Michael Thomas: Siege of Titan

“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 without 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.”