Chapter One: The Enemy of My Enemy
"What is the meaning of this," the Ship Master demanded, "it is the will of the Prophets that the humans be destroyed!"
"Times have changed, and we must adapt or die," the black-armored Elite began, "it is time to reconsider our loyalties."
"Will of the prophets? You mean the guys who just condemned your entire race to death for no reason?" one of the other marines carrying a Fuel Rod Cannon spat. "How's that feel, huh?"
The Ship Master activated his plasma sword and began to approach the marine who had just spoken. Reacting instantly, the human who had shot the dead brute dropped his carbine and unsheathed his standard-issue combat knife, standing between the Ship Master and his intended target.
The Ship Master paused, reconsidering. The human's weapon looked pathetically small in his hand, and to attack the Sangheili with only that would mean certain death. The human's message was clear: the Elites had the upper hand and there would be no honor in killing these humans.
The Arbiter, in attempts to defuse the situation, was the next to speak."What do you speak of, human, that the Prophets would condemn us to death?"
The human sheathed his knife and detached a part of his helmet with a single black eye in it.
"If you want proof, here's my personal video unit. It recorded everything I saw and heard from when I was released from the jail of that Covenant installation to this very moment. One of the Prophets was addressing the entire installation from some sort of intercom system. He said something about the Elites failing to protect the Prophets and that the Brutes needed help from other Covenant fighting classes to get rid of the Elites. Truth, I believe Cortana called him. He also ordered the..."
The human stopped and looked at the ground around him, stained purple and littered with dead Elites, all wearing identical armor unlike any he had seen before. Now recognizing their significance, he took a breath and continued.
"...the Councilors to converge on Halo. All I know is that from watching the fights, the Brutes, buggers and Jackals were killing off the Elites, Grunts and Hunters. They were putting up a hell of a fight, I might add. But don't ask me, ask him."
The black-armored Mirratord turned to the Arbiter and spoke reverently.
"The human speaks the truth, Arbiter. I heard the words from the wretched Prophet's very mouth. With his blessing, the Jiralhanae began scouring High Charity of the Sangheili and all who fought by our side."
The Arbiter weighed this in his mind. The Mirratord were the best warriors the Sangheili had to offer, the most disciplined and loyal soldiers in their entire race. They could not be evil, and they certainly would not lie. The Ship Master was waiting for any indication from the Arbiter to slice the disrespectful human in half, but the Arbiter raised his hand and waved off the Ship Master, who snorted and turned away from the humans, heading up the embankment.
The marine reattached his camera to his helmet and picked up his carbine, careful not to aim it towards the elites.
The Arbiter was intrigued by this human. He seemed very sophisticated and diplomatic, as opposed to the behavior exhibited by the others. Curious, the Arbiter spoke again. "Human, by what name is it you call yourself?"
The question surprised both the Marines and the Sangheili. The marine hesitated for a moment before answering.
"Sergeant Kyle Haskins, UNSC ID number 1009428F-3560. Former analyst for the Office of Naval Intelligence."
His fellow Marines looked at him incredulously, some whispering "spook?"
The Arbiter nodded. "I am the Arbiter, former Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice. Tell me, human, why do you wish to join us?"
Haskins grunted. "My people have a saying, and I think it applies here. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Between the Elites and the Brutes, frankly, I'd rather fight alongside those with a sense of honor."
He remembered Private Michael Simmons' attempts to inform one of the Brute guards of what Halo actually did when it fired. The Brute had snorted and waved the young Marine off upon hearing that Halo was a weapon against the Flood. That was when the frustrated Marine had shouted "Goddammit, you thick-skulled moron! I'd have more luck explaining it to a Grunt!" The Brute had then fractured the Marine's skull and tossed his body to the jackals.
Seeing the look on Haskins' face, the Arbiter nodded. "You may come with us, humans, but do not expect our protection."
The other Marines looked at Haskins accusingly as the Arbiter turned his back and walked into a door in the cliff side.
Haskins sighed and said "I know."
"What the fuck is this all about, secret agent man?"
"Yeah, dude, so now you're all buddy-buddy with the split-lips?"
"Goddammit, Haskins, those bastards murdered my family on Harvest! And now we're going to fight WITH them?"
"Spook, you should have let me shoot the bastard!" The last Marine, Corporal Diego Perez, had been the one the Ship Master had threatened to kill.
Haskins faced him and spoke. "Look at that dead Brute on the ground in front of you. He was nearly decapitated by a beam sword, and he had a Brute Shot. That split-lip would have taken your head off before you could have pulled the trigger."
The Marine's mouth hung open as he failed to find a retort.
Haskins calmly spoke again. "I know that this isn't what you like, and by God, I agree with you. But I studied the Covenant intently in my ONI days. Tactics, weaponry, and society. The weakest link in the Covenant has always been relations between the Brutes and Elites. They never fight by each others' side, rather like allied armies with a common enemy. Us. We have a golden opportunity here. The Covenant is split down the middle. We could bring an end to the entire war without total destruction of the Covenant."
"My family is still dead."
Haskins didn't have a reply.
"Haskins, I don't give a shit about your high strategy," the Marine, named Whitten, continued, "but still, you're the reason we're alive. I guess we owe you for that. Fine. I'll play along, but if one of those split-lips so much as looks at me cock-eyed, he's fair game, got it?"
Haskins nodded to Whitten, who then turned and walked up the embankment towards the doors.
A second Marine, then a third, followed suite.
The last Marine was Corporal Diego Perez.
"You guys can do what you want, I'm staying here."
Haskins nodded briefly and offered to shake Diego's hand. Diego refused, turning to head back into the woods.
"Corporal..."
"Don't pull rank on me, I'm beyond the point of caring."
"That's not it."
"Then what?"
Haskins nodded toward Perez' Fuel Rod Cannon. "Unless you want to die of radiation poisoning by the end of the week, I'd strongly recommend that you get rid of that thing."
Perez responded with an obscene gesture and walked off into the woods.
Haskins shook his head and walked up the embankment through the doors.
# # # # # # #
25 minutes earlier
On High Charity, Haskins and his fellow Marines had just fought their way through the Mausoleum of the Arbiter alongside John-117, the Master Chief. The air reeked of ozone from plasma fire and the walls were pockmarked with holes from beam rifles and carbines. In some areas the metal glowed a dull red from missed plasma shots. The Master Chief had cut down the final Elite under the cover of two Fuel Rod Cannons and three Beam Rifles.
