The most famous incident that involved the IMC was the defence of the Confederation Council during the uprising on a desert platform on the planet of Kerberos. The situation was initiated following a trade dispute between a mining company and a transportation guild. During negotiations representatives from the guild brought over four hundred mercenaries from the Rim to capture the Council’s delegation. A single platoon from the warship Spiteful defended the council members until radio contact was lost. When reinforcements arrived, it took them over an hour to work through the bodies of two hundred and twelve mercenaries until they found the bodies of the marines in the main chambers, surrounding the dead council members. It was a terrible loss for the Corps but a day that the Sixth Marine Company has honoured every year since the action. It was from this battle that the elite Guards unit was created with the very role of protecting Confederation officials.
Great Battles of the Confederate Marine Corps
At a distance from the Titan Naval Station, the bloodiest space battle in generations had been continuing for almost half an hour. The massive hulks of the old battleship CCS Victorious and the battlecruiser CCS Crusader had slowed down and were engaged in an epic duel of broadsides. Standing at a distance of several kilometres apart there was almost no chance of their weapons missing and each deadly volley killed scores of crew and smashed great chunks out of the flanks of the vessels. Both ships were trailing debris and fire could be seen at various points in their superstructures but that wasn’t anywhere near enough to stop them fighting. The CCS Crusader had placed herself carefully between the enemy vessel and the Titan Naval Station. Her powerful engines and improved mobility over the heavier, slower battleship allowed her to maintain this position, effectively blocking much of the marine assault group that was making its way to the moon.
In the Combat Information Centre, Admiral Jarvis examined the engineering displays as the battle continued around her. Every few moments she lifted her eyes to examine her deadly foe on the projection display on the main wall. By a simple piece of engineering the external camera feeds could recreate the bridge windows from within the armoured safety of the centre deep inside the ship, and it gave the impression she was actually on the bridge of the ship. The damage reports and casualty figures were astounding but so far the newest capital ship in the fleet was doing her job. General Rivers had already left the ship and transferred to the Santa Maria to help conduct the action against Titan Naval Station. Stood next to her was Commander Anderson, her executive officer.
“Admiral, we’ve taken heavy damage but all our systems are still operational. We are matched in armour and weaponry but we’re still not using our trump card, our speed,” he said.
“I know, Commander. But we have to keep all of her attention away from the Station though. As soon as General Rivers confirms the commandos’ mission, we can reconsider our options here.”
“What if we could damage her engines or at the very least reduce her ability to manoeuvre?”
“Like the Bismarck? Yes, I see what you are thinking. She was one of the German Navy’s key battleships in the Second World War. Antiquated aircraft damaged her steering, and that made her vulnerable to attack by other warships who then sank her. See what you can do, Commander, in the meantime I want every gun turned to her decks. Smash her!” she ordered.
“Admiral,” The officer replied before returning to the tactical display.
“Lieutenant Nilsson, put me through to General Rivers.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The connection was almost instant and a pang of pride made her pause for a moment as she considered the speed and quality of her crew. Under no circumstances would she simply throw away this ship and her crew.
“General Rivers, I need an update on your operation, are we on schedule?” she asked.
There was a short delay before the crackling reply came back.
“Admiral, we have started the commando operation. The first landing craft have arrived at the Station and is under very heavy fire,” explained the General.
The loading ring on the Station was littered with debris as the first two platoons of commandos exited their damaged and scarred landing craft. Marcus and another of the commandos helped pulled Spartan and Teresa into cover next to the landing craft before fanning out with the rest of the unit to secure the landing zone. Only two craft had landed so far, the amount of defensive fire having forced the next wave of two craft to redirect to a landing zone almost a kilometre away from where they had landed. The skill of the pilots was exceptional though and the fact they had managed to land at such high speed, and in once piece, was a testament to their training. The moon had a low level of gravity and a thin atmosphere that required the use of respirators at the very minimum. Not that any of this was a problem for the marines who had training in a variety of gravity scenarios.
