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SCL Chapter 50: The Fall of a Traitor, the Rise of a Soldier
🕑 Added 2025-04-22 03:09:21 +0000 UTC“What is it? You think there’s something fishy about Vanderspool?” Warfield asked. He was driving the lead APC this time, with Augustus in the passenger seat.
“The Sea Dragon Legion managed to launch a surprise attack on our outposts without making a sound. Then they breezed through the fortress gates like there were no defenses at all. When I got word that the enemy was nearly on top of our company’s camp, I happened to run into Vanderspool on the landing platform—trying to flee.”
“He abandoned the command center and handed over the most heavily fortified area of the fortress without a fight. I always knew he was a hypocritical coward, but even so… he ran way too fast.”
“Just two weeks ago, Vanderspool sent his only battalion into a deserted urban ruin—that’s the real reason Fort Howe’s defenses were left so thin. And just yesterday, right before the Sea Dragon Legion launched their assault, he deployed a platoon to scout out non-existent Kel-Morian forces near the Meridian Ridge. That can’t be a coincidence. I suspect Vanderspool has already defected to the Kel-Morian side,” Augustus said.
“The situation is getting clearer by the minute. Everyone knows the Kel-Morians are bound to lose—so what’s Vanderspool even after?” Warfield asked.
“I don’t know. Money, maybe. Or something else a person would sell their soul for,” Augustus replied, shaking his head.
“He won’t stay free for long,” Warfield chuckled. “He’s slipped up too many times. The Security Bureau will come knocking on his door any minute now.”
They hadn’t been driving for long. Major facilities like the landing platform, armory, and command center were all linked by direct highways. Around 05:00, they turned onto a westbound dual-lane road leading from the armory to the command center.
“There’s a vehicle up ahead!” Augustus’s sharp eyes spotted a heavy truck pulling out from the armory’s main entrance, only about 300 to 400 meters away. The truck’s driver saw the approaching APC convoy and immediately swerved north, turning onto a road that led to the fortress gate.
“I’ll go after that truck. You take the armory,” Warfield said over First Company’s public comms. “Third Platoon’s commander, Reagan, will be in charge of the operation.”
Warfield’s APC made a sharp, elegant turn and accelerated after the truck. Meanwhile, the Marines in the rear compartment of the vehicle—Squad One—couldn’t help grumbling and complaining.
The heavy truck was clearly loaded to capacity and couldn’t shake the APC. The distance between them held steady at just five vehicle lengths.
“See if you can blow out its tires!” Warfield ordered.
Augustus swung open the door and opened fire on the truck but couldn’t find a good angle to aim. All he managed to do was spray a trail of sparks across the alloy bed of the truck.
The heart-pounding chase didn’t last long. Even though Augustus hadn’t landed a hit, the gunfire clearly rattled their target.
The truck driver made a fatal mistake—he drove into a dead end. According to the nav system, the road should have been clear, but now a disabled Kel-Morian tank was blocking the way.
Forced to a stop, the truck was quickly surrounded by Augustus and Squad One.
“Hands up, sir, or we will open fire!” Warfield shouted.
But when the driver stepped out of the cab, everyone was stunned.
“Maybe you’ve got all sorts of excuses ready, Lieutenant Colonel Javier Vanderspool,” Augustus said coldly.
“But stealing military supplies from the Confederacy is still a crime.”
...
July 25, 14:00.
Augustus, wearing a white, knee-length double-layered silk parka, was sweeping snow at the entrance of Supply Station No. 7. Beside him, dressed in the same uniform, was Raynor. The fur-lined hood of his coat kept tickling his nose, making him sneeze repeatedly.
As usual, Fort Howe was bustling with activity. Every few minutes, a military bus full of workers or a massive space engineering vehicle would drive past the supply station, heading out to repair the defenses and structures damaged by the Sea Dragon Legion. Others were dispatched to fill in roads riddled with craters or to collect wrecked combat vehicles and the corpses of fallen Marines.
Knowing they couldn’t hold the fort, the Sea Dragon Legion had chosen to destroy as much as they could before retreating. As a result, the workers now faced at least a week’s worth of reconstruction ahead.
Most of these workers came from the two small towns near Fort Howe or the closest nearby city. Meanwhile, the Marines who had played a key role in defending the fortress were granted a few rare days of leave. With nothing to do, many of the soldiers either stayed in their barracks playing cards all day or went to the nearby bar district to cut loose.
Only one member of Augustus’s squad had been injured in the battle—Harnack. The poor guy had burned both hands due to carelessness while using his Hellfire flamethrower.
That afternoon, the wind howled across the fort. By 15:00, Augustus and Raynor put down their brooms and hopped on a fortress bus bound for the Command Center. Warfield had just unlocked Augustus’s personal terminal and told them to meet him there.
Along the way, Augustus spotted many workers laying cables and repairing roads. On the night of the 18th, Fort Howe had suffered devastating losses, and the military had been forced to recruit additional laborers.
