10: Claim Stake
November 11, 2552 Sol Relative Time
Southeast Africa, Earth
The conversation between the soldiers of Earth and a number of imports had seemed to wane, but the thoughts swirling through many of their minds haltered the assumption that any talk was overwith; after having his piece heard, Shay had counted to ten, at which point came the measured response;
Migpap approached Shay slowly and with a glint in his eye as he stated, "You say faith like me in Covenant again. Me not follow simple belief, me follow Grunt King. But me not make you follow leader. He leader like old leaders of great times of Unggoy past. He Messiah cause he lead us away from cruelty." Migpap shook his head, not wanting to turn Shay away, but feeling that the Grunt needed to find his own path. "You come with Elite, you fight good with Elite, but me not know how you fight. Me not see you fight. But me think you best with Elite. You want to be stray Grunt, that you choice, but me still say you have pack if you want." His word came out softer then the rest of the Mirratord grunts had expected. Migpap didn't argue, "Go. We not participate in you decision." The grunt turned and began to lead his Mirratord grunts into another direction.
Doug watched as the Grunts parted, leaving Shay behind. He then looked to Zimivee, and said, "Nope. The choice is clearly his." Doug continued walking.
The comment made the warrior smile broadly, as if either extremely pleased or extremely amused – but the smile appeared genuine. He didn't say anything more, however, as the alone again Grunt hustled towards them, hurrying to catch up before falling in more or less behind and towards the middle, between the Human and Sangheili in the lead.
Doug rested his rifle against a crumbled polycrete wall and took a sip from his canteen. He tapped his COM and opened a channel to Steve. "How you feeling, buddy?""Like crap. But at least I got my mobility back." Steve replied over the COM line. "Doc says I can meet with you as soon as I can get dressed.""Good. I need more eyes out here. Contact me when you're in range." Doug closed the line and sighed as he gazed at the horizon one more time. He looked to his left as Zimivee held his post like a stone, glaring into the cityscape without much fanfare. Shay sat further along the wall, motionless, with his methane tank resting against the wall. Doug thought for sure that the little grunt had fallen asleep. "I almost wish the Brutes would show up." Doug sighed to Zimivee. "We have plenty of numbers now, and I'm getting bored out here."
Zimivee looked at him, surprised. "You bore frightfully quick, for a Human who only two hours ago barely escaped death."
Doug laughed at Zimivee's words, thinking it were a joke. Doug wondered if the Elite even understood what his idle words truly meant. "It's called 'being cocky'." Doug snickered. "I walk a good walk, but when the suck comes I'll be regretting my own words." He peered through his range finder. "In all honesty, I like the quiet. But if want to keep my edge about me I talk like I'm eager for a fight."
Zimivee looked at him strangely, but had no comment for that – the concept was truly lost on him, and he couldn't begin to grasp the gist without further explanation. Added to this was his doubt that he would want to know once he'd actually found out – so all he said, in hopes it wouldn't hurt, was "Okay."
Back inside the base, Chief Raynord began to survey the zone. Corporal Tyrone eagerly wanted Chief Raynord to take the lead, but Chief Raynord had other priorities. "We have to go."
Corporal Tyrone didn't know how to comment. "Sir, please. You can't leave us here like this."
"Once we arrive at the Gatekeeper Facility I'll be sure that someone comes back. We can't abandon this base completely. You held these men together this long, keep up the work." Chief Raynord and Mathew 08 began to walk to the exit. "Foxtrot, Tangent, warm up the engines and kick the tires. I want dust off in ten."
Chief Raynords COMM vibrated. "Roger Chief."
A second transmission echoed, "Tangos inbound, Tangos inbound! West-delta, they're coming down main street. Looks like they're coming to finish what they started."
Tryone pulled out his side arm and tapped his COMM, "Position effect trip mines. What's the heavy weapon detail?"
"Six fast movers by two tanks." The spotter shouted back.