The landing area looked much like a waiting lounge in an airport with large open areas and lines of counters for checking in supplies or people. There was also considerable damage within the structure and obvious signs of battle from when the station was seized by the Zealot insurgents. Several heavy haulers, large wheeled vehicles, had crashed into a far wall and some improvised barricades were all that remained of the last ditch attempt to hold onto the place. The marines had fanned out as they pushed their perimeter fifty metres away from the landing craft. Almost as soon as they landed, they had seen fighters rushing out to stop them. The door gunners had held them off spectacularly but a small number of survivors were dug in at the far end of the building and pouring a withering hail of projectiles at the exposed marines. Colonel West and his squad pushed forward and took cover behind a burnt out loading truck, meanwhile the rest of the commandos kept their heads down behind any cover they could find.
Spartan’s head was pounding but he could make out the signs of movement. As he tried to focus a series of blasts shook the ground and large debris flew through the bay. It was a bizarre scenario as materials, that on a normal gravity world would barely move, now scattered through the open area as if they were devoid of mass. His focus was almost back to normal and what he could see took him by surprise. Tracer fire whistled past him as the defenders did their best to halt the marines exit from the landing area. Their own return fire was much lighter as they tried to spot their enemies who were well dug in over two hundred metres away. As he pulled himself up he spotted Teresa slumped against the side of the landing craft, protected from the incoming fire.
He moved over, examining her shoulder and spotting the emergency aid pack on her suit. Her eyes looked different, probably due to a mixture of drugs pumping through her body.
“How you doing?” he asked as he checked for any other wounds.
She rolled her head, obviously dazed and unable to do much of use.
“I, uh, my,” she said before drifting off again.
Inside his helmet the voices of the squad leaders rocked back and forth as the pinned down marines tried to get out of their difficult position.
“More have arrived, there are about fifteen of them behind the barricades in the access corridor ahead. There’s also another group of about fifty coming from the primary habitation ring to the right. Can anybody get to the door guns?” asked the Colonel.
Before anybody could speak the second group unleashed a hail of fire as they ran and bounced along in the low gravity to the marines. As the group rushed ahead the defenders from the barricades stood up and also rushed ahead, joining them in a full assault on the marines’ positions.
Spartan, who was just a few metres away from the craft glanced back, checking the vessel. It was heavily damaged and he could see scores of holes along its front and sides. His eyes moved along its length until he came to the weapon mount on the door. There were more holes and a black scorch mark where the gun should be.
“Colonel, Spartan here. The gun on the starboard side is missing. It must have been lost in the landing. I’ll check the other side,” he said as he climbed inside the craft.
“Don’t bother, it is over eighty kilos, you won’t be able to do anything useful with it,” came back one of the sergeants.
The sound of weapon fire from the marines was now massive as they tried to repel the wave attacks of the suicidal attackers. At least two grenades sailed inside their perimeter, three commandos were badly wounded and knocked out of the fight. More volleys of gunfire blasted across the open area with the odd round striking the thick armour of the landing craft.
Spartan had different ideas though and jumped to the other side of the craft, finding the lower gravity allowed him to take steps he could never normally take. He landed and had to hold on to avoid flying straight out the other side. The weapon mount seemed intact, as did the twin-barrelled machine gun fitted to it. He pulled the locking pins and then with great effort forced the weapon from its mount. Even though the reduced gravity made it feel just over twenty kilos it was still a weighty item. He moved back to the other side of the craft, though now much slower with the added weight and bulk of the weapon system. As he jumped out he met around twenty fanatics with cudgels, knives and other improvised weapons. They had somehow crept around and were trying to outflank them. They were only a few metres away and Spartan, without thinking pulled the trigger on the weapon system. A massive muzzle flash erupted from the gun as it poured hundreds of large calibre explosive rounds at the unarmoured attackers. The impact was instant and brutal as limbs, heads and torsos were smashed apart by the finger-sized projectiles. Even more sickening was that as each round impacted on their flesh it triggered a tiny explosive that had enough power to vaporise the flesh within ten centimetres in each direction. The flanking attack was over as soon as it had began and Spartan found himself pinned against the side of the landing craft, the massive recoil on the weapon forcing him back.