"Hoo-ah!"
"Damn!"
"Now that's what I'm talking about!"
Haskins saw that his Beam Rifle was out of ammunition and dropped it in exchange for a Covenant Carbine. The group continued outside of the mausoleum-tower and stood on a balcony overlooking High Charity. The Marines stared in awe across the huge open chamber at the enormous silver-platinum structure perched at the city-center. Haskins was dumbfounded.
So vast, so impossibly vast.
One could spend a lifetime exploring this one installation, he realized, without seeing the entire thing. The Covenant must have been older than he thought, to have time to build up to this extent.
That was when PFC Kevin McKinsey had looked to the adjacent tower.
In Amber Clad had crashed into the tower and was burning a dull red.
A miserable silence ensued as the Marines realized that most, if not all, of their crew mates were dead. It looked impossible to survive in that smoldering wreck.
"This is not good," Cortana began, speaking only into John-117's radio, "I am getting confirmed reports of Flood leaving In Amber Clad's wreckage. We need to get out of here before things get really ugly."
Considering, John-117 turned and spoke to the Marines.
"I'm going after the Prophet. You need to find a way out of this city as soon as possible. Cortana?"
A bluish-purple computer generated woman appeared on a pedestal next to the gravlift at the end of the balcony. The marines broke their attention from In Amber Clad and listened intently.
"I've located a pod bay thirty levels down. Go back into the tower and I'll direct you to the gravlift."
"Good luck, Chief," McKinsey said.
"Knock 'em dead, man."
John-117 saluted the Marines and Cortana disappeared. With that, John-117 jumped into the nearest Gravlift and sunk three hundred feet to the lower Phantom platform.
Perez stared down the Gravlift.
"Oh, great, so now he's just leaving us here."
"Looks like we were fifteen seconds too late," said McKinsey. Three Phantoms had taken off from the lower balcony and were making a beeline towards the silver structure in the center of the city.
Haskins froze and motioned for them to be silent. The quiet throbbing of a Pelican's engine had met his ears.
McKinsey was the first to see it. He pointed it out and cheered.
"Thank God for the corps! They're picking us up!"
Haskins grabbed McKinsey and motioned for the Marines to follow him behind a group of the strange containers the Covenant had strewn around.
"What the fuck, man? That's our way out of here!"
Haskins jerked his head around.
"Look at that crash. Do you honestly think any human could possibly survive that crash? Cortana said she detected no human life signs. If you ask me, I'd say that Pelican is loaded with Flood."
Not one, but four Pelicans emerged from the mist. One crashed on the lower balcony, two passed between the lower and upper balconies and headed out over the city, and one came to a stop above the upper balcony, between the Marines and the entrance to the Mausoleum-Tower.
Out of the Pelican leapt two Flood Spawn-forms and four Combat-forms carrying SMG's and shotguns. The Spawn-forms promptly burst and released over a dozen Infection-forms. Perez screamed in horror as he recognized the mutilated face of his best friend on a Combat-form, running towards them with a shotgun and firing with surprising accuracy. McKinsey began launching round after round from his Fuel Rod Cannon at the Flood, popping most of the little Infection-forms. The shock wave sent the others plummeting to the lower balcony. Haskins took careful aim and with four shots from his carbine, he dropped all four Combat-forms, their Infection-forms burst beneath their rotting, mutated flesh.
The door of the Mausoleum-tower then opened and half a dozen Elite Combat-forms ran out at full speed. Haskins fired repeatedly, but the carbine had little effect against their personal shields. Perez and McKinsey emptied their clips at the Elites, the force of the exploding fuel rods sending the Combat-forms flying off of the balcony to the city, miles below.
"I'm out!"
"Me too!"
Combat-forms streamed through the door.
"Let's get the fuck out of here!"
The Marines ran to the gravlift that the Master Chief had gone down a few minutes ago. A warm wave of inverted gravity carried them down at an aggravatingly slow rate. Haskins went last, picking off Infection-forms that dropped down the gravlift after them.
On the lower balcony, the Marines were safe for the moment as the Flood had stopped following them. McKinsey looked around at the deck, stained brown with exploded Flood forms and reeking of death.
"Damn, the Chief did a lot of damage!"
Perez was showing signs of shock. He trembled on the ground, tears streaming from his eyes.
"We're dead, we're all gonna die!"
Haskins shook Perez.
"We're not dead yet! We've got to keep moving!"
"Haskins, Haskins, get over here!" another Marine called.
Haskins looked up, seeing the Marine standing next to some kind of pod-like vehicle. He jogged over to see a dead alien of a type he had never seen before wearing an ornate robe.
"It's a goddamn dinosaur, Sarge!"
What the hell?
It did resemble a dinosaur, but the creature was so frail-looking Haskins would have been surprised if it could even walk. He walked a slow circle around it, recording everything he could, before seeing the holopedestal on its vehicle.
"Cortana, what is this thing?"
Cortana appeared on the pedestal.
"This was the Prophet of Mercy. The Flood got to him, but Truth got away in a Phantom with Sergeant Johnson and Commander Keyes."
McKinsey asked the next question.
"Cortana, how to we get to the pod bay from here?"
"Analyzing."
Haskins looked warily at the door into the Mausoleum-tower. The city was strangely silent for the chaos that reigned throughout it.
"I would assume none of you can fly a Phantom. Go through the door. I'm going to reverse the gravlift in there to get you to the pod bay. Careful, though, the Flood have a pretty strong hold on the room in between. Good luck, guys."
Cortana vanished, burrowing down into the Covenant Battle-Network once more.
The Marines gathered in front of the entrance to the Mausoleum-Tower. Breathing heavily and staring at the neutral purple slab, they tried to work up the courage to proceed.
"Wait, wait, wait!" McKinsey ran to the burned-out shell of the Pelican and returned with two SMG's.
"You're kidding. You swapped your cannon for a couple of pebble-throwers?"
"Best weapon against Infection-forms."
"Are we ready?"
The Marines ran through the doors. No Flood-forms were visible, but brown fog hung heavy in the room. They didn't slow down at all, making it to the gravlift without incident. That was when a high-pitched scream echoed through the tight confines of the room. Flood forms poured from every corner of the room, jumping down from unseen crevices near the ceiling.