Tyrone stumbled with the simple math and Chief Raynord cut in on the silence. "Twelve fast movers. Focus on the tanks but keep a low profile. Don't give up your position unless you absolutely have to." Chief Raynord looked to Tyrone. "Reposition your spotters, but leave some of your men to cover the flanks."
Tyrone nodded as he adjusted his helmet COMM. "All lookouts and scouts. Leave one eye, and reposition to West Delta. Tangos are inbound."
Doug's heart sank as he heard the words on his COMM. "Did he say Tangos, as in hostiles?"
Zimivee looked at him. "If that is what a tango is, then yes. That's what he said. Perhaps you ought to have kept your mouth shut – you who seems to be possessed of magic words." The warior's tone was accusatory, but also in jest – he was poking fun at Doug for having wished the scenario upon them, even though he knew the mention had nothing to do with the Brute's deployment or intentions.
"Bad luck or bad karma is more like it." Doug sighed. "Maybe I do talk a little too much." Doug watched as a silhouetted image rested beside him and then began to emerge as an Elite in all black armor. "Christ!" Doug shouted at Gridolee's sudden appearance. "Where did you come from?"
"Do not be alarmed. I just now arrived." Gridolee looked at Zimivee and gave a slight nod. "The human forces are moving into position flanking the road. I intend to flank the Brute's advancing line; to catch them from behind. Will you join me?"
Zimivee looked over at Doug, and decided he was probably better off fighting with allies he was used to at his elbows; wheras Gridolee seemed more inclined to be adaptive, since he too carried close combat weaponry. Looking back at the other, bigger Elite, Zimivee nodded his head.
Behind him, though, Shay hunkered where he was. Here there was good cover; and he couldn't keep up with Zimivee when he was moving fast, so he knew better than to try it with two of them. Nevermind Zimivee's speed and agility was something he had over almost all other Elites. It was only his durability that set him back.
Gridolee climbed from cover, Zimivee directly behind him, and they made their way toward the approaching Brutes. Time was critical at this juncture; they stayed in cover, passing several positioned humans as they moved along the side of the road. A row of buildings made easy cover for a flanking run as the two Elites cautiously made their move. Zimivee noted the odd similarities between his new companion's expert motions and those of the late Mün Gazenee's, and wondered if it were not due to some unanimous training regimen all Mirratord members had been subjected to.
As they approached their target position a new thought rushed through his already spinning mind; what if leaving the Human and Grunt behind had been a bad idea? He knew already he'd hampered some of Mün's movements and plans, while in the other Elite's presence, but here he felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu… and that it was going to happen again, this time more likely to a more drastic measure of the same end result.
Mün had died, after all, just getting Zimivee's worthless carcass out alive. Cinching his grips on the old warrior's blades, he concentrated on the here and now; he was damned if he was going to let that happen again! This time would be different… if only in that Zimivee would go down with everyone else, should anyone perish. It was a worthless sentiment for the most part, and he knew it, but it helped to calm and smooth his rattling nerves so he could think clearly about his situation and react accordingly to it.
Gridolee positioned himself near a pile of debris as the Brute squad moved passed. The heavy gravity thrusters of the two Wraith tanks throttled loudly as they boosted to keep pace with the faster moving Ghosts and Choppers. Gridolee knew that timing was critical. He and Zimivee needed to disable or distract the Wraith tanks as they could lob plasma mortars onto the humans' well-defended positions. "Do not fire until I give the signal." Gridolee whispered into his radio. He hoped none of the more nervous humans would fire too soon, as their lack of discipline would be their demise. He turned to Zimivee and watched as the younger Elite seemed more calm then Gridolee had expected. It was not too surprising however, as Gridolee knew the warrior had seen combat and was well trained. And if a Mirratord warrior had risked his life to save Zimivee, then there was truly something promising about him. "I'll take the farthest target once they pass." He whispered softly. "My cloak will allow me better camouflage. The other tank is yours. Have you any plasma grenades? They do wonders to a Wraith's intake manifold."
