However, ever since the corporation split, no new Orion ships had been assembled in orbit. There were three Orion ships in total, all under the control of CEO Petty. There were parts for two more still on Earth. It would take a few months to assemble them if those on Earth would use the laser launch systems to send the pieces up.

  Colonel Garvey, First Lieutenant Steele, and Sergeant Ramirez—the three in the command module—knew all that. They also knew that Petty had tried to deal with Livia. She had ceased sending shipments into orbital space about 11 months ago. Before such shipments resumed, she demanded cooperation in crushing those she named as dissidents.

  The maneuvering of the five VDSs over Australia suggested that Petty had finally decided to throw in his lot with these so-called dissidents.

  A coup and rebellion against the World Government had begun in Australia three months earlier. That was before anyone on Earth knew the Valiants had started an invasion run at them. The news of a Valiant fleet gaining a gravity assist from Jupiter had changed nothing in the Australian debacle.

  Perhaps the number of Enforcers—100,000 ton vessels, like Orion ships—and the fact that Petty had three to match the enemy caused those on Earth to shrug at the threat. How could three alien ships with a few auxiliary vessels possibly defeat Earth? The idea seemed ludicrous. Sure, rumors abounded that the Valiants had developed a secret weapon. Others said the aliens would employ germ warfare and cause a worldwide plague on the planet.

  Whatever the reason for the alien assault, the ongoing struggle for supreme power on Earth continued, with Livia consolidating her zones and now trying to hold on to her last island strongholds. A year ago, submarines and massed missiles had eliminated her surface fleets. North and South America did not employ surface fleets but submarines and fast lighter-than-air dirigibles.

  Such dirigibles and cargo submarines had disgorged trained soldiers and armored hovercraft to help the Australian rebels. State-of-the-art attack submarines torpedoed most of the surface cargo ships supplying the Director’s army in Australia. The rebels were winning, although the Director’s armies still held most of Southern Australia.

  Petty and thus the space stations ringing the planet had kept out of the fighting. Now it looked as if Petty was about to unleash his elite strike force of space marines. That meant using five elite orbital insertion vehicles, five that might sway the Australian tide if used precisely and strategically.

  The communications officer looked up from his console at Colonel Garvey. “Sir, it’s a go. You’re to strike at 0600 on the dot.”

  “Strike where exactly?” Garvey asked.

  “At grid A-4,” the communications officer said.

  “A-4,” First Lieutenant Steele said, a lean, wolfish officer in his mid-twenties. He pulled a map out of a pocket, unfolding it, checking. “That’s in the middle of Sydney.”

  Garvey scowled. “That’s in the middle of a city. Doesn’t that strike you as a damn stupid place to land?”

  Steele shrugged. “Seems like it’s a good place for us to show what we can do. Hit them fast,” he said, thrusting a hand outward. “Hard and fast, that’s what we do. That’s our M.O. This is a chance to finally do something.”

  “Do something?” Garvey said. “You mean get yourself killed? Make your son fatherless for no good reason?”

  “Garvey, come on,” Steele said.

  “That’s Colonel to you, son.”

  “Yes, sir,” Steele said, folding the map and putting it in his back pocket. He glanced at the other member of the team, Sergeant Ramirez. The sergeant was beefy and big, one of the best boxers in the Space Marine Corps.

  John Steele had thrived in the Space Marine Corps. So had his family of Dawnstar, Cody and his little girl Bonnie. The only issue was his family being vulnerable in one of the orbital stations. Anytime the Director became angry enough, she could order a massive missile attack on the orbital stations. If she unleashed, though, Petty would rain missiles down on Eurasia and Africa.

  This was a fine mess. The aliens were finally coming, and Earth was embroiled in a hot war.

  Steele shrugged inwardly. History showed that this was how events usually went. No side was perfectly united. The human condition meant quarrels and fistfights among its own.

  The Valiants were coming, and the space marines were getting ready to enter the civil war on Earth.

  “Are any space interceptors escorting us down?” Steele asked.

  Garvey pointed at the communications officer.

