“How are we doing?” he asked as he moved along the gantry checking on the three remaining gun batteries.
“Third battery is running hot, we’ve got maybe four or five volleys left and I’ll need to swap the rails out,” replied Gunner Thomas.
“Are you sure, can you reduce the power and keep them running?” asked the Lieutenant.
“Well, we could but that will cut the velocity down to half, Sir,” he replied as he turned, waiting for an answer.
“Do it, we can’t afford to take any chances in this fight. Maintenance can wait, right now every gun needs to keep firing!” he gave the order.
The wall-mounted intercom alarm started to blare, indicating that the command staff needed to speak with him. He moved off the gantry and down to the main command terminal.
“Lieutenant Erdeniz here,” he said loudly.
* * *
Spartan was covered in blood, his armoured suit was a bizarre mixture of camouflage pattern, dirt and the red streaks of gore. His L48 rifle was on the floor, its clip expended and the bayonet had snapped and was embedded in one of the insurgents’ chests. He had his left arm locked around the throat of one man as his right wielded a vicious looking machete that he had torn from one of the many fanatics that had attacked them. One of the few surviving men suddenly rushed towards him and with a fast, almost callous, slash he removed the attacker’s head clean from his torso. Following up with a slick twist on his left arm he broke man’s neck, dropping him to the ground like a piece of discarded garbage. Teresa was down on one knee as she smashed her rifle butt into the side of a wounded fighter’s head before lifting the weapon up and putting two rounds into another. Off to the left Jesus, Marcus and three other marines were fighting the last four fanatics, easily cutting them down with their weapons.
There were now only twelve commandos still able to fight and as they staggered forward, they dragged the rest of the wounded marines into cover. The bodies of many of them were buried deep under the scores of dead fanatics. As they were tending the casualties Marcus found the badly wounded Colonel West. The man’s body was shattered, his legs torn away and a huge trail of blood all around him. Marcus dropped to one knee, checking the officer’s suit for any signs of life. Incredibly he picked up a faint pulse.
Sergeant Williams limped over and knelt down next to the wounded man.
“Sir, Colonel, can you hear me?” he called.
The Sergeant reached out gently shaking him. The Colonel moved but he was unable to speak. Spartan looked back at the wounded and then ahead to their objective, noting they were now only a short distance away. He was torn between helping this officer and getting the mission done.
“Sergeant, we have to shut off those guns. The only way the Colonel is getting out alive is if we can get the rest of the regiment here.”
As if to remind them of the urgency of their situation a small group of insurgents appeared from the far right of the plaza and moved towards the their position. They were a mixture of well-equipped Zealot fighters and lightly armed fanatics, probably reinforcements from the surface. The group fired a few shots as they rushed ahead, the projectiles ricocheting from the walls around them. But without stopping and correcting their aim the fire was sporadic and inaccurate. A heavy weapon tore chunks from the wall behind them and one of the rounds hit Marcus below the knee, it sent him crashing to the ground crying out in pain.
The Sergeant put his hand on Spartan’s shoulder.
“Do it, we’ll watch your back!” he said, before turning around and helping the wounded Marcus into a ragged firing line behind the rubble and bodies. He quickly placed an emergency first aid pack on his shattered leg and then started firing at the approaching enemy. Two of the less seriously injured men helped to move the badly wounded Colonel to cover before joining the firing line.
“Everybody else come with me, we have work to do!” Spartan shouted.
The filthy and blood spattered marines moved on, with Spartan, Teresa and Jesus taking the lead through the now ruined building. Though most of them were still carrying their L48 rifles, Spartan and two others were holding a mixture of close quarter weapons. In this cramped and filthy environment they appeared to be just as useful. Once they were through the entrance they rushed along the main foyer and then down the side corridor. According to Spartan’s tactical display this would take them to the rear yard and on to the Command Centre. There was a chance that this part of the building would be booby-trapped, they could only hope that the first blast and collapse had already triggered any further devices. Either way it didn’t matter, time wasn’t on their side. If they waited any longer they would be overrun as more of the insurgents made their way to the area and surrounded the small number of marines. They needed to get the weapons off-line and help get the reinforcements into battle as quickly as possible.
Two Zealots lay in wait and as they reached the back entrance, they opened fire. As the bullets flew around them Spartan rolled to one side just as Jesus and Teresa hit the attackers with well-aimed shots. They didn’t stop and in seconds they were in the open and running in a loose line to the gatehouse at the front of the Command Centre. It was normally protected by a strong perimeter wall and gate, but now there were multiple breaches and none of the usual security. Spartan slid into cover behind the ruins of the wall and focused his helmet-mounted optics on the Command Centre. Zooming in he examined the defences and sighed in anger as he hit the communication trigger on his helmet.
“This is Private Spartan, our commando unit has made it to the Command Centre. Colonel West is down, there are twelve of us left,” he said on the radio.
The radio crackled with a broken signal from the Santa Maria.
“Spartan, good work. Third platoon is pinned down, the engineers have made it to the side-loading bay at the Command Centre, one hundred metres from the secondary entrance. If you can get to them they should be able to find you a way in.”