Zimivee nodded in response. "I have two. The blades will cut through the armor plating on them, right? The explosive should be better spent without needing to tear through armor before exposing anything vital."
"Yes. One quick swipe and you should be able to see the inside." Gridolee nodded. He recalled his conversation that Zimivee was not as sturdy as most of his kin. Gridolee knew that he could simply punch the grenade into the intake manifold's thin metal grate on the rear of the tank, but Zimivee's fragile structure would not permit such aggressive acts. "On the rear of the tank, you will see the circular glow of the intake manifold. Quickly cut through and insert the grenade. However, you must be cautious. Once we destroy the tanks, the Brutes will quickly be upon us."
Gridolee watched as the tanks slowly moved past their cover position. He looked around to be sure that the Brute scouts had not noticed them and then looked to Zimivee. "It is now or never."
The smaller Elite nodded once, coiled back, and suddenly seemed to blink out of sight; and for all Girdolee's past experience in the field and all his sharp senses, the motion that zipped past in his peripheral from directly in front of him was the only explanation. For being so hindered, Zimivee was hardly helpless, and his extraordinary speed sent him flying at the first tank like that direction was down, and he were falling at a rate of almost two gees. He latched on with the points of his claws in the seams between plates of welded armor, lit off one sword to free up the manifold grating, stabbed the lit grenade into the deepest recess available, and launched away again.
Turning from his mission, Zimivee realized to his total surprise that Gridolee was not yet even in contact with the second tank – he'd completely expected to be outdone in everything simply as a matter of course. But he didn't hesitate for long, aware his camouflage engine was getting warm and he would soon need to switch to his secondary… with a frustrated growl and wondering what the Mirratord officer was getting at, he moved to the second tank, his last grenade in hand. He could have sworn Gridolee had said he'd take care of the second one… he was halfway there, though, when he had to thrust backwards into a tucked roll before being able to continue forward as a chopper churned past right where he would have been had he not moved.
And it was at that point that he remembered he nolonger had his secondary camouflage engine… he'd left it with Doug. Which meant he had… seven seconds… to finish up and obtain cover. Zimivee pulled to his hooves and pushed forward, running past the last chopper in that line and ducking between foot soldiers as he sought the second tank.
Behind him, the first one erupted.
Gridolee had to act fast. Zimivee's speed was much greater then he thought possible. Not since the agile quickness of the Grunt King had he seen something with such grace. Zimivee was already half way to the second tank and the Chopper was barreling at him with an unyielding roar to kill. Gridolee wondered why Zimivee had altered his path back to the second tank. Cloaked and unseen, Gridolee finally climbed to the back of the tank and punched his plasma grenade into the tank's manifold as the vehicle spun to face Zimivee. Gridolee, doing a mental count of how much time he had, climbed to the top of the tank and ran forward as Zimivee dodged the speeding chopper.
"All units attack!" Gridolee ordered into his COMM. He then dived forward at the first chopper that had buzzed passed Zimivee, gripped its side and kicked the Brute from the seat. The Second Tank then ignited in a pulse of blue flame. Human sniper rounds began to zip into the line of foot soldiers as the forward Brute vehicles sped forward to attack the human encampments. Gridolee looked to Zimivee as he powered off his camouflage. Zimivee had already begun to engage the foot soldiers.
He seemed more worrying them than anything else, but he did bounce off of one Brute that had run too close in an attempt to bludgeon him down in passing – Zimivee's reaction to the fellow's sudden appearance knocked the Brute back and down, but hardly caused it ill in the least. Spinning to address the more pressing issue of spikes and plasma bolts zipping in at him from practically everywhere at once, Zimivee tucked into a quick roll and came up at the nose of the first tank, which he ran up the front of and hopped over into the partial cover of it's flank; at least there, he could only be hit from one or two directions, simultaneously, but he'd missed one deciding factor.
