A/N: This story is technically part of the Chaos Chronicles, a crossover series. However, this work takes place prior to the crossover itself, so it is classified as a Halo story first and foremost. Characters mentioned within may have had prior experiences that are mentioned in dialogue that are not explained. Exposition will be given to explain what is necessary.
The following story takes place during the Talahan Conflict, a ten-year war originally between the Talahan Mining Corporation, and the workers for the company, officially dubbed the 'Talahan People's Resistance'. In 3229, the UNSC began its involvement, sending military forces to reinforce the corporate forces. By 3234, the UNSC declared victory, destroying the rebels as well as defeating their leader, General Lyke Fukoma. It is estimated that out of the million Marines and Army assets sent to meet the threat of the TPR all over the planet in numerous theaters, five hundred thousand met their ends before the unofficial end of the war.
Officially, hostilities continue to the present day.
The Taking of Kleinstaff
December 17, 3232, 1412 Local Time
Klienstaff Village, Klark Valley
Talahan V, Eta Cassiopeia
The fusillade of gunshots whizzed over Templar's head as the unit was peppered again by the Tallie machine gun nest from further up the beach. The Marine ducked his head into the recesses of the sandy trench they had hastily dug the night before, pressing his helmet into the surprisingly dry earth. However, the snap of supersonic rounds caused him to flinch.
He was only a few months into combat. Even after BCT back on Alpha Centauri Ab, the feeling of the small concentrated masses of death just sailing over his position was enough to make him tense up.
They had all been pinned here for the last few hours; the result of the attempt to take Kleinstaff Village that had been foiled rather unexpectedly by the tidal movements of Talahan V's moons. Three days prior, the battalion had been inserted into Klark Valley to prepare the naval advance of UNSC watercraft in the region. Klienstaff being a coastal village of surprising size affording commanding views of the surrounding waterscape. If their forces could assert themselves into the region, then securing most of the coastline would be a piece of cake once a few Tepitz-class carriers could be anchored off the coast.
However, the operation had only gone according to plan a few hours into their deployment. Thirty kilometers into their movement towards the coastal village, the platoon had come under fire from gun emplacements on unknown surfaces, funneling them into an area where they could whittle them down. The unit had taken two casualties, but thankfully no fatalities. The unit commander, Captain Roswell Benedict , had established a casualty collection point on their side of the River Gonsalo. However the time-table had been set, units were beginning to deploy, and Benedict began to feel the heat both from command and from the Tepitz-classes now on their way.
Templar however was one of the men stuck in the trenches, quite literally in this case. What an absolute clusterfuck of an operation it had been. 5th Battalion had been pinned in this location for what felt like days while 2nd Battalion had formed a second line on the UNSC's side of the river.
Templar realized that the guns had fallen silent. He took several deep breaths and rose above the entrenchment, rifle raised and resting on the soil. The scope of the weapon was pointed towards the far banks of the Gonsalo and quickly found some of the weapons emplacements. He contemplated taking a shot. However he did not pull the trigger until Benedict would have given the order. He had learned before that to negligently open fire would invite danger on the unit as a whole.
He withdrew, despite having his shot. He trusted in the orders of his commander. Even as the young Marine cursed himself and pressed against the moist soil of the trench, the gunshots from Kleinstaff returned. His eyes went to Benedict who was down the trench, speaking urgently into his communicator. He picked out that the Captain was waiting for artillery positions to be set up at the CCP, mainly consisting of mortars. He staggered. Templar had been without sleep for about sixteen hours. While he had been trained for sleep deprivation in combat, the combination of marching, battle, and the stress of being pinned did not help his condition.
A rocket sailed over his head and impacted the beach perhaps forty meters behind them. He cursed and threw himself into the closest alcove he could; his fingers rapping on his weapon quickly. He needed orders soon. Of course, they wouldn't come directly through Benedict, but through his aide-de-camp and the unit's universally despised jackass, Lieutenant Kapplan, who was at the Captain's side, taking occasional glances over the lip of the trench. Kapplan himself was no better looking; his tired eyes constantly looking up at the dirt that separated his head from incoming fire.
"Yes!" Benedict shouted. "Yes! I can see their lines easily! I thought I sent you those coordinates!" he said through gritted teeth loud enough to be heard over the gunfire. "How the hell can't you range them? They're right there!"
"Well oiled machine, am I right?" Carl Santorini said. He was standing right next to Templar, wedged into a similar alcove of dirt. Though he was older than Templar was, they were something close to friends. Nobody here were technically friends though. That had been greatly discouraged during basic training. That was what SDI Stacker had beat into them on one of their many hell marches.
"Almost ten hours we've been in this hole!" Templar said with a bit more bite than he expected. He yanked the magazine out of his MA5 and indexed it with his finger. The mag was still full given the resistance on the spring. He slapped it back into the well and checked the chamber. "Ten hours of wait and see!"
"And you'll wait ten more until we get some solid cover, Marine!" Kapplan called from down the line.
"Yes sir." Templar said with only a trace amount of respect for Kapplan's rank.
"Go check down the line and see how second squad's holding up." The Lieutenant ordered.
Templar nodded and got up with a low groan. Second squad was down the line, though half-way there, the trench had been poorly dug. Instead of descending to six feet where they would be safe more or less from enemy fire, the negative elevation was only four feet, enough for Templar's head and shoulders to be visible above the trenchline. It had been abandoned before any major changes could be made. He took a deep breath, and jogged towards it. Before he hit that area, he crouched down and nearly crawled across that section of the trench. Another rocket flew above him, blasting into the ocean right behind them. He felt a bit of spray carried on the wind. That was utter nonsense. Kapplan could easily communicate on SQUADCOM to see that status of Second Squad. He was trying to teach Templar a lesson, and possibly wanted him to eat a bullet in the process. No way to prove that he actually wanted the noncom dead though.
He reached the other Marines' position with no trouble aside from his thundering pulse. A team of maybe six or seven other men were taking shots at the distant Kleinstaff Quay, rickety wood and concrete built into the River Gonsalo. Not that it was doing anything more than drawing fire away from First Squad. According to the navpoint in his HUD, the village was about two hundred meters distant from them. This was more than enough to give them trouble as the weapons emplacements probably had a range of about a hundred meters on top of that. They were screwed without any other assistance from 2nd Battalion across the river.
He found the leader of second squad, Staff Sergeant Reiher, carefully looking at a map of the area while glancing up at some of his men as they squeezed off semi-automatic shots.
