“Do it, or we start shooting!” the man shouted back.
Spartan placed his weapon on the ground and slipped into the open, walking slowly into the room. As he entered he could see the three masked men, each wearing the armour and garb of the Zealots. They carried bladed weapons and one wore an explosive vest. In his hand he held a trigger device of some kind.
“Show us your hands!” shouted the man with the vest.
Spartan lifted his hands, pushing them forward so they could see them. In his right hand he held a flash grenade and in his left he held a detached pin. He tilted his left hand and the pin dropped to the floor. As the three men spotted the weapon, a look of fear spread over their eyes. The man stood to the right took a step back, pointing at the pin.
“Pick it up, do it now!”
Spartan leaned forward a little, looking for a moment as though he was complying. As he moved, the grenade dropped from his hand and started to roll towards the men. The man with the vest looked to his two comrades. Just as the grenade reached their feet it ignited, the bright flash filling the room and instantly blinding those without protection. As the men lifted their hands to protect their eyes, Spartan lowered his hand and pulled out his combat knife. With lightning fast reaction, he threw it ahead and struck the suicide bomber directly in the forehead. He slumped backwards, dead before he hit the ground. Spartan didn’t wait though and leapt ahead, smashing his elbow into the second man. As his arm connected, Teresa entered the room with her L48 rifle raised to her shoulder. She fired two rounds into the third man’s chest and then another to his head as he was blown backwards. She turned to her left in time to see Spartan snap the neck of the man. It was over as soon as it had started. He looked up at the group of crying civilians, they had been there weeks and looked terrified. Holding out his arm, he beckoned them to him. More commandos entered through the door and helped lead them out and to the waiting shuttles and transports.
“Captain, area secure, we’re coming out,” said Spartan with a feeling of satisfaction.
The fires were already spreading and as the last of the shuttles left a series of explosions ripped through the naval yard. By the time Spartan’s shuttle reached a safe distance over half of the craft were already onboard the two marine transports. As usual, there was no sound as they moved away but it was clear from the smoke, fires and flashes that the surface of the Station was slowly being ripped apart from the inside. It was a selfish and cruel way to deny the Naval Station to the Confederation but at least they had eliminated the blockade and rescued most of the civilians. When the fires cleared, they would return and Titan would be rebuilt.
***
On board the Victorious the marines and crew fought their way to the outside of the ship as the remaining defenders tried to halt their progress. It was too little too late though, and as they reached the boats that could still move they boarded them and made their way back. Of the nearly five hundred marines and crew that had boarded the ship only three hundred and twelve made it back alive, the rest were killed, wounded or trapped on the massive vessel. As the last of the functioning boats left the ship, the thermite charge ignited.
The mining charges were a pyrotechnic composition of a metal powder and a metal oxide, which produce an exothermic oxidation-reduction reaction known as a thermite reaction. Though not explosive in the traditional sense they did produce short bursts of extremely high temperatures focused on a very small area for a short period of time.
As the incredible temperatures melted through the coolant pipes, they even managed to melt a section of the outer casing of the main reactor. It wasn’t enough to cause a critical reaction but it did create a breach that sent deadly levels of radiation though the vessel. As the ship started to lose power, most of its weapon systems started to go offline as well as the docking couplers. In less than five minutes, the ship was powerless and drifting, its engines out of action and a deadly poison moving slowly through every section of the vessel.
***
Admiral Jarvis watched with satisfaction as the boats made their way back to the battlecruiser. With the couplers released, the two ships drifted apart though the debris and chunks of shattered metal still hung like a cloud between them. She turned to her XO.
“How many left?”
“Two more boats, they are leaving for the loading bays now, Admiral. One moment, okay, we are clear,” he said.
“Get us out of here, fast!” she ordered.
With a great shudder the damaged but intact battlecruiser started to build up speed. As they reached the first kilometre away the first flashes from the rear quarter of the Victorious started to spread along sections of the old warship. A bright glow about a hundred metres from the stern of the battleship indicated the overloaded power core exploding. It was less than she expected but the results were exactly what she needed. Part of the hull tore away and the fires became worse as ammunition supplies and coolant mixed together. More explosions rocked the length of the ship, but no lifeboats were launched and no guns fired. The ship was far from destroyed, but she drifted like an ancient hulk with no signs of power or life to be seen.
“She’s dead in space and still they won’t leave her.” The Admiral said quietly to herself.
Her XO stepped up, examining the tactical display. “It looks like the bulk of her crew are moving to this area on the ship, what do you think it is, some kind of escape vessel?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” replied the Admiral as she watched the screens. “Orbit at one hundred kilometres and load the guns, if she tries anything I want her finished, once and for all!”
CHAPTER TEN
The formation of the Zealots can be traced directly back to the great exodus of peoples following the Great War. What started as a political dispute quickly spread to trade and religion and involved every faction, company and colony. With the signing of the armistice and the formation of the Confederacy, many of the more extreme religious movements were forced to the frontiers or newly colonised planets. Though there was no official persecution there were many citizens who blamed religious groups for the violence in the later stages of the war. It was these disparate groups that found work in the quiet, dark places of the Confederation.
