At a distance from the Titan Naval Station, the bloodiest space battle in generations had been continuing for almost half an hour. The massive hulks of the old battleship CCS Victorious and the battlecruiser CCS Crusader had slowed down and were engaged in an epic duel of broadsides. Standing at a distance of several kilometres apart there was almost no chance of their weapons missing and each deadly volley killed scores of crew and smashed great chunks out of the flanks of the vessels. Both ships were trailing debris and fire could be seen at various points in their superstructures but that wasn’t anywhere near enough to stop them fighting. The CCS Crusader had placed herself carefully between the enemy vessel and the Titan Naval Station. Her powerful engines and improved mobility over the heavier, slower battleship allowed her to maintain this position, effectively blocking much of the marine assault group that was making its way to the moon.
In the Combat Information Centre, Admiral Jarvis examined the engineering displays as the battle continued around her. Every few moments she lifted her eyes to examine her deadly foe on the projection display on the main wall. By a simple piece of engineering the external camera feeds could recreate the bridge windows from within the armoured safety of the centre deep inside the ship, and it gave the impression she was actually on the bridge of the ship. The damage reports and casualty figures were astounding but so far the newest capital ship in the fleet was doing her job. General Rivers had already left the ship and transferred to the Santa Maria to help conduct the action against Titan Naval Station. Stood next to her was Commander Anderson, her executive officer.
“Admiral, we’ve taken heavy damage but all our systems are still operational. We are matched in armour and weaponry but we’re still not using our trump card, our speed,” he said.
“I know, Commander. But we have to keep all of her attention away from the Station though. As soon as General Rivers confirms the commandos’ mission, we can reconsider our options here.”
“What if we could damage her engines or at the very least reduce her ability to manoeuvre?”
“Like the Bismarck? Yes, I see what you are thinking. She was one of the German Navy’s key battleships in the Second World War. Antiquated aircraft damaged her steering, and that made her vulnerable to attack by other warships who then sank her. See what you can do, Commander, in the meantime I want every gun turned to her decks. Smash her!” she ordered.
“Admiral,” The officer replied before returning to the tactical display.
“Lieutenant Nilsson, put me through to General Rivers.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The connection was almost instant and a pang of pride made her pause for a moment as she considered the speed and quality of her crew. Under no circumstances would she simply throw away this ship and her crew.
“General Rivers, I need an update on your operation, are we on schedule?” she asked.
There was a short delay before the crackling reply came back.
“Admiral, we have started the commando operation. The first landing craft have arrived at the Station and is under very heavy fire,” explained the General.
* * *
The loading ring on the Station was littered with debris as the first two platoons of commandos exited their damaged and scarred landing craft. Marcus and another of the commandos helped pulled Spartan and Teresa into cover next to the landing craft before fanning out with the rest of the unit to secure the landing zone. Only two craft had landed so far, the amount of defensive fire having forced the next wave of two craft to redirect to a landing zone almost a kilometre away from where they had landed. The skill of the pilots was exceptional though and the fact they had managed to land at such high speed, and in once piece, was a testament to their training. The moon had a low level of gravity and a thin atmosphere that required the use of respirators at the very minimum. Not that any of this was a problem for the marines who had training in a variety of gravity scenarios.
The landing area looked much like a waiting lounge in an airport with large open areas and lines of counters for checking in supplies or people. There was also considerable damage within the structure and obvious signs of battle from when the station was seized by the Zealot insurgents. Several heavy haulers, large wheeled vehicles, had crashed into a far wall and some improvised barricades were all that remained of the last ditch attempt to hold onto the place. The marines had fanned out as they pushed their perimeter fifty metres away from the landing craft. Almost as soon as they landed, they had seen fighters rushing out to stop them. The door gunners had held them off spectacularly but a small number of survivors were dug in at the far end of the building and pouring a withering hail of projectiles at the exposed marines. Colonel West and his squad pushed forward and took cover behind a burnt out loading truck, meanwhile the rest of the commandos kept their heads down behind any cover they could find.
Spartan’s head was pounding but he could make out the signs of movement. As he tried to focus a series of blasts shook the ground and large debris flew through the bay. It was a bizarre scenario as materials, that on a normal gravity world would barely move, now scattered through the open area as if they were devoid of mass. His focus was almost back to normal and what he could see took him by surprise. Tracer fire whistled past him as the defenders did their best to halt the marines exit from the landing area. Their own return fire was much lighter as they tried to spot their enemies who were well dug in over two hundred metres away. As he pulled himself up he spotted Teresa slumped against the side of the landing craft, protected from the incoming fire.
He moved over, examining her shoulder and spotting the emergency aid pack on her suit. Her eyes looked different, probably due to a mixture of drugs pumping through her body.
