Prologue
Desolation
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New York [Manhattan, East American Protectorate], Earth [Sol System], October 20 2552.
The weather above Manhattan Island was taking a turn for worse. Pitch black clouds rolled in, blocking out the vibrant streaks of colour smudging the sky and casting a dull grey gloom over the crumbling buildings. On the jagged skyline was a fork of lightening, followed by the faint roll of thunder.
What remained of the civilians had been killed or evacuated. Left behind were cracked streets, crumbling buildings and piles of rubble where the faces of entire structures had fallen loose to reveal the skeletal metal frames within. Nothing stirred in the buildings, not even a mouse. Further into the city, the sky lit up, streaks of fire and smoke trailing into the angry black clouds as the civilian evacuation pods were launched. A trio of Hornets patrolled the airspace around the evacuation centre, their chin mounted guns swivelling and sweeping the rooftops below.
One of the pilots turned his head and felt sweat prickle his neck, seeing the Covenant ships crawl closer. They were miles away, at the very foot of the long island. In the distance the bulbous ships looked like flying fishing hooks, hovering still and serene in the sky, running lights blinking across their perfect sleek hulls. It would only be a matter of minutes before the aliens were all over them.
But in fact the Hornet pilots had about forty-five minutes until the Covenant ships were right on top of them. Whiskey two-zero had much less time than that.
The convoy of five M12 Warthog light reconnaissance vehicles tore through the city, weaving through abandoned cars and piles of rubble, making a straight line for the evacuation centre. The three warthogs in the middle of the single file formation were 'troop-hogs,' jeeps fitted to carry personnel and cargo. In the front seats were young ODST, black impact plating clad marines with specialised training. Their armour covered every inch of their body and bulwarked everything from their neck down to their boots. But even with their armour bulking them out slightly, the teenagers looked like children seated in the wide warthog LRVs.
The civilians in the back of the troop-hogs looked no better. But the civilians didn't look that great to begin with. Some of them were wounded, cradling burns in blood smeared hands. They were covered in dirt and carrying what little belongings they had in battered cases and torn black garbage bags. They looked fatigued and terrified at the same time, some of them fixated on the Covenant ships skirting the southern end of the island.
Coming up on a street, the sign for which hung limply from a crooked lantern pole, the lead warthog, retro-fitted with a light anti-aircraft machine gun on the back armed by another ODST, put the pedal to the metal. One by one the warthogs started to pick up the pace... except the last one.
Private Martin Chapel didn't even have time to curse as he clutched the handhold on the roll-frame above his head. He almost rolled out of his seat and into the driver's lap as Corporal Daniel Mason tugged at the steering wheel and slammed on the brakes. The tail of the jeep swung wide, tires screeching as they changed direction ninety degrees, and Daniel slammed his armoured boot back down on the accelerator, causing the vehicle to leap into a street perpendicular to the route the rest of the evacuation convoy was taking.
"What the fuck is going on?" the marine manning the gun, Private Perkins yelled. "Mason, what the fuck, man? The convoy is..."
"Shut the hell up Perkins!" Daniel snapped.
Martin opened his mouth to ask what the fuck was going on, when the squad leader's voice yelled at them over the radio. "Whiskey two-five! What's going on? Where are you going?"
Martin was about to reply when Daniel turned off the warthog's comm. system. The corporal glanced sideways, and Martin wished he could see his friend's eyes through the silver tinted visor of his helmet, just so he'd know what Mason was thinking.
"They're not far from here." Daniel said loudly.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Martin yelled angrily.
"I can't leave them, Dutch!" Daniel yelled back.
"Samantha's smart enough to know what the fucking sirens mean, Daniel!" Martin shouted. "She would have brought the kids to the evac-centre straight away!"
"I have to be sure." Daniel took his eyes off the road and looked Martin straight in the visor. "Goddamn it, Dutch... Martin... please."
Martin looked away from the corporal before glancing down and cursing out loud, kicking the dash board before tugging his rifle out of the hold beside his seat. Aiming the muzzle of his BR55HB battle rifle into his foot-well, Martin yanked back the charging handle and cradled the weapon in his lap.
"Perkins!" Martin yelled, his gaze remaining forward. "We're taking a detour! Possible civilians left behind! This shouldn't take long, all right?"
