Ruthin began to give orders furiously, ranging from troop deployments to retaliatory cannon fire. Many members of the crew were either noncombative or civilian entirely. Although the military trained its engineers, technicians, etc, they were far enough detached from war to contract civilians skilled in their field. A battleship of this size only had 150 soldiers who were training in actual combat. Almost half of them would be psionics with incredibly diverse abilities, a fact which made calculating actual military power almost impossible.
Dillon watched the commotion and felt sick to his stomach. Thoughts of his friends and family, ones he would never lay eyes on again, came to him over and over again. Although the Invoker was a powerful ship, they were nothing against the crown jewel of Earth, especially when it was joined by several other ships that were in no way inferior to itself. As the sound of the drills got louder, his anxiety only increased, till his stomach twisted and his face contorted with fear.
"Soldier, shape up," a nearby officer said upon seeing his condition.
"Yes sir," Dillon hesitated, then asked, "Are we going to die?"
The officer paused, then glanced at Commander Ruthis. The man happened to be looking at them and had overheard the question. The small frown on his weathered face only deepened.
"Perhaps. Our transmission to Titan seems to have been prevented. Still, they know our location and will send some reconnaissance if we disappear."
"But won't we be dead?" Dillon's face broke.
"To be a soldier is to place your life on the line for something even more important. Although they might take our lives, we should be proud to be the first casualties in this war of oppression. Liberty has a price, and the bill has come due," Ruthis said heavily.
"I became a soldier because it pays the bills," a girl muttered off to the side. "Why do I have to die for that? Won't they accept surrender?"
Ruthis' head snapped over to her. "Then it's time to earn your keep. Fight like there is no tomorrow, otherwise, there won't be. Not for you, or me, or any of us."
For some reason, Dillon found the commander's words to be comforting. Not that he said anything particularly inspiring, but having the situation spelled out like that reduced his fear of the unknown. The outcomes were rather simple, and knowing that made things easy. Fight and die. Cower, and also die.
Just as he resolved himself, the first boarding craft breached the hull, releasing a plague of enemies into the ship. Although none had landed in the immediate area around the bridge, Dillon watched the display, which had shifted a map of the interior of the ship, as soldiers engaged, fought, and killed one another. The constant pattern of gunfire and dull ring of vibrations perpetually vibrated through the floor and from the hallways, filling the bridge with a white noise that made concentration impossible.
Dillon closed his eyes and took deep breaths through his nose. Although the defenders had an advantage in their knowledge of the geography of the ship, the invaders had a greater number, and had powerful psionics among them, obviously chosen for their skill in the situation. Force fields provided unbreachable cover from attacks, while those capable of viewing auras led boarding parties around, hunting soldiers and civilians alike. Although the death toll among Earth forces was considerable, they pressed on without regard to life or limb. Soldiers on both sides fell with bloody screams, conviction still burning in their dying eyes. It was a slaughter, pure and simple. No quarter was asked for, or given.
The battle raged for the next few hours, and the soldiers from Earth slowly gained momentum. Titan soldiers were most concentrated around the bridge and barracks, which occupied the front third of the ship. That remained in friendly hands, but the rest was falling, bit by bit. Ruthin's face paled a bit more as each group of soldiers went silent, one by one, till the invaders managed to crush all signs of resistance. Then they began to amass in the hallways leading to the bridge, swarming about like ants. Out of the five hundred soldiers, the boarding crews began with, perhaps two hundred were left. Still, they outnumbered the remaining crew of the Invoker ten to one.
Abruptly, the lights shut off, plunging the bridge into darkness. Dillon began to panic, but managed to quell his fear until the lights came back on, several minutes later. They had shut off their access to power. Fortunately, emergency power was routed through different lines, and wouldn't be discovered for so long. Even so, Ruthin turned off the display and ordered all unnecessary expenditures reduced. The emergency power was much more limited, after all.
By this time, Dillon was no longer the only guard on the bridge. Throughout the battle, as many soldiers as were ably retreated to the bridge, which was now packed with armed men and women. The technicians, pilots, and other officers were also armed with spare weaponry, and makeshift barricades were placed wherever possible. Most of the people were like Dillon and had the helpless resolve of those destined to die. Although they had no desire to give their life for Titan, that choice had been taken from them. If they had to pay the ultimate price, they were willing to exact as much of that cost from the invaders as possible.