"Staff Sergeant." Templar nodded.
"Sergeant." Reihner returned.
"Lieutenant Kapplan wishes a report on your status."
"He had to send a runner for that?" Reihner said, his eyebrows arching.
"The Lieutenant's orders."
"Yeah, I'm sure. Listen man, we've already got our hands full on this end and..." Reihner paused a moment to turn his head while another Marine readied and fired a rocket launcher towards the enemy-held shore. "... I think we're good here. How about you go tell Kapplan that maybe we should focus on making some gains. Maybe we don't want to spend another day pinned down in a damn trench! Begone!"
"Yeah, yeah. I'll go tell him." Templar grumbled before turning away. "Prick." he breathed, the insult covered by the sounds of automatic fire.
Templar began to make his way back over the poorly dug section of the trench, but he lost his footing and stumbled. Immediately the machine gun fire started to come his way. He began to panic and worked to get himself into the safer sections of the fortification. He heard what sounded like a loud snapping noise, like a scream that impacted with his head. The bullet hit off of the Marine's helmet. This kinetic force saved the young man's life, as the heavy caliber bullets swept over his position just after he fell into the trench.
His ears were ringing and his vision was fuzzy. He reached up expecting to find part of his skull gone, but only felt slightly deformed crater in the Titanium-A armor. His finger absent-mindedly traced the hole, and as if he was a mile away, he heard himself saying "Oh wow. Oh man."
He wasn't sure how long he was there for. His skull felt cracked by the force of the impact, and while he was sure the hole in the helmet was only a millimeter deep or so, he was not unscathed. He rolled onto his back and stared at the sky. He glanced at the two moons slowly arcing over the field of combat, and in that moment, he slipped into a world of silence; his brain pushed into a supercharged trance. He didn't hear the rounds snapping over his head, but he saw the blur of them passing over the trench. His sense of touch was dulled, but not disabled; the dirt beneath his hands was gritty and wet.
He could have been there for an hour. Perhaps two. Maybe it was only for a moment. he felt a force pull him backwards. Back towards his own side of the line. It was only one man who was grabbing him, though he wasn't able to crane his neck around. The mere effort of moving his head created a vortex in his vision; the edges of his sight becoming dark.
Slowly, voices came out of the silence.
"Where did it hit him?"
"Broadside on the helmet!"
"Jesus Christ. Wow. Look at that!"
Shadows fell over Templar. Some men started to gather around.
"What is that, thirty caliber?"
"Thirty, maybe thirty-two."
He tried to pin down where the voices came from, though the first person he saw, blocking the view of the moons, was Kapplin. He groaned.
"How many fingers?" Kapplin asked, raising digits in front of the Marine's face.
"Four." Templar responded.
"Again." Kapplin repeated.
"Two."
"Follow my finger left and right."
"Look, with all due respect sir, I think I'm all there." The Sergeant said, his voice sounding like crinkling tin.
Kapplin's lips pursed. "Fine. Get him on his feet."
Hands went to his shoulders, and the Marine was tilted upwards to an unsteady stop.
"Chris!" he heard someone say.
Templar turned and saw Chuck.
"I saw you get hit man! I freaked out and pulled you back. I thought you were dead at first! You fell like a sack of bricks!"
Templar nodded though. He tried to find some words to express his thanks, but he still felt dazed. "Thanks Chuckie." was all he managed, clapping his old friend on his shoulder. "Thanks a lot, man."
Further down the line, Benedict was still screaming into the COMs.
"Look, they're starting to get a little braver! We've had two groups make towards us! We cannot remain in this position! Do you have those mortars or don't you?"
The response made Benedict's hand fly to his forehead. He rubbed his face, which had developed a heavy sweat. His eyes continued to dart around, looking at his men and then the ground, carpeted in brass and steel shells from their weapons. The ground was starting to look like gravel there were so many spent cartridges.
"I know they're taking shots at you as well! If we go, they're coming for you next! No, listen to me!"
Templar moved towards Benedict. Kapplan didn't stop him as he approached. The Lieutenant looked towards him.
"How's second unit by the way?"
"They're just fine. They wondered why you didn't just, you know, call them."
"You did fine." Kapplan said.
"I got shot, Lieutenant."
"Correction; your helmet got shot. You're fine, Sergeant."
The light glinted off of Templar's goggles in a strange way, as his head tucked back in disgust. God he hated this guy.
"No, say that again!" Benedict said. "Are you sure?" The captain's eyes darted back and forth and his posture became straighter and straighter. After another second, he said, "I understand! OK, we're ready!", and slapped the COM headset back on its rest. "Marines, to me! Cease fire!"
"What did he say?" Private Aer asked.
"Stop!" Romano said a bit louder, relaying it down the line.
"Cease fire!" another sergeant cried out.
Further away, another shout of "Cease fire!" pierced the air. The rapid cracks of gunshots fell away. Even the echoes of their firing dissipated. There were a few confused discharges on the side of the Tallies, and soon, they too had stopped. For the first time in two days, they heard the chirping of birds, and the gentle roll of waves on the shore.
Neither re-engaged. The gentle sounds of nature continued to flow uninterrupted. Though the smell of cordite lingered in the air, a scent of sea salt began to flow into the trench.
"What did they say?" Kapplan asked.
Benedict smirked. "We have reinforcements."
From the far banks, A quintet of Bandersnatch Rapid Assault Vehicles burst through the trees at over a hundred kilometers an hour, engines roaring and tires spinning. The jeeps seemed to hang in the air for what seemed like minutes, foliage spitting from the heavy offroad tires like green sparks, and arced towards the ground, impacting with a barely noticeable thud, then bounced on copious suspension, tires creating rooster-tails of mud and sand as the formation shot across the low-tide sandbars.
From the village, there was still stunned silence, as the defenders had not expected anything like this.
The Bandersnatch formation opened fire, small caliber pintle-mounted machine guns spraying the wooden structures with loose groupings of fire.
The spell broke. There were screams of Talahase from the village as the shooters now diverted attention from the pinned down Marines to the jeeps still closing at highway speed on the sandbars.
"Captain Benedict, Lieutenant Monfort, 14-Echo. My boys are going to raise some hell. Recommend you up-heave and make your way into Kleinstaff Village."
"You're a lifesaver!" Benedict said. "What took you so long?"
"Had to stop for directions and one of my boys wanted some chips at the gas station."