"This better be all right!" Perkins replied. "Because I swear to God, if everything is not all right..."
The ODST in the front of the warthog ignored him as the gunner went on a rant.
"Hang on!" Daniel yelled just before the warthog's front bumper clipped an idle vehicle, smashing the front of the delicate civilian craft and sending it spinning out of their way.
The road curved turned north and led past the massively redeveloped Central Park. Patches of grass were scorched, lakes seemed to be dried up and thick roots burst out of the ground where a downed pelican drop ship had crashed into a large oak tree.
Then something hit the road beside them. Martin ducked before looking up to see a phantom drop ship glide through the air beside them. It skirted dangerously close to the city rooftops and kept its chin mounted plasma cannon trained on the speeding warthog.
The Covenant drop ships were big enough to house twenty soldiers, had a smaller plasma cannon on the rear of the troop bay, a larger, heavier gun mounted just under the nose and had the manoeuvrability of a VTOL gunship. The beetle-like drop ship nimbly banked over their heads and soared over the park's treetops.
"Uhm... Mason?" Perkins said.
"I see it." Daniel said with some annoyance as he weaved through the street, decelerating as little as he dared to weave around obstacles.
"Mason!" Perkins shouted more urgently as the plasma cannon fired again, incinerating the road dangerously close to the right front wheel.
"I see it!" Daniel yelled irritably over the sound of the gunner yanking the charging lever of the machine gun. "Fuck! Hang on!" he clipped another vehicle, seeing no other way through a cluster of parked obstacles, causing the warthog to jolt and send two cars spinning out of their way.
Martin glanced over his shoulder to see Perkins swivel the weapon around, aiming the three barrel rotary gun at the drop ship. The private gritted his teeth, feeling the air in his chest cavity vibrate as the gunner thumbed the fire controls of the machine gun. 12.7 Millimetre titanium tipped armour piercing rounds were pumped out of the weapon in handfuls. The AIE-248MG was perfect for turning other light vehicles and light aircraft to Swiss cheese. It also worked wonders on infantry, turning enemy personnel into paint.
The barrels span and flickered, sending twelve rounds at the aircraft with every burst. In response the drop ship weaved and ducked, rising and falling behind the canopy before soaring over them, plasma gun flickering. Bolts of supercharged energy hit the road beside them, splashing them with heat and negligible amounts of radiation. Never the less, Martin panicked as he heard his armour's internal Geiger counter click furiously. The phantom swooped ahead of them, hovering low over the street to reveal the rear of the drop ship hung open. Looking up, Martin spotted the stationary plasma gun mounted to the deck of the troop bay, manned by a squat little alien in orange armour. The rapid fire weapon wasn't as powerful as the phantom's main gun, but could still incinerate infantry.
The plasma gun hummed and the grunt manning the controls unleashed an unrelenting volley of blue bolts.
"Down!" Martin cried as he dropped down into the foot-well.
Heat painfully prickled the back of his neck as plasma splashed across the angled armour of the jeep, melting the windscreen. Perkins didn't take his thumbs off the triggers and continued to fire up at the drop ship.
And then, suddenly, cool relief as the drop ship weaved and swooped right, belching smoke from the troop compartment. Looking up, Martin heard an alien scream. Explosions rippled across the side of the drop ship as it fell sideways, catching itself at the last minute, just before scraping across the rooftops. A second later came the whine of an unstable fusion coil. An explosion suddenly burst out of the top of the drop ship, scattering flaming debris everywhere. The craft's nose dipped and it rolled hard to right, smashing front first into a line of buildings. Dust and debris scattered over the road as the phantom hooked on something, spinning around and falling into the street in front of the speeding warthog.
"No!" Martin yelled, pointing at the phantom.
"Yes!" Daniel yelled back, flooring the accelerator as the phantom fell into their path. "Hang on!" he eased on the gas a bit and tugged at the steering wheel.
The LRV twisted right and slipped up onto a sidewalk. As they ploughed through an abandoned hot-dog stand, the phantom crashed into the street upside down and slid to a painful halt, sparking and flaming furiously. As soon as they broke through the stand, Daniel weaved back out into the street, narrowly avoiding what looked like magazine kiosk.
"Oh, snap you can drive." Martin said queasily, clutching the dashboard tightly.