"Go, go, go!"
The ride down the gravlift was like an elevator to hell. Haskins, armed only with a carbine, was the last to go and the only one in position to fire on the Flood forms that followed them into the gravlift. He fired wildly at them, killing several Combat forms and a dozen Infection forms before feeling a solid deck beneath his feet. Half a dozen dead Combat forms plopped onto the bottom of the gravlift as Haskins jumped aside and Infection forms plopped onto them, beginning to burrow into their chest cavities in order to bring them back from their latest deaths. That was when the gravlift reversed again, sweeping the Flood back up the Mausoleum-tower.
Cortana appeared on a pedestal.
"Glad to see you all made it," she smiled.
"You think you're glad," Perez muttered.
"Cut through the armory opposite the gravlift. The pod bay is on the other side."
"Any bogies?"
"Not at the moment, but I'd recommend you go quickly. I'll take care of launching the capsules once you get into them."
Haskins paused for a moment.
"How are you going to get out of here, Cortana?"
Cortana shook her head. "My job is to detonate In Amber Clad's reactor if Halo is activated. I can't risk remote-detonation. I need to stay here."
Haskins nodded. "I understand. Thank you."
Cortana smiled and disappeared.
After stocking up on ammunition in the Armory, the Marines continued through the hallway towards the pod bay. The floor was littered with the bodies of a Hunter, three Brutes and an Elite. The blood of the Elite had mixed with the blood of one of the Brutes, and the floor looked like it had been scarred by a violent chemical reaction. It was as if they were trying to destroy each other even on a cellular level, Haskins thought. How ironic. Carefully stepping over the blood, they entered the pod bay, a large elliptical room lined with capsules on both sides. The Marines stared into the open chambers, hesitant to enter them.
McKinsey snorted, "does this make us ODST's?"
Haskins thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Looking around warily, he saw nothing.
"Guys, it's time to leave. Now."
All of the Marines, save for Haskins, entered capsules. Haskins closed each Marine inside, and the capsules dropped down their respective chutes onto something that resembled a conveyor belt.
Haskins had stayed behind. He aimed the carbine around warily. Suddenly, a section of the wall thirty feet away from him came alive as a cloaked Elite stepped into the center of the room.
A roar sounded, but it wasn't the voice of an Elite. A pack of Brutes entered the pod bay from the far end of the room. The black-armored Elite decloaked and whipped around, turning its back on the human to face the new enemy.
One of the Brutes, a captain with a gray hide wearing the armor of an Honor Guard, came to a halt. The others stopped immediately.
The captain snarled, recognizing the Elite to be a Mirratord. He raised one finger towards the Elite, and barked an order.
The other Brutes fanned out to surround the Elite, fully ignoring the puny Human soldier with his pop gun at the other end of the room.
Several of the Brutes growled, pounding their chests in a show of force to intimidate the – apparently unarmed – Elite.
The Mirratord calmly crouched in a fighting stance and activated not one, but two Plasma Swords.
"Holy shit," Haskins muttered.
The Brutes were visibly taken aback. Two of them, fear washing over their faces, gave questioning looks to their captain.
The swords weighed down the Sangheili warrior's arms greatly, but he had prepared for a lifetime for this very moment. He had been selected to train as a Mirratord for being the strongest fighter and best tactician in his primary training, and he had never known defeat. He whispered a prayer for strength and glared at the Jiralhanae captain, whose horribly small brain was making up its mind about its next course of action.
After a pause, the captain snorted.
"Go!"
One of the Brutes charged, swiping at the Elite with his Brute Shot's razor-sharp bayonet.
The Elite dodged the attack effortlessly, slicing the Brute's legs off at the knees. The Brute screamed and fell on his own Brute Shot. The Elite shot up again and the Brutes opened fire.
The Elite was a flurry of motion, glaring white blades whirling through the air. Haskins merely stared in amazement. The Elite moved faster than anything he had ever seen before.
Several of the Brutes launched entire belts from their Brute Shots, but they were firing at something that seemed impossible to hit. Crossfire killed one of the Brutes as a grenade hit him square in the face. The Elite planted both blades in the chest of another Brute which had stupidly paused to reload and instantly kicked the Brute off of the blades. The Elite let his momentum plant him in the center of the ring again and he whirled around, arms extended, slitting the throat of another Brute.
Roaring in fear and rage, three of the Brutes dropped their weapons and went berserk, charging the Elite with their bare fists.
The Elite nimbly dodged their attacks and cut one of the Brutes cleanly in half in the process.
Dodging the blade of another Brute Shot, the Elite buried one of his swords in the heart of one of the Brutes that had charged him. Two more approached from behind, and without even turning around, the Mirratord conducted a blindingly fast set of maneuvers that left both Brutes with one side of their bodies hacked beyond recognition. The Brutes roared in pain, but the Elite quickly silenced them by stabbing them through the lungs.
Their ranks thinned down to three, one armed a plasma grenade in time to be stabbed through the throat with an energy sword. Weakly tossing the grenade in the Elite's general direction, the dying Brute managed to stick the grenade on one of his two surviving companions, who howled in rage before being blown open by the little blue ball.
The final Brute dropped his gun and ran out of the room howling in pure, mindless terror.
Haskins snorted, noticing that the Brute had taken the gravlift up that the Marines had ridden down. Out of the frying pan and into the fire... completely unarmed.
The Elite assumed the same fighting stance he had been in at the start of the fight and glared at the Brute captain, who hadn't made a move while his subordinates were hacked apart.
The captain looked at the floor, now drenched in oily black blood and littered with the bodies, and parts of the bodies, of his underlings. The captain huffed, drawing two Brute Plasma Rifles and opening fire on the Elite.
The Elite had no chance of reaching the captain from that distance, and couldn't retaliate armed only with swords. He looked for cover, but there was none to be found.
His shield generator failed and hot plasma burned his armor to his skin. The Elite roared in pain and fury and the Brute began to back away from his target.
Haskins had seen the entire fight. Despite all odds, the Elite had honorably fought and won against the mindless Brutes, but now was being torched by a coward who had sat out the fight.