Benedict gave a terrific and throaty laugh before slapping his helmet back on. "Marines! We move forward! Run for the berms and do not stop for anything! Those Banders are going to be covering our advance! Move! Move!
As if whipped into action, the Marines quickly gathering their supplies and ammunition
"Move in groups of four!" Kapplan called out. "The rest of the platoon covers that advance! Templar, you're up first! Specs, Breezy and Foghorn are on him!"
Templar noted that Kapplan was referring to Chuck, Bruce, and Jeff respectively. Templar calculated. It was maybe two hundred meters to the other side. At low tide, that meant a lot of the land would be above water, so it wouldn't slow them down. The issue was that the land in front of them was remarkably lacking in cover. A few driftwood bundles that came in from the sea were present, but aside from that, it was bare. Not good at all.
It was times like this that the Sergeant wondered if Kapplan was actively trying to get him killed. However, Benedict did not raise a hand against it. He would have to place his trust in the unit commander. He sighed. At least the RAVs were going to draw some of their fire, but not all of it.
"Ready?" Kapplan asked.
"Sir!" Templar nodded.
"Move, Marines! Go!" he called out. The fire team sprinted ahead with reckless abandon, heading straight for the berm that separated the beach from the upper division of land. It was a generous covering of perhaps ten or so feet. It would be a more than ample staging area, provided that the Tallies didn't come back to pin them down.
"Ensure covering fire!" He heard Benedict's low, sonorous, yet loud voice carry across the sand.
"Move!" Templar cried out. "Move! Give it everything, Marines!"
His squadmates didn't answer, but he heard the explosive breathing as the men moved themselves, their nearly ten-pound weapons, and the fifty pounds of gear strapped to their backs. The gear became increasingly heavy for each meter of land the men had to run through. Templar's vision began to become fuzzy at the edges, but he did not slip into Conditioned Awareness. Each sound was acute and sharpened. When he did reach the berm, he nearly collapsed into it, retaining enough stamina to flip himself over as he slammed into the dirt incline. The ground smacked into him, and his breath escaped in a gasp. Out of reflex, he checked his gun again. He wanted to speak, but instead flashed an acknowledgment light in his team's HUD, no doubt visible to Benedict and Kapplan. The other men with him likewise lit up their own signals.
Templar looked at Madison, gave him a quick clap on the shoulder, and hooked his finger up towards the berm. He gently and slowly ascended the sand and dirt until he was his head rose above the natural cover, and he brought his rifle down on the green-orange grass common to this region of the world. Madison likewise took up a covering fire position from oncoming hostiles.
That was the hard part out of the way.
"Keep an eye on the others coming across. He said to Aer and Winston."
"Right, Sergeant." Aer responded, taking a knee and resting his rifle on it.
"Chuckie, we're going to suppress targets. Keep them down until the bulk of our guys get here. Kapplin's going to want us to advance into the village."
"How do you know that?" Madison asked, eyes shifting over to the NCO.
Chris met his gaze. That was all he needed to do.
"OK; yeah sure. I was thinking of getting killed today anyway." he said, rolling his neck around.
The Bandersnatch squad couldn't keep the Tallies in check all day. Tracers arced across the sand bar, some of which bounced off the sand and spiraled into the trees on the far end of the banks of the Gonsalo. Sure enough, five or so minutes later, an RPG lanced out from the top of what appeared to be a church tower in town. The shaped explosive charge slowly left the barrel, but its rocket fuel ignited, sending the projectile away from Kleinstaff, down the exposed banks of the river, and bringing it to rest within the engine block of one of the jeeps and close to three hundred meters a second.
Even from their position, the explosion was large. It was a thermal yellow flash at first with an ascending flame that itself belched an acrid black cloud into the air. The sound hit them a second later as a dull but loud thump that reverberated in Templar's chest cavity. The radio began to screech as the destroyed vehicle's squad barked that one of their vehicles was down.
Templar winced. Two men were dead in that explosion - the driver and his gunner. That had to be a lucky shot from that RPG gunman. That must have been a two hundred meter shot from that position. He briefly wondered why that gunner hadn't been able to score a direct hit on the trench then in the time he had been there, but that thought only coursed the neural highway for an instant before he was brought back with a grip on his shoulder. He jumped, gasped even as he turned around and saw Kapplin's face above his - a wicked looking smile breaking his face. His crooked incisors standing out in the relief of the light.
"Fucking scared you didn't I?"
"What is it?" the Sergeant said, eyes now going back to his rifle's sights.
"Got a new job for you boys!" He said, as if he was blown away by his own brilliance.
"What, yours?" Templar caught himself saying below his breath.
"What was that?" Kapplin asked, as the gunfire genuinely made it hard to hear.
"Get in the village and kill those sons of whores?" Templar said a bit louder.
Kapplin looked a bit confused and opened his mouth as if to say something, but what came out was probably different than his intended rebuke.
"Look, we're down a jeep already and that RPG gunner's a crack shot; more than we gave him credit for! He's got a bunch of ordinance he's lobbing downrange. You two? Kill him."
That was all he said, and in the span of a few seconds. His face had not changed in that space of time, and when he did leave, it was without any additional orders or advice. Kapplin slid back down the berm to keep an eye on the approaching Marines, giving them more cover. He flinched, like all the others, when another rocket detonated fairly close to their position, threatening another Bandersnatch.
"Monfort, what the hell's going on, Benedict?" the lead driver radioed over open COMS.
"Captain, I have men en route to deal with that RPG problem!" Kapplan interjected over the line. "Five minutes and that coast will be clear for you to push further in!"
Five minutes. It was a joke. Not even a funny joke. Templar and Madison would need to find the gunner's perch, ascend it somehow, and then kill the son of a bitch. Not only that, at any time during their cut through the village, that Tallie could switch his target priorities to fire on the two men looking to end his misguided life.
Besides, it would only be a matter of time before the rebels sent out their own rolling thunder. It would come in the form of repurposed civilian technicals or captured UNSC assents, hastily spray-painted to support the cause of an independent Talahan V.
Templar rose first. "Aer, Winston, give us cover. We're going in."
Aer swallowed and nodded his head, but Winston, stone cold as he was, simply pressed his DMR closer against his shoulder. "Got you." was all he said in his low and gravelly voice.
