Chapter 7: Tactical Maneuvering
Apparently the new creatures were called the Flood, from data found in recently-hacked Forerunner lore. Reports poured in from all over Halo, originating from the infiltration teams and resulting in mounting fear throughout the Covenant ranks. Survivors from the incident were immediately pulled out, but the death count was high: well over 3,000 total Covenant casualties and the Flood's numbers were inconsequential; there always seemed to be more. And there were a lot more.
The survivors couldn't even be pulled to the primary base of operations back on the Truth and Reconciliation, due to a Flood infestation that plagued the ship. When the first team opened up the seals, the new foes in that section were waiting for them. Quickly overrun, the Flood managed to spring from every root and flower, or so it seemed. The tendency to possess Elites and Marines proved formidable, and the bulbous creatures seemed to be able to "inherit" the knowledge of their new hosts. With that skill, they were able to manipulate the gravity lift and enter the hull. Soon after, 89% of the ship was Flood territory.
Fortunately, there were some safe structures. In the Forerunner's data, three areas in particular were said to have been completely cut off from the tunnels that networked the ring world. It spoke of an incident in the initial sealing of the creatures. They had proved too strong for the doors to hold, and 3-meter-thick layers were used to shut them off from the surface. To date, the Flood had only chipped through two inches of it since their entrapment. These three structures were now under Covenant control: bases 5, 9, and 22. And that's where the six remaining drop ships of Platoons Two and Three were headed.
As Oriné 'Fulsamee and his comrades stepped out of the craft, he noticed what changes had been made. Base 22 had been setup as one of two major science labs, but had been cleared out of anything expendable to make room for storage lockers and cargo modules. At the corners of the hastily-fashioned landing platform were Shade turret guns, each with an Elite manning the controls. The platform itself was dug into the mountain, with the huge landform as its support. A wide ramp, big enough for a Wraith tank, linked the platform with the main structure. A second ramp on the other side of that went up to a second landing platform, where the other three drop ships unloaded their harried soldiers. The main platform bustled with activity as medical crews rushed to the aid of the incoming wounded, and ground teams assembled to quickly repair the remaining Banshees and ready them for another flight. The edge of the main platform was lined with what had come to be called "Super Shades," larger and more powerful versions of the common cup-like turrets. Major Elites manned each one, scanning the horizon for targets.
'Ongyomee walked down the ramp, closely followed by his ragged team. On their way to the drop ships, a few medics looked the party up and down before moving on to more seriously injured Covenant.
"Who's the acting commander?" Oriné heard a booming voice shout out across the main platform. He looked across to see Field Masters Noga 'Putumee and Ignil 'Quarmee strutting down the ramp, waving off white-armored medics as they rushed to the new arrivals. "I must speak with the commander!"
A golden-clad Elite emerged from the doorway that led to the inside of the structure and waved down the two Field Masters. The Spec Ops team caught up with them and began a conference right there.
"I just have one question: what are they?" 'Ongyomee asked, getting right in the new Commander's face, causing the golden Elite to shy away from the black armor.
"I believe you were briefed on the way here," the Elite stammered. "You know they are the Flood, and that they are overwhelming us."
'Putumee brushed past the black-armored soldiers and stood directly in front of the Commander. He was a good head taller and fitter looking, plus a little battle-ragged. "What's your rank?" He asked in an exhausted tone.
"Field Commander," the other gold-armored warrior straightened up, but still didn't quite meet 'Putumee's height.
"You are relieved of your command of this area," the taller said, "Field Master 'Quarmee and I can handle this outpost."
The shorter one started to protest. "Sir, this command was given to me by the Council—" 'Putumee let out a low, guttural growl, and the no-longer acting commander backed down. "Yes sir."
"Now," 'Quarmee interjected, "Answer our questions. What has happened?"
The obviously younger warrior sighed. "Since you've been out of radio contact," he began, "There have been a lot of incidents. In fact, 100% of the platoons sent to the targets reported contact with these 'Flood' creatures before contact was lost or the teams were overwhelmed. The Truth and Reconciliation was also attacked by the Flood, and currently," he paused to consult a data pad, "94% of the ship is controlled by this new opponent.
"Our scientists were able to hack further into Forerunner reports and discover Bases 5, 9, and this one were safe from underground attack. For that reason, they have been converted into our new bases of operations."
He led them to the edge. "As you can see, precautions have been taken to prevent infiltration from the outside." He motioned downward, and the group peered over the side. Multiple layers of meter-thick purple armor glinted in the light of the last trickles of sun left on the horizon. Its sheen was new and unspoiled, showing signs of a direct installation. At each corner was a Super Shade gun, turning to examine the two miles of open field before a large forest with mountains peeking up over it.
