Ghost Soldiers Read Online Free Page A

have been a little apprehensive, but never Khan. Spartan shook his head and wondered what was happening inside the other craft.
    Are the carefully selected officers and men up to the job?
    “The Helion rescue attempt did nothing but get their soldiers killed. They’ve been there weeks and have made the entire site a death trap. The compound is made to be impregnable, with guard posts at every single entry point. They have shown time and time again that they do not value their own lives, so let’s show them how we feel about that.”
    Khan muttered and then looked to Spartan as he moved back.
    “They’ve been preying on this sector for a month. Ten square blocks, all now controlled by the Spascia Liberation Front, and we are going to get hit hard going in. Are they ready for this?”
    Lieutenant Armstrong laughed, but his voice betrayed his nerves.
    “Liberation Front? All they want to liberate is money and possessions from people’s pockets. They are a gang of thugs, with a reputation for murder and people trafficking.”
    He looked to Spartan.
    “The IAB is well equipped, and we’ve been training for months. Every single marine has transferred from other units. We are the best.”
    Spartan grinned and wondered if the man was right. He wasn’t entirely correct. Of course, some of the recruits were sent directly to the unit from training, but only the exceptional, or the troublesome ones. Then there were the Thegns, an entire artificial race of foot soldiers, and now part of the Alliance. They ran the IAB ships in orbit, but only with the assistance of at least one senior Alliance officer per vessel. It was a major compromise, and one Spartan knew would have to change.
    It is always more complicated than you would expect.
    The young officer continued.
    “We hit them, and we hit them fast.”
    Sergeant Tyler twisted about, still constrained by the clamps.
    “That we will.”
    Spartan looked to them both and nodded, though his suit hid his expression.
    “This mission will put the IAB into a hell like none before. My estimate is anything up to fifty percent casualties in the combat landing. Remember; let the Grunts do their job. They are our armour and our shields. Let’s show these Liberators the true meaning of the word.”
    “Yes Sir,” said each of them.
    They were not the words of rookie soldiers, or those pumped up on adrenalin or excitement, they were nothing more than a business-like acknowledgement of what needed to be done.
    Spartan moved past them and towards the three rows of tubes fitted to the floor of the craft. There were thirty of them, each individual unit protected by a smoked transparent outer seal. All were currently open, and the metal warriors within were waiting like metal sculptures. As Spartan passed them, he could see each one begin to check its limb movement and balance, as though warming up for an athletic event. To the uninitiated they might seem like tiny versions of the Maverick armour, but they had little in common.
    Times have changed.
    These were a first for the Alliance, the first generation of remote presence CD1 Combat Robot, nicknamed Grunts to the marines. Each could be controlled like a second skin from a vast distance away, with the only limitation being the distance of the controller, the greater the delay in command operations. In reality, it meant the Grunts moved slowly and with reduced reaction. Though just the size of a small adult, they were tough and most important of all, completely expendable, though very expensive.
    Spartan laughed to himself and looked up, imagining the thirty marines inside the warship waiting in orbit. Unlike him, they would be fitted inside special harnesses that lifted them up and away from the ground, while communication skullcaps hung down over their heads. It was a simple measure to ensure they could move about without catching their limbs, and to aid in the sensory deprivation required to make the best possible bond with the machines.