"Yeah!" Daniel yelled relieved, glancing into the cracked rear view mirror. "Take that you fuckers!" he burst out laughing. "You okay back there, Perkins?"
Clutching his rifle, Martin turned in his seat. Perkins wasn't there anymore. He was literally gone. He must have been hit and fallen off the warthog. And at this speed, if the plasma didn't kill him, the fall would have. Grimly, Martin turned to front again.
"He's gone, Daniel." Martin said softly.
The corporal's laugh died in his throat and he fell silent.
They eased down on speed and slowly pulled up in front of a tall apartment building. This was the place. This was where Daniel's family lived. A two thousand room building, a nice kind of neighbourhood and close to a good school. But as Martin leapt from the warthog and looked around, the neighbourhood didn't seem as nice as it used to be. It looked ghostly in the stormy gloom, littered with rubble and deserted. Swallowing hard, the Dutch seventeen year old marine shouldered his rifle and followed the corporal up the steps to the front door.
Daniel didn't waste any time, putting his boot through the glass door and forcing his way into the stairwell. It was quiet, their footsteps hollow in the empty building, echoing up the staircase as they climbed to the fourth floor, weapons level, ears straining to make out any sounds.
Reaching the top of the last flight of steps, the corporal took cover by the open door and indicated the direction Martin should cover by pointing with his index and middle finger. The private nodded and followed Daniel in, weapon raised. He flicked on his torch to illuminate the hallway's shadows as he swept the area. He cleared his direction and nodded at Daniel, who nodded back. The corporal pointed down the hall Martin was facing, and the younger ODST gingerly led the way. Turning off his torch, Martin noted the numbers on the apartment doors.
"Three-fourteen..." he muttered under his breath. "Three-sixteen... three-eighteen... three-twenty... here it is. Tree-twenty-two."
Martin stood perfectly still, watching the slightly askew door. The frame was splintered, lock forced open. There were shuffling footsteps inside, and the distinct hiss of breathing apparatus. Carefully Martin pressed the muzzle of his rifle against the wooden door and slowly pushed it open. He immediately froze on his view into the apartment's living room. Strewn out over the couch was a body. It was a young woman, twenty-four years old, curled dark blonde hair and her dead pale blue eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling. She had plasma burns all across the front of her body, and her limbs were nonchalantly strewn out over the furniture, her blood still wet and glistening on the teal upholstery. Standing by the young woman's body was a grunt, inspecting the corpse with curiosity. The small bow-legged alien wasn't much taller than the couch and waddled with a hunch, lugging the large methane tank on his back as he sniffed at the woman's dead face, his breathing mask hissing and venting cold gasses.
Martin quickly turned to grab Daniel, knowing exactly what was coming next... but he was too late. The corporal had already seen the corpse of Samantha Mason lying there.
"Dan... shit!" Martin cried out as Daniel pushed past him and kicked the door open completely.
The corporal cried out with a mixture of rage and grief, still clearly heard over the roar of his assault rifle. The MA5C chattered as a dozen rounds flickered from the muzzle. The first three rounds sliced through the grunt's head, causing the creature to topple sideways to the ground, spilling phosphorous blood on the carpets. Methane hissed from the creature's breached helmet as the next rounds sliced into another grunt sniffing around the room. This one took the rest of the burst in the chest, causing its armour to come apart and the alien's gut to blossom open like a slimy, bloody flower.
Martin was in next and fired a burst, toppling a third grunt minus his head. A familiar screech caught the private's ear and he glanced over his shoulder through the bathroom door. Inside was a jackal, a tall, lean, bird-like reptilian monster. It held a plasma pistol in one hand and had a collapsible energy shield mounted on the other wrist.
The pistol came up at the same time as Martin's foot. His boot made contact with the alien's wrist, and a sickening crack later the energy weapon clattered to the ground as the jackal fell back a step, screeching in pain. Martin's rifle came up next, and a three round burst later the alien's beaked face caved in and his brains spurted against the far wall behind him.
