The man's gaze drifted across the low-ceilinged room with an old man's resigned anticipation. He was currently looking in turn at each of the other six men sitting around the long, dark mahogany table at which he was seated as the head. Long, black burn marks etched into the dark golden-brown wood from countless cigars covered the table, and as the man folded his large hands over each other and placed them on the officer's table he ran his thumb over one of the burn marks.
"Attention men. Eyes this way"
Clipped and very English; the voice sliced through the silence
All eyes in the long room turned to the speaker at the head of the expensive table.
A low-peaked officer's navy cap embellished with a quintet of golden stars sat low over his heavy brow, covered his cropped steel hair and cast his face in shadow. His pressed uniform cut a sharp figure in the dimly lit room, accentuating the barrel chest and expansive shoulders that led to his thick bull's neck and heavy jawline.
Fleet-Admiral Nathaniel Stratton ran a furrowed, immense hand over his luxuriant pepper-and-salt chevron moustache. He had the attention of the men around him now, and with a quiet cough he cleared his throat.
"At 0357 September 13, 2548, UNSC Reach time, contact with the 5th ONI Prowler group Far Flung was lost. As you all know, the 5th was carrying highly classified intelligence important to members of the ONI division located above Rios IV. As we all know, the 5th ran into an unknown battle-group of heavy Covenant CCS ships on a- presumed- long-range route back towards whatever hell they call a home planet. The FLEET-COM vid-transmission I am about to show you contains classified footage pertaining to the 5th, that was captured by a long-distance Longsword patrol from the 5th that managed to hide, powered down, on an asteroid and capture the footage. The Longsword made it out of the system thanks to its Shaw-Fujikawa drive. It is imperative, gentleman may I reinforce, that the Intel does not become lost to us. Is that understood? The transmission will begin momentarily."
Admiral Stratton sat back in his tall chair as he drew a thick, long cigar from a small box by his hands. The flaky chocolate exterior felt familiar in his hands as he brought it to his lips and struck a match to light it.
Behind Fleet-Admiral Stratton, along the ceiling, dropped a long monitor on a roof mount, curving slightly along its length; the monitor was in clear view for the other six officers.
It looked like some kind of sleek and bulbous Manta-Ray as it drifted across the screen. A countless array of antennae, sensors and weapons jutted from the purple-blue hull. The nose of the ship curved inwards and down, coming back to face the stern of the ship. Along the centre of the craft was a massive hangar bay from which a maelstrom of small-craft poured. The ship was monstrous.
Their target was the small trio of black-and-grey craft drifting beside the debris of a shattered, melted asteroid marked with scorches of hot plasma.
The largest of the three ships sputtered a brief moment as her engines struggled to re-ignite in the cold vacuum of space before launching a final quartet of small missiles from the last rack along the ventral missile bays, lancing towards the immense cruiser looming deathly above it; they barely scratched the shields.
The point-defence cannons along the flanks of the frigate opened fire one last time and a score of Covenant Seraph fighters were replaced by blue-green explosions. The frigate was giving one last, defiant shove whilst the two smaller craft were ominously less active. The frigate and two prowlers were sitting ducks for the incoming cruiser, and, as the officers sat around the table, looking at this new footage, they all groaned; they saw a ball of bright purple flare against one small protrusion along the Covenant hull, and a lance of purple, silk-fine and perfectly straight, lacerate the frigate's port-side. Titanium-A battle plate melted and the frigate began to buckle and vent atmosphere. She listed to her starboard, belching fire and oxygen from the ripped, melted gash along her broken flank.
The frigate's nuclear reactors overloaded.
A mini supernova expanded from the UNSC vessel, imploding quickly in the vacuum before suddenly and very violently it ballooned outward once more, engulfing the starboard-facing prowler. The prowler, small and almost unarmoured, was torn to pieces in the wake of the nuclear explosion; hull, crew members and debris suddenly were blown apart or into space.