At that time, there had still been an engineering battalion stationed in the fortress, but only a handful survived the carnage. Under Vanderspool’s orders, all administrative staff, engineers, and mechanics were forced to take up arms. But all they managed to do was delay the Sea Dragon Legion’s advance.
When the bus pulled up to the Command Center, Augustus noticed that the soldiers guarding the gate had been replaced by two Marines from First Company, Third Platoon. Upon seeing Augustus, they immediately saluted him out of respect.
“Is that Vanderspool guy calling us in for a friendly chat?” Raynor asked as they walked toward the top floor of the Command Center. He seemed to be in a relatively good mood—after nearly a month, he had finally begun to move past the loss of Tom Omer.
For several days, Raynor had turned to alcohol to numb his grief. Augustus had issued an order that the entire squad was to monitor Raynor and prevent him from drinking excessively. That had led to a bit of friction between the two, but Raynor soon realized his mistake and resolved not to let despair consume him so easily again.
“Well, in that case, we’d have to visit the prison to see him,” Augustus said with a chuckle.
Inside the Command Center, Augustus barely saw any Marines or administrative staff, which explained why Warfield had to handle everything personally.
Vanderspool’s old office now bore a new nameplate: Warfield.
“You got promoted?” Augustus immediately noticed the insignia on Warfield’s uniform as he walked in. “Major Warfield.”
“That’s right. It was just a matter of course,” Warfield replied. “I was supposed to get this golden flower a long time ago.” Most of the time, Warfield was a stern, no-nonsense officer, but in private, he didn’t mind joking around with his subordinates.
“So, does that mean this fortress is under your command now?” Augustus asked as he and Raynor sat down on the fur-covered office sofa. “What happened to that cocky Major Duke?”
“Edmund’s gone back to his fleet in synchronous orbit. The Sea Dragon Legion fled a long time ago, but he still thinks he won some great victory and is basking in his own glory,” Warfield said. “Yeah, for now, I’m in charge of Fort Howe—at least until they send another lieutenant colonel to replace me.”
“So that means they must have found something during the investigation,” Augustus said. “I want to know—what was Vanderspool really thinking?”
"He completely brought it on himself," Warfield said, shaking his head. "The Federation's secret police only had to use a few minor tricks, and he spilled everything."
"The armory at Fort Howe was stocked with the most expensive batch of military supplies in the entire northern hemisphere theater. Just the weapons and powered armor upgrade components were worth over 8 million credits. That kind of money could've let Vanderspool live out the rest of his life in comfort on some remote colony. But there was no way he could quietly steal such carefully documented military gear without raising alarms."
"So he turned to the Kel-Morians?" Raynor asked. "If the supplies were stolen in a raid, no one would be able to trace their origin."
"Vanderspool's plan was clever enough: in it, the Sea Dragon Legion would send about 200 elite shock troopers to storm Fort Howe, while he provided inside support. They'd extract as much military gear as they could in the shortest time possible. Then, Vanderspool would bring in the Federation forces to ‘drive them out.’”
"Not a bad scheme," Augustus chuckled. "So where did he miscalculate?"
"The Kel-Morians don’t give a damn about loyalty. They sent in not just one, but two elite assault squads, plus an Icefield Ranger unit," Warfield said. "They planned to strip Fort Howe clean—and collect a bounty by handing over Vanderspool’s head while they were at it."
"Once the situation spiraled completely out of his control, Vanderspool knew he was finished," he added.
"But if he could just get a truck full of CMC-300 reactor cores to that private aerospace port set up by smugglers and crime syndicates, he could still make a fortune."
"So that means our contribution was actually far more significant than we thought?" Raynor asked.
"Exactly why I called you here," Warfield replied. "You’ve both done a great service."
"Wait—does this mean I get promoted?" Raynor asked excitedly. He had no idea what part he had actually played—most of the time, he’d simply followed Augustus’s orders.
"You're now a Lance Corporal. You’ll be in charge of First Squad," Warfield said. "As for Augustus—he’s been promoted to Sergeant. He’s also being awarded the Silver Cross Medal and the Marine Anchor Honor Emblem."
As he spoke, Warfield opened a drawer in his desk and deftly tossed the medals to Augustus and Raynor. "We’re short on personnel, so we’ll skip the formal ceremony."
"First Company took heavy losses. Aside from Third Platoon, the other three were nearly wiped out," Warfield said with a hint of sorrow in his voice. "A new batch of recruits arrived at the fort just yesterday. For now, I need Reagan to command First Platoon. Third Platoon will be under your command, Augustus."
"Once you’re promoted to officer rank, I’ll transfer you to another platoon."
"Third Platoon suits me just fine," Augustus said, tucking the medals away. "How come the reinforcements arrived so fast?"
"Because most of them are resocialized soldiers," Warfield replied. "I heard the Federation is rapidly building resocialization facilities across several planets."
"At this rate, we’ll run out of criminals to use."