He looked out at the trail of gore he had created and then down to Teresa who was looking up, her eyes a little clearer and a wicked grin on her face.
“You crazy son of a bitch!” she laughed.
There was no time for conversation as the Colonel was quickly voicing his concerns on the intercom.
“They’re going to overrun us, use everything you’ve got, we have to drive them back!” he barked.
Spartan pulled himself from the wall and after checking Teresa was in a secure spot, moved around the landing craft and to where the thin line of commandos was pinned down. He moved ahead and dumped the weapon mount on top of a shattered hydraulic loader. Colonel West turned to him and then pointed at the enemy.
“Marine, is that thing working?” he asked loudly.
Spartan nodded and with great effort leaned against the gun, doing his best to brace against the expected recoil and then pulled the trigger. As before, the muzzle blast was vast. The guns were not designed for use by infantry, their expected role was fire support during landing or evacuation. Though the recoil was great, this time Spartan controlled the bursts, easing off before it became too great and knocked him over. His first two bursts were a little high but the subsequent ones were deadly. The three closest insurgents who were heading to the landing craft, were shredded into pulp and the ones behind them scattered trying to find cover from the heavy machine gun. It was all pointless though, as Spartan hunted down each and every one of them. The large calibre explosive rounds made easy work until all that remained was one fighter who was pinned behind one of the wrecked loading trucks. The Colonel raised his hand, indicating an immediate ceasefire. As the weapons stopped and the dust and debris cleared, the carnage of the battle became clear. Blood and bone littered the ground as burn marks and small fires ran throughout the structure. One of the new recruits stood up, for a moment forgetting about the lone fighter. Before he could move, a single round pierced the front of his helmet and slammed him backwards, instantly killing him.
Colonel West lifted his L48 rifle and locked in the range to the sniper’s cover. With a quick flick of the weapon he fired off three large calibre explosive rounds. He ducked back down as the projectiles hit. Just as in the training exercises the weapon did its job beautifully but this was the first time Spartan had seen the effects of the live rounds. The man had hidden safely behind the thick metal, but the Colonel had fired slightly above him. As the projectile appeared over his head, there was a flash and the upper half of the man vaporised in a spray of blood and organs. Colonel West did a quick scan of the area and then stood up.
“Marines, move it, we are nine hundred metres from the Command Centre. Go, go, go!” he screamed at them.
The officer and his squad rushed ahead and were quickly followed by the rest of the marines except for two who stayed behind to tend the wounded. Spartan dumped the now empty weapon mount on the ground and jumped back to Teresa. She was already getting up, the drugs must have been working, as she almost seemed back to herself. One of the marine medics moved over, checking her injuries with a scanner.
“You should stay with the landing craft, the damage is serious but not fatal,” he explained.
“Good,” she replied as she pulled her rifle from her shoulder down into a low position.
“Ready?” she asked.
Spartan knew better than to argue and quickly moved ahead to follow the rest of the marines who were pushing on. With the lower gravity Teresa was able to keep up without straining her injured shoulder as much as she would have expected, it seemed the painkillers were masking much of the pain.
The survivors of the two squads pushed on and apart from sporadic fire from the odd hidden insurgent, they made quick progress from the loading bay and deep into the main corridor leading to the central plaza. From there, there were multiple paths leading to the commerce exchange and main Council Chamber that operated as a kind of central governmental building for the Station. Colonel West examined a detailed structural model on the display in his helmet, checking for the access points and possible weaknesses. The Military Command Centre was built onto the back of the Council Chambers. They would either have to fight through the building, or work their way around the back and through the Naval Academy to reach the Command Centre. His decision was cut short as they rounded the final corner. A flurry of gunshots blasted towards them from a hastily erected barricade that was flung across the entire front side of the square. One marine was cut down and Colonel West only avoided fire by jumping high and throwing himself over a wall as he hit it a metre off the ground.
The area in front of the Council Chambers was a vast square, packed with now ruined monuments and waterfalls. It was the most photogenic part of the Station and often used when visiting dignitaries arrived. Along the one side at least a dozen vehicles were abandoned and being used as part of the barricades. From the upper floors of the concrete neoclassical building a number of shooters fired rifles and carbines from windows and openings.