The final ship was boarded, swiftly and viciously, but in the wake of the fiery supernova that was the frigate, a single small pod had made a quick and dangerous break, unnoticed and free.
And the transmission ended.
Silence filled the room.
The youngest of the six officers stood stiffly to attention before the Fleet-Admiral and saluted.
"Sir, Alexander DeWinter at attention; requesting permission to speak freely, sir"
The young man removed his peaked officer's cap and held it in a white-knuckle grasp against his side.
"The Covenant out-gun us Three-to-one sir. That cruiser on screen was at least two miles long sir, and had at least three destroyers in escort. To re-acquire that intelligence would require a lot of resources and would cost us more than any amount of Intel could possibly be worth, sir- Not to mention that new ship; the big one. It was bigger than a Cruiser!"
Fleet-Admiral Stratton shook his head but also was smiling sadly at the young officer's words.
The boy was right.
"Son, at ease now, at ease; FLEET-COM and HIGH-COM agrees with your sentiments. But unfortunately the damn Covenant bastards are less than two systems away from a populated UNSC zone of rather important nature. The sixth planet in the system, Rios IV, as it turns out, contains a refuelling and re-arming orbital facility for UNSC ships, as well as a sizeable compliment of frigates and destroyers, at least three of each. This gives us an opportunity we simply cannot pass up. That Intel will be aboard the cruiser, of that ONI are certain. One of you six will be leading a small battle-group to reinforce the garrison above Rios."
Nate Stratton was old; He knew it as much as he felt it- His knees and chest were stiff for hours after he woke up and he was nowhere near his peak of fitness. He would not be leading the battle-group. It would fall to one of the younger, more eager or ambitious men.
At the end of the table, furthest from the Fleet-Admiral, one of the six stood and nodded.
Stratton knew he would volunteer.
The Charon-Class frigates Odysseus and Pericles eased themselves into normal space with slight turbulence above Rios IV's far moon as their engines began to shut down and cool. With their Friend-or-Foe beacons activated the two ships drifted towards their designated rendezvous location. Moments later the twin destroyers; the battle-scarred Demeter and the recently repaired Medusa transitioned roughly into standard sub-space as well, forming a loose crescent-formation on the outer flanks of the frigates. Last of all, tearing a hole larger than either class of the previous ships had in slip-space, appeared one of the mighty UNSC Halcyon-Class cruisers. The UNSC's main-line cruiser class, the Halcyon cruisers were large, weighing in at over 1000 yards in length. Heavily armoured -and even more impressively armed after a series of retrofit and re-armament stays in dry-dock above Reach and Earth, this particular cruiser was a true ship-of-the-line. The thick Titanium-A hull bore countless scorch marks and scores from plasma and asteroids. Her engines cooled as she drifted on inertia into formation in the centre of the battle-group. Along her flanks were the re-painted letters spelling her name; Centurion.
Rios IV was a green jewel of a planet; expansive and lush, the planet was used for farming and as a mining world. The space facilities above the planet, however, were useful to the small battle-group entering the system as they provided fuel, ammunition and personnel. Even more good news reached the arriving battle-group; a small number of grey-black flecks drifted around the space station; UNSC vessels.
Standing at the fore-most viewing platform on the Centurion with a mug of coffee in his left hand, the tall and lithe figure was cast in the deep shadow of the unlit room. Alone and quiet the man stood, taking a long and luxurious sip of his drink before activating the COMS system nearby.
On a small HOLO-pad beside his right thigh appeared a blue-tinted, fully coloured delineation of a beautiful young woman with long black hair and jade, sparkling eyes.
"Hello again, Captain."
Her voice was like the soft ripple of water over rocks that sent chills down his spine.
The mug came to the man's lips again and he took a second tedious, enjoyable sip of his caffeine-filled beverage. A pair of charcoal-brown eyes peered out towards the large mining-farming planet before the battle-group. Cropped, spiked black hair was tousled from sleep and he rubbed a hand along the heavy bags under his eyes.