Something snapped inside Haskins. He raised the carbine and fired three rounds, hitting the Brute captain twice in the chest and once in the forehead. The back of its skull disintegrated as its brain coated the door behind the Brute in black slime. It slumped to the ground, plasma rifles burning holes in the floor.
Haskins lowered his carbine as the Elite stood up again. The Elite looked at the dead Brute, then turned to face the Human as his shields reloaded.
Haskins nodded to the Elite.
The Elite clicked its mandibles together, in deep thought. This human, who the Prophets decried as vermin to be eradicated, had just saved Aro 'Silnumee's life. The Elite then reminded himself that the Prophets had betrayed the Sangheili to death.
The humans have always fought honorably in battle, the Elite thought. Perhaps the Prophets were wrong.
The Elite returned the nod.
"The destroyer that we arrived in has been taken by the Flood and crashed inside this city. This civil war couldn't have come at a worse time. The city will almost certainly be overrun."
The Elite grunted, thinking. The Brutes and the Elites had worn each other down, and due to the Prophets' stubbornness, continued fighting despite the parasite's presence. The city would fall, indeed.
"Then let us leave this cursed city."
Haskins and 'Silnumee entered two capsules and closed the doors.
Cortana activated the purge, and the six capsules were whisked out of the city on waves of inverted gravity, accelerated to 160 kilometers per hour and crashing down on Halo two minutes later.
# # # # # # #
Haskins entered the door in the cliff side and caught up with the others.
"Where is your fourth companion," the Arbiter asked.
Haskins shook his head. "Perez refused to come along. A thirty-year war dies hard."
The Arbiter grunted. It was not cowardice that held the human back, but hatred. Surely similar feelings effected the other humans... and the Sangheili as well.
The Arbiter thought for a moment. Why did he not feel the urge for revenge for his fallen brothers? Why did he not hate the humans?
The answer came to him quickly. Gravemind had had the Oracle reveal Halo's true purpose to him. The Great Journey was a lie. The Prophets had been fools not to see, blinded... yes, he thought. Blinded by Halo's majesty as they assumed I had been to allow it to be destroyed.
He touched the Mark of Shame burned into his flesh. It still pained him to carry the mark, but it was no longer something for him to be ashamed of. Those who had given it to him had not the authority, as they should not have been in power in the first place. How had the Prophets achieved such power, he thought, that we would unquestioningly destroy an entire race in their names?
The group proceeded through the door.
Two grunts were perched on a ridge inside the door, holding plasma pistols. One of them jumped in surprise and sounded an alarm to his companion upon seeing the humans, and began firing at the Marines.
Across the cavern, two Brutes and half a dozen Jackals heard the shots.
Haskins loudly whispered to the Arbiter, "calm them down!"
The Arbiter shook his head. It was already too late for them.
The Ship Master grumbled about losing the element of surprise, activating his energy sword. The Arbiter stood next to the door, hearing the screams of the two Unngoy as they were burned down by the Brutes and Jackals. He tightened his grip on the sword's hilt, activating its blade and standing ready on the inside of the door.
Half a dozen Jackals skidded to a halt in the hallway, only to be mowed down by McKinsey's two SMG's.
"Humans! Vile beasts!" the first Brute shouted as he approached the door. He ran through the door at top speed, passing his neck through the Arbiter's outstretched energy sword in the process. The headless Brute tumbled to the floor and all ten soldiers, Human and Sangheili alike, ran in front of the doorway. The final Brute, which had tossed down its weapon as its mind lost all grip on reason and embraced its animal nature, was torn to pieces by seven different guns firing simultaneously. It landed in a blood-soaked clod of hair and muscle.
A group of drones took to the air, but were quickly mowed down as well. One of the Marines ran up to a dead drone, inspecting it briefly before muttering "Is that it's head or it's ass?" and shooting it again with his shotgun.
"Onward," the Ship Master shouted enthusiastically. Armed with a sword, he hadn't had a single kill on Halo and was anxious to change that.
As the group moved on, Haskins took note that the Arbiter actually took a moment to pay his respects to the dead Grunts before proceeding.
# # # # # # #
Perez stumbled through the brush, slipping in a puddle of Sangheili blood and dropping his Fuel Rod Cannon. Again.
"Goddammit!"
He rubbed his sore thigh and shot an angry look at the heavy gun on the ground next to him. He thought back over his parting with the other Marines. It had been stupid, yes, but he would be damned if he were to fight alongside those he longed to kill.
He contemplated leaving the fuel rod cannon behind, but changed his mind. He had tried carving tally marks for kills on its barrel like his trusted rocket launcher, but the blade of his combat knife had simply slid off the alien metal and he had abandoned the attempt. The exact count was lost on him, but he knew that the gun had served him well. Besides, it was the only weapon, made by the Covenant anyway, that he had seen that would even up a match against a Brute.
Plus the fact that Perez just liked 'blowing shit up.'
He hefted the cannon back up on his shoulder and stared at the ground as he kept walking, trying to avoid the purple splotches of blood from the Councilors. He stopped, seeing that he had reached the end of a cliff, and looked around.
It seemed as if the only way he could go was the way that the others had gone unless he wanted to climb up or down a sheer cliff. Goddammit.
That was when the large, bulbous structure caught his eye. It looked like a sphere covered with alien writing and supported by a couple of massive concrete legs, rising out of the sea.
"What the hell is that?" he wondered aloud.
He then heard an odd throbbing sound and decided to take cover in the bushes. It was a good idea, as two Phantoms came floating down, each dropping a Wraith on the beach a thousand feet away.
Perez took out his binoculars. The Wraiths were being piloted by Brutes. Looking to the Phantoms again, he saw one hover briefly above a landing pad at the spherical building.
"Holy God..."
Through the binoculars, Perez watched as the largest Brute he had ever seen dropped out of the Phantom's gravlift.
Accompanying the Brute was Commander Miranda Keyes.
# # # # # # #
Two days earlier
The two Pelicans swooped low over the city, cutting between buildings and over low rooftops. Perez stared out the back to see wrecked cars littering the street as civilians frantically tried to evacuate from the approaching Covenant forces.
"ETA to LZ, two minutes," the pilot calmly announced. The man must have been on drugs, Perez thought, to be so calm despite the chaos around them.