Colonel West kept going, knowing that if they held back they would be picked off, one by one. As he moved, the remnants of the two squads moved with him, each marine spreading out and firing from the shoulder as they bounced and ran. It was a peculiar sight to see, as they skipped, ran and jumped, because of the reduced gravity in the Station. Multiple explosions indicated rockets being fire at them as they pushed ahead. Three marines were killed by the time they reached the barricades, but then the situation changed completely.
The Colonel was first over the next wall and crashed down between two Zealots. He slammed his rifle butt 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 fanatics. As they were tending the casualties Marcus found the badly wounded Colonel West. The man’s body was shattered, his legs torn away and a huge trail of blood all around him. Marcus dropped to one knee, checking the officer’s suit for any signs of life. Incredibly he picked up a faint pulse.
Sergeant Williams limped over and knelt down next to the wounded man.
“Sir, Colonel, can you hear me?” he called.
The Sergeant reached out gently shaking him. The Colonel moved but he was unable to speak. Spartan looked back at the wounded and then ahead to their objective, noting they were now only a short distance away. He was torn between helping this officer and getting the mission done.
“Sergeant, we have to shut off those guns. The only way the Colonel is getting out alive is if we can get the rest of the regiment here.”
As if to remind them of the urgency of their situation a small group of insurgents appeared from the far right of the plaza and moved towards the their position. They were a mixture of well-equipped Zealot fighters and lightly armed fanatics, probably reinforcements from the surface. The group fired a few shots as they rushed ahead, the projectiles ricocheting from the walls around them. But without stopping and correcting their aim the fire was sporadic and inaccurate. A heavy weapon tore chunks from the wall behind them and one of the rounds hit Marcus below the knee, it sent him crashing to the ground crying out in pain.
The Sergeant put his hand on Spartan’s shoulder.
“Do it, we’ll watch your back!” he said, before turning around and helping the wounded Marcus into a ragged firing line behind the rubble and bodies. He quickly placed an emergency first aid pack on his shattered leg and then started firing at the approaching enemy. Two of the less seriously injured men helped to move the badly wounded Colonel to cover before joining the firing line.
“Everybody else come with me, we have work to do!” Spartan shouted.
The filthy and blood spattered marines moved on, with Spartan, Teresa and Jesus taking the lead through the now ruined building. Though most of them were still carrying their L48 rifles, Spartan and two others were holding a mixture of close quarter weapons. In this cramped and filthy environment they appeared to be just as useful. Once they were through the entrance they rushed along the main foyer and then down the side corridor. According to Spartan’s tactical display this would take them to the rear yard and on to the Command Centre. There was a chance that this part of the building would be booby-trapped, they could only hope that the first blast and collapse had already triggered any further devices. Either way it didn’t matter, time wasn’t on their side. If they waited any longer they would be overrun as more of the insurgents made their way to the area and surrounded the small number of marines. They needed to get the weapons off-line and help get the reinforcements into battle as quickly as possible.
Two Zealots lay in wait and as they reached the back entrance, they opened fire. As the bullets flew around them Spartan rolled to one side just as Jesus and Teresa hit the attackers with well-aimed shots. They didn’t stop and in seconds they were in the open and running in a loose line to the gatehouse at the front of the Command Centre. It was normally protected by a strong perimeter wall and gate, but now there were multiple breaches and none of the usual security. Spartan slid into cover behind the ruins of the wall and focused his helmet-mounted optics on the Command Centre. Zooming in he examined the defences and sighed in anger as he hit the communication trigger on his helmet.
“This is Private Spartan, our commando unit has made it to the Command Centre. Colonel West is down, there are twelve of us left,” he said on the radio.
The radio crackled with a broken signal from the Santa Maria.
“Spartan, good work. Third platoon is pinned down, the engineers have made it to the side-loading bay at the Command Centre, one hundred metres from the secondary entrance. If you can get to them they should be able to find you a way in.”
