The M6J dug in his shoulder uncomfortably and he shifted his grip slowly, careful not to make a sound.
The grunts up ahead barked like dogs, quarrelling over the burnt remains of a Marine sniper.
"Command, this is Hammer Actual," He whispered in his headset, "we've got visual on your runner, he's down."
Command, all the way back at Fort Aleksandre, sighed in the radio, her cold and unwavering voice booming a quarter of minute later. "Copy, Rangers, green light to engage, get that kid home."
Colonel Blackburn released the fore grip of his Carbine and signaled for 2-2 and 2-5 to get in positions.
New Cheops was, officially, only thirty kilometers wide, but slums like the one they were in spread over hundreds of kilometers. Hollowed out busses, stalls, shacks, outhouses and the odd brick wall spread all over that area, the very concept of a street laughable in the circumstances.
All five Covies, yapping before Blackburn's sights, were actually in a cluster of rags and wooden frames that might have passed for tents before they were shot up. He could see them, but should they shift, even slightly, to the right or left, he'd lose visual and end up starring at rags flapping in the wind.
2-2 and 2-5 were taking up flanking positions, so that when Blackburn and his platoon opened fire, they little bastards couldn't just dive to cover.
Three platoons and the Company commander had been deployed for this, just this one Marine. Whoever that kid might be, or might be carrying, command wanted it bad.
First platoon, comprised of three logistic support and two Spec Ops squads remained with the Colonel, seventy meters out, crawling in an old market, long range motion trackers and comm. Arrays taking up all available space.
Second platoon, an advanced recon infantry unit, had four fireteams out on the field, flanking the small bunch of apes, while three more stuck with third platoon in a diversion attack to the north. They were doing well enough, just keeping the Covies pissed and backing off the moment things got heated.
The moment they dropped the pressure, however, this place would be crawling with split-chins.
At six meters to either of his flanks were his Spec Ops squads, the best Rangers he could coax into joining his platoon, aiming down the sight of their own weapons and ready to blast a piece of those tangos.
A lot of fuss for what could essentially have been resolved by a shot from Hammer 1-2 Actual's forty mike-mike under slung launcher, but Blackburn was a cautious man and especially loved by his troops for that attitude.
"This is Hammer Actual, all platoons, sound off." It was an unnecessary request, as there had been no new development, but he liked to remind his men he was right there, looking over their shoulder and laughing at their every mistake.
"Hammer 1-1," His X-O spoke in a monotone drone, "all clear, Colonel."
Next up was Lieutenant Norrison, speaking in a calm Texan drawl, "Hammer 2-1, no cashu-all-tees, yer gon' have to ask 2-3 an' 2-5 yerself, Co'nel, over."
"Hammer 3-1," The last response came from Lieutenant Laurent, spoken with hints of Jamaican and French accent, "nothing to report, Colonel, this be a walk in the park."
Nodding to himself, Blackburn switched the safety off, signaling the others to do the same. He did not call the flanking squads, they would have enough to worry about, and instead waited for them to report.
Hammer Company, which he commanded, had been assembled from the remnants of a Ranger Battalion an Army Mechanized Infantry Division and an Armored platoon, the whole commanded by a freshly promoted Colonel still getting used to his previous Major boots.
Rag tag didn't even cover it. An Infantry Company would be comprised of three Rifle platoons and a Heavy weapons platoon, Mechanized would be three Rifle platoons and a Command group and a Support Company, which they were now designated as, would have any number of specialized platoons depending on the role.
Hammer had five Rifle platoons, a Command unit, two Heavy weapon groups, an Armored platoon and two Special Forces squads.
This told Blackburn two things:
First, the command chain is a clusterfuck.
Second, platoon is the single most nerve grating word in military jargon.
"Hammer 2-5 in position." The whisper was accompanied by so much static, Hammer Actual almost had 2-5 repeat, to be sure.
