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your comrades and remember your training. Good luck!”
    The message flickered and then cut back to the map.
    “Another message from our fearless leader!” said one of the marines as he banged his rifle magazine on his head.
      “Sixty seconds!” the pilot shouted.
    A hiss spread through the craft as the vessel depressurised. Although the marines were all wearing fully enclosed suits, the craft were always pressurised to provide full protection for the crew and passengers in case of any equipment or armour faults during space operations. It was also common for the craft to carry unarmoured passengers, especially when used for medical evacuation or transport missions. The system was fast and in just seconds the indicator on Spartan’s suit confirmed the status of the vessel. The metal shutters clunked open a few centimetres, giving each of the marines their first view of the warzone. As the shutters moved into position the escape hatches and access ramps disarmed, ready for landing under fire. The last thing the marines needed was to be trapped on board stuck in a firefight.
    On both sides of the craft were great clouds of black smoke from the many fires spread around the countryside and outskirts of the city. On the sides of the landing craft were door guns, each one a large calibre projectile weapon capable of shredding a man. They were used to fend off light aircraft or to provide ground support during a landing. Spartan had used one in the low gravity ground conflict on the Naval Station and had experienced the devastating firepower of the weapons firsthand. With their speed reducing, the gunners moved to their exposed positions along the sides of the craft. The weapons unlocked from their secure, armoured lockers where they were kept safe during re-entry.
    Jackson looked up to Spartan who was busy checking the settings in his suit.
    “You ready, man?”
    “Hell, yeah!” he said with a grimace.
    “Is Daniels coming down with us or is he staying with the ship?” Marcus asked.
    As if to answer the question the figure of the Lieutenant appeared. He wasn’t wearing any armour and for a moment Spartan and Marcus were confused. Then the Lieutenant turned and pulled himself inside his CES armour. Two of the marines helped seal him in.
    “Hell, do you think he could have left it a bit later?”
    “Maybe he was hoping to stay with the boat, Marcus?” said one of the marines who had been listening to the side.
    “Hey, I’ve served with the Lieutenant, I’ve seen him in action and I know where his loyalties lie. Now button it, Marine!” growled Spartan.
    He turned away from the annoyed marine and looked down at his tactical display. It showed the health and positions of the entire platoon, as well as links to the other marine units in the air and on the ground. He tapped a button and most of the data vanished to show his own platoon and the dangers in their immediate area. The last thing he needed was an information overload in a hostile area.
    A great roar rushed from the vessel’s engines as they reversed thrust to slow their descent at the very last minute. It was comparable to the kick felt when an aircraft reversed its thrusters when landing.
    “Ten seconds!”
    The door gunners were already engaging targets but from where Spartan stood he had no idea what they were firing at. The clatter of weapon fire hit the hull of the craft like rain but none of the rounds penetrated, they must have been rifles and pistol ammunition. That was a good start.
    They must have hit the ground hard as the seal on the right of the boat holding him upright snapped clean off. It took a superhuman effort on his part not to smash against the bulkhead. As he straightened up, the side door dropped down with a heavy thud and the unit was instantly exposed to the ongoing battle. Without pausing he flicked the seal switch to release his suit and then bounded for the door. The suit was frustratingly slow, no quicker than a man moving at a