Spartan turned to his right, squinting through the dust and debris. He couldn’t see any movement, then he spotted the five armoured engineers stomping towards the Command Centre. All five were covered in dents and scorch marks and they had obviously had a very difficult time making it this far.
“I see them, we’re on the way!” Spartan said, as he indicated to the rest of his squad.
They were instantly moving around the compound and towards the engineers. The defenders had already noticed the noisy, armoured marines and were pouring fire into them. One rocket blasted past and impacted near the leading marine and sent him crashing to the ground. He was up fast though and kept moving ahead. They were only twenty metres away now and Spartan contacted the closest on the intercom.
“4 ^ th Squad, can you bring down the wall?” he asked.
The lead marine in the heavy armour turned briefly to see Spartan and his squad emerge from the debris and fan out around the engineers.
“Nice to see you!” he said with a genuine sound of happiness in his voice. “If you can keep their heads down we’ll do the rest,” he said.
The arrival of the extra manpower gave them the cover they needed and with one final push the engineer unit surged ahead, leaping over the ruined perimeter wall and up to the thick masonry of the Command Centre. The defenders tried to hold them back but concentrated fire from Spartan’s squad kept their heads down.
The first marine slammed his armoured fist into the stone around the secondary doorway and ripped a metre long section from it. The second moved in and after several strikes tore a hole large enough to crawl inside. The two then grabbed the sides of the breach and tore them back, making a large hole in the wall to expose the dozen or so defenders to the wrath of the marines. As soon as the hole appeared, Jesus and Teresa tossed grenades inside. They rushed ahead, taking cover each side of hole. From inside they could hear panic as the unarmoured defenders tried desperately to avoid the weapons.
With a crump the hole filled with dust and bright flames rushed out. Spartan entered first and found only three dazed men still standing. He slashed the first across the throat as he struck the second with his fist. The heavy impact sent the man stumbling backwards and into a chair before he collapsed to the ground. Spartan pushed on inside as Teresa leapt in and dealt with the final man. Seeing the woman approach the fanatic gave her a wicked snigger and took a step forward to strike. Teresa simply blasted his leg, sending him crashing to the floor. Before he could try to respond she dropped down and embedded her bayoneted L48 rifle into his heart.
The two moved inside and the rest of the commandos followed. Several of them dealt with the wounded in their own particular style before the area was fully cleared. As Spartan stood in the room, he could see a long hallway decked with computer systems. However, none appeared to be connected to the high security weapons system. From his blueprints it said the weapon system was placed right here in its protected environment. He moved along, checking each as he went while the rest of the commandos spread out to secure the centre. Reaching the end he found a large iron-coloured blast door with a red light flashing next to it. A glowing sign above it simply read ‘Weapons Control’.
“Shit!” swore Spartan, as he realised there was no way he could get through such a massive structure, certainly not in hurry.
“Come on, we need a way in, this is what we’re here for!” he shouted.
Teresa took a step forward before looking up to Spartan.
“How about the engineers?”
She moved closer as she looked around the perimeter of the door, trying to find a weakness. The door was extremely well made and there were no discernable gaps between the wall and the metal of the door itself.
A hissing sound came from the door and to their astonishment it lifted up to reveal the control room with all of its systems undamaged and fully operation. They both turned back to see Jesus sat at one of the desks and working on the computer terminal.
“Jesus?” asked Spartan.
“Hey, man, like I told you, I’ve got skills!” he said laughing.
Spartan smiled and then stepped inside the room, their primary objective. He sat down in front of the main computer system and scanned the options available to him. From there he could access the landing grid, point defence weapons and orbital guns. He tapped on the orbital guns and a menu appeared offering him a variety of options from powering up, testing and firing sequences. He selected the off-line mode and a message popped up along with a series of images showing each of the guns disarming and reverting to safe mode. Satisfied that it was working he called back the Santa Maria.
“Spartan here, we’ve accessed the Weapons Control Centre, the system should be fully off-line in less than one minute,” he said with satisfaction.
“Excellent work. Private, the cavalry are on the way. Get your people back to the loading bays, we will have shuttles there for you shortly.”
Teresa turned to Spartan and gave him a thumbs up, things were starting to go their way.