Michael Thomas - Siege of Titan

He entered the observation area and moved towards the windows. It was a round room about twenty metres in diameter projecting out from the main lounge. There were long comfortable chairs and Spartan sank down looking out into the blackness. The bright glow of the planet Prometheus below made spotting the stars almost impossible. Its black and red surface showing signs of the fiery hot surface, a place where only the most well prepared research laboratories and factories could survive, deep inside the solid rock. Not that it mattered as he was more interested in the light glinting off the ships that were moored and waiting.

The nearest vessel was a massive war barge, the CCS Vengeance. She was an old ship and had seen action in the first war fought in this system that had finally united the disparate colonies into one Confederation of mutually supportive organisations. At least that’s how the history books reported a war that cost over three billion lives. Although originally classed as a heavy cruiser she was old and by modern standards outdated. She wasn’t fast enough to serve in the line as a main ship but was still easily capable of moving at the speed of transports and civilian liners. She was still massively powerful and had been re-designated as a war barge, a vessel more suited to the slower work of escort and defence that was now probably of more use than the vessels in the main Fleet.

Since the start of the emergency she was one of the first vessels re-activated for use by the Confederation Fleet to provide escort for the troop convoys. She was nearly a kilometre long with thick plate armour. What really caught his eye was the thirty-metre gash in her port side. Apparently a suicide bomber had steered a pilot barge directly into her flank and the damage would put her out of action for at least six months. Any other ship would have been lost in the attack, but not the Vengeance. Although she’d fought other similar vessels in the war, she had never sustained major damage, leading many to think of her as the luckiest ship in the Fleet even after the incident with the suicide attack. Over two hundred people were killed in that disaster. This had led to many people wanting to give the Zealots concessions. It was futile though, everything he had seen about the Zealots suggested they wanted nothing other than the spread of their idea of brotherhood. It sounded like indoctrination to him. Spartan began to wonder if enlisting rather than years in a cell was the best option for him. He turned his attention to another ship off to the right.

Through the thick glass he could just make out the shape of his new home waiting about three kilometres away. She was the CCS Santa Maria and from what he could tell she was hardly the flagship of the Fleet. The information pack he received on his enlistment said that fifty years ago the eight hundred metre long craft was a colony transport to move settlers. In more recent years, she had transferred to the Navy and refitted for a variety of military roles, the latest being marine training and transportation. Due to the nature of their deployment they would be on a journey of roughly two hundred and forty days before reaching their destination. Somebody had worked out that rather than spending half a year training recruits and then having to wait another half a year just to get them to theatre, this could be halved by doing the training on the way. It was an interesting idea and in theory was more efficient. What it didn’t take into account was that not everyone would pass and be able to do their job.

“What happens if a thousand recruits left but only a hundred were able to serve as marines?” Spartan thought to himself.

Then he thought of the display on the suicide attack. It was simple really. Everybody would have to fight. They didn’t have the numbers or the capability to return them home. In the end this deployment was a one-way posting. The only people going home were veterans and casualties, anyone else would be buried on the planet.

He looked back at the large grey vessel in the distance. She was one of over a dozen ships waiting on the outer pylons of the dock. The ship contained two rotating cylindrical sections providing an equivalent of Earth’s gravity. The long cylinders were wrapped in thick plated bands at regular intervals. The middle section contained massive storage hangars originally used for raw materials and supplies intended for colony development. Now they carried military hardware and weapons, as well as housing a few dedicated zones for the dreaded zero-g training. Though not equipped for combat she did carry basic defensive measures against smaller vessels and missiles and a small amount of firepower from the gun batteries mounted on the rotating cylindrical sections. These were kinetic railguns but their effectiveness in action had never been tested.

As Spartan watched he could just see the multitude of tugs, shuttles and transports moving back and forth from the major vessels in dock. This place might be big but from what he had heard their destination drop-off point at the Titan Naval Station was much bigger. A shrill whine came over the tannoy system with the latest announcement. It was the message he was waiting for.

“Shuttle seven two nine is ready for departure. All recruits for the Santa Maria are to report in fifteen minutes. Please proceed to your shuttle.”

With military precision the doors to the vehicle pool opened and glowing symbols along the wall indicated the path to take so that even the most dim-witted of the new candidates could find their way along the path to the waiting shuttles. As he walked along the path a trio of men pushed past, jostling to get to the shuttle first. One of them crashed into Spartan, almost throwing him to the floor.

“Hey!” Spartan reached out and grabbed the last of the group by the shoulder.

“What’s your problem, pal?” said the man with undisguised contempt as he tried to pull away. He was roughly the same height as Spartan and sported a neatly trimmed ginger beard and moustache.

“My problem is you.” He straightened himself up prepared for a confrontation.

The other two men stopped and came to their friend’s aid, standing either side of him. They were exactly the kind of people he expected to find here. Well built, probably college sports jocks sent away for a tour on the frontline. After one year’s posting they’d come home and expect a cushy state job where everybody would crow over their service. The tallest, a man wearing a name patch of Burnett, stepped forward. He was almost a head taller than Spartan who was hardly a small man himself.

“Hey, Matt, this guy causing you grief?” He turned to Spartan.

He knew what was coming and also from years of experience you never, ever let your opponent get the drop on you. He also knew that a distraction was always a smart move for the first part of any offensive action.

“Burnett? Isn’t that a girl’s name?” he said with a grin.

The man was obviously used to being ridiculed, curled his face up in anger and opened his mouth as if to spout some clever line.

Spartan knew this was his moment and without hesitation slammed his knee hard into the man’s crotch. Burnett was taken completely by surprise and hit the ground groaning in pain. Spartan took one step back and lifted his hands so that his palms faced the group. To the untrained man it looked like he was worried or trying to plead with them. For anybody with knowledge of martial skills though they would instantly note the similarities to the basic training of systems like Krav Maga.

Matt, the man that had started it all took a step forward, sensing that Spartan wanted to avoid a fight. As he moved closer the number of people heading for the shuttles slowed as some of them stopped to watch the unfolding event. At the far end of the corridor a number of men in black body armour were making their way towards them.