Kleinstaff was a fishing village at its core. Its general layout was quite simple to understand with two major roads creating three districts The first of which was the quay, where the wooden fishing vessels and stands for selling fresh fish were erected. Only a few buildings faced the River Gonsalo. The far district was the residential section, with the evacuated and abandoned frames of houses standing. The houses were bunched together in rough cubic shapes, with some buildings connected by wooden exposed walkways. Nearly every surface was painted in a bright color. The last remaining district was a small business area with shops, businesses, and warehouses stood. Altogether, the town was perhaps a few square miles in size.
It was towards the residential district that the Marines made their way towards.
Templar and Madison jogged up the street, noting the cobbled ground their boots hit against, making sounds much louder than they would have wanted. Templar found cover behind a few cars, left in parking spaces; their owners long gone from the field of battle. He did not recognize these models; they were likely locally made. He pressed his back against the vehicle's rear, facing back down the street.
"Chuckie get that weapon pointed downrange; I'll watch the street."
"Aye-aye, Sergeant." Madison nodded,
Winston and Aer ran alongside one of the buildings, weapons lowered as they made a bee-line for the vehicle being used as cover. At once, Templar saw movement off to the side. The Tallie had made himself visible as he exited the doorway of the dockside building. Templar raised his rifle and fired four shots, two of which struck the rebel, one of which was planted dead center on his chest.
The man didn't make a noise as he fell, but rolled on the ground, writhing in pain.
Templar cursed. and said as loud as he dared, "Come on! Come on!"
It didn't matter. The gunshots would be loud enough to attract unwanted attention.
"Keep to the sidewalk!" the sergeant commanded. "Stay low; maybe we can catch them off guard or something. You keep those weapons cool until I tell you to open up."
Everyone crouched low and slowly advanced, using the bulk of large vehicles and street-side vendor stalls for cover. There was a point though when the cover ended and they reached the middle of town where all of these roads met. It was a roundabout composed of a rather fancy cobbled road. A small bar was nestled on the side to their right, and to their left, the entire curve of that third was open to the river, decorative chain fencing blocking the small fall that appeared just a foot after that. In the middle of the square though was what was probably going to be their best asset. Standing in the middle of the roundabout was a large fountain carved of stone. The stone had cracked in several places over the hundreds of years it must have stood, and above, a man standing with one hand to his heart and another extended to those would be on the street looking up. He was dressed in overly old clothing out of the 18th Century in Europe, an unusual choice for a colony founded five hundred years after that time period. It was also a piece of cover.
Just as well. The church where the RPG gunner would be was up the street to their right. This was not good though, Templar thought. The closest edge of the fountain was still, he guessed, seventy-five feet away from the greatest piece of exposed cover. Seventy-five feet of no-man's land. Seventy-five feet not counting the additional fifty to move up the road towards the tower. It was the best choice in terms of cover.
The battle on the beach still kept the attention of the Tallies though. Maybe they could do this. Templar heard a humming coming from up the road to the right.
"Duck back!" he ordered, slamming into a house's alcove. His men followed his lead, pressed two abreast against two different doors. The humming resolved itself into a pickup truck painted in jungle-green. It had a rotary machine gun bolted to the top of the cab. Two men rode in the front while another held the gun in place.
"Guess the Tallies aren't playing around now." Madison said, checking his weapon.
"Yeah they've been eating enough shit on the beach." Aer reasoned.
"Not our problem; that actually helped us." Templar nodded. "OK, stay back a second, I want to check this out."
A loud crackle of gunfire from further down the way they came caused them to flinch. Maybe they had slipped past more men than they thought.
"3-Charlie-3, 3-Charlie-2; what is the goddamn hold up?" Kapplin's voice said, intruding into his tactical composition.
"Sir we're moving now."
"Get it locked down tight, man! Those Snatches are starting to tumble!"
"Understood, 3-Charlie-2!" Templar hissed.
Kapplan didn't even respond, closing the channel before the sergeant had even finished.
"OK, this is what we're going to do. Chuckie, Jeffie, I want smoke up the road to the right. Two cans, maybe around in between each third of the turn if you can make that pitch. Best you can. Got a new idea."
"Wanna clue us in?" Madison asked, taking a cylinder off his vest.
"Will you just trust me?"
"You better not kill me, Chris. I will kick your ass for that."
"Don't throw that can I will kick your ass. We need to move now. If one of Tallies decides to get the bright idea to restock ammo and come this way, we're all going to get shot in the ass."
"My cheeks are golden man. Don't want none of that." Winston said, taking a few practice lobs. "Ready to play ball, Sergeant."
"Chuckie?"
"You know I can pitch a hella fastball."
"Go!" Templar nodded.
Both the grenades left the Marines' hands near simultaneously. Winston's arced in the air, but still had more reach than Madison's. The latter's grenade bounced a few times off the cobblestones. There were twin pops about the same sound as a firecracker. Grey smoke billowed into the streets. It was slow at first, but soon the cloud began to become denser and denser. Within ten seconds, the street had been completely obscured.
"OK, let's go! Those houses on the other side; cross the street and stack up on that doorway!"
The Marines took off pell-mell across the street. Within a few moments of their crossing, tracers cut through the smoke, impacting off the ground and the statue.
"Better they shot later, not sooner." he assured them all. "Here on out we use hand signals, you get me guys?"
The Marines lined up against the doorway of a house as the automatic fire continued into the smoke, which was still billowing strongly. Templar hoped that they wouldn't start lobbing grenades into the area. They were still probably still inside the hurt zone. He felt a squeeze on his shoulder from Aer, who was stacked up behind him. He stood in front of the door, reared up, and delivered a kick straight into the wooden door near the latch. The door slammed open and the men filed in, muzzles crossing the room before Templar raised his support hand and formed a thumbs-up. He proceeded forward and cleared the rest of the combination foyer and living room.
The house was sparsely furnished. With the exception of a canvas couch, a few chairs, and a television that looked like it was actually constructed with ancient CRT tubes, there was nothing in the way of decoration or art. Whether the owners had little need for it, did not possess the means to acquire it, or if it was stolen when the village was turned over via eminent domain to the Talahase rebels he didn't know, nor care. He did not see any barricades in the form of turned over tables, or crouched gunmen. He performed a sweep of a small hallway with an attached bathroom and risked a small "Clear." which sounded like it carried remarkably well in the small space, as if he was in a narrow tunnel. Once again, he saw no pictures of the owners or anything they would have considered art. He did see a crucifix over the front door that he did not see on entry.