“How you doing?” he asked as he checked for any other wounds.
She rolled her head, obviously dazed and unable to do much of use.
“I, uh, my,” she said before drifting off again.
Inside his helmet the voices of the squad leaders rocked back and forth as the pinned down marines tried to get out of their difficult position.
“More have arrived, there are about fifteen of them behind the barricades in the access corridor ahead. There’s also another group of about fifty coming from the primary habitation ring to the right. Can anybody get to the door guns?” asked the Colonel.
Before anybody could speak the second group unleashed a hail of fire as they ran and bounced along in the low gravity to the marines. As the group rushed ahead the defenders from the barricades stood up and also rushed ahead, joining them in a full assault on the marines’ positions.
Spartan, who was just a few metres away from the craft glanced back, checking the vessel. It was heavily damaged and he could see scores of holes along its front and sides. His eyes moved along its length until he came to the weapon mount on the door. There were more holes and a black scorch mark where the gun should be.
“Colonel, Spartan here. The gun on the starboard side is missing. It must have been lost in the landing. I’ll check the other side,” he said as he climbed inside the craft.
“Don’t bother, it is over eighty kilos, you won’t be able to do anything useful with it,” came back one of the sergeants.
The sound of weapon fire from the marines was now massive as they tried to repel the wave attacks of the suicidal attackers. At least two grenades sailed inside their perimeter, three commandos were badly wounded and knocked out of the fight. More volleys of gunfire blasted across the open area with the odd round striking the thick armour of the landing craft.
Spartan had different ideas though and jumped to the other side of the craft, finding the lower gravity allowed him to take steps he could never normally take. He landed and had to hold on to avoid flying straight out the other side. The weapon mount seemed intact, as did the twin-barrelled machine gun fitted to it. He pulled the locking pins and then with great effort forced the weapon from its mount. Even though the reduced gravi
ty made it feel just over twenty kilos it was still a weighty item. He moved back to the other side of the craft, though now much slower with the added weight and bulk of the weapon system. As he jumped out he met around twenty fanatics with cudgels, knives and other improvised weapons. They had somehow crept around and were trying to outflank them. They were only a few metres away and Spartan, without thinking pulled the trigger on the weapon system. A massive muzzle flash erupted from the gun as it poured hundreds of large calibre explosive rounds at the unarmoured attackers. The impact was instant and brutal as limbs, heads and torsos were smashed apart by the finger-sized projectiles. Even more sickening was that as each round impacted on their flesh it triggered a tiny explosive that had enough power to vaporise the flesh within ten centimetres in each direction. The flanking attack was over as soon as it had began and Spartan found himself pinned against the side of the landing craft, the massive recoil on the weapon forcing him back.
He looked out at the trail of gore he had created and then down to Teresa who was looking up, her eyes a little clearer and a wicked grin on her face.
“You crazy son of a bitch!” she laughed.
There was no time for conversation as the Colonel was quickly voicing his concerns on the intercom.
“They’re going to overrun us, use everything you’ve got, we have to drive them back!” he barked.
Spartan pulled himself from the wall and after checking Teresa was in a secure spot, moved around the landing craft and to where the thin line of commandos was pinned down. He moved ahead and dumped the weapon mount on top of a shattered hydraulic loader. Colonel West turned to him and then pointed at the enemy.
“Marine, is that thing working?” he asked loudly.
Spartan nodded and with great effort leaned against the gun, doing his best to brace against the expected recoil and then pulled the trigger. As before, the muzzle blast was vast. The guns were not designed for use by infantry, their expected role was fire support during landing or evacuation. Though the recoil was great, this time Spartan controlled the bursts, easing off before it became too great and knocked him over. His first two bursts were a little high but the subsequent ones were deadly. The three closest insurgents who were heading to the landing craft, were shredded into pulp and the ones behind them scattered trying to find cover from the heavy machine gun. It was all pointless though, as Spartan hunted down each and every one of them. The large calibre explosive rounds made easy work until all that remained was one fighter who was pinned behind one of the wrecked loading trucks. The Colonel raised his hand, indicating an immediate ceasefire. As the weapons stopped and the dust and debris cleared, the carnage of the battle became clear. Blood and bone littered the ground as burn marks and small fires ran throughout the structure. One of the new recruits stood up, for a moment forgetting about the lone fighter. Before he could move, a single round pierced the front of his helmet and slammed him backwards, instantly killing him.
Colonel West lifted his L48 rifle and locked in the range to the sniper’s cover. With a quick flick of the weapon he fired off three large calibre explosive rounds. He ducked back down as the projectiles hit. Just as in the training exercises the weapon did its job beautifully but this was the first time Spartan had seen the effects of the live rounds. The man had hidden safely behind the thick metal, but the Colonel had fired slightly above him. As the projectile appeared over his head, there was a flash and the upper half of the man vaporised in a spray of blood and organs. Colonel West did a quick scan of the area and then stood up.