Coming to a stop, he found himself facing a rather irritated Brute who had realized both tanks were dead hulks and soon figured out why; and though the little warrior wasn't quick enough to dart out of reach in time, he just seemed to pull like taffy and fold in all kinds of odd contortions until he'd flipped himself over the Brute's shoulder, from which he planted both hooves on its back and thrust away. He flipped once in midair and landed on his hooves, then returned with active swords, which he used to first slice free both outflung arms and then the creature's head.
Freed of that predicament, Zimivee paused to try to look around and determine friend from foe, so he might know which direction to run to. He looked frazzled, at best, but not panicked. It seemed he knew what he was doing, but he wasn't used to being swamped with enemy.
The Mirratord were trained in various forms of combat. From assassinations to all out war, from hand-to-hand to weapons mastery, a Mirratord warrior is a creature to be feared in any contest. But the unfortunate Brutes were unaware of what the Mirratord was, let alone that one of its youngest and most promising warriors was standing in their midst. The spike rounds bounced harmlessly from Gridolee's energy shield, causing the massive Sangheili to growl in contempt of the Brutes' foolish assault. Turning his eyes from Zimivee, Gridolee dismounted the Brute chopper after stabbing his blade into the control panel and leaving it unusable. He glared at the trailing Brute foot soldiers that had been trailing the two tanks and had seemingly snuck up on him and Zimivee. With a smirk Gridolee gripped his twin blades and powered them on. The Brutes fired wildly, and either the distance was too great or their aim was poor but most of them missed him completely. Gridolee lowered his stance as another wild spike round pinged off of his enhanced Mirratord shield unit. Six brutes against one Mirratord? Pathetic odds and the Brutes would never know what had hit them.
Gridolee charged.
The best weapons in the Sangheili arsenal usually began testing in the hands of the Mirratord. Since the very beginning of the Human-Covenant War, the Sangheili High Council tested the most advanced weapons by giving them to their best soldiers. If anyone could find a flaw in a weapon, it would be those whose lives depended on them the most. The Enhanced Personal Shield Emitter was no exception. Twice as strong as a standard shield and with a faster recharge, the EPSE was the very strength of its wearer. A Mirratord warrior often worked behind enemy lines, or in covert operations of espionage or isolation. If overwhelmed his shield would be his only aid. It needed to be strong, not only in short firefights, but in long drawn out battles. To send one warrior into an enemy's stronghold would generally mean his death, but these shields increased their survival astronomically.
Gridolee sidestepped as a Brute lunged toward him, and with a quick spin his blade sizzled through the Brutes shield and his torso. Another Brute grabbed him from behind, but Gridolee stepped into the Brute's body, causing the beast to stagger backwards. In the split second that the beast lost focus Gridolee stabbed his elbow into the Brute's abdomen, and because of the orientation of the twin blades he had also stabbed the sword into him. Gridolee spun quickly, ripping the sword out of the Brute's side and ensuring that the beast would die painfully and slowly. He then kicked out at another Brute that had wandered too close.
It was then that Gridolee noticed he was surrounded. There was no sense of panic in his eyes and he completely ignored the battle being waged beyond. For now it was only the recollection of his years of training. An outnumbered Mirratord was a terrifying opponent.
Gridolee recalled the teaching of Ship Master Domadree, his trainer and master during his training. "If you are fighting one opponent, that opponent is cautious and calculating. But against multiple opponents there is always a sense of overconfidence. One of them will let their guard down, and the others will think that they can overwhelm you. As a Mirratord Warrior, you will learn to attack blindly... but still be focused on killing one target at a time. When we are done with you Gridolee, you will be able to fight an army and walk away unscathed."
How true were his master's words. Gridolee blindly kicked the Brute nearest too himself, and as if he had eyes in the back of his head, he spun around and slashed his blade through a Brute's face that had attempted to grab him from behind. Plasma began to wash over his shield but Gridolee ignored it and lunged toward another brute, however it was only a feint, and he quickly side stepped toward an unsuspecting Brute holding a brute shot. The beast, stunned by the Sangheili's sudden approach, raised the weapon but never had the chance to fire. Gridolee wrapped the brute shot between his hip and his right arm. He then slid his right single blade up the length of the brute shot, severing the Brute's fingers and forearm, and then raised the blade up through the Brute's chest and head. The other Brutes screamed in rage and attacked in a mass. Gridolee heard their combined charge before he saw them, ducked low and swung his blade in a rising ark. The Brutes tumbled back as blood spat from the thin cuts in their armor.