"Welcome back to my private haven, Adrianna. I was rather enjoying my quiet moment alone."
Her laugh was just as perfect as her holographic figure; fine china rattling softly perhaps, a gentle, high-pitched giggle that was feminine and practised. They both knew his words only sounded harsh; the captain had no issues with this AI, or the crew-member she was originally constructed from.
"The garrison group above Rios IV sir just gave us an inventory, if you will; six Paris-Class frigates and two more Charon-Class frigates are complimented by a trio of heavy destroyers. There is also an older and damaged Halcyon-Class cruiser in dry dock, if you would like me to enhance optical zoom over the geo-sync platforms? No? Ok. Is there anything else you would like, sir? The flagship of the group is the Defender Orion, a heavy-tonnage destroyer. Captain Jackson Felix heads her bridge. ETA to fleet rendezvous is t-minus 20 minutes."
Standing where he was, the Captain could just make out the rough octagonal-like hull of the mentioned Halcyon, hidden behind the arms and solar stations built onto the planets orbiting dry-docks. The garrison group was slowly moving closer using inertia and short burns to conserve fuel, the 11 ships moving to form a larger crescent-formation for cover over the flanks.
The Captain turned and light filtered in from the opening doorway at the observation deck's aft, catching the epilates on his shoulders and the Brig-Col. Insignia printed on them.
In the bright light filtering from the outer bulkhead and hallway came a young woman in the grey-black casual fatigues of an ODST came to a halt some two meters from the Brigadier-Colonel.
"Captain, NAVS and OPS stations need you on the bridge; ASAP, better follow me." An MA5B Close-Quarters assault rifle hung at the woman's side with the carry-strap over her left shoulder.
The man nodded once and sat his coffee mug in a deep holder-coaster nearby before walking beside the ODST woman. A tattoo peeked from just below the folded sleeve of her shirt, the small inked image covering her lower bicep; A flaming skull of the ODST.
"First-Lieutenant Chambers, I can't recall a commander on his own ship being escorted by his crew. Is this insubordination at last, old girl?"
Her head turned slowly as they entered a crew elevator. Her right eyebrow rose just as slowly as the lift.
"Of course sir; why we have needed a better commander for a long time now, but I am sorry that it has to be this way- follow me."
Lieutenant Hannah Chambers couldn't keep up her straight face much longer at the man's subtle jibe and she began to giggle, her green eyes bright with good humour. The Captain- as he was called by his crew and AI- returned her laugh with a deep and lively chuckle that rumbled from his chest. The two got along well.
The bridge was bustling when the two entered from the crew elevator and then came through the bulkhead doors; OPS, NAV, COMS, Weapons-One and Weapons-Two- all the chairs in the bridge were occupied; more than 30 crew were jostling and exclaiming to one-another.
"Captain on deck" Chambers' voice was like a smooth whip.
Brigadier-Colonel Alexander Whitman combed back his tousled spikes with one hand, saluted his crew back to their stations and tapped on a HOLO-panel to his right and the Captain of the Defender Omega appeared before him.
"Brigadier-Colonel Whitman, sir, an honour!"
The older man, with sunken jowls and a broken nose saluted swiftly and properly.
Alexander was used to elder men, officers as well, differing to him respectfully, but seeing a man twice his age salute still made him feel off-put, but he didn't show it. Alexander got straight to business; they didn't have long now.
Actinic yellow-blue strobes filled the black vacuum that was space, spewing 300-tone slugs towards the far-distant specs in-system, but at the distance she was firing from, the Haste missed her total three shots. The UNSC battle-group now consisted of 16 functional warships and one single cruiser with negligible offensive capabilities. The Fervent Haste was one of the oldest Halcyon-Class cruisers in service; laid down almost 5 years before the Centurion, she had smaller engines and reactors, larger hangars but a smaller compliment of point-defences, archer missiles and a lower-powered, slow-firing MAC cannon. Manoeuvring thrusters along her length fired up as her main engines spluttered and heated to operational parameters. Almost 20,000 kilometres from the UNSC fleet, the Haste was now in range of the Covenant fleet.
