Beneath the Face of Saturn, Part 2
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	"Gamma Squad launching now, Captain," Ensign Will Hagen reported. He
watched his screens intently, verifying the successful launch of each member
of the squad. "Gamma squad away, sir."

	"Thank you, Ensign," Captain Henry answered. "Commander, status?"

	"All departments ready, sir. Main guns standing by." Commander
Xanatos grinned. "Let's give 'em hell, Captain."

	"Acknowledged, Commander," Captain Henry replied with a slight smile.
"Ensign Hagen, take us into high orbit."

	"Aye, Captain."

	The Normandy's thrusters kicked in and eased the frigate down toward
Enceladus.

	"Keep us even with the rest of the fleet, Helm," Capt. Henry ordered,
"We don't want to make ourselves a nice pretty target."

	Will kept one eye on his view of the other ships in the Fleet. The
other watched the altimeter. The window of opportunity between the altitude
at which frigate's long-range guns would become effective and where they
would come into range of the pirate guns was very small. Will wanted to nail
it. He called out distance to target altitude for the helmsman as they slid
down toward the surface.

	"Low orbit, Captain," Will reported as the Normandy settled into the
narrow margin of safety.

	"Orders, Captain?" Commander Xanatos asked.

	"Main guns, fire at will," Captain Henry said. "Make it count and
watch your targets. We've got friendlies down there."

	Will could feel the thrum of the main guns through the deck. He
scanned for new targets and fed in the coordinates to the targeting
computers, keeping a careful eye on the blips representing the jumptroops. He
listened to the comm traffic at the surface through the tiny link nestled in
his right ear. He gave priority to those installations giving the platoons
the most grief, saving the lulls in the battle below to target the more
peripheral turrets.

	"This is Sierra-Three," one of the many voices called in his ear,
"Taking heavy fire from a couple of hostiles at coordinates N 38.33.30 dash
W 122.38.15 Please advise."

	"Roger that," answered Morris, one of the e-frame pilots. "I have
them in sight. Hang tight and I'll see what I can do."

	"Acknowledged," came the reply. "Sooner rather than later if you
please."

	"Orders from the Resolute, Captain. Captain Marcus is ordering the
fleet to move to low orbit and continue the assault with all batteries, sir."

	"Status report on those enemy installations, Ensign Hagen?"

	Will quickly checked his scanners. "We're showing more than 90%
destroyed, Captain. No sign of other hostiles, sir."

	"Take her down, Ensign," Henry ordered. "Bring auxiliary weapons
on-line."

	"Aye, Captain."

	The Normandy and the rest of the Exo-Fleet maneuvered closer to the
moon Enceladus. Craters pock-marked its surface, some ancient, and some only
minutes old. The smoking ruins of gunnery installations were visible by
photoimagery. The Fleet began to pound the moon's surface as the jumptroops
pulled back into tight little clusters.

	Suddenly Will saw a flash of red on his console. His blood ran cold.

	"Captain!" he called out, "We've been targeted by multiple hostiles."
His fingers flew as he scanned the surface. "Hidden ground batteries, sir.
Both SAM's and pulse weapons." Captain Henry leapt for the comm to confirm.
"They've locked and are firing, sir."

	"They're too well-protected to target with just the long-range
weapons," Captain Henry noted. "This is going to be a slugfest, ladies and
gentlemen."

	"All hands, brace for impact," Xanatos ordered over the ship-wide
intercom.

	The frigate rocked as they were hit with a glancing blow by one of
the blast cannons. The ship listed hard to starboard, its stern thrown upward
by the force.

	"Stabilize," the captain ordered. "Keep a lock on those targets."

	"Thrusters off-line, sir."

	"Engineering, this is the captain." Henry opened the comlink to
engineering. "Get those thrusters back on-line. We sitting ducks here."

	"Aye, Captain," came the reply. "We're on it."

	Down in engineering Lieutenant Amy Hiatt sighed in exasperation and
turned away from the console. Grease smudged her cheek and she brushed back a
lock of shoulder length brown hair with a dirty hand. She took a quick survey
of the engine room. Her staff was working as fast as they could to reroute
thruster control where it had been severed close to engineering. Several
worked on rewiring the physical connections while others worked on getting
the computer to recognize the new pathways.

	Amy dropped to her knees and wriggled in next to Ensign Peter Watts,
repositioning his light so that the beam was focused on the rewiring he was
working on.

	"Thanks," he grunted. Amy handed him the wirecutters and told herself
she didn't REALLY need to do all the repairs herself. Sometimes delegating
was the hardest part of being the Chief Engineer.

	"How long?" she asked. Peter paused and turned to look at her.

	"It's all melted together back there, Lieutenant." He reached in
deeper and pulled on a mass of wires so that she could see. "I've got to get
this teased out and then rewire it."

	Amy looked at the mess a minute, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "You
know," she said, "If you bypass just the A-Five, A-Eleven, C-Six, and D-Five
relays, we can get the dorsal port aft thrusters on line. That way the
captain can get us leveled out and we can work on giving him the rest of the
variable aft thrusters after getting those cleared out. The bow thrusters are
gone for a while, I think."

	Peter looked closely at the wiring, running it through in his mind.
"Yeah, I got it," he said, grabbing the wirecutters again. Amy grinned and
tapped him on the shoulder as she wriggled out of the crawlspace.