Spartan turned to his right, squinting through the dust and debris. He couldn’t see any movement, then he spotted the five armoured engineers stomping towards the Command Centre. All five were covered in dents and scorch marks and they had obviously had a very difficult time making it this far.
“I see them, we’re on the way!” Spartan said, as he indicated to the rest of his squad.
They were instantly moving around the compound and towards the engineers. The defenders had already noticed the noisy, armoured marines and were pouring fire into them. One rocket blasted past and impacted near the leading marine and sent him crashing to the ground. He was up fast though and kept moving ahead. They were only twenty metres away now and Spartan contacted the closest on the intercom.
“4th Squad, can you bring down the wall?” he asked.
The lead marine in the heavy armour turned briefly to see Spartan and his squad emerge from the debris and fan out around the engineers.
“Nice to see you!” he said with a genuine sound of happiness in his voice. “If you can keep their heads down we’ll do the rest,” he said.
The arrival of the extra manpower gave them the cover they needed and with one final push the engineer unit surged ahead, leaping over the ruined perimeter wall and up to the thick masonry of the Command Centre. The defenders tried to hold them back but concentrated fire from Spartan’s squad kept their heads down.
The first marine slammed his armoured fist into the stone around the secondary doorway and ripped a metre long section from it. The second moved in and after several strikes tore a hole large enough to crawl inside. The two then grabbed the sides of the breach and tore them back, making a large hole in the wall to expose the dozen or so defenders to the wrath of the marines. As soon as the hole appeared, Jesus and Teresa tossed grenades inside. They rushed ahead, taking cover each side of hole. From inside they could hear panic as the unarmoured defenders tried desperately to avoid the weapons.
With a crump the hole filled with dust and bright flames rushed out. Spartan entered
first and found only three dazed men still standing. He slashed the first across the throat as he struck the second with his fist. The heavy impact sent the man stumbling backwards and into a chair before he collapsed to the ground. Spartan pushed on inside as Teresa leapt in and dealt with the final man. Seeing the woman approach the fanatic gave her a wicked snigger and took a step forward to strike. Teresa simply blasted his leg, sending him crashing to the floor. Before he could try to respond she dropped down and embedded her bayoneted L48 rifle into his heart.
The two moved inside and the rest of the commandos followed. Several of them dealt with the wounded in their own particular style before the area was fully cleared. As Spartan stood in the room, he could see a long hallway decked with computer systems. However, none appeared to be connected to the high security weapons system. From his blueprints it said the weapon system was placed right here in its protected environment. He moved along, checking each as he went while the rest of the commandos spread out to secure the centre. Reaching the end he found a large iron-coloured blast door with a red light flashing next to it. A glowing sign above it simply read ‘Weapons Control’.
“Shit!” swore Spartan, as he realised there was no way he could get through such a massive structure, certainly not in hurry.
“Come on, we need a way in, this is what we’re here for!” he shouted.
Teresa took a step forward before looking up to Spartan.
“How about the engineers?”
She moved closer as she looked around the perimeter of the door, trying to find a weakness. The door was extremely well made and there were no discernable gaps between the wall and the metal of the door itself.
A hissing sound came from the door and to their astonishment it lifted up to reveal the control room with all of its systems undamaged and fully operation. They both turned back to see Jesus sat at one of the desks and working on the computer terminal.
“Jesus?” asked Spartan.
“Hey, man, like I told you, I’ve got skills!” he said laughing.
Spartan smiled and then stepped inside the room, their primary objective. He sat down in front of the main computer system and scanned the options available to him. From there he could access the landing grid, point defence weapons and orbital guns. He tapped on the orbital guns and a menu appeared offering him a variety of options from powering up, testing and firing sequences. He selected the off-line mode and a message popped up along with a series of images showing each of the guns disarming and reverting to safe mode. Satisfied that it was working he called back the Santa Maria.
“Spartan here, we’ve accessed the Weapons Control Centre, the system should be fully off-line in less than one minute,” he said with satisfaction.
“Excellent work. Private, the cavalry are on the way. Get your people back to the loading bays, we will have shuttles there for you shortly.”
Teresa turned to Spartan and gave him a thumbs up, things were starting to go their way.
CHAPTER NINE
Since the founding of the new colonies the status of Old Earth and its solar system became less important. The colonies at Alpha Centauri quickly matched and then surpassed the old world. As further colonies spread through the Centauri Constellation the balance of power shifted leaving Earth as a distant backwater. Though it was still the centre of old culture and knowledge it transformed over generations into just one of many backwater systems inhabited by those unable or unwilling to leave. Following the Great War, the Centauri Confederation was founded with each colony world being made an equal of the next. In one swift move, Old Earth became just another colony in an alliance that no longer even shared its name.