From the bridge of the Centurion Whitman flinched at the sight unfolding before his view screen; Zoomed and enhanced before his eyes was the Haste, as her engines pushed her into a roll that allowed her to evade a trio of plasma torpedoes fired by the first covenant vessel.
"Good trick." Whispered Whitman to the small woman at his side, watching once more as the large cruiser turned to starboard; the second trio of plasma torpedoes washed over the Titanium-A hull like liquid fire. Melted plate armour speckled and cooled in the space around the Halcyon cruiser, forming the perfect debris field.
The Covenant ships were now in optimum range- and so were the UNSC.
"Adrianna, now" Whitman touched a button on his console that brought up local-system fleet broadcasting.
"All craft this is the Centurion, we are engaging. Repeat; we are engaging the Covenant now. All craft engage, engage and hit those bastards hard."
Adrianna turned a deep blue as her body lost colour, her clothed replaced with uncountable forms of code and calculations.
Along the hull, now battered and broken as the Covenant pulse-laser weapons began to melt her armour, the Haste turned to port, facing her least damaged side to the enemy, whilst bumping more of the debris into the line of fire. Adrianna had been remotely piloting the ship, but had now disconnected her uplink and left the ship slowly burning towards the opposing ships. MAC rounds punched through the debris like jackhammers, hurtling towards the five Covenant ships. The Haste's hangars began to open and a veritable swarm of small black objects began to spew from her bays. The specks in the distance, exiting the dead and useless Haste, were nigh indistinguishable from the floating debris, and that is when they sprung the trap;
The Covenant CCS-class battleships were placed in a standard, staggered formation around their titan-like CSO-class Assault Cruiser, and were only a few hundred yards from the Halcyon cruiser they had just attacked. Plasma spewed from their weapons towards the UNSC battle group.
The Tungsten MAC rounds hit the Covenant shields like 16 high-velocity space battering rams; The lead CCS-class cruiser's shields flickered under the first, second and third shots. The fourth round broke her shields, and the fifth shot came from the Centurion, went through her nose and into her plasma conduits.
The cruiser listed to the right and her engines flickered. Plasma and fire splashed across the purple-blue hull and Adrianna grinned.
"Now"
From the debris field came a thousand and one small projectiles, each burning hard on small solid-fuel engines; Moray anti-fighter space mines.
The mines were met by pulse-lasers, and a large number were blown away, but the ones that didn't powered ahead, latching to the hull, airlocks and weapons; almost 500 separate explosions ripped across the hull of the CCS-class warship and the recently deployed UNCS Longsword bombers wheeled away before they could all be shot down, leaving the ship to her fate.
It was as violent as it was spectacular.
Aboard the Harvard's bridge stood Lieutenant Juan Oliver, gritting his teeth and shaking his head.
"Status report" he barked to his OPS station. No reply.
"Status report OPS?"
Juan turned to see his OPS controller shaking his head, white-faced and wide-eyed.
"Sir that- that thing is powering up something massive!"
The CSO-class Assault Carrier had positioned herself above the other ships engaged throughout the battle. Three Charon-Class frigates and a Paris-Class had been destroyed, all of them nothing more than broken, twisted hulls, whilst the first CCS-class warship was now just colder, dead debris being utilized by the Longsword fighter-bombers.
The Centurion was going toe-to-toe with another CCS-class ship, and the Pericles had helped to bring the ship's shields down. The UNSC Flagship launched another salvo of Archer missiles at the Covenant warship and explosions pockmarked the hull and the ship began to dip and her engines spluttered, died off and the ship simply exploded; they hit her reactor. A lucky shot indeed.
So far, the UNSC had lost 4 ships whilst the Covenant had lost two.
The Assault Carrier slowly powered forward and a blinding, white light flecked with red flared along the nose of the huge vessel.
