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.
“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.”
She reached out and put her hand on the thickly reinforced armour around Spartan’s shoulder.
“Just watch yourself in there, I’ll see you on the ship,” she said and then pulled herself back.
As she moved to the safety of the emergency pressurised compartments, Spartan did final checks on his equipment. The last thing he wanted was a poorly fitted strap or plate to fail in what could be a major combat operation.
The shuttle slowed as the pilot adjusted their course. With expert skill, he spun them around so that the access hatches on the right of the shuttle faced the matching points on the other craft. It was a delicate manoeuvre as both craft were now spinning slowly as they moved ever closer to the outer orbit of the planet. One incorrect move and the two craft could collide and even at a relatively slow speed could cause damage. The other problem was that they were now perilously close to the outer atmosphere of Proxima Prime. If they suffered any kind of technical problems, they would face the same fate of the transport, a quick and fiery journey as they were cooked alive.
“You’ll have six minutes, no more and then we’re gone. Don’t be late!” said the pilot as they bumped gently into position.
For a few seconds a dull vibration hammered around the craft as the magnetic seal was created. A series of metal brackets pushed out and fixed them to the outer skin of the transport, the link was strong and only a power failure on the shuttle could pull them apart. A flexible tube extended from the shuttle to the doorway on the transport and affixed itself around the door. As the pumps started up the tube pressurised and a link was formed. With the airtight seal ready, the final task was normalising pressure and opening the door. It took just seconds as the experienced marines bypassed the outer security door and cut the seals on the inner door, opening up access to the loading bay of the vessel.
The inside of the vessel was pitch dark though the marines couldn’t tell if it was intentional or simply down to power failure. Spartan switched on his lighting and the two shoulder-mounted lamps lit up the area in front. Inside it seemed to be full of a light mist that shifted and spread through the airlock. With the powerful lamps burning through the mist they looked like yellow beams that were seeking prey. For a moment Spartan worried it might be a kind of weapon and was about to hit his alarm button for the shuttle crew. His fears were averted however when he spotted one of the damaged generators for the landing gear on the boat. From the cracks along its length the same mist pumped out slowly, it was probably damage sustained during the craft’s escape from the burning battleship. Feeling a little more relaxed his spoke though his intercom to the rest of the marines and the crew on the shuttle.
“The doorway is secure, no obvious power in the transport. Engineers follow me, marines wait until we have cleared the first section,” he said.
He took a step forward and his grav boots clunked down on the metallic surface. Each step he made triggered a small light in his helmet that told him whether he was attached to the surface or not. It had been drummed in to him to ensure one light was always on, indicating that he had one foot anchored at all times. So far, everything looked safe. As he continued onwards, he constantly moved his lamps to check every dark corner. The small lights were mounted on a motorised pintle that allowed them to rotate in any direction. As he moved his eyes, the sensors in his helmet followed his retinas and moved the lamps accordingly. From inside the suit it gave the impression that the lights came directly from his eyes.
“Loading bay is clear, I’m now moving on to the passenger section.”
As Spartan moved slowly forward, Jesus and Peterson followed. Their engineer’s armour was bulky and slow, but they provided plenty of cover for the rest of the conventionally armoured marines to enter the craft behind them. At the end of the loading bay was a large metal blast door. To the side of the door there was a panel and a series of buttons. He moved to touch it when Peterson’s hand blocked him.
“Sorry, Sergeant, you don’t want to press that one, it’s the cargo access panel. The passenger panel is this one,” he said.
The marine pushed a button on the much lower panel and with a shudder the large metal door started to lift upwards. The speed was slow and Spartan took a step back in case anything came out from the gap to grab at them. As he moved back, he lowered his arms, the sharp blades waiting for anything to appear.
“Marines, hold your fire, watch for hostiles!” ordered Spartan.
The three at the front lowered their arms and pushed the sharp digging blades in front of them. Around the three armoured suits a number of the other marines pushed though the gaps, each one holding up their L48 carbines and rifles. After a few more seconds, the door thumped into position and revealed the large passenger area. It was designed to carry hundreds of passengers though there were no signs of people yet.
“I can see nothing. Anybody else?” asked Jesus.
“Wait, what’s this?” asked Spartan as he took a few steps forward.