	"Let me know if you need any help," she told him.


	"I need some help over here!" Unholy bellowed down on the moon's
surface. The jumptrooper knelt at his fallen comrade's side, covering her
while keeping an eye peeled for any movement. He swung his blast rifle around
as he scanned, his finger poised on the trigger. With his free hand he worked
at loosening the straps of Montrose's jumppack.

	"On my way," Captain Jose's voice sounded in his helmet. Unholy
glanced back over his shoulder and saw the captain's compactly muscular form
bounding toward him, staying low to the terrain. The jumppack on his back
blazed with each jump, aiding his low leaps across the surface. Combined with
Enceladus' gravity of less than one-fourth earth-norm, the jumppack enabled
Tom Jose to cover tens of meters at a time. Soon he was kneeling down with
Unholy.

	"Sierra-Three right flank, check your spacing to cover us," Tom
ordered over their platoon channel. "Hold your positions." Tom reached down
and pulled the straps back over Olivia's body. Her environment suit and
lightweight body armor were scorched but didn't appear to be compromised.
"What happened?" he asked.

	"Got hit square by a blaster," Unholy told him. "She was laying down
suppression fire for me. Her helmet checks out, and she's breathing. I think
her suit's intact."

	"Yeah," Tom said. "Alright. Crow?"

	"Yes, sir?"

	"We're not getting anywhere here without air support. Start pulling
over this direction," Tom said. "Montrose is down and we've got a hole." He
checked his hand-held scanner. "You guys gather up and concentrate on that
ridge to the north. It's got Baker-Two pinned down and it looks like the
E-frames are too busy trying to take out the big guns. Get those guys out of
there and we'll firm up with them. I'll be with you in a sec."

	"Roger that, Captain."

	Tom and Unholy rolled Olivia off her pack, sliding it out from
underneath her body. Crow held her on her side while Tom pulled out the
collapsible litter and let it unfold. They rolled her onto it, careful to
hold her head and neck stable with her shoulders. Then they wrapped her up
tightly and sealed the plastic cover over her body, helping to protect her
from the moon's low pressure atmosphere in the event of a slow leak in her
suit.

	An explosion rocked the ridge to the north, the pressure wave hitting
them moments later.

	"Sierra-Three, report!" Tom yelled.

	"The fusion pack on that gun battery blew," Crow reported. "We were
under cover but Baker-Two was pretty close." Tom and Unholy could hear him
grunting as he scaled the ridge and to take a look-see. "We've got multiple
wounded, Captain," he reported. "I repeat, multiple wounded."

	"How bad, Crow?" Tom asked on their private comm channel.

	"Real bad, Tom." Crow's voice was grim.

	"What the hell happened?" Tom and Unholy worked quickly to get Olivia
secured for transport. Taking advantage of the low gravity, Unholy tucked her
under one arm and grabbed his blaster. Tom covered him as they started moving
toward the ridge.

	"Looks like probably a faulty pack casing," Crow said. "It took a
couple of hits but nothing that should have caused a breach." Tom reached the
base of the ridge and made sure the rest of the platoon was secure before
climbing up the embankment. He knelt down next to his XO.

	"Jesus," he breathed. Bodies lay strewn across the rocky terrain
beyond the rim of a glowing red crater. Some of them moved. Others didn't.

	Crow showed him his radiation indicator. "Pretty hot, Captain. Even
with the radiation shielding in the suits I'd say we've got about fifteen
minutes to clear this area."

	"Normandy, this is Sierra-Three," he called over the ship channel.
"I've got multiple wounded here in a fusion pack explosion. We're evacuating
now. Mission aborted. I repeat, mission aborted."

	"Roger that, Sierra Three. Please advise."

	Tom pulled out his map and scanned it. "Here," he said, pointing it
out to Crow. "We can rendezvous with the shuttle at these coordinates. We can
get everybody at least to the next ridge in fifteen minutes if we make two
trips. Then it's only about another ten to get them to that flat area where
the shuttle can land." Crow nodded in agreement.

	"Alright, then. Normandy, this is Sierra-Three," he called. "Send an
evac shuttle to the following coordinates, N36.25.30 dash W110.38.16.
Rendezvous in twenty-five minutes. Better send additional medical personnel.
We've got more than we can handle here."

	"Roger that, Sierra Three. Evac shuttle en route."

	"Alright, troops," Tom Jose said grimly. "Let's get these guys out of
here. We don't leave a man behind."

	The rest of Sierra Three scaled the ridge and poured over into the
crater. Rapidly they assessed who was alive and who wasn't. The bodies they
threw into a pile on top of large litters that could be carried by four
people in this low gravity. The injured were packed up according to how bad
their environment suit was damaged. Those who could move were steadied in
flight over to the next ridge. It made Tom nervous to have them hanging over
the horizon like that, easy targets, but it was the fastest and easiest way
to move them.

	Unholy slung his blaster rifle over his shoulder and scooped up
Olivia and one of the Baker-Two troopers. Jets blasting, he rapidly spanned
the distance to the next ridge. He wondered how many of the wounded would die
in the next twenty-five minutes. Not that they would leave any of the bodies.
Jumptroops never leave a man behind. On their horse or on a shield, every
last man and woman made it home to their families. Unholy just hoped there
were more alive than dead when that evac shuttle reached them.
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to be continued with part 3