Martin turned to see Daniel let loose a sustained burst at something that came charging out the bedroom. The private moved closer only to find himself seize up as an elite entered his field of vision. The seven foot monstrosity threw himself across the room, Daniel's rounds bouncing off his personal force field and connected with the corporal. The human fell over backwards and crashed through the coffee table, ending wood splinters and shards of glass flying everywhere. Daniel cried out as the alien landed on top of him and raised a fist. The hand came down and smashed into the ODST's helmet, cracking the visor, before coming up again.
Martin launched himself forward, rifle first and ran straight into the elite's side. The alien's shields flared as the alien fell sideways and hit the ground. Martin caught himself and stayed on his feet, planting a boot against the elite's back and aiming his weapon point blank at the alien's head. The alien's roar was drowned out by the battle rifle burst that ended his life.
Martin was about to clear the room when something crashed into him. Recoiling from the blow he saw a second jackal had thrown himself against him. The alien held what looked like a short energy blade in one hand, and slashed at the human. The private ducked back as the blade swished by, crackling with energy before Martin jumped forward and stomped his foot down as hard as he could on the jackal's thigh. The bone snapped and the jackal keeled forward to meet the stock of Martin's rifle. The alien fell to the ground and the private finished him off by crushing his skull beneath his boot. The jackal's last screech died in a crack and a wet gurgle.
Breathing heavily against his helmet's faceplate, Martin straightened up and swept the living room. It was clear... for now. Looking down, the private saw Daniel had crawled over to where his wife lay. He was sobbing against the inside of his helmet as he gently closed Samantha's lifeless eyes. Martin didn't even want to know where the kids were. He didn't want to have to look for them either.
Dropping his weapon in its sling, Martin grabbed hold of the corporal and dragged him to his feet with much protest.
"No!" Daniel yelled. "Let me go!" he struggled, trying to shake the private off him. "I'm not leaving her... I'm not leaving them!" he corrected himself, probably thinking where the kids were now.
"They're dead, Daniel!" Martin yelled, pinning Daniel against the nearest wall. "They're dead and there's nothing you can do about it."
There was a long silence before the corporal broke down sobbing again. So many emotions tore violently through his heart. Grief, hatred, sadness... pain... he couldn't register all of them at the same time. He didn't know how to register... he didn't have the faintest clue how to handle any of them right now. He wanted to curl up and die. There was no other way to describe it. He wanted his misery to just end.
"I'm sorry, Daniel, but we have to go." Martin said softer this time. "Remember what you taught me?" Martin didn't wait for him to answer. "There is always time for grief after the mission is over... the mission is not over yet, sir. We still need to get to extraction."
Daniel stared at the younger ODST for a long time, remembering those wise words he'd taught to the private himself. It felt like a lifetime ago. Taking a long breath and swallowing hard, the corporal quickly nodded.
"You cool?" Martin asked for good measure, knowing very well the corporal was the opposite of cool right now.
"Frosty." Daniel muttered, turning and leaving the apartment, completely forgetting his assault rifle which lay forgotten beside Samantha's body.
Martin followed him out and helped the corporal stagger out to the street. He let him lean against the hood of the warthog for a moment while he caught his breath. Martin quickly checked down either end of the street for any contacts. The Covenant weren't on top of them yet. They still had a chance to make it to the evacuation centre.
That's when Martin heard a faint wail. It started as a soft whistle of wind rushing through the buildings, then amplified into a full blown deafening screech. By the time the private thought of looking up the building exploded.
A blue sun blossomed out of the apartment's roof, tossing dust and debris into the air. The foundations shook and collapsed. The building imploded, falling in on itself, belching thick black smoke and clouds of brown dust into the air. More shells hit the ground. Two more hit the apartment building, one a neighbouring building and another hit the street. The ground shook as the enemy artillery rained down on the street, exploding around them. Daniel was on the ground before Martin knew what was happening. By the time he realised they were being shelled it was too late. As he turned to grab Daniel and run for cover when a shell hit the warthog right in the midsection. The resulting explosion swept Martin off his feet and launched him into the air before he hit the ground hard.
Everything went black.
He felt blood running from his nose, down across his cheek. For a while all Martin could hear were hollow thuds of the shells hitting the ground further down the street. Quickly the shock passed and his hearing returned. The thuds grew louder and more frequent. Then a scream filled his ears and he thought of Daniel.
