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.