No bad guys. The house was clear.
"I thought you said hand signals." Madison said.
"Yeah I'm a dumbass. We get outside that rule comes back. If we're inside and they hit us, then silence means nothing. Come on, into the backyard."
It was possible that because Templar came from a large city that any level of personal land regardless of size would have appeared as a backyard. The concrete squares extended fifteen feet from the sliding wooden doors before being met by a wooden slat fence. Here, there was indeed some form of life. A cheap metal barbecue was stashed in a corner. At least the owners probably liked a good burger every now and again.
Templar kicked the fence door, which gave just as easily as the front door. They emerged into exactly what the sergeant hoped to find: an alley.
He waved two fingers forward, now directly moving towards the church. This was better than being on the other side as they were technically below the RPG gunner's field of fire. The church itself was rather tall and offered good vantage over the area. It would still be a task and a half to get up there and actually take him down.
The rocket screamed over their heads in a sound that was like the air itself being ripped in two. It impacted further away. Templar almost panicked and was almost ready to run for a defensive position, but realized the angle of fire would have sent the rocket into the area with the fog. The Tallies still thought they were somewhere around there. That deception would not last at all; it was a fragile tactic as when the Tallies realized they weren't receiving return fire they would investigate, and more likely than not, would discover the broken door. They really needed to get out of this alley. Time was not their friend here.
The men crouched low, trying to make sure that their movements along the alleyway would not make them visible to the main street. Small streets broke their cover, though it was clear that the focus would be on moving up the main drag. Apparently the enemy hadn't thought that the Marines would make a flanking maneuver like this. The thought crossed Templar's mind that Kleinstaff was either as much a tactical question mark to the opposition, or the that his opposition was just stupid. A good warrior never thought the latter though and gave the man on the other end of the two-way range his due respect, no matter what the truth was.
They crossed another twenty meters, covering each other as they moved across sections exposed to the main streets. They mainly moved at a crouch, taking care to leave a low profile. The buildings weren't sufficient in places to give them adequate cover, and at times, chain-linked fences gave clear sightlines across backyards or in one instance an open lot, signs still out advertising the space for development.
Templar held up his fist. His men halted. In turn, he pointed to Madison, Winston, and Aer, raising an additional finger for each point, indicating order of movement. Last of all, he thumped his own chest and held a clenched fist with fingers towards the ground at chest level. He would hold here and give his men covering fire.
Each time he expected them to say no. Each time he expected them to rebuff the order, as if they didn't trust him, but Templar was the team commander. His men had faith in his ability to keep them alive. When they nodded, it put that familiar and warm feeling of mutual trust in his heart that he had never felt anywhere else in his life. Steeling himself, he positioned himself to give covering fire if the need arose. He found a position where the wooden fence on his right met chest-high chainlink. He placed the barrel shroud of his MA5 on the top of the support bar and bent over to get a good sight picture. He risked a gentle tap on the fence that rattled with his fingers, and without breaking his sight, slashed with his hand.
He heard boots thumping across the gravel on the road. A wink of an acknowledgment light in his HUD signaled that Chuck had reached the other side of the road safely. Templar flashed a thumbs up and held up two fingers. It was Jeff's turn to cross. This time, Madison would give fire support from his end of the street. Templar detected movement to his left. He pivoted the rifle and held up the clenched fist once more. Freeze.
Ten Tallies appeared, jogging in formation. A sergeant led the group, made visible by a yellow and black beret. From a tactical standpoint this was an insanely dumb move and it made it harder to give the enemy that respect that the Sergeant had remarked on earlier. He lined up his front notch on the sergeant's chest. The rangefinder in his HUD told him that the distance was only eighteen meters. The bullet would more or less have a straight trajectory. If Templar chose to end this man's life, it would terminate in less than a tenth of a second.
However, he did not pull the trigger. He chose to let the man and his squad pass. This was not the time to take unnecessary risks. The instant he felt they were safe, he sliced again. Winston made a bee-line for cover. That only left Aer. Templar broke from his sighting and looked at Bruce. The Marine was shaking, but otherwise he had a solid grip on his weapon. He was nervous. They all were.
Templar nodded in query. Aer returned the nod, gently at first, but then with confidence. The Sergeant risked a smile and returned to sighting. He whispered, "I'm right behind you." to the man. He held up three fingers. Two, and then one, slicing on zero. The pair ran as fast as their gear would allow. They made it halfway across the street before the muzzle of Madison's MA5 lit up. A crack of thunder filled the alleyway and a small cloud of dust clouded in front of the gun. Just above the bang was a cry of pain.
The Tallies had doubled back. The bastards.
The squad that had passed them earlier had returned, probably figuring out that whoever had tossed the smoke had successfully flanked them. The enemy force rounded the corner into the side street, submachine guns flaring at hip-height.
Madison switched to full-automatic and raked the approaching unit, dropping two and wounding the same number. The rest were suppressed and ducked behind the corner. This gave Templar and Aer the time they needed to get behind the next building. Winston had gone prone and made rough shots with his DMR, the high caliber bullets blowing chunks from the building the surviving Tallies were behind. In the street, the wounded men rolled around, grabbing at their wounds and moaning in agony.
"Don't stay, let's go!" the Sergeant called. "Come on, no more messing around!"
The gunner on the church steeple had been alerted to their presence, and as testament to this, they could see the head of the man poking over the top of the steeple. Templar responded to this reconnoitering with semi-automatic fire, forcing the gunner back into cover, the Talahase curses easily audible to his ears.
Now they were screwed. The fire team was now covered not only by two sides, but two different points of elevation. This meant throwing caution to the wind and getting to any form of cover they could find. But the Tallies knew where they were, and question mark or not, they knew Kleinstaff better than the Marines did. Templar began to sweat. He couldn't see an easy way out of this. The units on the beach would be recalled as a point of panic, and from that point, it would be a quick battle of attrition.
No, he realized, as he barked and ordered his men to follow him to the base of the church. This could actually work to their advantage. The RPG gunner was now focused on saving his own ass, which he was now aware was in serious danger.
"3-Charlie-2, 3-Charlie-3!"
"You better be calling me to give some good news." Kapplin's demonic voice glowered.
"3-Charlie-2, confirm that RPG attacks have ceased on the beach."
Kapplin sighed. "Confirmed, 3-Charlie-2. KIA?"
"Negative. Gunner priority has shifted to us."
"To you...?"