Forcing his eyes open, for a moment all he could see was the blurry outline of a burning tire rolling past his field of vision. The world was on its side. He was lying on his front, looking down the street, through the flaming debris of the warthog and splatters of blood on the inside of his visor at Daniel lying on his back. His arms were outstretched up to the sky, his armour melted and smoking, his voice shrieking in pain at the top of his lungs. Pressing his hands against the ground, Martin managed to rise to his knees, and eventually got unsteadily to his feet, stumbling through the bits of shrapnel and flaming chunks of molten plastic. As he got closer he saw Daniel's injuries better. His visor was shattered and bits of tempered glass were embedded in the side of his face, blood running into his right eye. His chest plate was cracked and melted into his chest and some of the impact plating was peeling off to reveal his uniform was scorched underneath.
Martin didn't even say anything. He just grabbed hold of the corporal, lifted him off the ground, draped him over his shoulders and straightened up. More shells shook the ground. The apartment building behind him half stood, rickety and ready to collapse. Martin would prefer to be a block away when whatever was holding the building up gave way. He ran into the nearest alley on the opposite end of the street and followed it into the next block.
The next street looked empty. Struggling under Daniel's weight, Martin slowed to a walk and emerged onto the pavement, looking out over the new stretch of abandoned cars and bits of debris. The tremors the artillery shells caused were less intense here... but the adrenaline suddenly kicked Martin in the gut again.
Something moved on the other end of the road. A trio of jackals, two of which had their pistols ready and shields deployed. The lead jackal, a particularly ugly example of nature with vibrant red spines fanning out along his neck screeched, hefting his sleek plasma rifle in one claw while flicking his other wrist. In a burst of light a thin round energy shield projected, detached from his wrist by a few millimetres.
"Ooooh, shi..." Martin started seeing the two other jackals charge their plasma pistols.
He reached down for his rifle... it wasn't there.
The plasma weapons hummed and glowed with sickly green energy...
They aimed...
Suddenly the whine of rotary gun fire filled the air, followed quickly by trails of dust in the ground as hundreds of 40mm titanium jacketed rounds raining down on the three aliens. The two minors were just tossed to the ground where they twitched before they died. The leader was exposed to longer bursts of fire and was literally torn bloody chunk from bloody chunk where he stood. Big, gaping holes blasted through the reptilian creature, tearing away chunks of flesh, splintering bone and ripping off limbs. The shield didn't even last a second and popped out of existence as the jackal's life fluttered and was extinguished almost instantaneously.
Martin looked up with surprise to see a bulky DC77-TC pelican hovering over the street. With the rumble of the artillery and the blood pounding through his ears he couldn't hear the whisper quiet whoosh of the four pivoting engines, two on the tail nacelles and one on each wing. The drop ship slowly rotated on a central axis and smoothly lowered to the street, kicking up clouds of dust. Martin strode closer.
Someone pulled him aboard. The next few minutes moved so quickly, he didn't even notice them pass. A medic took care of Daniel. Another pulled off Martin's helmet and checked him for injuries. Other than a nosebleed and some bruises he was unharmed. Daniel wasn't so lucky. Severe cuts and grazes, third degree burns and his right gauntlet was infused with his skin. As he watched the medic pump pain killers into the whimpering corporal, the squad's sergeant bounded across the troop bay and knelt beside Martin.
"Dutch." Sergeant Oliver Reynolds said, softly at first. Realising Martin was seized; Oliver patted the private on the shoulder. "Dutch!" he called louder this time.
Martin snapped out of it and looked up at the bigger marine. Oliver had always been the biggest of them, built like a tank and he looked like he could punch like a freight train.
"Uh..." Martin took a breath, squeezed his hazel eyes shut and shook his head. "Sir! Sorry."
"What happened?" Oliver asked patiently. "Where did you guys disappear off to?"
Martin looked at Daniel as he slipped out of the conscious world. What could the private say? 'We ran off to find Daniel's wife and kids to find them mercilessly slaughtered, so now we've lost a corporal because he's emotionally compromised?' That wouldn't fly. As soon as he got better, no matter how his condition, Daniel would want to fight. If Martin told Oliver the truth, Daniel's chance for revenge would evaporate.
Martin opened his mouth, paused, then took a breath and looked Oliver straight in the visor. "I... sorry, sir. It was my fault. We got lost... I'm not good with maps..."