He keep his finger off the radio, taking a deep breath instead.
2-3 followed soon after and, suddenly, Blackburn's job resumed itself to a single word, "Fire."
This was no stand up fight, no blaze of glory with bullets hissing everywhere; thirty Rangers opened fire simultaneously on five Grunts, shredding the ape-like creatures to ribbons and finishing off the wounded without pause. In three seconds, it was done and 2-3 was making its way to the Marine.
"Hammer 3 Actual, this is Hammer Actual," Called the Colonel as he saw his Rangers put the Marine on a stretcher, "package retrieved, head for checkpoint Delta, fall back by stages." He did not wait for confirmation and switched to Hammer 5, "Lieutenant Cody, package retrieved, we're falling back to Delta for EVAC, over."
The Lieutenant confirmed that his Warthogs were en route and Blackburn signaled his command staff to pack up the hardware.
His knees creaked as he got off the trash heap, causing a groan to escape the man's lips.
At forty-five, Joel Blackburn should not have felt this old, but by god if he didn't feel a hundred right now.
A lifetime of fighting, all of his adult life, had most likely sped up the aging process. His temples were silver now, a bit of black still poking out the top of his brush cut, but barely enough for someone to guess what color his hairs had once been. As for his face, well, it was hard distinguishing scars from wrinkles.
Blackburn felt tired now, as he had for the last quarter century, always so damn tired… But that could not get in the way, there were three hundred kids under him that trusted the Colonel to bring them home or, failing that, make their death meaningful.
He'd never asked for the job, didn't care for it one bit and couldn't figure out why anyone would, but that meant sweet fuck all to the General and the UNSC. They needed someone with cast iron balls and nerves made out of tungsten out in the field to lead this mess and trash talk the Covenant into acting polite.
Major Blackburn, famous for walking up to a fortified position with just an IR beacon and strolling back to his lines while orbital strikes tore the place apart, seemed to fit the bill.
2-3 emerged from the darkness in between a hollowed bus and chest high concrete wall. They swept the market with their weapons and quickly joined the first platoon's defensive perimeter.
Blackburn had two of his staff check on the Marine, taking over the stretcher with a nod to the two carriers.
They performed the ritual; pulse, blood type, tags and ammo… Then one cursed.
Soldiers swear all the time, but whenever Blackburn was around, they had better do it well and for a purpose. "Status?" He barked, towering over the men as they hastily, almost feverishly, went to work, requesting IVs and gauze and biofoam.
"Tough SOB's still kicking!" He kneeled closer to the injured Marine. A plasma bolt had caught him in the midsection, cauterizing a plate sized, fist deep crater in his stomach. Blackburn turned to the kid's face, chalk white and soaked with sweat.
The man's green eyes fluttered open and his mouth moved, though no sounds came out. He cringed when the IV's needle pierced his skin and, delirious from blood lost, tried to get it out.
"Tell him to calm down!" The improvised medic, a signal specialist named West, hissed to his superior.
Black just nodded and took the wounded's hand in his. "It's all good, Marine, you did your job, we'll handle the rest, just relax, we'll have you back home in time for dinner."
The boy's lips moved and weak sounds rasped out. "What's that, son?" Asked the Colonel, leaning closer.
The Marine repeated, "Who's cooking?"
This was such an unusual question, so unexpected, Black could only smile. "The Navy."
"Oh, just kill me already…" That last one was loud enough for the medics to hear and they too cracked grins at that…
"Is he mobile?"
"Define mobile…" West had issues with authority, but once you knew him, really just wanted to do his job and be left alone, so Black cut him some slack.
"Can we, with the means available to us, get him to Delta?"
"Yeah, but he's not getting off that stretcher any time soon."
"Good enough, you and Robertson carry him," He turned, raising his voice back to its usual level and roared orders to the rest of them.