The Marines rounded the corner of the church, the weather-beaten rocks of the foundation serving as solid cover. These stones had long lost any sheen they may have had when they were first lain hundreds of years ago. They searched for a door, but the only entrance it seemed was on the street-side. Templar looked back at his men.
"You're going to need to trust me on this one." he said. "We get in the church, we split up. We kind of know the size and shape of it. There's going to be a staircase or ladder to get to the steeple. You get a shot you take it, understand?"
Nobody flinched. They understood. This town would not be their grave today.
"Oorah." Templar said. "On me; let's go!"
Blood coursed through Templar's veins in high-pressure beats of his heart. Adrenaline flowed and washed his mind free of distractions. The purity of this time dilation was almost peaceful as his sight seemed to improve, and his mental clarity increased tenfold. He felt as if he had all the answers as he charged headfirst through the open door of the church, scanning for targets within the antechamber. He saw none, but that didn't mean that none existed.
"Close the door!" he ordered. "Close it, close it!" he screamed. When they came inside, Winston and Madison found bookshelves and tables, jamming them against the entrance. They threw every lock they could find and immediately found cover in two confessionals at opposite ends of the entrance hall. Tamplar tapped his COM unit, but this time, he called his own unit commander. "3-Charlie Actual, 3-Charlie-3!"
Benedict's voice was calm, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "Receiving; go."
"Actual, we have directly engaged the RPG gunner. We're holed up in the same church he is! Captain, now's your chance to move the unit forward towards Kleinstaff! We have this guy on the ropes!"
"3-Charlie-3, keep the pressure up! I have a team already moving now!"
"Thank you, sir!" the Sergeant nodded. "3-Charlie-3 out!" He said before switching channels to 14-Echo Actual, Captain Monfort, and communicating with him directly.
"Who's this?" the other officer asked, the sound of an engine clearly audible in the channel.
"Captain, this is 3-Charlie-3, Subordinate to 3-Charlie Actual. Sir, we have RPG fire off you." he said. Realizing he was sitting around and doing nothing, he ordered Winston and Aer to proceed into the church.
"Yes, but we're still engaged by mobile forces."
"Captain, can you spare a Bander to come up and cover our flanks? The gunner is trapped on the steeple of the church in town and his friends are right behind us. Captain Benedict is already sending men to watch the streets."
"Why should I spare one of my jeeps?"
"We think it'll keep him in cover."
"You think, 3-Charlie-3?"
"The only thing separating us from him is a staircase. He knows he's done. I just want to distract him before we move in to neutralize."
"Negative, 3-Charlie-3. Your detachment's forces can back you up."
Templar jerked his head and slammed a fist into the wall in anger. He pulled it back, mouth dropping open in silent pain. He mastered it and said, "Understood, Captain. Out."
"Son of a bitch!" Madison said. "I thought those guys were here to back us up!"
"We can do this without those guys. To hell with them. Come on, man; We can still get this."
The two Marines joined the other half of their team. They formed up at the last door before what they believed was the main hall. Two were on one side, and two were on another. Templar gave Aer a squeeze on the shoulder, and within a second the doors were thrown open. They filed in and immediately split up, covering equal sections of the church.
Templar's mind processed quickly. The area was seventy-five feet long and ended in a raised pulpit. On each side, there was a balcony on the second story with stairs near where they were to get up. The only thing he had not expected to find was the vast amounts of ammunition laying about.
This would be a problem.
"Winston, up the stairs on your right. I'm getting the left!"
The remaining two stayed on the ground floor, continuing to file forward. Templar and Winston however quickly looked for that staircase, and within moments they had found it. It was made of stone, and was steep. This led to an open hatch that allowed sunlight to pass through.
"How do you want to do this?" Winston asked.
"Slowly."
"Sergeant, these radios down here are going nuts." Aer said over the COM."
"I can hear it too." Templar said, hearing the man's frenzied please in his ears. "He's calling for help."
With that, the hatch slammed closed. It was made of wood, but unlike the main doors, seemed to be less robust. There was a thump on the door.
"They're trying to break it down!" Madison said.
Templar looked at the hatch with more concentration. It was a trap. He was almost certain of it. The door wasn't locked; it probably could only be barred from the inside, and the gunner was probably up there with a rifle pointed at it, waiting for the Marines to pop up.
No, they couldn't let him get at them like that. Templar had a better idea.
"Watch that door." he commanded Winston, breaking away to go back downstairs. There were more thumps at the door, but they were not able to get past their barricade. He looked through the aisles, looking through the array of ordinance all over the place, before a wicked smile passed over his face. He reached into one of the boxes and pulled out a long tube with a pistol grip. One half of a rocket-propelled grenade platform. It didn't take him long to find the actual projectile either. He grabbed three of the stubby rockets and made his way back upstairs, taking distinct pleasure in the irony of the situation. It made sense now why the gunner chose this location to set up - he had ready supply of ammunition. It also explained how he had continued to be a nuisance to the Marines on the beach for the last couple of days. Templar reflected on that wonderful portion of his life as he found Winston, who could only chuckle as he saw his NCO take one of the rockets and slot it on to the tube of the launcher. He leveled the launcher on his shoulder and took a knee, muzzle pointed up the staircase and towards the door.
"OK, so I've never fired one of these things. Don't you laugh at me now."
Winston only held up his free hand, palm facing out. "Who, me?"
"Watch for backblast." Templar told him, and the marksman took several paces in reverse. Satisfied, he took a deep breath, and said, "Firing!" before tightening his finger around the trigger.
The sound of the rocket firing sounded like the hissing of some monstrous beast. Flame shot out the back of the weapon, lighting the carpet on fire as well as singing the wooden posts on the guardrail. The projectile itself blasted forward at 300 feet a second out of the barrel and flew like an arrow up the staircase and into the hatchway. What Templar did not notice, was that the projectile pierced the surface of the wood and exited through the other side.
A concussive blast sounded just as the doorway leading out was torn apart, and a pressure wave from the charge punched him in the chest, knocking the wind clean out of him in one solid exhalation of breath, and splinters of wood shot down the staircase, flying like small bullets unto themselves. He felt prickles where some hit the softer portions of his armor, and felt a sting as one grazed his cheek. His goggles protected his eyes from the barrage. He fell to his knees, covering his face, more on reflex than anything else. The echo passed through the church, and within moments, it was gone. The sounds of the battering continued, though there was far less energy behind it now.
