Michael Thomas - Siege of Titan

“I don’t know, Sir. There are bodies here but they are distorted or changed in some way. The crates say they are from bio labs on Prime. One of them is from a military base on Kerberos, how the hell did they get like that?”

“Distorted in what way?” asked a concerned Captain Mathews.

“The muscles are thicker, the neck and jaw are enlarged and the body here has scars down the face. They are all wearing some kind of reinforced plating, it looks almost like crude armour, Sir,” he explained.

“Armour? I don’t like it, get your people out of there, now!” he shouted.

Spartan stared intently at the body, trying to ascertain what madness could have created such a thing. As he looked at his face he noticed the eyes, both were bloodshot and staring straight ahead. Then he remembered, the eyes were closed a moment before. As the realisation dawned on him, the grotesque man reached and grabbed at Spartan’s face.

“Fuck!” he screamed as he staggered backwards and crashed into the wall. More of the shapes started to move and before Spartan could even try to straighten himself the creatures were all over the marines.

Jesus pushed himself forward, trying to stem the assault but there were simply too many of them. One crawled over his armour and then repeatedly stabbed at his helmet with a piece of twisted metal. The first strike jarred his head and the subsequent strikes forced him to lose his footing and drift inside the craft. He waved his left arm, desperately trying to knock the crazy man from his armour.

The regular marines opened fire where they could, each burst of fire ripping into the rough armour of the enemy. The metal absorbed much of the impact, but the marines’ fire was accurate and continuous. Four of the creatures were killed outright, but their wounded kept coming. One spun off the ceiling and swung both of its arms as it tried to hack at the marines. One of its blades took a chunk out of a marine’s face as the second became stuck in another’s chest.

Peterson, seeing the terrible carnage all around, stomped forward and using his armoured digging tools on his arms managed to cut a swathe through the group. One flew from the wall and grabbed at his right arm. He took three steps and then crushed it hard against the side of the transport. It howled and released him long enough for his right fist to force his blade deep into the thing’s throat. Blood pumped out and drifted in thick blobs through the boat.

Spartan pushed himself up, slamming his metal arm hard into his attacker.

“Marines, back to the shuttle!” he cried.

As they retreated the creatures continued their attack, each one biting, tearing and hacking at anything they could reach. Jesus and three marines were struggling under a mass of the creatures and Spartan tried desperately to reach him. One marine was cut clean in half right before him and another was tossed aside like a rag. He grabbed Jesus and yanked him away from the mass of blood and gore. One of them tried to grab at his face but Spartan’s left arm held its neck and neatly snapped it in two. He looked back at Jesus, noting the holes and damage across the armour. He kept moving back towards the access hatch with the surviving commandos provided covering fire. As they fell back into the shuttle one of the marines hit the large red seal button on the wall and the airlock doors slammed down.

Spartan staggered two more paces and then stopped. His breathing was laboured and his armour was splattered in blood, though how much was theirs and how much belonged to the marines he didn’t know.

“We’re clear!” he shouted into his intercom.

The pilot was obviously waiting for the signal and in seconds they had broken free and were accelerating from the transport and its deadly crew.

As Spartan pulled himself out of his armour, Teresa grabbed him.

“Are you okay, are you hurt?” she asked in a desperate tone.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” he said as he looked at the pitiful remnants of the mission.

“A lot of us didn’t come back,” he said in a grim tone.

Teresa searched the faces of the marines who had made it back.

“Where is Jesus?” she cried. Spartan simply turned his head.

In the medical bay of the Santa Maria scores of marines were undergoing emergency medical aid. Teresa was on one of the examination beds while a medic examined her shoulder.

“You were very lucky, the aid pack stopped the bleeding and the bone is only partially damaged. I’ve applied a temporary seal and the pins will need to stay in until the tissue sealant kicks in. You’ll need to return in thirty-six hours for me to remove the pins,” she said before turning to wave another injured marine forward.

Teresa stood up and Spartan helped her put her jacket back on.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better, it could be a lot worse though,” she replied.

The two walked along the main corridor and into the mess hall to find mass celebrations going on. News of the final victories had spread through the ships and it was clearly going down well. Two more cruisers had just arrived and the rumour was that army transports wouldn’t be far behind. After hours of bloody combat, both in space and on the stations, the battle was finally over. With the civilians rescued, the Fleet had moved into a high orbit and established a strong blockade over the planet.

Spartan was moving ahead and towards the marines when he spotted Captain Mathews and a few of the commands chatting near a computer terminal. The officer quickly spotted Spartan and waved him over. The two walked over as the din from the rest of the marines continued in the background.

“How is the shoulder, Private?” Captain Mathews asked Teresa.

“It is pretty stiff. They will be looking at it tomorrow, right now they’ve got many more serious injuries to deal with. It’s not life threatening, just a real bitch!” she said.

“Glad to hear that,” he said before turning to Spartan.

“I’m sorry about your boarding party, it was a tough call but we had to know who was on board. How many of you got back?” he asked with a concerned look.

“I lost seven marines back there plus the rest have got a variety of wicked injuries. I don’t know what those things were but they came from somewhere and nothing would stop them, Sir,” he said quietly.

Captain Mathews was watching the marine’s camera feeds on his tablet as Spartan continued to talk. The picture was fuzzy and showed little detail on the attackers as they moved constantly in the darkness.

“Well, we’ve been hearing rumours from Prime about various things going on at the Bone Mill as well as other Zealot strongholds through the Confederation. It’s a shame you weren’t able to bring any of them back for study. Still, your video feeds will be better than nothing.”

“Better than nothing? What the…” Teresa shouted, but Spartan lifted his arm, gently keeping her away from the officer.

“That wasn’t the way I meant it, I have nothing but respect for the tremendous work and sacrifice you have all given. You have done the Corps and your unit proud. I’ve recommended you all to the General and I know he has something big planned..” he said before being interrupted.

“Have you seen the news?” shouted a marine as he ran past.

Teresa turned and watched him join a growing number of the crowd clustered around the large screens in the hall. Each screen was several metres wide and could be seen from halfway down the room. The sound in the room started to drop as more of the marines quietened, each of them enthralled by the video feeds.

“Come on,” said Spartan.

He moved off to examine the large screens and whatever news was getting all the attention. Teresa, Captain Mathews and the rest of the commandos followed him. As they reached the screens they stopped, each of them too busy watching to speak.