Origins of the Zealots
Spartan was absolutely exhausted. Every muscle in his body ached and his brain was pounding from the constant exertion and stress of the assault on Titan Naval Station. In the sealed environment of the shuttle, he could at least relax, but being strapped down into his seat was not ideal. Next to him was Jesus whilst Teresa was at the rear of the craft being tended by two of the onboard medics. Apparently, her injuries were serious but not critical. It was important however for them to remove her battle-damaged armour and attend to the wound directly. The emergency aid she had received during the battle had kept her in the fight but it was no substitute for actual medical care. From his view through the small windows on the flanks of the craft he could see the flickering lights of fires and explosions that were rattling through the hull of the battleship. News of the boarding actions and her crippling had spread through the boats and ships of the Fleet quickly as expected. As he watched the dying vessel in the far distance, he pulled himself back at the sight of the bright hull of the CCS Santa Maria. He had been so transfixed on the fires that the marine transport had almost appeared out of nowhere.
“Sergeant, we have an urgent transmission from Captain Mathews for you,” came a voice over the boat’s loudspeaker system.
“When it rains it pours, man!” said Jesus with a mischievous look.
Spartan leaned to his side and hit a button on the seat that activated the microphone system. He looked about the shuttlecraft, the eighteen marines were all part of the unit that had just escaped from the Station. Most had removed at least part of their armour but two still kept their helmets on, either because they were too tired and possibly because of the everlasting fear of all spacecraft-based infantry that they might end up in a vacuum withou
t their sealed suits. The normally clean camouflaged armour they each wore was now scratched and burnt and many had streaks of blood from the battle on the moon.
“Captain Mathews, you’re on loudspeaker. Are you onboard the Santa Maria?” he asked. There was a short pause before the speaker crackled and the Captain’s familiar voice filled the craft.
“We’re here, Sergeant, a damned fine piece of soldering there. The figures coming in are impressive, a lot of good people were saved down there,” he said.
“A lot didn’t make it back as well, Sir,” replied Spartan.
“Very true and nobody will forget that, trust me. That is going to have to wait though. Right now I have an urgent job for your team and you’re not going to like it,” answered the Captain.
Jesus looked at Spartan and then back to the small number of sore and tired marines that were scattered about the craft. Some were injured, but none too seriously. They all looked like they could fall asleep at any moment.
“We’re ready, what’s the problem, Sir?” Spartan asked but he hesitated, almost not wanting to know what it was.
“A transport has managed to escape from the Victorious and was trying to make a dash out of the System. The Crusader was already moving away from the danger zone when she was spotted. Gunboats from CCS Wasp have already disabled her engines but she’s now drifting towards Prime. With no propulsions, she can’t pull away from the gravitational pull. We were going to leave her to burn up in the atmosphere, but we’re picking up a large number of life signs on board. I know it’s a risk but we can’t take the chance until we know who is on board,” he said.
“Zealots?” asked Jesus.
“Maybe, we estimate thirty to forty people and as far as we can tell they are the only people to make if off the Victorious.”
“Interesting, it could be their command crew, maybe even senior members of the Zealots,” Spartan said thoughtfully.
“Perhaps, Sergeant. But it could also be another hostage situation or even worse, some kind of a trap. I know your people have been through a lot but you’re the last shuttle to get back. It will take another thirty minutes for us to get anybody else to the vessel. According to the computers, they will hit the atmosphere at about the same time. Your shuttle could do it in eight.”
“Understood, we’ll be there, Sir,” Spartan answered.
“Thank you. Watch your backs and get back quickly. Spartan, when you’re finished meet me on the Santa Maria, we have other business to discuss,” he said before leaving.
Spartan was surprised by the last part of the message but the operation came first. He turned to the rest of the marines who had overheard the entire conversation. Two of the commandos were already loading rounds into their magazines.
“I know this is above and beyond, men.”
“Not a problem,” said one.
“Yeah, not like we’ve got anything else to do!” said another with a laugh.
“Ok, Jesus, can you get a tactical display up here so we can see what we’re up against?” he asked.
Without getting up, Jesus took a computer tablet from the side of his seat and patched into the shuttle’s systems. In just a few moments he brought up a three-dimensional model on the forward wall.
“Yeah, its a standard T9 armoured transport, the same kind of boat we use for transporting marines. It does look as if it’s had some modifications,” he said as he skimmed across its outline.
“What’s that on the front?” asked one of the marines.
Spartan had already undone the straps holding him into his seat and was moving to his armour that was clipped into a mount on the wall. He moved to the front of the craft where the image was projected and looked closely, the section he was looking at was bigger than he had seen on the boats from the Santa Maria. He scratched his jaw as he tried to work out what it was. It wasn’t just the nose, the entire vessel looked like it had been roughly bodged to do a particular job.
“I don’t know. It might be extra armour. Anybody else know?”
“Wait, if you follow the line along the side you can see it is thicker all around the hull, I’d say she’s been reinforced and sealed for some reason,” said the marine.
“Sealed, as in from the inside or to keep us out?” asked Spartan. The marine shrugged.
“I don’t like it. Either they have sealed it to keep something from getting out or they really don’t want us going in,” said Spartan.