He felt Winston push him around and inspect him. The marksman said nothing, but soon gave him a slap on the shoulder. "You're good, Sergeant."
"Yeah, thanks." The Marine responded.
"What happened up there?" He heard Aer ask from the floor below.
"It's fine. I think we... I think we got him." Templar responded. "You guys get any heavy weapons you can find and set them up. Keep your eyes on the door."
"Aye-aye." Madison nodded, quickly locating a machine gun.
"Got to confirm that." Winston said. "You want to go first or should I?"
"I'll go." Templar said. "Stay behind me."
"You've got it." his subordinate replied.
Templar, still feeling as if he had trouble drawing breath, crept up the staircase, his weapon wavering slightly. His fingers drummed across the grip - a sign that he was nervous. His lips felt dry and he licked them, both in anticipation and in fear. There was something morbidly enthralling about a moment like this, moving on an enemy who may or may not know of his coming. It was strangely cathartic.
The adrenaline boosted, and with a quick motion, he skipped the last few steps and burst onto the top of the steeple, the smell of burning wood filling his nostrils, and the sickeningly familiar smell of burning flesh. In a quick motion, he scanned the small area, and within moments, discovered the RPG gunner, or rather, what was left of him.
It seemed that the rocket had indeed detonated beyond the door, spraying the area with flame and shrapnel. The man on the other side was unprotected; unready for the death that had come for him. He likely wouldn't have even seen it coming. He lay slumped against the wall, burned and battered, an arm clearly broken, other parts missing. His singed skin seemed pulled too tight over the broken skeleton underneath. What bothered Templar the most was that the face seemed untouched, as if the Tallie had tried to cover it before the end came. Two bright tawny eyes stared up, almost at the Marine, though it was clear that there was no light in those dead orbs. The second thing that bothered Templar was how little blood there was, but the tangy-coppery smell invaded his nostrils and threatened to drive him back.
Winston saw the same sight, but his expression was harder to read.
"Nice call. Look." he said, pointing down at the gunner's mangled right hand. A nasty-looking handgun was still clutched in a tight grip. From the selector on its slide, Templar guessed that it was capable of automatic fire. The tiny notch was set to a letter 'A'. "Looks like we were going to get jumped."
Templar didn't respond. He tapped his COM set. "3-Charlie-2, 3-Charlie-3. Target neutralized."
Kapplin's slightly annoyed, but now slightly relived voice replied, "Can you confirm that kill?"
"Affirmative. At least three or four parts of it."
"Acknowledged. We're coming up to Kleinstaff now. That last explosion was you guys?"
"Yeah. Used their own toys against them."
"Good move, 3-Charlie-3. Make 'em choke on it!"
Reports of gunfire from down the street sounded. The sound made it clear that it was the caliber of MA5 rifles. 3-Charlie had arrived on-scene, and what was more, Monfort's forces were advancing alongside them. Bandersnatch jeeps thundered up the main road, mounted weapons thumping away at Tallie defenders. The morale of the enemy broke, after seeing that their operation had been turned against them.
Templar and Winston took position at the top of the tower, pointing their weapons downward. Gentle tugs of the trigger put down rebel forces, from the opposite side of 3-Charlie's push forward.
It was too much. Tallie cover had been rendered useless and the UNSC now had the height advantage, allowing the two newly-placed snipers at the top of the church to pick off those who would try to flank the approaching military force. It was a slaughter. The range from the top of the tower to many targets was less than a hundred meters, an easy shot to make when many of the hostiles were dug in and seeking cover. 3-Charlie forced the opposing force into suppression with constant machine gun fire while supported from Captain Monfort's own vehicles. This allowed Templar and Winston to finish them off.
Terrified and realizing that they were now going to lose the town, the surviving Tallies made a break for the church, probably realizing that they had ordinance that could be used against the UEG's military. They threw themselves upon the door, but quickly realized that it was still barred from the interior. Screams of confusion and panic reached the top of the church.
"They're below my firing arc." Winston said. "I can't get a good angle on them."
"No, they're beaten." Templar said. "They've got nothing left.
3-Charlie ceased fire, but continued to walk forward. Under the guns of fifty men, the remaining Talahan fighters, numbering around twenty, turned to see that they had no chance. Templar could only imagine what was going through their minds. Would they actually surrender, or would they fight to the end, like many before?"
"Surrender your arms!" Captain Benedict shouted from his position in the formation. "You will be treated fairly and with dignity! The battle's over!"
The man who seemed to be the last surviving commander, an NCO by the looks of it, looked at his men, and then to the UNSC. His chest heaved with breath, and his face streamed with the blood of his comrades. His eyes darted back and forth, and his mouth struggled to make shapes.
"Surrender!" Benedict's voice boomed once more!
"Dardes das ghwar!" the Tallie NCO shouted, throwing the gun to the cobbled stone. There was a moment of stasis as the nineteen other men watched their commander. Time seemed to slow for hours, but then, the clatter of weapons sounded against stone. The Tallies fell to their knees, and some began to cry.
It was only then that Templar lowered his rifle and clicked the safety on. Resistance had been eliminated. Kleinstaff belonged to the UNSC. He breathed a deep sigh of relief knowing that they had done more than just taken the village, but secured the bay for the naval forces to drop anchor. Troops and vehicles could be deployed on the shores, and this entire region could becomes a center for operations. Hell, the UNSC could operate out of this church just as the Tallies had. The irony that this had been accomplished in a house of God was not lost on the Sergeant, whose relationship with the Almighty was lacking to say the least.
Templar left Winston to cover the steeple as he retreated down the staircase. The wood and rugs that had been caught in the backblast of the RPG were smoldering, though a fire had not spread thankfully.
"Hey, how are things down there?" he called to Aer and Madison.
"Uh, squared away, Sergeant." Aer said. "Sort of. You might want to take a look at this."
"What?" Templar asked, quickly descending the stairs to the main floor. He stepped over boxes overflowing with belts of ammunition and grenades carefully, making double sure not to touch anything that looked like it could explode. He made his way to where Aer was, which was five feet away from the altar, a polished marble thing that seemed to be the most opulent fixture in the entire structure. The Marine stood next to a crate that had been opened wide. Templar looked down into it and cocked his head in confusion and curiosity. Inside was a stack of missiles, though they seemed much more wicked than anything screwed onto a regular RPG. The missiles were long, and had fins on them, obviously meant to stabilize them on a long flight. The part where the drive section was located was covered with what looked like a decoupler or a staging device, if he remembered his rocketry.
