into the first, the impact smashing his face and forcing him back several metres. As more marines leapt over the barricades, he moved to his left and fired three rounds into the next fighter’s chest. The rounds shattered his torso and sent chunks of flesh across the ground as the man was brutally slaughtered. The Colonel turned, making sure the rest of his men were in position. As he looked around he noted with satisfaction that the marines were doing well. Bayonets, knives and rifles were all used as the two squads hacked and blasted their way through the line. Spartan, Teresa and three more marines appeared at the far left of the barricade and with just a handful of shots eliminated the Zealots trying to retreat inside the Council Chambers.
“Don’t stop, keep up the pressure!” The Colonel shouted as he rushed ahead.
As the officer entered the large arched entrance there was a bright flash and the entire front section of the building collapsed in a series of explosions and flashes of fire. The force of the blast knocked most of the marines to the ground and Spartan was shielded from the explosion by one of the pillars directly in front of him. As he edged closer, he could see over a hundred fighters pouring out of the council building through the breaches in the now shattered structure. He stood firmly, lifted his rifle to his shoulder and started to fire, each round shredding the Zealots as they rushed out to attack. Teresa moved up and joined in, adding her fire to the surge of fighters. The rest of the marines dragged themselves up but several were cut down before they could even stand. Rather than engage in a firefight the crowd of fanatics overwhelmed the marines and within seconds the entire section in front of the Council Chamber devolved into a murderous melee. In the ruins, the mortally wounded Colonel dragged himself clear of the rubble and looked down at where his legs should be. The improvised explosives had torn them away as well as leaving a gaping wound in his flank. He tried to draw his pistol from his thigh holster but his arm refused to obey. He turned his head and watched in a mixture of awe and dread as Spartan and the surviving marines fought their desperate and bloody battle. His last image was of Spartan swinging a bladed weapon of some kind and cutting down two Zealots in one blow.
“You crazy son of a bitch!” he muttered before passing out.
The battle between the two great naval juggernauts continued and it appeared that the older battleship was taking slightly more damage. The battle was hardly one of skills and tactics. It was simply a battle of engineers, gunners and firepower as each ship tried to put out more firepower than the other over a given time. The old battleship was starting to inch its way back to the Naval Station but with the damage both ships were taking neither could move quickly.
“Admiral, she’s moving, we can’t shield the Station from this range,” said Commander Anderson.
Admiral Jarvis examined the tactical screen in detail as well as the engineering section. She had her hand raised to her face and it looked as if she was trying to mentally crunch a large volume of numbers.
“How many marines do we have on board?” she asked.
The Commander was taken aback for a moment, as his brain seemed to block the answer to such a simple question. He shook his head as the numbers returned.
“Uh, three companies of marines, most of them are assisting in the medical bays,” he replied.
“What do you think of our reports on the experimental Sanlav Rounds?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Sanlav Rounds? The experimental canister shots, Admiral?”
The Admiral nodded as she waited for his thoughts.
“Well, from the reports they seem excellent at damaging or destroying light to medium armour at range. What they lack in depth penetration they gain in a wider damage pattern. What are you thinking, Admiral?” he asked unsure what to expect.
“We need to keep her from the Station but we won’t do it with guns alone. My suggestion is a simple one but it has been done well enough in the past. We double-charge batteries, use our speed to close the distance and give her a broadside at point-blank range. With that amount of fire we should be able to reduce her crew numbers, if not her weapon system, and clear the way for a boarding party,” she said.
“Boarding party? You mean to take her?” he said incredulously.
“No, no, we don’t have the time or the manpower for that. All we need to do is disable her engines.”
“Or her power plant, Admiral. Without power she will be dead in the water and weaponless,” he added.
“Excellent, so we rake her flank, board her and then cripple her power plant. Outstanding!” she said with a grin.
The Admiral turned from her executive officer and towards Lieutenant Nilsson.
“Lieutenant, get me Lieutenant Erdeniz, I believe he is on the gun deck,” she ordered.
Deep in the fighting decks of the Crusader the gun crews maintained the weapon systems and kept the ship in the battle. Lieutenant Erdeniz, although still wearing his bandages from injuries sustained in the attempted revolt on the ship, was standing at his post. Though there were metres of armour and two more decks between him and the CCS Victorious it was still a terrifying experience. In the last twenty minutes there had been two major breaches and the second one had vaporised one of his gunners before his eyes. This part of the ship was superheated and everybody working there was dripping in sweat.
His information on the rest of the ship was limited but he had seen the medical figures and it was clear to all onboard that the medical bays were to be avoided unless absolutely critical. His best guess was that they had already sustained two or three hundred dead with about the same number injured. It was high losses and as each member of the crew was removed from action the workload for those left increased. His crew of twenty-four engineers, gunners and loaders had already been whittled down to nineteen with one battery knocked out of action, three dead and two badly wounded.
“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