The Marines were to secure a building to be used as a forward command post on the limits of the Covenant-held portion of the city-center. Perez wished now that he had been able to get his hands on a weapon better than an M7 Sub Machine Gun, but their assignment sounded like an easy one, and Perez wasn't one to complain. He could have just as easily been sent to the front.
The M7, he thought. The rookies and the pep-talking UNSC spinsters called them 'bullet hoses', impressed with what they could do to foam rubber cut-outs of grunts and jackals back at basic training.
Anyone who had been stuck with one in real combat more appropriately called them 'pebble-throwers', since that was all the more effective they were against a pissed-off Elite. At this point, Perez would have preferred a Magnum over the damn thing. At least a Magnum you could aim.
One of the other Marines on the Pelican, Corporal Tony Scalita, grabbed Perez's back and pulled him away from the open back of the Pelican. Suddenly, the pelican tipped upwards as it came to its destination. Had Tony not grabbed Perez, he would have fallen out of the pelican and into the water intake canal leading to the city's main water purifying facility.
Perez turned, his chest heaving.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it, man. We all get bold once in a while."
The pelican lurched forward and Perez fell to the deck.
"What the hell, man?" he called to the pilot.
"Welcome to New Mombasa, ladies," Sergeant Banks began. "Everybody out, on the double."
The Marines poured out of the pelican and looked around. They were on the roof of Cobb Industries' corporate headquarters, a surprisingly short building that ran around on both sides of the street.
The other pelican dropped a warthog and a dozen Marines on the street in front of the building. The lieutenant was with them, Perez reminded himself. A rookie with a college degree. Yet another of the many military policies Perez saw unfit to follow in time of war. The lieutenant was riding shotgun in the warthog which was quickly manned by two other Marines and sped around the street corner, scouting ahead.
"What the hell's the lieutenant thinking?" Perez asked Scalita.
"Hell if I know. Let's get downstairs."
The pelicans took off and headed out over the bay. That was when Perez looked up.
Stretching off into the sky was the New Mombasa Space Elevator, used to bring materials harvested from the asteroid belt down to Earth. The Elevator was vital to the city's economy, along with tourism, which was largely attributed to the Elevator as well.
Hovering next to the base of the Elevator was a Covenant Capitol-Ship.
"My God," Perez said, staring at it.
"-I repeat, we're under-" static crackled over Sergeant Banks' radio.
"Come again, sir," Banks said, now on full alert.
A scream pierced through the radio, which went silent.
"Everyone fall back to CP! Fall back right now!" The sergeant called out over the street. The marines deployed there looked at him for a second before three Ghosts and a Wraith came around the corner at full speed.
Perez and Scalita ran downstairs to shelter.
The Marines on the street weren't so lucky. Five of them made it to the building, but four more were deployed further along the street. The two on the right side of the street ran up a side street and out of sight, but a Ghost followed them. The other two ran towards the building, but were burned down by a Ghost just outside the entrance. Banks gave the order, and the steel security gate used when business closed at night came down, closing off Perez and Scalita's view of the street. Thankfully.
Shaken but unharmed, the Marines stared at the sheet metal that stood between them and an unknown number of Covenant.
The building shook violently.
"What the fuck! They using artillery against us?" a rookie shouted.
Perez and Scalita shook their heads. Accustomed to battle, they were used to seeing death.
"Quit cussing, hombre," Perez responded. "That's one of their Wraiths. They're gonna try to keep our attention on the Wraiths while they position ground troops and try to find a back way in."
The rookie, Simmons his helmet read, clutched his M7 like a teddy bear and ran upstairs. Scalita punched Perez's shoulder and grinned at him.
"Didn't have to be so honest with the kid."
"Ah, he would have found out one way or the other."
The building shook again as the Wraith's plasma mortar blew a sizable hole in the wall of one of the upstairs offices.
"ARE YOU FINISHED?" Tony shouted above the ringing in his ears.
"HELL NO!" shouted one of the other Marines, backed up in a stairwell setting up a 50-caliber machine gun to cover the closed gate.
"I wasn't talking to you!" Tony shouted back.
Perez punched his friend's shoulder. Another energy burst slammed against the building. Perez thought he heard a Marine shouting upstairs.
"What's that about?" Perez called to the Marine with the 50-cal gun.
The other Marine turned back, ecstatic.
"We've got a Spartan inbound!"
Perez and Tony glanced at each other and charged upstairs in order to see the battle. Sergeant Banks was there, crouched down against the railing of the balcony and taking aim at one of the distant Jackals with his BR-55 Battle Rifle. The BR-55 was accurate, but Perez doubted that even the sergeant could pick off the sniper from this distance.
Two Warthogs careened around the corner at the far end of the street, but the Wraiths didn't seem to notice.
"You see the Spartan?" Perez asked Tony.
"No."
The sergeant fired a three-round burst at the jackal, and the two marines were surprised to see the jackal flop to the ground lifelessly. Without warning, another jackal shot out of an alley and fired, a thin purple beam passing right next to Tony's head.
"Get down!" the sergeant yelled.
The Marines got on the floor and backed into the hallway again, listening to the warthogs' guns opening fire.
"Let's get back downstairs," Tony said.
"I'm with you, man," Diego replied, "this M7's useless against a wraith."
The two soldiers took refuge in the lobby again, ignoring the explosions outside. There was nothing they could do but wait.
Tony walked over to a soda machine against the wall and felt his pockets. No change. Damn it. He kicked the soda machine in frustration and to his surprise, a drink came out. Picking it up, he walked back over to Perez.
"Our lucky day."
"Right," Perez said, "our lucky bottle of ultra-clean water."
Tony looked at the drink in his hand and cursed.
Perez laughed.
The shooting outside stopped.
"Did we win?" asked one of the Marines.
The gate opened in front of them, revealing the streets of New Mombasa littered with the wreckage of two wraiths and several ghosts. The two Warthogs, shredded by battle but still running, pulled up to the building and six ragged Marines piled out.
"Where's the Spartan?" Perez asked.
One of the Marines, a black-haired, brown-eyed woman with a sniper rifle, gave a frustrated look to the clean-cut Perez and pointed her thumb behind her.
That was when Perez noticed one of the Wraiths was still moving.
The Spartan, wearing dark green armor, climbed out of the wraith and looked around, counting the Marines to check for human casualties. None of his were KIA, but a couple others had been sealed outside the building and cut down by the Covenant. With a nod, the Spartan walked over to the lobby, holding a Rocket Launcher.