“ETA three minutes,” came the voice of the pilot over the speaker system.
Spartan looked back at the group and then the image of the craft before making up his mind.
“Well, we don’t have the luxury of time. Here’s the plan. First, we’ll move alongside her and set up an airlock seal. We’ll clamp down hard on her and make sure we’ve got a secure, pressurised access point to her cargo section. Next, I will lead a few armoured engineers in, that way if they have any surprises we’ll be ready for them. They will have a very hard time damaging those units. The rest of you will follow and help secure the vessel. It is critical we maintain a solid seal, we don’t want anyone dying in there, well, not until we find out who they are,” he said with a smirk.
Spartan pulled himself along the craft until he reached the equipment section. There were three sets of engineer’s armour mounted on the wall. Each was painted in dark grey, with the sharp edges of the digging tools painted in yellow and black stripes.
Spartan moved to the side, stepped into a suit and started clamping down the sections onto the mounts fitted to his personal protection suit. Though it added bulk to his body, it only increased his total size by about twenty percent. As he powered the system he twisted his right hand, checking the movement of the armoured hand and attached bulldozer type blades.
Jesus now reached him and started to attach the equipment on the second unit to his suit.
“If you go in with just the suits you’ll have no weapons,” said Peterson, one of the commandos who had fought alongside them on the Station.
Spartan activated his left arm and swung it in front of him, the edges on the digger blade were the size of man’s torso. “I always have these!” he said with a wicked grin.
“Yeah, I heard about some crazy guy using them during training, let me guess who that was,” he laughed.
“Have you used one before?”
“Of course, Spartan, combat engineering is a required course for all advanced commando recruits. You’d know that if you did the full training,” he said sarcastically.
As the three prepared their equipment Teresa pulled herself along the side of the craft to them. She was still not wearing her armour and once they started the boarding action she’d have to stay in one of the pressurised compartments in case of any breaches.
“Spartan,” she said. He turned around, only just avoiding hitting her with one of the heavy blades.
“How are you doing now, Teresa?” he asked.
“Not great, Spartan, the medics say I’ll need surgery to fix my shoulder. Part of the bone is shattered and the tissue needs work. I’ll live though.”
She reached out and put her hand on the thickly reinforced armour around Spartan’s shoulder.
“Just watch yourself in there, I’ll see you on the ship,” she said and then pulled herself back.
As she moved to the safety of the emergency pressurised compartments, Spartan did final checks on his equipment. The last thing he wanted was a poorly fitted strap or plate to fail in what could be a major combat operation.
The shuttle slowed as the pilot adjusted their course. With expert skill, he spun them around so that the access hatches on the right of the shuttle faced the matching points on the other craft. It was a delicate manoeuvre as both craft were now spinning slowly as they moved ever closer to the outer orbit of the planet. One incorrect move and the two craft could collide and even at a relatively slow speed could cause damage. The other problem was that they were now perilously close to the outer atmosphere of Proxima Prime.
If they suffered any kind of technical problems, they would face the same fate of the transport, a quick and fiery journey as they were cooked alive.
“You’ll have six minutes, no more and then we’re gone. Don’t be late!” said the pilot as they bumped gently into position.
For a few seconds a dull vibration hammered around the craft as the magnetic seal was created. A series of metal brackets pushed out and fixed them to the outer skin of the transport, the link was strong and only a power failure on the shuttle could pull them apart. A flexible tube extended from the shuttle to the doorway on the transport and affixed itself around the door. As the pumps started up the tube pressurised and a link was formed. With the airtight seal ready, the final task was normalising pressure and opening the door. It took just seconds as the experienced marines bypassed the outer security door and cut the seals on the inner door, opening up access to the loading bay of the vessel.
The inside of the vessel was pitch dark though the marines couldn’t tell if it was intentional or simply down to power failure. Spartan switched on his lighting and the two shoulder-mounted lamps lit up the area in front. Inside it seemed to be full of a light mist that shifted and spread through the airlock. With the powerful lamps burning through the mist they looked like yellow beams that were seeking prey. For a moment Spartan worried it might be a kind of weapon and was about to hit his alarm button for the shuttle crew. His fears were averted however when he spotted one of the damaged generators for the landing gear on the boat. From the cracks along its length the same mist pumped out slowly, it was probably damage sustained during the craft’s escape from the burning battleship. Feeling a little more relaxed his spoke though his intercom to the rest of the marines and the crew on the shuttle.
“The doorway is secure, no obvious power in the transport. Engineers follow me, marines wait until we have cleared the first section,” he said.
He took a step forward and his grav boots clunked down on the metallic surface. Each step he made triggered a small light in his helmet that told him whether he was attached to the surface or not. It had been drummed in to him to ensure one light was always on, indicating that he had one foot anchored at all times. So far, everything looked safe. As he continued onwards, he constantly moved his lamps to check every dark corner. The small lights were mounted on a motorised pintle that allowed them to rotate in any direction. As he moved his eyes, the sensors in his helmet followed his retinas and moved the lamps accordingly. From inside the suit it gave the impression that the lights came directly from his eyes.
Siege of Titan sc-1 Page 17