Several metres inside the craft were a number of crates and containers. They were stacked two or three high and filled nearly half of the entire open space. They were all strapped in with a series of thick straps, ropes and chains and gave the impression they had been loaded in a hurry. Some of them were damaged and a few of the larger ones were open. A first Spartan thought they reminded him of coffins but then he spotted the symbols on the side. Moving closer he checked the details, the first one was from a medical centre on Prime.
“Sarge!” shouted one of the marines, as several shadows flickered across the wall to the right.
Jesus tried to track the movement but they were too fast and disappeared behind one of the crates. He checked on his helmet-mounted display and picked up two more shapes but again, by the time he had them in his sights they vanished behind the crates.
“Did anybody see that?” asked Peterson.
Before anyone could answer one of the larger crates ripped open and a man-shaped object tumbled out towards the marines. Spartan stared in fascination at what looked like a flailing man as he drifted weightlessly towards them. He looked at him carefully and quickly realised the man was simply drifting, there were no signs of life or movement from him.
“What the hell?” shouted one of the marines.
As the body drifted towards them Spartan pushed out his armoured arms and caught the body. He pulled it closer towards him, examining it in fascinated detail.
“I don’t get it, it is a man but look at his hands and face,” he said.
Jesus and three of the other marines moved closer. Expanded and grotesque muscles distorted his limbs but his skull appeared thicker and extended. The man’s jaw bulged to the rear and scars ran down his cheeks. Spartan looked at his hand and noticed the thick, powerful fingers and a series of serrated blades attached to the back of the arm that extended out and past the fingers. It was like some kind of bizarre experiment that had fused weapons and a mutated beast. They looked in some of the damaged crates and could see more of the bodies.
“I’ve got movement,” said Peterson.
He took a step to the side, making room for more of the marines to enter. The lightly armoured marines filled the gaps and scanned the area, each holding up their firearms and looking for anything remotely hostile.
“Okay, this isn’t good, patch me through to Captain Mathews,” said Spartan as he spoke directly to the pilot of the shuttle.
“Mathews here, what have you found?” asked the officer.
“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.
The screens were showing three repeating feeds, all of them from ground units in the trenches around the Bone Mill. A voice running over the top explained the material had been received in the last hour. The first screen shook quite badly and it was evident that the camera was mounted on a soldier somewhere. From the view, a group of five soldiers stood chatting when a series of explosions blurred the view. As the feed refocused and the dust cleared the other soldiers were getting up off the ground, though the man carrying the camera must have been hurt or killed as the camera remained stationary and on its side. A series of streaks moved past the camera and one of the soldiers waved his arms before a large number of hooded figures leapt into the trench. Each of the figures carried evil looking edged weapons and proceeded to slash and hack at the soldiers. Only one of them managed to get off a shot before he was knocked down and decapitated right in front of the camera.
An audible gasp rushed through the group of marines as they watched the Confederation soldiers being cut down in such a brutal and callous way. More Confed troops moved into the trench to try and retake it but even though they slaughtered dozens of the enemy, sheer weight of numbers pushed them back until the video feed showed nothing but crowds of the hooded, sinister figures.
They started to chatter when the second feed showed the terrible scale of what was happening. The feed said it was from an aerial reconnaissance drone directly above the Bone Mill. All around the perimeter a series of flashes and explosions signalled the start of the assault. From all across the structure swarms of the men came out in a bloody charge. The camera zoomed in to show at least ten of them leaping past soldiers as they were firing weapons and hacking with axes and blades.
The final feed was from a fixed camera mount on a vehicle near the battle. As the attackers moved in the camera zoomed in and paused on a group of three of them. The nearest one was biting into the shoulder of a soldier and another was in the middle of cutting down a fleeing civilian. Both were wearing a motley collection of metal plated armour that covered various parts of the body. It wasn’t pretty but certainly did the job of making them look terrible and dangerous.
“What the fuck is that?” shouted one of the watching marines.
“Zealot bastards!” shouted another.
Spartan was in shock, the attackers were exactly the same as the ones he had just been fighting on the transport. He turned to the Captain who was transfixed by the screens.
“Sir, that is what we found on the transport. They are strong, really strong and they can take a lot of punishment. Those soldiers aren’t going to stand a chance,” he said.
Captain Mathews reached down and pulled out his tablet. He looked at it, whatever he saw drained the blood from his face and within a few seconds he was already moving away from them.
“I need to go, Sergeant, we’ll be in touch,” he said before rushing off along with his group of commandos.