"What do you think this is supposed to be used for?" Aer asked.
"You wouldn't waste something this pretty on footsoldiers or even a few jeeps?"
"Tanks?" Aer suggested.
"Maybe, but I have a funny feeling they were saving this for something more massive."
"The Tepitz -class?"
"That would be my guess."
Madison made his way over to them. "Well, you need something to shoot it with. You think, uh, you think that slots onto an RPG launcher?"
"If it does," Templar said, "Then that's one muzzle-heavy RPG. Look at that, it's way too big. Did you guys find anything that could launch that?"
"No." Aer shook his head.
Templar groaned. "Then we a new problem. You can get missiles anywhere but hardware is harder. If it's not here..." he shrugged. "OK, I'll tell Benedict."
"You mean you'll tell me first." Kapplan's voice came echoing into the main chamber. "Chain of command, right, Sergeant?"
"Sir." Templar shrugged. "I'd tell anybody that needed to know about this."
"Which of course would include me of course, right?" the Lieutenant said, angling his head in such a way that could be a challenge. "Don't want to go over my head, right? SOP and all that."
The sergeant motioned Kapplan over. The Lieutenant came by them and glanced down at the missiles.
"Oh man. Yeah, this isn't good." he said, tapping his COM set. "Captain, these guys were seriously packing. I'm looking at a stockpile of Ifrit-V ASMs. Maybe four or five."
"ASMs?" Templar asked. "Anti-ships? These?"
Kapplan nodded. "Yeah, don't let their size fool you; these bastards are packed with high explosive warheads. They're man-portable too. That tip? That's a leader charge that weakens the hull right before the main charge actually hits. They're meant to hit at the waterline. Two of these and someone starts taking on water." He paused for effect, knowing that the Marines could put two and two together as to their purpose.
"Did you know these would be here?" Templar asked his lieutenant.
"If I did, it would be need to know information, Sergeant." Kapplan said, his face impassive. "Did you secure a launcher?"
"No, there was no launcher." Templar said."
"Come again?" Kapplan asked, head twisting.
"Aer and Madison confirmed that there was nothing here that could launch this here. It may be in the village, but this place looks like a stockpile. If it's not here, it's not here at all."
"I don't buy it." Kapplan quickly said. You're going to search the place.
"Yes, sir." Templar nodded, irritation flaring up in his heart at having to comb all of Kleinstaff.
Benedict walked in with Captain Monfort in tow, the mechanized recon commander standing a head and a half below the Martian.
Benedict whistled. "Nice. Real nice. Guess Fukoma's boys thought that this place was worth holding. We won't be running short on ammo any time soon."
"Would be a good idea. Kleinstaff's going to be very bust very soon." Monfort added, his boyish face stretching with his genuine smile. "Sergeant, my apologies for earlier." he said, addressing Templar.
"We managed to handle it sir." Templar said, though not quite over being snubbed by Monfort.
"You did good." Benedict affirmed. "Real good. Guess Kapplan knew what he was doing when he sent you in."
Templar rubbed his face, fingers running over the stubble that was starting to grow. "I trust in the Lieutenant's judgment."
"Oh do you, now?" Kapplan said, eyebrow raising.
"Wholeheartedly, sir." the sergeant said, with only the barest hint of sarcasm. "We're here aren't we?"
Benedict, amused, said, "You mentioned something important, Greg?"
Kapplan relayed the information on the missiles and their missing launcher. Benedict's smile vanished as he looked the projectiles over, cursing several times. "The Tepitz-class is only seventeen hours out. If they kept us beat down for another day, we would have been in trouble. What's the range on one of those?"
"Almost twenty miles." Kapplan said. "No wonder they picked the highest roof in town to set up shop."
"If that launcher is still loose, we still have problems. Sergeant," Benedict said, addressing Templar. "I want you to put together a team of men. Take who you want. I want you to comb the town. Find that launcher. If you don't find it here, then you're going on a little hunt."
"Sir." Templar nodded, beginning to turn.
"Sergeant?"
Templar turned back. "Captain?"
"You and your boys did good work."
Kapplan, looking as if he would be ill at first, mastered the revulsion, and gave a solemn, but strong nod. "Yeah. You did... good. Yeah. I said it. You did good. Now screw off please."
The sergeant let a smirk cross his face. "Hey, thanks, Lieutenant."
"Off! Be off with you!" Kapplain said, waving his hand and returning to form. The lieutenant watched Templar move away and gather his men.
"Alright, Winston's going to cover the tower. The rest of you, we're going to get started on a search of the town. I'm going to get Reihner in on this and I don't give a shit if he doesn't want to do it. Captain's orders. If that launcher isn't here, then we're going on an adventure. Oorah?"
The men nodded vigorously, and followed their NCO out of the church with such energy that suggested the last few hours hadn't even happened to them.
Kapplan shook his head, remembering how the son of a bitch managed to land three hooks on him before he was dragged away by MPs. Kapplan knew that Chris was gunning for his stripes, and he knew that it he would surrender them only from a white-knuckled death grip, but he had to give him credit. He knew how to follow orders, and maybe, just maybe, that would make the kid alright in his book.
Nah, who was he kidding. But still, he thought today, and only today, he would give him a free one. Kleinstaff, and the waters surrounding it, was theirs after all, and it felt good to win. He steeled his mind now on the matter at hand and the days that lay ahead of them. It was one thing to take an objective. It was another thing entirely, he knew, to keep it.
The Village of Kleinstaff served as an infantry division command center for the remainder of the occupation of Klark Valley. On December 18, the UNSC Ball Lightning dropped anchor less than two miles off the coast, allowing for air superiority of Klark Valley and the surrounding regions. The 182nd Division retained control of Kleinstaff, even under sixteen counterattacks from TPR forces attempting to take the area back. The Ball Lightning, provided area support with mounted autocannons and gunships launched from its flight deck.
Klark Valley would remain under UEG control even after the official end of the conflict in 3234. As of 3241, it has returned to municipal functionality, though with a heavy UNSC presence for policing and defense from TPR remnants.
The Ifrit-V missile launchers were never recovered, and reports from the coastal cities of Durger and Himmelheim indicated that eight UNSC naval watercraft were lost with all hands from surprise attacks on anchored vessels at 0212 hours on December 25, 3232.