The Decline of Earth
The guns were silent and like a swarm of locusts the assault transports and shuttles from the Santa Maria and the Santa Cruz filled the gulf between the ships and the Titan Naval Station. A total of sixteen hundred heavily equipped marines were spread in over thirty craft. The transports were the largest, each one carrying a full company of marines and their heavy weapons. The shuttles brought in small, more specialist squads as well as equipment and medical supplies. Another hundred marines were waiting onboard the Santa Cruz as a quick response team in case of emergencies. As they approached the Station they split into small groups, each one targeting key parts of the complex where survivors were likely to be. As the craft reached a kilometre from the Station a small amount of defensive fire erupted, primarily from small arms and a handful of larger calibre weapons. No craft were lost and within seconds the first wave crashed down on the surface and released the eager troops.
At the Command Centre, Spartan and the surviving commandos had done sterling work though they had no time to enjoy it. So far, they had brought the guns down and the Station’s computer systems were being used to pinpoint the surviving population. They had already transmitted the life sign scans of the habitation and naval facilities, but there was no way to determine whether they were friendly or hostile. That was something the advancing marines would have to discover for themselves.
There was still sporadic gunfire outside the Command Centre but with the late arrival of the third commando squad they had been able to establish a strong perimeter to protect the site. The engineers were also still moving chunks of masonry to reinforce their position until they were able to leave. With the arrival of the missing squad was also Lieutenant Daniels, a young but aggressive officer whom Spartan had never seen before. He had immediately taken charge of the situation and had shown a degree of deference to Spartan and the work of his group.
“Captain Mathews here, we have evacuated Colonel West and most of your wounded by shuttlecraft,” came a transmission to the Lieutenant.
“Thank you, Sir, we are well entrenched but are still under sporadic attack,” he explained.
“I have four companies of marines making their way to you. You can’t leave yet though, I have orders from General Rivers. From the data sent over by Private Spartan it would appear the closest habitation section to you is housing approximately two hundred people. Can you put him on, Lieutenant?” he asked.
“Sir, I have the data right here,” replied the officer as he lowered his voice, obviously trying to keep the conversation to himself.
“No, I need it from the source and as I understand it, Spartan and his unit have been working through the data for the last twenty minutes!” he said and his tone was becoming strained.
“Uh, yes, Sir, one moment,” said the officer as he was walking back along the corridor and into the large computer suite.
“Spartan, Captain Mathews for you,” he said.
Spartan was slumped in a large chair as he worked through the screen of data. Jesus was in his element and had already patched in the security feeds and climate control monitors to help gauge the level of people and resistance at key points in the Station. He was currently tracing a series of energy spikes in the Station power plant and so far none of them could work out why they were happening or where large segments of the power was being sent. Spartan hit the button on his built-in intercom, instantly patching him into the radio conversation.
“Spartan here, how can I help you, Sir?”
“Spartan, we’ve secured the first survivors and are moving into the zones you’ve provided the data for. I’ve received word from the General that suggests the energy surges you’ve identified are coming from the fusion plants in the naval yard,” he explained.
Spartan turned to Jesus.
“Jesus, can you bring up the power schematics of the naval yard and forward them to the General?” he asked.
“Doing it!” Jesus replied as he skimmed through the screen on his terminal.
As Spartan turned around, he wondered to himself where the man’s computing skills had come from and why he was in the Marine Corps. Of course, it was pretty simple though, a man who could work these systems could earn a fortune both legitimately or otherwise. He had no doubts on the direction Jesus would have taken. He allowed himself a
small grin as he called back to the Captain.
“Captain, we’re sending the data to the General, I think you might be right, though. It seems there is a lot of energy building up. You think they have something down there?” he asked.
“One moment, Spartan, we’ll be with you shortly, please let the Lieutenant have your men hold your fire, we’re approaching your compound,” said the Captain.
Spartan lifted himself up from the chair and bounded towards the damaged doorway.
“Lieutenant, the marines are here, Captain Mathews has asked you ensure our men watch their fire.”
The two men went outside and to the improvised firing line where the commandos had established a strong outer perimeter. Spartan dropped down behind the rubble and scanned the distant debris. He could see the odd movement as the insurgents redeployed in their attempts to work their way around them. As he watched a smoke trail rush towards them and crashed into the side of the Command Centre. The blast tore a hole several metres wide and brought a pile of dust and debris down into the outer compound.
Spartan picked up his reloaded L48 rifle and fired a series of short bursts, each cluster of rounds striking at any point where the muzzle flashes appeared. A group of four Zealots broke cover, attempting to close the distance, but the impact from the large calibre shells slammed the first to the floor. As he dropped the first man to the ground two more bullets exploded at the preset distance sending shards of metal into the torsos of the other three.
More groups appeared from their hiding places as if a number of beaters were moving prey to the waiting hunters. Then a series of yellow flashes and a great cloud of dust signalled the arrival of the rest of the marines. As they came from out of the rubble Spartan could see scores of the men bounding forward towards the Command Centre. In the centre of the group a man carried a small flexible regimental standard. It was a bizarre look of modern personal protection suits and archaic symbols of a medieval battlefield. The horde of marines easily cut their way through the disorganised Zealots and moved up and around the Command Centre. A small group led by the Captain approached Lieutenant Daniels who immediately stood to attention and saluted. He looked to his side, looking at the perimeter and the dirt and blood-splattered commandos.
Star Crusades Uprising: The First Trilogy Page 15