“Marines, move it, we are nine hundred metres from the Command Centre. Go, go, go!” he screamed at them.
The officer and his squad rushed ahead and were quickly followed by the rest of the marines except for two who stayed behind to tend the wounded. Spartan dumped the now empty weapon mount on the ground and jumped back to Teresa. She was already getting up, the drugs must have been working, as she almost seemed back to herself. One of the marine medics moved over, checking her injuries with a scanner.
“You should stay with the landing craft, the damage is serious but not fatal,” he explained.
“Good,” she replied as she pulled her rifle from her shoulder down into a low position.
“Ready?” she asked.
Spartan knew better than to argue and quickly moved ahead to follow the rest of the marines who were pushing on. With the lower gravity Teresa was able to keep up without straining her injured shoulder as much as she would have expected, it seemed the painkillers were masking much of the pain.
The survivors of the two squads pushed on and apart from sporadic fire from the odd hidden insurgent, they made quick progress from the loading bay and deep into the main corridor leading to the central plaza. From there, there were multiple paths leading to the commerce exchange and main Council Chamber that operated as a kind of central governmental building for the Station. Colonel West examined a detailed structural model on the display in his helmet, checking for the access points and possible weaknesses. The Military Command Centre was built onto the back of the Council Chambers. They would either have to fight through the building, or work their way around the back and through the Naval Academy to reach the Command Centre. His decision was cut short as they rounded the final corner. A flurry of gunshots blasted towards them from a hastily erected barricade that was flung across the entire front side of the square. One marine was cut down and Colonel West only avoided fire by jumping high and throwing himself over a wall as he hit it a metre off the ground.
The area in front of the Council Chambers was a vast square, packed with now ruined monuments and waterfalls. It was the most photogenic part of the Station and often used when visiting dignitaries arrived. Along the one side at least a dozen vehicles were abandoned and being used as part of the barricades. From the upper floors of the concrete neoclassical building a number of shooters fired rifles and carbines from windows and openings.
Colonel West kept going, knowing that if they held back they would be picked off, one by one. As he moved, the remnants of the two squads moved with him, each marine spreading out and firing from the shoulder as they bounced and ran. It was a peculiar sight to see, as they skipped, ran and jumped, because of the reduced gravity in the Station. Multiple explosions indicated rockets being fire at them as they pushed ahead. Three marines were killed by the time they reached the barricades, but then the situation changed completely.
The Colonel was first over the next wall and crashed down between two Zealots. He slammed his rifle butt into the first, the impact smashing his face and forcing him back several metres. As more marines leapt over the barricades, he moved to his left and fired three rounds into the next fighter’s chest. The rounds shattered his torso and sent chunks of flesh across the ground as the man was brutally slaughtered. The Colonel turned, making sure the rest of his men were in position. As he looked around he noted with satisfaction that the marines were doing well. Bayonets, knives and rifles were all used as the two squads hacked and blasted their way through the line. Spartan, Teresa and three more marines appeared at the far left of the barricade and with just a handful of shots eliminated the Zealots trying to retreat inside the Council Chambers.
“Don’t stop, keep up the pressure!” The Colonel shouted as he rushed ahead.
As the officer entered the large arched entrance there was a bright flash and the entire front section of the building collapsed in a series of explosions and flashes of fire. The force of the blast knocked most of the marines to the ground and Spartan was shielded from the explosion by one of the pillars directly in front of him. As he edged closer, he could see over a hundred fighters pouring out of the council building through the breaches in the now shattered structure. He stood firmly, lifted his rifle to his shoulder and started to fire, each round shredding the Zealots as they rushed out to attack. Teresa moved up and joined in, adding her fire to the surge of fighters. The rest of the marines dragged themselves up but several were cut down before
they could even stand. Rather than engage in a firefight the crowd of fanatics overwhelmed the marines and within seconds the entire section in front of the Council Chamber devolved into a murderous melee. In the ruins, the mortally wounded Colonel dragged himself clear of the rubble and looked down at where his legs should be. The improvised explosives had torn them away as well as leaving a gaping wound in his flank. He tried to draw his pistol from his thigh holster but his arm refused to obey. He turned his head and watched in a mixture of awe and dread as Spartan and the surviving marines fought their desperate and bloody battle. His last image was of Spartan swinging a bladed weapon of some kind and cutting down two Zealots in one blow.
“You crazy son of a bitch!” he muttered before passing out.
Siege of Titan (Star Crusades Uprising, Book 1) Page 27