Gridolee lowered his stance, extended his arms and waited for the Brutes to make another move. The three wounded Brutes staggered backwards, confused and shocked as they looked into Gridolee's death glare. The lone Mirratord warrior was smiling in joy at the carnage of war. "You must learn not to think, but only to react. And when you learn to react purely on instinct you will be a force that is unstoppable. This is what makes the Mirratord Second and First so powerful; their ability to react on instinct even in the midst of feverish battle. The blades you hold must become more then just a weapon. It must be an extension of your body. The blade makes the warrior, and the warrior is one with the blade. Each blade carries the heart of its warrior, and when you become a master you will understand that the blade is your key to survival."
The words of his master echoed in his head. Gridolee expanded his chest and roared, "The blade makes the warrior, and the warrior is one with the blade. Each blade carries the heart of its warrior, and when you become a master you will understand that the blade is your key to survival!" The Brutes had no understanding of these words as fear struck them. But before they could become too overwhelmed with thought, Gridolee was once again lunging toward them. He targeted the one that seemed to have lowered its guard the most. Gridolee spun his blade so that it was no longer resting upon his forearm and angled it length wise away from him. He then stabbed the shocked Brute into the chest, kicked the Brute standing to his left and cut down the one on his right. The last Brute, terrified, attempted to stand and fight, but Gridolee's free blade pierced its throat.
The battle was not over, but for now Gridolee breathed to regain his stamina, and he hoped that Zimivee heard his words.
He had; but though able to give enough pause to look over at the Mirratord warrior during his outcry, Zimivee had been more or less preoccupied with the few straggling Brutes who had not been brave or stupid enough to attack Gridolee. And despite hearing the words, yet again, there remained a loss for understanding. To Zimivee, the blades in his hands represented what he could never be – they were certainly not him. They were powerful, unbreakable, unbeatable, hardened tools that felt neither fear nor pain, and never failed when called upon.
They were everything he could only hope for, only dream of achieving. With each swing, thrust and chop, they rendered his enemy to lesser pieces of what they once had been, cut asunder and more often than not, quite dead for the effort. But though long ago lost within that isolating envelope of terror that kept his senses so high strung that nothing – not even the light hum of Gridolee's own blades more than a hundred yards away under a deafening cacophany of thunderous gunfire – escaped his attention, Zimivee was beginning to realize something he'd not ever been forced to before now. There, in the midst of the worst skirmish he'd ever been unlucky enough to be trapped in the middle of, he was beginning to see how backwards he'd been all those years.
He turned into a slice, tucking his arm against his chest and then extending it again, the blade in that hand cutting cleanly through a Brute on his left before he pulled the other blade down across the face of another one more to his left. A third, unhindered by assault, closed its hands around his throat as he passed it, killing it's fellows, and snapped his head back.
The move would have killed any other Sangheili warrior on the spot. Zimivee simply brought his head back down with the muscles in his neck while walking up the Brute's front pressing against its grasp on him. He coiled, cut both arms off, and sprang away, to somersault and land on his hooves and ready for the next three that attacked at once. He was too fast to catch many blows, but the ones that did land he either curled around or bounced back from as if made purely of elastic. It hurt – it all hurt – but the pain was little more than bruise worthy, and he smiled his own feral, mirthless smile as the last fell in pieces and more approached.
Fixating a deadpan, blank and vacant stare on the first to step forward, Zimivee mouthed the words he'd been saying almost all his life, but in reverse; "I bend. You break." And then he launched his small frame at the beast like one of his larger brothers might have, blades first.