"As you can see," he continued, "We are safe from outer bombardment. We have a plasma generator hooked up to it from the inside, providing it with constant shields. Also, there are Ghosts patrolling out of range of the Super Shades. We plan on using Banshees soon, but currently they are all to be used as escorts for incoming drop ships.
"Before you ask, we are presently housing only a third of how many troops we can handle. However, we expect to soon be full to bursting, so don't get comfortable; chances are you will be moved soon. By the way, I'm…"
"Gone," 'Putumee finished for him. "We're in command now, so you shall report to us. Now, get set to receive the survivors as they come in." The smaller Elite slumped his shoulders, then hurried off as another group of nine drop ships soared over the mountaintops.
"Get some rest!" the Field Master bellowed. "We'll see plenty of action soon."
The young Commander wasn't kidding, Oriné realized, about the space. Not even a unit later, he was shaken from his comfortable slumber by a group of soldiers. They set to work turning his previously private quarters into a bunk room, just so they could all have a place to sleep.
Groggily, Oriné made his way down a series of halls, bumping into a Hunter along the way. Instead of smashing him to a pulp, however, the blue-armored behemoth shrugged his sagging shoulders and shuffled off. Whether he had lost his Bond Brother or just became weary of the battle he was in, Oriné was glad that he didn't decide to take out his anguish on him.
After a few more stumbles and mid-hall collisions, but thankfully not with anymore Hunters, he found the mess hall. A worker Grunt, characterized by his white armor, handed him a rations pack. The tired Elite mumbled a thanks to him and made his way to a table where Rurut and Yarna sat. He dropped onto the bench, made a murmuring sound from his throat, and began to eat. His comrades did the same.
'Putumee walked in not much later, coaxed the three from their seats, and brought them to a small room. A long table, made of the Forerunner material, was in the center, Covenant chairs surrounding it. Yarna and Oriné fell into Elite-style seats, Rurut into a Grunt one, and were greeted sleepily by the rest of their team. 'Putumee stood at one end and rapped on the edge of the table to draw their wearied eyes.
"I know you're all still tired," the golden Elite started, "but this is important. Fortunately, the rations the mess hall workers handed to you, and only you, were loaded with stimulation additives. You should be awake very soon." Oriné could feel the blurring fatigue begin to fade from his mind.
'Putumee continued. "Our Ghost patrols have identified a Forerunner bunker within the forest two miles away. We must assume that it is an intact tunnel access the Flood has broken through. Unfortunately, it is out of range of our Super Shades and too far in to target in the standard manner for our Wraith tanks. Your mission is to install a remote targeting device that will pinpoint the location of the building for shelling. Any questions?"
Yarna's hand shot up. "How will the tanks bring it down? These bunkers have so far proven to only break apart under constant, heavy artillery fire. It would take those mortar guns at least a hundred units to crack the material.
"Good question," the Field Master replied. "But it has been taken care of. These tanks will be armed with high-energy plasma mortars, the best we could find. We estimate only three of these blasts to sufficiently collapse the target in on itself. This is precisely why three tanks will accompany you out there."
Oriné waved his hand as well. "How do we reach the target? Two miles is a long way to walk, even with stim drugs in our blood."
"You will take Ghosts armed with standard plasma weaponry. As for what you'll be taking," he kicked open a hidden weapons crate. "You'll take these." He placed seven polished plasma rifles on the table. He added, "These are 200% charged. You still only have 100 shots, but each shot is twice as powerful. Each of you will receive three double-charge recharge packs. Just don't let the gun get hit."
"Why?" Gagaw and Ofoff asked in unison.
"Because you'll only have 40 millicycles to throw it thirty-five meters in order to avoid the large explosion." 'Putumee said, with an almost smug on his face. "Any more questions?" No hands went up, and the gold armored Elite nodded. "Good. Report to ground level, and may the Gods bring you swift victory."
The team filed out and proceeded through corridors and down ramps until they reached a hangar. Oriné wasn't expecting it, but he assumed it was the work of a Super Shade: they had proven to be the most effective when razing human-held Forerunner buildings due to their ability to blow apart the strange stone-metal that they were composed of. The hangar door was cut very clean, making Oriné wonder if hand tools were used afterwards to craft it, but didn't get enough time for observations.