In less than a second the UNSC frigate Harvard was bisected stern-to-stern in a single blast. Crew members and flaked, charred bits of hull drifted outward after the destroyer's reactors ignited and blew outwards.
"FUCK!" Whitman smashed his hand down on his command console and keyed the fighter squadrons.
"All Longsword-class fighters this is the Centurion. I want all squads to engage that heavy warship. It has to lower shields along the weapon sections to fire. I want you to fire salvos of ASGM-10 missiles and 120mm rotary cannons at those weapons when they are about to fire."
Alexander turned to his AI and swore.
"Damnit, Adrianna. Can you link the firing system of this ship to the fleet? Coordinate the remaining ships- the last 11- to fire on my target. Do it now."
Whitman turned to his crew.
"Primary thrusters answer full thrust. I want us at Flank-Speed now! Get us in line with that ship!"
Almost 1200 kilometres away from the UNSC fleet, the CSO-class Carrier began to charge her gigantic energy projector once again. A volley of plasma torpedoes began to form and shape along her hull and sections of shields were dropped; the ship fired.
Close to sixty Longsword small craft came from the debris of the two destroyed Covenant craft, trailing some of the last pre-programmed Moray mines. The mines broke free from the fighters, accelerating as fast as their fuel drives could carry them. ASGM-10 missiles and 120mm rounds tore through space.
Peppering along the shields was all the bullets could do, really, but the Moray mines and missiles from the fighters made it through the anti-missile laser fire, and many of them impacted against the weapons and the hull; the plasma detonated inside of the shields, ballooning and warping around the ship. The fighters balked and pulled away as anti-fighter pulse-lasers spat forth from the enraged, damaged ship and a score of the small craft were blown to cindering, charred carbon-burnt pieces of Titanium and steel.
Watching from the bridge of his cruiser, Alexander saw the Assault Carrier flounder under the unexpected barrage; it seemed that the Covenant had almost no fighter support deployed- presumably they were all in the hangars still. They hadn't expected any UNSC forces at all. But now, however, Seraph fighters were spewing forth from the CCS-class and CSO-class vessels and were heading towards the Longsword fighters.
"Fire the MAC at the forward plasma emitter, and bring the fighters back into our point-defensive cannon range, plan a little surprise. All craft, hit that bastard hard while it's shields are lowered."
The UNSC ships were in a dogged, desperate and…pointless… little battle, thought the creature in its throne.
Dogged, very dogged indeed.
"Remaining vessels target their destroyer, the one in command."
Shipmaster Tres' Ardonee watched the Seraphs destroy even more of those pesky little UNSC fighters and all four of his mandibles split into a grin. His burnished, glinting golden armour was a sign of respect, and his crew treated it such.
"Shipmaster, the flagship destroyer is wiped out. Our energy projector is ready to-"
The UNSC crew aboard the remaining vessels saw the Defender Omega suffer a volley of eighteen plasma torpedoes that first broke her spine, and then her heart; the ship split in two, melted from port to starboard, before her reactors went critical.
"Fire, god damnit, all ships fire! MAC and Archers, open fire!'
The last ten ships were scattered amongst the Covenant cluster, and all turned as one.
The Assault Carrier survived the first volley of missiles, and the MAC cannons only just lowered the shields.
The Shiva-Tactical nuclear missile broke her in half
A second volley of plasma torpedoes impacted amongst the UNSC fleet, scattering the ships as they moved to evade. The Centurion began to flounder, venting atmosphere along her starboard flank, where a trio of plasma torpedoes had bitten into her thick hull.
"Slipspace ruptures! Alert, Covenant ships are preparing to retreat."
Adrianna turned to Alexander, hands on her hips.
"Let them run." muttered Whitman with a grimace, shaking his head as he ordered the UNSC vessels to break off the attack and to begin sweeping for survivors and anything salvageable, for use later, perhaps.
"And prep a pair of Pelicans to board that destroyed Carrier. That behemoth has our data."