Perez ran forward, almost tripping on a piece of debris, and snapped a salute.
"Sir! Corporal Perez, 'A' company. CP's this way."
John-117 followed the eager Marine upstairs, and his Marines followed him.
"The Lieutenant got hit as soon as we dropped in," Perez continued.
"Who's in charge now, Corporal?" The woman's voice had come from the Spartan's external speakers.
Confused, Perez stammered. "Sergeant Banks... ma'am... he's up top. Come on, I'll show you."
Perez ran out onto the balcony to see a pelican retreat overhead. He hadn't even heard it approach, but it had deposited an M808B Scorpion Main Battle Tank on the street in front of the building.
"When I asked for reinforcements, I didn't think they'd send a Spartan," Sergeant Banks said. The sergeant saluted. John-117 saluted back.
A Scorpion and a Spartan, Perez thought. Our lucky day.
That was when a thick beam of beta radiation destroyed one of the buildings at the end of the street.
Fuck!
"We've got trouble," Private Simmons said, pointing a 50-caliber mounted machine gun down the street.
John-117 gave his Rocket Launcher to the sergeant, who didn't look back, taking aim at the end of the street.
Perez stared.
Around the street corner came the largest vehicle he had ever seen.
It stood five stories high. It was supported by four monstrous crab-legs, which kicked down a footbridge without even noticing. The Scorpion opened fire before John-117 had a chance to warn its driver to get out of there.
The Scarab, completely unharmed, opened its main gun, which glowed a sickening green and launched a stream of plasma down on the tank, melting it and its pilot to the ground.
"See this look? It's terror!" Simmons cried, as he opened fire on the Scarab.
"Marine, did I give you permission to bitch?" the sergeant snapped. The 50-caliber ammunition pounded into the scarab's two-meter-thick armor, causing no damage at all.
The sergeant fired a rocket, which exploded uselessly against the Scarab's leg. The Scarab was walking straight towards them without stopping.
"I don't think it's stopping. Get your heads down!"
The marines in the hallway instinctively ducked, as if that would do any good.
Miraculously, the Scarab sidestepped the cowering Marines and continued up and over the squat building, knocked over a comm tower, and stepped down into the canal leading to the sea.
What, is it lost? Perez thought.
"Marines, time to kill us a Scarab!"
John-117, Simmons, Sergeant Banks, and another Marine named McKinsey ran up the stairs and out of sight. Two dozen other Marines stayed in the building, following their original orders.
The woman who had walked past Perez earlier walked out to the edge of the balcony.
"We need to get out of here..." she said.
"What are you talking about? We have orders to hold this building."
"It isn't safe here," she said, more urgently.
"Wha- how do you figure?" Tony stammered.
She turned to face Tony. "The Chief can handle the Scarab. I know he can. I fought beside him from here to the Western Bridge."
"That's good for us, though, isn't it?"
The woman shook her head violently, remembering what had happened when she had fought on Coral.
"No. That Scarab is all that's giving the Covenant an advantage here. Once it's gone, their ship will pull out rather than be captured."
"How," Perez asked, "they'd have a hundred MAC stations to fly thr..." he stopped dead.
"Yes," the woman said.
Perez radioed directly to In Amber Clad.
"'A' Company to In Amber Clad, over."
Static.
"'A' Company to In Amber Clad, urgent. Come in, over."
A voice came over the radio. A desk jockey coordinating the action, no doubt.
"Acknowledge, 'A' company, what is your situation?"
"We need to immediately evacuate all personnel from the city as soon as possible."
Silence.
"Say again?"
"We need immediate evac from New Mombasa. Send in all the Pelicans you can. The Covenant is bugging out."
As if to confirm his statement, the gravlift on the Covenant Capitol-Ship deactivated.
Tony turned to see a band of Grunts running down the street away from the Capitol-Ship as fast as their stubby legs could take them, wailing in mindless terror.
"Negative, 'A' company, the city is secure."
"That is negative, command, negative! The Prophet is bugging out. He's pinned between the ground and our fleets. He's going to jump. Inside the city."
A third voice entered the conversation. A woman's voice.
"'A' company, this is Commander Miranda Keyes. Pelican evac is on the way."
The marines sighed. Perez swapped off his radio and stared at the sky.
Thirty agonizing seconds later, a pelican swooped down onto the roof.
"Go, go, go!"
The building emptied as every survivor from 'A' company and those the Chief brought with him crowded into the pelican, doubling its recommended capacity. With some difficulty, the pelican took off and headed for In Amber Clad.
Commander Miranda Keyes pushed a button on her console. Admiral Sir Terrance Hood's face appeared on the small screen.
"Sir, the Prophet is bugging out. Request permission to engage."
"Negative Commander," Hood replied, "I'll vector two heavies for star-side intercept."
An alien glow developed off the bow of the Covenant vessel as a hole in the fabric of space-time was opened.
"Slip-space rupture forming off the target's bow. It's going to jump! Inside the city!"
Keyes turned to face Hood.
"There's no time, sir!"
Hood looked up. "Green light. Green light to engage!"
Keyes looked to the ship's pilots.
"Punch it! Get us close!"
The Communications officer looked worried.
"Ma'am, without a destination solution..."
"We are not losing that ship."
In Amber Clad sidled up next to the Covenant Capitol-Ship, which dwarfed the Human destroyer.
The Portal opened. The Portal closed.
It left behind an instability in space-time. Slipspace ruptures were meant to be used in a vacuum. The Nitrogen-Oxygen atmosphere played tricks on the otherwise stable technology. The instability grew as gaseous matter from the 3rd dimension poured into the closing gap into the 11th dimension for a split second and detonated with greater force than any bomb man had used against his own kind.
A ball of fire consumed the city and everything else within twenty kilometers of where Regret's carrier had been.
# # # # # # #
McKinsey paused for a moment, a puzzled look on his face. He turned around to see three dead Grunts and a live one in a corner. He walked over the grunt, which was shivering and hiding its face in its arms. Hearing McKinsey approach, but not looking up, it spoke.
"Please. No hurt. Me like Elite. Brute stinky bad bad. Me stay here... make sure no brute come behind mighty Arbiter."