A technical Grunt waddled up to them. "Excellencies, your Ghosts are prepared," the little techie said, motioning to seven brand-new Ghosts that awaited by the armored hangar door. "And here is the targeting device." The Grunt handed a small mechanism that closely resembled a plasma grenade to 'Ongyomee, who accepted it and stuffed it into a satchel slung around his body.
"Let's go," the Spec Ops commander said, and the team moved up to the Ghosts. Each soldier hopped into the single padded seat and gripped the steering instruments. The hovercraft hummed to life and lifted off the floor, gently whirring and casting shadows from the headlights. The armored door swung upward, exposing the hangar to the light of Threshold. With a push of a button and the toggle of a switch, the vehicles roared off towards the forest.
A few cycles later, they passed the first trees of the forest and entered the supposedly Flood held area. They continued on without incident, but fingers always resting on the triggers. The Ghosts weren't standard like 'Putumee had said. Their turning was many units above standard, and their speed was almost intoxicating. Had this been a joyride, Oriné could've just leaned back and enjoyed the wind on his face. But it was a military action, so he remained hunched over to reduce drag on the craft.
Suddenly, they entered a small clearing. There was no sign of a bunker, but the Flood were all around. Plasma and bullets bounced off the surface of the crafts while their forward-mounted plasma cannons fired into the crowds. The burning blue orbs ripped through the air and incinerated the chests of their attackers, bringing them down for good. Those that didn't submit to the plasma were quickly run down by the front of the Ghosts, splattering the originally spotless armor with green ooze. But they pressed on, hungry for a greater victory.
After a half-cycle's time they emerged in a larger clearing, with a one-story structure jutting out from the dirt. A few Flood milled about, unsuspecting of the danger that just came to crash their party. Blue plasma lit up the night as the few enemies around burned with sapphire energy. Quickly the team dismounted, readied their plasma rifle, and moved to the entrance. It went down at an angle, round pillars down the center until a wall with a single door stopped them. Slowly the team descended the angled floor until they reached the final pillar. Covering the air with their rifles, the group fanned out while 'Ongyomee readied the device. Just as he placed it on the pillar, the door slid open and the strangest thing they ever saw: a large form hobbled out of the door, a huge bloated mass with tiny tentacles protruding from its flesh balancing precariously on two legs. Halfway through the door, it collapsed and stopped moving.
Everyone froze. Was it a new Flood trick? Nobody moved or made a sound for a moment. Then, feeling particularly brave while holding his rifle, Ononn approached the fallen abomination. Reaching out with the front of his rifle, he poked it gently. At first, nothing happened. Then the mass started wriggling, squirming faster and faster. Everybody jumped back except for Ononn, who was too shocked to move. A second later, the body burst with explosive force and sent the poor Grunt flying into the wall. Blue fluorescent blood spurted from the area of impact and painted the wall and the lifeless body of their friend fell to the ground.
A green haze covered the area of the explosion, shrouding the doorway. A handful of infection forms came crawling out of the mist, bouncing and skittering toward Oriné's group. They opened fire on the pod-like life forms, plasma tearing through their fragile skin. Shreds of flesh dropped to the ground, all which remained of the little monstrosities.
'Ongyomee hit the activation toggle on the homing device. "Base 22, this is Spec Op 8. The beacon has been planted; begin firing on my mark," he spoke into the communicator. A second later, the gruff voice of 'Putumee dominated the channel:
"Roger that, Spec Op 8, now get your asses out of there." The group turned and ran. Ofoff ran to the body of his brother and tried to drag him with them.
"No!" their leader shouted. "He's already dead! Leave him."
The Grunt whimpered a bit, but nevertheless turned and headed for the entrance. They all hopped on their Ghosts, Oriné sticking a plasma grenade to Ononn's craft to prevent any surviving Flood from having a mode of transportation back to the base. As they left the clearing, the explosive went off, and debris from the hovercraft rained down in the moist jungle.
At full speed, they cleared the tree line in less than a cycle, and 'Ongyomee pulled his communicator loose. "Fire now!" Three tanks up ahead, purple armor reflective in the moonlight let loose a huge blast of plasma each from their mortar weapons. They were different than the normal mortar shots, however, in that they were substantially larger and colored red rather than blue. They watched in awe as the humongous discharges soared through the air and over the tree line, energy tendrils lashing out and vaporizing anything they touched. The shots arced and fell directly on their mark and a large explosion ensued. In the light of the blast, the six surviving members of Spec Op 8 hung their heads in a moment of mourning for their lost comrade, Ononn, while Ofoff sniffled and wept for his lost brother.