  “They’re on their way,” the officer told Steele.

  Garvey sighed. He had aged, with lines in his dark face. But he was among the most gifted of the Space Marine colonels.

  “Let’s see,” Steele said, dredging his memory. “The headquarter guard units in Sydney are Gurkha and Nepalese.”

  During Director Anwar Gray’s tenure, India and the surrounding areas had been particularly loyal to him. Since most people believed that Petty had slain Gray with a nuclear weapon, those nations were hyper-loyal to Director Livia Drusus.

  “None of that matters now,” Garvey said. “Go on, suit up and strap in. Zero hour is almost here.”

  -4-

  The Vehicle Descent Shuttles were bulky, armored crafts made for fast reentry and takeoff, carrying a pod of armored space marines. Each shuttle carried ten battle suits, each weighing 1.5 tons, and two fighting robots. Those robots were two tons each. In this instance, it also meant one more battlesuit in each VDS. The extra was the colonel in their shuttle. The other extras were members of the colonel’s staff, one in each of the other four VDSs.

  The space marines in their battle suits were strapped into place, each standing upright. Colonel Garvey was with them. He would lead all fifty of the space marines.

  With the go order given, the initial moments of descent were deceptively smooth, the VDSs gliding effortlessly through the vacuum. As the vehicles breached the upper layers of the atmosphere, the silence of space gave way to a deafening roar. The hull of the Harbinger vibrated violently, the friction of reentry enveloping the VDS in a fiery embrace, and making the heat shield glow orange.

  Pilot Connors felt the intense heat despite the ship’s advanced thermal shielding. He knew every marine could feel it too.

  “Hold tight, everyone,” he said, his voice barely audible over the roar. “This is where it gets rough.”

  The VDSs sliced through the sky, their exteriors glowing red with heat. Booms sounded as huge chutes deployed, jerking the VDS, and before the chutes almost instantly tore away. A succession of chutes deployed to help slow the craft. Then automated systems engaged, adjusting angles and deploying flaps to stabilize the descent.

  Connors glanced at the display screens, watching as the other four VDSs maintained formation, their ablative armor peeling away to dissipate the intense heat. Each second felt like an eternity as they plummeted toward their target, the ground rushing up to meet them.

  Suddenly, alarms blared. Enemy defense platforms had detected their approach, and a salvo of surface-to-air missiles streaked upward, leaving trails of smoke against the sky. Connors’s pulse quickened.

  “Interceptors, engage,” he shouted into the comms.

  Flanking the VDSs, stubby-winged Talons sprang into action. These heavy orbital interceptors flashed between the descending VDSs, their automated turrets locking onto the incoming missiles. The sky erupted in a series of explosions as the Talons’ firepower annihilated the threats, transforming the potential disaster into a fireworks display.

  Inside Harbinger, the marines braced against the shudders caused by the shockwaves.

  “We’re through the worst of it,” Connors said, as the enemy missile barrage ceased.

  The descent continued, and Sydney loomed larger with each passing second. Connors could make out the enemy HQ, a fortress of steel and concrete, with bristling defenses.

  The VDSs’ retro thrusters fired, and the squat armored shuttles slowed, their flames scorching the air as they prepared for landing. The landscape of Sydney blurred beneath them, a sprawling urban expanse now turned into a battlefield.

  “Final approach,” Connors said.

  The retro thrusters kicked in full force, and the VDSs decelerated rapidly. The ground rushed up to meet them, and with a bone-rattling thud, Harbinger and the others touched down. The retro thrusters flared one last time, stabilizing the shuttle on its fiery pillar.

  The ramps began to lower, hydraulics hissing.

  “Ready, marines,” Garvey said, his voice cutting through the fading roar of the descent.

  For a moment, there was an eerie stillness inside the VDS—a brief pause before the storm.

  Straps fell away from the ironmen battle suits.

  “Go, go, go,” Steele said, leading the charge of his pod.

  In their heavy suits, the space marines surged forward, their armored boots pounding on the ramp as they charged onto the battlefield in Sydney.