Spartan and Teresa looked at each other, before they could speak the loudspeakers throughout the hall burst into noise.
“This is Admiral Jarvis. Congratulations on an excellent operation. I can confirm that the stations have been neutralised and Confed forces are back in control of this sector!” she said. There was a short pause before she continued but in a much slower and more sombre tone.
“As you have probably heard, a massive and coordinated planet-wide offensive has begun on the surface of Prime. Initial reports say over ten thousand fighters have already broken out from the Bone Mill and more are appearing from underground facilities across the surface. We do not have clear information on the attackers but they have already overrun three army barracks and one marine brigade is conducting a fighting withdrawal to the Carlos spaceport. Infantry reinforcements are due to arrive in three hours. The marine battle group is being placed in reserve whilst it is re-equipped and re-supplied at the Kerberos naval yard. The rest of the Fleet will maintain the blockade around Prime and provide humanitarian assistance where required.”
More feeds from the planet showed the terrible carnage the horribly altered, or mutated, people were causing. They used firearms but when they were close enough they seemed to delight in using edged weapons and even worse, they were able and willing to use their hands and teeth to literally tear people apart. It was foul and sickening and an enemy that made the Zealots pale into insignificance.
Teresa turned to Spartan as the marines around them erupted in excited shouting and arguments. “What the hell are they?”
Spartan said nothing. He just stood there dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe that there were more of those things still around. Based on the massive strength and capacity for absorbing damage he could already see the threat they posed. Finally he spoke.
“They must be a new weapon the Zealots have been working on, they are stronger and more dangerous than any man I’ve had to face, we’ve got a big, big problem.”
A marine officer pushed through the throng of people, handing out papers before reaching Spartan, he looked at Teresa and then back to Spartan.
“Sergeant Spartan?” he asked. Spartan nodded, saying nothing.
“I have papers from Captain Mathews. It says you are to join these marines on the Santa Cruz as part of the new Commando Company. You need to be fast, they are shipping out in twenty minutes.”
“Commando Company, what about me?” asked Teresa.
The officer showed her the list, she spotted her name on the paper. “That’s me,” she said.
“Ah, yeah, it says you’re to go too, you need to report to your new commander when you get to the Cruz,” he said before turning to head back to the mass of marines.
“Wait!” shouted Teresa as she grabbed the officer’s arm. He turned but looked flustered at being grabbed.
“Which commander?” she demanded.
“Um, General Rivers, he is taking command of the ship for something special. Don’t ask me what, I’ve no idea,” he said as Teresa made to interrupt him.
“That’s it?” Spartan asked him.
“He’ll tell you more when you get there I’m sure,” he said before finally turning and rushing off.
“General Rivers, why is he in charge of one ship, Spartan?”
“Who knows, we’d better hurry though or we’ll never find out!” said Spartan as they made their way to the transport level and the waiting shuttle. Scores of marines were already on board and they had to queue just to get on. After a short wait they climbed aboard and headed to their designated positions. Spartan noticed many more marines rushing about on the Santa Maria, some were heading to their quarters and others went to waiting shuttles.
“I thought this was over, we’ve done enough fighting to last a whole career!” Teresa said as she buckled herself into her seat.
Spartan turned his head in disagreement as he pulled the harness down tightly.
“No chance, this is just the start, and from what I’ve seen it is about to get very bloody,” he said with a grimace.
“All crew to their stations, we leave for the Santa Cruz in sixty seconds,” the pilot announced over the loudspeaker system.
The crew were already closing the door and going through the safety procedures prior to leaving the main hangar section of the ship. From inside the shuttle Spartan couldn’t see outside into space yet, but he could see several of the other shuttles preparing to leave. One of them must have just arrived from one of the warships, as it brought dozens of injured marines sprawled out on bloody stretchers. The marine transports seemed to be able to do just about everything.
For a brief moment Spartan felt a pang as he realised that he was leaving his home but then he remembered what it was actually like inside. He could manage without it. Teresa smiled at him, noticing he was lost in his thoughts, before lightly thumping his arm.
“I bet you’re wondering about your decision to join up now right?” she asked him.
Spartan thought back to the courtroom and the choice he had made. Right now, he wasn’t so sure on his decision. Still, it wouldn’t be long before his first year was up, only nine more to go.
“Well, I wasn’t, but now you’ve got me thinking about it!” he said with a mischievous look.