"They've gathered, They'll reach us in about a minute, or so." a psionic said, brow scrunched in concentration.
Commander Ruthin nodded and gave his final commands. "Very well, prepare yourselves. Team one, ensure their explosives are unable to detonate within the room. Team two, interferes with their formations. Team three, use shields to support us wherever we grow thin."
While they had waited, the soldiers with useful psionic abilities had been sorted into various teams, each with a role to play. Although the overall quality wasn't too great, most could, at least, help out in a battle. Team one, for instance, was filled with the strongest telekinetics, who would catch grenades and deflect them back into the enemy troops. Team two, on the other hand, were the aura manipulators and telepaths, who were capable of mixing up the mind of just about anyone. While someone screaming in your head might not be lethal, it would certainly distract you from shooting straight.
Dillon was near the front, crouched behind an extended interface, from which several people had once controlled the ship's propulsion systems. His gun was steady, but more from the numbness which filled him than pure courage. Although resigned to his fate, he still feared the pain and death which was to come. No amount of inspiration would crush his sense of self-preservation.
After what felt like an eternity, the rhythmic clank of soldier's boots sounded from the hallway, echoing louder with an ever-growing crescendo. All other strongholds had been crushed, save the bridge, so the enemy forces were gathered for an all-out assault. The large doors leading into the bridge were wide open, so Dillon aimed his gun towards the bend in the hallway. That would be where the first of his killers would appear from.
A purple field sprang into existence from around the bend. Ruthin gave the command, and everyone with a shot opened fire as Earth's soldiers streamed around the bend in an endless river. Bullets and psionic attacks struck the forcefield shielding their charge, but the combined attacks barely caused it to shudder. It held for almost all of the few seconds it took for the first wave of perhaps twenty soldiers to reach the entrance, only breaking as they broke through the doorway.
Despite the distance they had covered, most of the twenty soldiers immediately died as ragged holes appeared all over their bodies the instant the forcefield was destroyed. By the time they all fell, though, the next wave had reached their spot, and forced their way onto the bridge, guns blazing. They began to spread out, fighting with the defenders at close range for control of the barricades.
Dillon heard someone screaming as he unloaded his weapon. It was only after he swallowed, and felt how raw his throat had become, did he realize that someone was him. Dillon's shots found their mark time and time again, though they had little impact on the tide of enemies flooding the room. Although nearly fifty allied soldiers had gathered on the bridge, the number of invaders had almost matched them. As they began to trade bullets, the number of casualties for the Titans rose, and they began to lose the advantage. Though not one soldier died without taking someone with him, they were pressed for the edge.
When the end finally came, Dillon had long since run out of his limited supply of ammunition, as well as that of the corpse beside him. The unfortunate man had a bullet through the eye, a result of an unlucky attempt to counterattack. Dillon himself held a hand against his arm, finger stuffed into a large bullet hole. Blood seeped around his knuckle, dyeing his hand a crimson red. A few other bloody gashes had appeared on his body, evidence of several near misses. The shock and adrenaline mostly suppressed the pain, but his breathing was shallow and uneven. He collapsed against the computer desks he had taken cover behind and waited for someone to appear and shoot him.
Eventually, Dillon became aware of silence. The shooting, which had become an irrefutable constant, was gone. He weakly raised his head, but his view was obstructed by the row behind him. Dead and dying lay strewn about on the ground, their blood weaving a gruesome spiderweb upon the ground. He could hear people moving about and talking in low voices but wasn't able to make out what they were saying. Occasionally, a solitary gunshot would echo out, accompanied by a scream.
A face appeared in his field of view and a barrel leveled at his chest. Unable to look at the weapon, he looked higher, at its wielder's face. His eyes widened slightly in surprise. The soldier was youthful, barely more than a boy. Tears stained his face, still dripping from reddened eyes. A large bloody gash split one of his cheeks apart, the blood mingling with the tears.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," the boy mumbled and closed his eyes.
Dillon faintly heard a gunshot but felt nothing. His eyes were heavy, as was the rest of his body. His head bowed, and he saw a small blossom of blood pulsing from his chest, ejecting small spurts of blood with each heartbeat. Soon, the flow ebbed, then faded. Before even that, though, Dillon had breathed his last.