You have to yell on the battlefield, lest your instructions be misunderstood and a dozen kids get slaughtered because you wanted to sound polite. Helmet radios linked him to every member of the force, but radios could stutter, fail or break.
Blackburn's voice did none of these things. "I want this done by the book, gentlemen! Check your corners, call in anything you see and for god's sake, somebody wake up Demetro!" The sleeping sniper was slapped awake, not making a sound except a quiet yawn.
"Good! Now we're moving to checkpoint Delta, I want a controlled fallback by stages. Hammer 1-2 and 1-3 will take point, 1-4 and 1-1 will follow, 2-3 and 2-5've got the rear, Ou-ah?"
There were forty-four "Ou-ah!" in response and the two Spec Ops squads, six-member teams, left the market with guns raised and safeties off.
"Third Platoon, talk to me."
There were some statics on the line and Laurent's voice came through, as though from the distance, "I don't want to talk about it now, Colonel!"
Plasma fire could clearly be heard in the background, but without tactical overlays or long range motion trackers, Blackburn had to rely on the Lieutenant's inflexions and his own guts to gauge the situation.
Manageable, he decided before moving up at 1-2's signal. Officially, Blackburn was part of Hammer 1-1, comprised of West's SIGSPEC team and Major Dahl, Black's XO. 1-4, led by First Sergeant Caleb, was the Company's administrative force; Supplies, readiness NCOs, support AI, so on, making 1-2 and 1-3 the only actual combat units of his Platoon.
So Sergeant Caleb's men acted as security while Lieutenant West's boys hauled expensive hardware and an injured Marine through the battered shanty town.
No sign of Covies so far, but they would try to spread out and flank third platoon, and when they did, Blackburn's men would be right in their way. That's when the real fun would begin.
"Hammer 5, this is Hammer Actual, three's taking fire, what's your ETA?"
He kneeled behind a pile of tires, so worn the metal netting inside poked out in places. God damn ghetto, there was junk all over the place and he couldn't see anything but trash beyond ten paces. He could see through doorways, alleys and windows, but in this place, everything looked like a Covenant in hiding.
"Hammer Actual, Hammer 5, give us five mikes, we're encountering some light resistance." The Lieutenant sounded more pissed than anything else. Probably Jackals and Grunts.
"Copy that, Ham…" 1-2 reported contact and everyone stopped moving. "1-1, out."
Black's M6J came up and he peered above the tires. West's boys were at his back, but he had no visual on anyone or anything else.
"1-2, where?" When the Colonel whispered, people of his command staff had a tendency to get very nervous, for some reason.
West and Robertson put down the stretcher and readied their MA37s, facing opposite directions but staying close to the injured Marine.
"Nine o'clock, full patrol, three LAVs, four split-lips, over a dozen birds and more apes than I can count."
"Have they spotted us?"
"Negative, but they're heading our way in a hurry…"
1-2 was set up to the right, the Covies were coming in with light vehicles and infantry, coming from the left… 1-3 hadn't spotted them, so they'd be coming in from straight ahead, in between the two groups.
"Hold your fire, everyone, let them pass."
The Covies would be sticking to open terrain, most likely the tramway tracks, kept clear by overzealous civilian militias up to this point… Not clear of Covenant, these amateurs with their MA3s and SCAR-Ls couldn't stand up to a cluster of Grunts. No, they were shooting other bums who tried to set up their houses on the five meters wide empty area on either side of the tracks.
1-3 was on his side of the gap, 1-2 most likely had crossed it first and the rest of the platoon, clustered in a junkyard that might as well have been someone's home, had yet to cross.
The Covenant had come up behind 1-2. This could have gone very bad, but now, they had them outflanked from every side, though with only four combat squads and at extreme close range, the odds were far too even for Blackburn to try them.
"Hammer Actual, this is Command, what's your status?"
From the tracks, ten meters ahead, came a low hum of gravitational engine, followed by nervous yapping and cautious growls. They were nervous, but in too much of a hurry to be careful.
