spartan moved past the first, easily ducking under the club and then slashed up into the armpit and stabbing back down into the collar. The Byotai crumpled, leaving the pistol-wielding fighter to wave it in a futile attempt to strike Spartan.
"Wrong time, pal. I'm not in the mood."
With his left arm, he locked the militiaman's left arm behind his body and stabbed him up into the ribcage, before twisting the knife blade. The groan of pain and terror was still not enough to affect Spartan, and as he released him, the unfortunate Byotai fell to the floor, joining the dead and wounded. Spartan fought his way to his friend until the two were back-to-back in the middle of the large open space. They struck out, punched, kicked, and stabbed at anyone that strayed close. It turned from a fight into a massacre, until at last the two stopped amidst the pile of shattered bodies. A shape entered the room and stopped.
"Spartan...what happened?"
The battle-hardened marine twisted from the waist and looked to Commander Knaro. At his flank were a pair of his trusted soldiers, but all three shared the exact same expression of utter disbelief and horror. He started to speak and then stopped. Spartan walked into the centre of the room and kept on going until reaching the pile of gore marking the last known position of the suicide bomber. He bent down, scraped away the blood, and then lifted something metallic and dripping with blood. As he lifted it higher, Khan groaned.
"A short-band beacon."
The device was quite small, and at first glance might easily have been a hand grenade. Spartan tossed it to Khan who then dropped it to the floor and stamped down, shattering its outer skin. Spartan looked back to Knaro.
"It a distress beacon, designed to work underground."
As if to emphasis the point, the emergency klaxon activated, filling every part of the underground fortress with the warning sounds. Spartan felt his bitter frustration mount. Knaro looked confused.
"They betrayed us to Tenskwatawa, for what?"
Khan shook his head.
"They thought killing Spartan would give them currency to negotiate."
Knaro considered that for a second.
"The fool. None of us are safe until Tenskwatawa is driven away."
The alarms continued to sound, and a Helion rushed in, barely able to speak. He was one of the few of his mercenary outfit that spoke broken, but passable English.
"What is it?" Spartan asked.
The Helion coughed, cleared his throat, and then pointed back into the passage behind him.
"They here."
"Who?" Khan asked.
The Helion coughed again.
"All of them. They are in the fortress."
Spartan lifted his head and took in a long breath before nodding to himself.
"Very well. Send the signal. It's time to fight."
Khan pulled back the bolt on his Thumper, and as usual, ignored the multiple bullet wounds to his oversized limbs. He then moved to a pile of bodies on the ground, kicked two out of the way, and lifted the unconscious, blood-covered shape of Sergeant Tyler before looking to Spartan.
"He'll live...Now, let's end this...today."