  They had descended from the heavens on pillars of fire, and now they would bring fire to their enemies.

  -5-

  Fires blazed behind the space marines as thick black plumes poured into the sky from all directions.

  Earlier, the Talons had made an attack run, dropping munitions to shake the Sydney HQ defenses.

  First Lieutenant Steele was at the forefront, his pod of space marines moving with practiced steps behind him.

  Each of the marines wore a battle suit, forged from BPC (Biphase Carbide) armor. They featured overlapping layers of high-strength carbon fiber, creating a resilient shell capable of withstanding harsh environments and deadly threats. With approximately 2.54 centimeters of advanced armor, the suit provided protection against most kinetic impacts and energy weapons.

  Each suit weighed a hefty 1.5 tons (1,360 kilograms), the bulk of it being the exoskeleton. Each suit was powered by TitanCore batteries, providing approximately two and a half hours of use. The exoskeleton enhanced a marine’s strength and agility, allowing him to maneuver despite the suit’s mass. The design incorporated shock absorbers and gyroscopic stabilizers, ensuring stability and precision in both zero-gravity and high-gravity situations.

  At the heart of the suit was the TitanCore battery system. It powered life support, communication systems, and the suit’s integrated weaponry. The power distribution network within the suit was designed for maximum efficiency, with redundant systems ensuring operational integrity even under demanding conditions.

  The centerpiece of the battle suit’s arsenal was a coil gun. The weapon was available in 3 mm and 5 mm variants, using electromagnetic acceleration to launch armor-piercing saboted rounds at incredible speeds. Connected to the suit via reinforced power cables, the coil guns provide a steady stream of destructive force, capable of piercing the toughest armor. The rounds were engineered for maximum impact, making them effective against both enemy personnel and vehicles.

  Today, the space marines needed a suit for a heavy assault. The Ares model boasted additional armor and enhanced power systems to support intense combat operations. It was designed for frontline engagement where sustained firepower and durability was paramount.

  The helmet’s heads-up display (HUD) delivered real-time data on target acquisition and suit diagnostics. The sensor array included thermal imaging, night vision, and motion detection.

  The suit’s communication system provided secure, encrypted channels for marines to coordinate with command units and one another.

  Each battle suit was equipped with an autonomous life support system that maintained optimal temperature, humidity, and oxygen levels.

  The streets of Sydney were a war zone, with buildings reduced to rubble and smoke rising from the debris. Steele and his pod moved through the shattered landscape, soon facing gyroc shells fired from Gurkha and Bengal soldiers.

  That must mean the pod was close to the enemy headquarters. The pilots had dropped them almost on target this time.

  “First squad, take point,” Steele said. “Watch for snipers. Use your grenades to smoke out those gyrocs.”

  Sergeant Ramirez led the first squad, his eyes scanning the war-torn streets. The city was a ruin of crumbling buildings and burning wreckage. Ramirez’s squad moved ahead, their coil guns barking as they advanced, the distinct hum of the electromagnetic coils firing slugs at supersonic speeds.

  The first line of Gurkhas that had faced them had either retreated or died.

  The next sign of enemy resistance came as a burst of automatic fire from a nearby building.

  “Contact, second floor, blue building, three o’clock,” Steele said over the comms.

  “Roger that,” Ramirez replied, aiming his 5 mm coil gun and firing a controlled burst.

  The rounds punched through the wall, leaving a cloud of pulverized concrete and a gaping hole. Screams followed as the enemy soldiers inside were cut down, unable to match the power of the marines’ weaponry.

  The regular soldiers of the Director’s forces, clad in standard-issue body armor, emerged from cover, firing desperately at the advancing marines. Ramirez’s squad responded with disciplined ferocity. Corporal Blake fired a grenade into an enemy position, the explosion sending a shower of debris and bodies into the air. Steele aimed his 5 mm coil gun and squeezed the trigger, the recoilless weapon killing enemy soldiers as fast as they appeared.