"Not now, General."
"Colonel, the Navy has enacted Cole Protocol, I need this package ten minutes ago!"
That did not click in Black's mind. So what? He looked at the pale Marine, wondering what role he had to play in all this. What could he be carrying? If the Navy enacted Cole Protocole, that meant bugging out and burning all databanks, why would the General want whatever some grunt carried?
"Ma'am, I'm going to need a no-bullshit assessment here, what's going on." It is a hard feat, sounding authoritarian while keeping one's voice low.
For a moment, it sounded as though the General wouldn't give it to him, but she came through again, caution and weariness audible in her voice. "I think the package could save this colony, but if the Navy burns all databanks before we get it, we're fucked, you have twenty minutes to get here, now move!"
Orders, to a lifer such as Blackburn, were as sacred as scriptures to a jihadist, but unlike the religious fanatic, wasting his kid's life was not glorious.
"Everyone switch to CQC, we're commandeering those vehicles."
There were a few curses and he pulled his old M90/LE, a pump action shotgun with rifle grip and a duck-beak choke screwed to the tip. Smaller, lighter pellets flew out and deformed on impact while the illegal choke add-on shaped the pellet in an horizontal line. The result, just like the gun, was downright ugly.
On the side, painted with red decal, was a Daffy Duck quote: "Of Courth You Realithe Thith Meanth War!"
West and his SIGSPECs stayed back with 2-3 while Black took 2-5 closer. Soon, the Covies would be out of their involuntary ambush, he had to move fast.
Once again, he found himself wishing for a situation when he could actually use some explosives, but now they needed the vehicles intact…
"I'm too old for this…" Caleb scoffed and pumped a shell in his under slung shotgun, a smile on his face clearly showing he knew what the Colonel's next orders would be. Black stood at full height, five meters from a hunched shadow opening the way for the Covenant convoy.
"Rangers, lead the way!" And off he went, boots crushing junk at every step. He rammed into a cluster of sheet metal, tacked to flimsy wooden supports, and emerged three steps from the Elite.
The first blast knocked out its shields and shredded its weapon; the next severed its head above the jaw. Black turned left, facing the Covenant forces, two or three dozen plasma weapons aimed at him.
"God damn you bastards are ugly!" He roared, pumping out shells from an upright position. "Who wants reconstructive surgery?!"
1-2, 1-3 and 2-5 opened fire at the same time the Covenant did, a split second after "…surgery?!" and Black remained upright, pumping out shells from out in the open as if this were a mere duck hunt.
Elites knew him not to be the real threat, and focused their fire elsewhere, but to Grunts and Jackals, getting peppered by tiny balls that shredded skin and sparked against weapons, Blackburn was the freaking boogey man, so they focused their panicked fire on him.
An Elite manning a mounted plasma canon on the front Spectre tried to bring the Colonel down, but three shots from Caleb's Marksman Rifle sent his twitching carcass on the floor.
The Grunts and Jackals at the front of the convoy were practically being eroded by Daffy Duck's steady firepower, the ones at the back unable to help their mangled by living brethren without either shooting through them or breaking cover, where they would be slaughtered themselves.
A few, horrified by the spurting arteries and deformed limbs, as well as the pinches and hisses of ricochets, ran off in the distance, screaming.
Of the four Elites, one remained when Black reached the Spectre Fast Assault Vehicles. The thing uncloaked a step behind him, energy sword in hand, and was swiftly aerated by Demetro's SRS99C.
Daffy Duck's barrel glowed light orange by that point and survivors of the ambush, mangled and broken, begged for mercy as the Rangers left cover, coldly finishing them off along the way.
"Dahl," He turned to his XO, who's own rifle smoked softly, "Take Hammer 1-1 and head back to base."
The answer was simple, but carried some measure of disagreement. "Ou-ah." Dahl would never question Blackburn in front of the men, but he clearly didn't appreciate being told to leave most of his men behind.