The grunt did something that sounded like nervous laughter. McKinsey smiled, shook his head, and turned to catch up to the others.
The group congregated in silence in the next hallway, formulating their plan and glancing at the closed metal door.
To be more accurate, two groups congregated in the hallway, arranged by species.
Haskins nodded towards the Ship Master.
"This alliance may be more important than we can imagine, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't be careful until things cool down. Those Elites probably loathe us as much as we do them, and that Elite in gold armor seems to be the most hostile of them all."
Right, thought McKinsey, who eyed the Arbiter suspiciously. The Arbiter had been the one who knocked him unconscious in the Library when Captain Keyes had tried to retrieve the Index before the Covenant could.
The Arbiter looked at McKinsey, who quickly looked away. Where is it that I have seen that human before, the Arbiter thought before rejoining the conversation among the Sangheili.
"The humans can only slow us down, Arbiter. I suggest we be rid of them," a minor Elite said quietly in his native tongue.
"Ah. I second that," the Ship Master began. "What is to say they did not join with us in a ploy to stave off their own deaths? Or that they would not have just as willingly joined with the wretched Jiralhanae, had they been the ones to find them? They could strike the moment our backs are turned."
'Silnumee interjected. "Respectfully, Arbiter, I submit that I am only alive because of the actions of the ranking Human among them, despite an ideal opportunity to end my life as well as my attacker's. I believe I owe the humans my life, and they have made no move against us since they arrived. Their race would be a powerful ally against the Brutes, would they not?"
The Arbiter weighed this in his mind and concurred with the Mirratord. "An alliance should never die before it has a chance to form. Let us focus on the battle that lies ahead of us now."
The Ship Master huffed his disapproval but bowed, conceding the point.
The Sangheili quickly decided that the two Mirratord, who had the best Active Camouflage systems, should scout ahead. Not knowing was a Mirratord was, the Marines shrugged and left this decision up to the Elites.
Aro 'Silnumee and the other Mirratord went through the door, which opened and closed silently, and looked around.
It took most Elites some time to get used to active camouflage, especially the newer systems. It was understandably harder to fight when one couldn't see their arms or the weapon they were holding, but this was not an impediment to the Mirratord, who were masters of stealth. The room was organized in four tiered levels, on which the Elites were on top. The elites only saw a group of jackals on the third tier below them. The Sangheili backed away from the edge and deactivated their camouflage.
Aro 'Silnumee, who had more experience as the purple stripes on the shoulders of his armor signified, communicated his plan through sign language to the younger Mirratord.
Grenade right. I push explosive capsules left. Simultaneous. Eliminate Kig-Yar. Draw out Jiralhanae.
The other Mirratord bowed in agreement and re-activated his camouflage, taking position near the right wall. He armed a plasma grenade and threw it as 'Silnumee knocked two capsules full of cold plasma down on the other side. The explosion was quick but carpeted the entire third tier. All the jackals were killed immediately and several flew across the entire length of the room, colliding with the far wall and sliding down on both sides of the door on the ground floor.
Immediately the door opened and a dozen Jiralhanae armed with carbines and Brute Shots poured in the room. The Mirratord turned and rejoined the others to report what they had seen.
# # # # # # #
Commander Miranda Keyes looked around as the Phantom flew away. There could only be one reason the Brutes had kept her alive, and seeing the Index in Tartarus' beefy hand confirmed her fears of what they wanted her to do.
She wondered where the Brutes had taken Sergeant Johnson. They had been split up in High Charity just before the Flood attacked. She hadn't minded watching the Prophet of Mercy die, but she had a feeling that Truth had wanted it to happen.
Tartarus pushed her again, bringing her out of her thoughts. Four other Brutes were standing behind Tartarus, one of whom was holding 343 Guilty Spark. The little AI either didn't have access to this halo's teleportation grid or had opted not to use it, Keyes thought.
"Oracle, how do I open this door?" Tartarus asked.
"Apologies, protocol only allows the Reclaimer access to firing control."
Tartarus growled menacingly at the little blue ball. Keyes almost smiled before realizing that she was the Reclaimer. Having been the one to physically retrieve the Index from the Library, only she could open the door.
"Oracle, open this door now!"
"I wish I could be of further use to you in this regard, but protocol clearly defines-"
Tartarus roared and grabbed the Monitor from the hands of the Brute captain, shaking it violently.
343 Guilty Spark paused, considering. Physical violence was not something he was vulnerable to, but if this hopelessly ignorant creature were to disable the Reclaimer, Flood containment would be delayed. If only the meddlers had enforced a better quarantine zone. The parasite's presence in their city was troublesome but easily remedied. Keeping the preservation of the Reclaimer in mind, Guilty Spark carefully worded his next sentence.
"Protocol restricts you from accessing fire control, but the Reclaimer you brought here should have no difficulties."
"Who is the Reclaimer?"
"The Human female behind you, of course."
Tartarus dropped the Monitor, dissatisfied when it didn't hit the ground but hovered in midair, and shoved Keyes towards the door. Keyes kept her balance, and upon coming within a meter of the door, it opened quickly and silently. Tartarus again grabbed Keyes in a vicious arm bar and marched her into the structure, pausing to sniff the air suspiciously.
In a glimmer of hope, Keyes realized that he smelled something outside, rather than inside the building, and continued into the building.
# # # # # # #
Corporal Perez took his eyes away from the landing pad of Firing Control and checked his ammunition. He was carrying ten Fuel Rods in five-rod clips, including those in his gun at that moment. If he could find a way down, he might be able to get some sort of...
A phantom rose up right in front of him and rotated to face him.
"Holy fuck!"
Perez quickly aimed and fired, emptying the Fuel Rod Cannon. Out of five shots, he connected with four, taking out two of the Phantom's three huge Plasma Cannons. As he reloaded, the Phantom began rotating to face the final gun towards him.
The gun began to glow red.
Without bothering to aim, Perez emptied his gun again. Only two rounds connected, but he had taken out the last cannon. He dropped the empty Fuel Rod Cannon on the edge of the cliff, turned, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.
Taking cover in some bushes next to a decapitated Brute, he looked up.
The phantom was hovering, searching. A lone Brute dropped out of its gravlift and it sped off over the sea.
The Brute landed with a thud and looked around warily with its Brute Plasma Rifle.