  “Push forward. Keep the momentum,” Steele ordered. His pod moved cautiously, using the terrain for cover where they could, their exoskeletons amplifying their speed and strength.

  As they advanced, they encountered a hastily erected barricade manned by a dozen Gurkha soldiers. The enemy fired a volley of gyroc rocket shells, but the marines’ heavy armor shrugged off the explosions.

  No, scratch that. Blake went down, his HUD visor shattered. The Gurkha had gotten lucky or had known that was a weak spot in the suits.

  “Heat launchers, take out that barricade,” Steele said.

  Private Larson and Lance Corporal Jones stepped forward, their 100 mm launchers primed. They fired simultaneously, the projectiles streaking through the air and striking the barricade. The impact was devastating, the warheads detonating with a blinding flash and a wave of intense heat. The barricade disintegrated, reduced to molten slag and twisted metal. The surviving enemy soldiers were either incinerated or sent fleeing in panic.

  “Move, move, move,” Steele said, his pod charging through the smoldering remains of the barricade. They cleared the area methodically, their coil guns tearing through any remaining opposition. Steele kept his eyes on the tactical display in his HUD, which marked enemy positions and highlighted points of interest.

  Steele’s pod pushed forward, clearing each building.

  Behind and to the sides, the other four pods moved with equal lethality, with Colonel Garvey ordering them.

  “Clear left,” Jones shouted, his coil gun taking out a pair of enemy soldiers attempting to flank them.

  Steele nodded, signaling for his pod to proceed. They entered a dilapidated office building, the interior dark and filled with debris. The air was thick with dust and the acrid smell of burning electronics.

  “Eyes sharp, close quarters,” Steele said.

  They navigated the tight corridors, their helmet lights cutting through the gloom. An enemy soldier sprang from behind a corner, firing wildly. Jones reacted instantly, his coil gun spitting rounds that turned the attacker into a lifeless heap.

  On the second floor, they encountered a more organized resistance. The WG soldiers had set up a defensive position with sandbags and heavy machine guns.

  Steele assessed the situation.

  “Larson, Jones, grenades,” he said.

  The two space marines fired grenades over the sandbags, the explosions throwing up clouds of dust and shrapnel.

  Steele and the rest of the pod followed up with a barrage of coil rounds, dismantling the enemy defenses.

  The World Government soldiers fought desperately, but they were no match for the space marines’ superior battle suits, firepower, and training. Coil rounds tore through enemy cover, and the heat launchers reduced defensive positions fast. Every time an enemy unit attempted to regroup or mount a counterattack, they were met with overwhelming force.

  Steele’s HUD flashed with target markers as he directed the assault. From his position, he could see the progress of the squads, their icon on his tactical display moving steadily forward. Steele picked off enemies with deadly accuracy, his coil gun thumping with each shot. He took out a sniper nest in a high-rise with a well-placed round, the sniper’s perch exploding in a shower of glass and concrete.

  The enemy fought desperately, but the space marines’ powered armor made them nearly unstoppable. The enemy’s headquarter defenses were crumbling under the assault, and it was only a matter of time before the marines reached their objective.

  “We’re nearing the HQ,” Steele told Garvey, glancing at the tactical map overlaid on his visor.

  “Everyone on my mark,” Garvey said. “Two… one… go.”

  Steele led the charge toward the enemy headquarters, a heavily fortified structure bristling with defenses.

  “Heat launchers, take out the turrets,” Steele said.

  A barrage of 100 mm heat rounds streaked towards the headquarters, explosions ripping through the enemy’s automated defenses. The air was thick with smoke. Steele’s marines pressed the attack, their coil guns cutting down any soldiers brave enough to reveal themselves.

  The final approach to the headquarters was a gauntlet of fire. Gurkha and Bengal soldiers poured out, trying to hold the line. Steele’s pod and the others met them head-on, their advanced armor shrugging off enemy small arms fire.

  “Breech the entrance!” Steele shouted as they reached the headquarters doors.

  His demolitions expert, Corporal Madden, set the charges. With a deafening blast, the reinforced doors were blown off their hinges.