Black turned to 1-2 Actual, Sergeant Delacroix, who stood straighter when she noticed, but there was nothing for him to criticize. Instead, he took advantage of the peace before the storm to perform a little speech. Not from high up, he just walked around his men, buzzy checking or packing their gear, and spoke with his usual thundering voice.
"Rangers, you did me proud today! I want you all to take a deep breath and look around. No matter what they say in the history books, or what happens ten years from now, this," He kicked a dead Elite's chin, it's neck twisting at an odd angle as a result, "this victory, is yours, you did this! Never forget that! On June of twenty-five fifty-two, you were in New Cheops and Colonel Joel Blackburn was proud of every last one of you! Ou-ah!"
And they all responded with "Ou-ah!"s of their own.
Hammer 1-1 left soon after, following the tracks much as the Covenants had, only at top speed and the Spectres overloaded with troops.
Reloading Daffy, Black followed the rest of his forces to Checkpoint Delta.
[[UNSCDF HIGHCOM CENT/Main]
[75 ARMY RANGER]]
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[Rangers Lead The Way!]
[H Company. Dt/rost.]
Hammer Company: Col. Blackburn/ Mjr. Dahl
Hammer 1 = Command Group, SIGSPEC, SpecOps
Hammer 1-1: Lt. West
Hammer 1-2: Sgt. Delacroix
Hammer 1-3: Sgt. Krauser
Hammer 1-4: 1st Sgt. Caleb
Hammer 1-5: KIA
Hammer 2 = Rifle Platoon
Hammer 2-1: Lt. Norrisson
Hammer 2-2: Sgt. Peterson
Hammer 2-3: Sgt. Endrose
Hammer 2-4: Sgt. Frank
Hammer 2-5: Sgt. Keller
Hammer 2 = Heavy Weapons Platoon
Hammer 3-1: Lt. Laurent
Hammer 3-2: Sgt. Jackson
Hammer 3-3: Sgt. Ortega
Hammer 3-4: Sgt. Vargas
Hammer 3-5: Sgt. Orlev
Hammer 4 = Rifle Platoon
Hammer 4-1: Sgt. Carter
Hammer 4-2: Cpl. Wilkins
Hammer 4-3: Cpl. Beauprés
Hammer 4-4: PFC. Smith
Hammer 4-5: PFC. Gosinov
Hammer 5 = Armored/Mechanized Platoon
Hammer 5-1: Lt. Cody
Hammer 5-2: Sgt. Beller-Faust
Hammer 5-3: Cpl. Mendez
Hammer 5-4: Sgt. Jones
Hammer 5-5: Sgt. Higgs
Hammer 6 = Rifle Platoon
Hammer 6-1: Cpt. Pierce
Hammer 6-2: Lt. Tchenkov
Hammer 6-3: Sgt. Volker
Hammer 6-4: Sgt. Tennison
Hammer 6-5: Sgt. Xian
Hammer 7 = Rifle Platoon
Hammer 7-1: Lt. Cole
Hammer 7-2: Sgt. Hoyt
Hammer 7-3: Sgt. Steel-Halls
Hammer 7-4: KIA
Hammer 7-5: Sgt. Lafayette
Hammer 8 = Rifle Platoon
Hammer 8-1: Lt. Shen
Hammer 8-2: Sgt. Coste
Hammer 8-3: KIA
Hammer 8-4: KIA
Hammer 8-5: Cpl. Webbs
Hammer 9 = Heavy Weapons Platoon
Hammer 9-1: Lt. Carpenter
Hammer 9-2: Sgt. Wilson
Hammer 9-3: Cpl. Turner
Hammer 9-4: Sgt. Popov
Hammer 9-5: Sgt. Mbanta
A/N: I'll keep that roster updated, for your sake and mine, because a Company is a huge goddamn force and I can't make all section leaders memorable.