Michael Thomas - Siege of Titan

As the first groups were led to the safety of the landing shuttles and transports, Spartan and his squad kept pushing forward. A room at the end of the open space was showing on his scanner as holding a large number of people and he could hear screams coming from inside. Jesus made it first but as he ran inside a great shotgun blast blew him right back out of the door. His armoured suit protected him from the worst effects of the shot but it was still enough to put him out of the fight for a few seconds. Spartan pulled up next to the doorway and Teresa took the other side. He popped his head around the corner briefly and back again.

“Looks like three guys behind the table and about twenty to thirty hostages,” he said over his radio.

“Drop your weapons, soldier, and come in!” came a voice from inside.

“Fuck you!” Spartan shouted.

“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!”

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.