"Come, human, I will make your end painless."
It fired a burst into some bushes that looked like they would have provided better cover than those Perez was sitting in at the moment.
Perez's mind screamed at him in terror, but he couldn't bring himself to move.
One on one with a brute with only a combat knife what do I do WHAT THE HELL DO I DO!
Thoughtlessly, Perez grabbed a rock off the ground, squeezing it tightly, and throwing it at the Brute.
The Brute howled in rage.
That was when Perez noticed that he had actually thrown a plasma grenade. The little blue ball had adhered to the back of the Brute, who turned to face Perez before being blown apart.
Perez sat still for a moment, spattered in oily black blood.
Then the smell hit him.
He threw up, wiped his face with a handful of leaves, and backed away from the remains of the Brute.
His foot hit something soft.
Turning, he saw a dead Elite on the ground. Its gun lay on the ground beside it, and its eyes stared lifelessly into the sun.
OK, OK, I can take a hint, Perez thought, staring at the sky as if God had played a trick on him.
He grabbed the dead Elite's gun and another plasma grenade and ran up the embankment to join the others.
He only gave glancing attention to a Covenant cruiser hovering over the sea.
# # # # # # #
An Elite with only two mandibles and gleaming silver armor pulled his energy sword out of the latest Brute he had slain. The wretched Jiralhanae had attacked without warning and killed all of his companions. He had evaded them with his active camouflage system and was working his way towards the cruiser's hangar bay. The Jiralhanae had assumed control of the ship, but had not moved it away from the surface of Halo to join the fleet at High Charity.
Perhaps they feared the Prophet's wrath for what they had done to the Sangheili and Unngoy on the cruiser.
Zuka 'Zamamee pondered the fate of the Councilors briefly. They had been transported to Halo's surface to witness the Consecration of the Icon, but shortly after the phantoms had departed, the Jiralhanae had begun to systematically slaughter the Sangheili and Unngoy. The Kig-Yar and Yanme'e had been spared. For what reason, 'Zamamee did not know.
They must be warned, the SpecOps leader realized. The Jiralhanae fight without honor and strike without warning.
Three Brutes ran past the doorway that Zuka 'Zamamee was taking cover in without noticing him. He looked both ways down the hall and continued towards the growing light. At last, he came to a halt on a balcony overlooking the hangar bay. The Phantoms had departed, and hangar staff was at a minimum.
He snuck up behind the Brute looking at the row of Banshees lined up in front of the hangar's force field and silently broke its neck. Carefully lying it down to avoid noise, he retrieved a belt of plasma grenades from the beast, pushed the controls to deactivate the shield, and activated his camouflage.
One of the other Brutes looked in shock as a banshee seemed to come to life, flying out of the hangar bay by a pilot he could not see.
# # # # # # #
It was over before it even started.
McKinsey's ears rang with the deafening explosion at the bottom floor of the room. The Elites had simultaneously stuck the Brutes with six Plasma Grenades, which then chain-reacted with the grenades the Brutes were carrying. There were no recognizable bodies on the ground level, but the floor was a mess, to say the least. Nobody had ever said the Elites were poor tacticians, but the Marines would have openly admitted that they had no idea, with the weapons at their disposal, how to press through the room without a single friendly casualty.
I hope we don't have to fight these guys, McKinsey thought, Jesus, I don't want to die!
Covering their faces and watching their steps, the group continued into the next room.
Over the next half hour, the Humans and the Elites continued towards an unknown objective, leaving no enemy alive.
# # # # # # #
Perez, however, had gotten lost.
Armed now with a needler, a Plasma Rifle and six Plasma Grenades, he had gone through a doorway on the top level of the four-tiered room instead of going to the bottom level. Having wandered through tunnels aimlessly for twenty minutes, fear ran through his mind. He didn't look forward to another one-on-one encounter with a Brute, but it had become clear to him that he was hopelessly separated from the others.
The door in front of him opened, and suddenly he was outside again. He took cover in dense foliage and cautiously looked around. There was a beach here, at the base of the cliff he had started out on, based on his new view of the bulbous building off the shore. The two Wraiths he had seen earlier were still sitting there, clearly not on alert anymore. He took note of the Capitol-ship hovering above the water.
That was when he saw the Banshee. It flew straight towards the beach from the ship.
The Jiralhanae were prone to boredom without confrontation.
Thalus slouched in the seat of his Wraith. Nothing had happened since he had been dropped in. No enemy-held vehicles or Sangheili foot soldiers had come within his sight since leaving the Cruiser against his wishes. He longed to squeeze the life out of one of the filthy, traitorous Elites. Looking around on his scope, he saw no movement. He wished that at least a band of Unngoy would have come traipsing out of the brush by now.
Movement.
He turned his Wraith around. A single banshee was approaching.
What is the meaning of this, he thought, that a single Jiralhanae would approach without signaling?
He touched the holographic controls in front of him, opening a radio channel to the Banshee.
"Who goes there," he asked. The question would be his undoing.
Until that very moment, Zuka 'Zamamee had not known if the Wraiths were friend or foe. Hearing the voice of a Jiralhanae in one of the Wraiths, 'Zamamee armed his Banshee's Fuel Rod Cannon.
Rapid beeping sounded in the Wraith's cockpit. Thalus knew that if he stayed there, he was dead. His Wraith could not hope to destroy a Banshee. He opened the canopy and climbed out as fast as he could, jumping clear of the Wraith just as a Fuel Rod slammed into it and detonated, denting the armor but not causing much damage.
Thalus began firing on the Banshee with his Plasma Rifle, melting some of the thick armor shielding the pilot in the front.
Zuka 'Zamamee punched the accelerator and flew straight into the Brute at two hundred kilometers an hour. Its broken body flew thirty feet into some trees. The scum had been deprived of his Journey, a punishment fitting the crime committed by his race. Smiling, 'Zamamee then turned on the other Wraith.
Perez looked at the shattered Brute on the ground in front of him. The Banshee had blown up the other Wraith, and landed on the ground. Its occupant—Perez groaned recognizing the Elite to be an Ultra—had climbed out and was heading towards the other (mostly undamaged) Wraith.
Swallowing hard, Perez stood up.
"Hey! Over here!"
Zuka 'Zamamee froze, slowly turned around and shot Perez a look that could kill a man.