Chapter Twelve: Desperate Measures
0430 Hours, December 18, 2552 (Military Calendar) \ One Month Later
Earth, Sol System
Old Mombasa, Kenya
Captain Ian McCandlish—Delta Company Commanding\77th Marine Regiment
I walked through the hallway in my small cottage in the outskirts of Manchester, irrevocably exhausted from the effort of putting the twins to bed. I swear, I think they enjoyed torturing me every night. If I'd known two bloody ten-year-old boys would have been this much trouble I'd have built a kennel to keep them in! Okay, no, not a kennel, I'd never do that; I was just tired. People think differently when they are tired, and I'm no exception.
I opened my bedroom door and trudged in, peeling off my shirt and slipping into my sleep pants. Iris was already in bed, reading her copy of Angels and Demons, some old adventure novel from the 21stcentury. My wife was obsessed with 21st century stories; she always kept a large shelf of them in the closet. "You're putting the kids to bed tomorrow," I grumbled as I slipped into my half of the bed. I punched the pillows several times to fluff them up and lay back, letting out a long breath and another yawn.
Iris didn't even glance up from her book. "A brave 'n mighty UNSC Marine Corps Captain who's laid waste to several Covenant armies, who's saved thousands of civilians from the Outer Colonies, and who personally destroyed the Covenant flagship at the Siege of the Atlas Moons—knackered by two ten-year-olds. My, what a smashing tale this'd be for the epics."
I sat back up and smiled, putting an arm around my wife's shoulder saying, "You know how adorable you look when you get all steamy fancy like that?"
"Oh, shut it, you can't acknowledge a legitimate spot of anger even if it twatted ye in the face, why do I even—" even as she spoke, she put her book down and leaned closer to me. Her lips brushed mine and—
"Captain!"
I cocked an eyebrow; certain I had heard someone calling out for me. "You hear that?" I asked Iris.
"Hear what?" she asked. I gazed back at her with concern; her voice had changed—it was more distant and disembodied…almost like listening to it though water. As I watched, the room around me began to blur and fade.
I think I realized what was happening a moment before it actually did, that would explain why I found myself already swearing even as I woke up, roused by my aide calling out my name and gently shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes and took in the all-too-familiar sight of the cracked and smoldering asphalt of Liberty Street, now illuminated in the dark by plasma torches and old street-lights that had yet to be shot to pieces. I had found an open place to crash with several of my men in an open alley between two short buildings, but it obviously wasn't enough to not be disturbed.
Corporal Abruzzi, my aide, straightened up and offered me a hand. I took it and hauled myself to my feet. "I'm sorry for waking you sir," Abruzzi apologized, "but Major Sutherland wants to see you and the other Company Commanders at Regimental Headquarters right away."
I sighed inwardly, but merely nodded to Abruzzi. "Thank you, Pete—we'll see what the old man wants. Get some sleep while I'm gone."
"Thank you, sir, but I have a feeling we won't be able to sleep much longer. The major doesn't call in the Company Commanders for light reasons."
I had to agree with that; the Major wasn't known for baseless fears and suspicions.
Ever since Colonel Weinburg, the 77th's original CO, had been killed in the initial invasion of Mombasa half a month ago, Weinburg's executive officer, Major Paul Sutherland, had been in charge. In the initial invasion, five of the nine companies of the 77th Marine Regiment had been annihilated; caught in the mainland by surprise, surrounded, and destroyed. Delta Company, my company, had survived along with 1st Battalion; Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie, because we had been in New Mombasa at the time of the invasion. And now, ironically, we were still alive because we had not been in New Mombasa during the explosion.
A Covenant Assault Carrier which had managed to bypass the Orbital Defense Grid that had been harassing us since day one had made a sudden slipspace jump while hovering right above the city. It was the resulting explosion—caused by the jump—that had leveled the island of New Mombasa and caused damage to the mainland city. Luckily for us, Major Sutherland had decided to go on the offensive a day before the explosion. I remember him saying at the briefing that night that the battle had been going too easy and that he had a bad feeling about staying in New Mombasa when the Covenant weren't truly attacking us. We had all geared up and advanced across the Mombasa Suspension Bridge, gaining a foothold on the other side of the Strait. One day later; no more New Mombasa. Whatever misgivings anyone had for the major vanished that day.
I reached into my inner pocket and drew out the worn photograph that I had carried with me through every battle. It was one of me, Samuel and William—the twins and my wife Iris wrestling each other to the ground in the yard of my home back in Manchester. A lump rose in my throat; my family was safe in the White Keep, an ONI stronghold located somewhere deep under the highlands and moors of Scotland. I hadn't seen them for nearly half a year.
I hopped into an idle mongoose that had been abandoned on the street during the battle yesterday, putting my picture back in its pocket. It coughed to life and lurched forward. I turned myself around and headed back down Liberty Street towards the Hotel Zanzibar, our makeshift Regimental HQ. My route took me past several patrols and groups of marines; some of them mine, some of them not. They all gave me a respectful nod regardless of their outfit.
I pulled the mongoose over and killed the engine once I reached the hotel. I climbed off and made my way to the hotel's entrance. I ended up running into my old friend Captain Aucamanc Hiawatha, Alpha Company's CO. Hiawatha was something of an enigma; I had met many marines and naval personnel over the years, and each fell into one category or another; fighting for family, fighting for humanity, fighting for home or friends, fighting for revenge etc. etc. Hiawatha didn't seem to fall into any of them. He was an older man of Native American descent. His tanned face was creased with laughter lines and he carried about him an air of serenity. He was a very spiritual man, and yet on the battlefield his ruthlessness towards his enemies could rival that of a brute's. As I said—he's something of an enigma.
"A fine night for revelations," Hiawatha grinned as we gave each other a friendly thump on the back.
"Too right, old friend," I answered. We traded our stories of what had transpired with our companies since the offensive on Old Mombasa; the Companies had split in different directions after we gained a foothold on this side of the bridge—this was the first time I'd seen Hiawatha since then. Delta Company—my company—had been sent up Liberty Street while Alpha had hooked around and pushed through the northern reaches of the city. As I listened to Hiawatha, I realized that the battle was actually going well. It wouldn't have been the first battle I've won in my service, but it would be one of the first victories that wasn't pyrrhic.
I followed Hiawatha through the Hotel Zanzibar's entrance into the lobby. I surveyed the lobby of the dilapidated hotel with a sense of grim reverence and respect. During the initial invasion, the remnants of Echo Company had managed to set up a CP here—the equipment was still being used by the Regimental HQ jockeys—and they defended it until the In Amber Clad's reinforcements arrived. The Master Chief himself had arrived here in time to save Echo's survivors, who were later broken into my company. There was debris littering the ground in several spots where the ceiling had given out and collapsed. There were still blood spatters and spent shell casings all over the ground and walls—a lot of good kids had died here.
Now, the tables and chairs had all been cleared away to make room for all of the COM stations utilized by the Regimental HQ operators. Hiawatha and I ran into Captain Regina Strome, Charlie Company CO, at the reception desk. Captain Strome had seen as much combat as I had, although she had held her position for a shorter time. She was a level-headed soldier—a good captain.
Mr. Peterson, the elderly volunteer Chief Operator of the 77th's Regimental HQ, sat behind the reception desk. He flashed us a quick smile and directed us to head down into the basement.
"So what have you boys been up to?" Strome asked us as we reached the elevator. The pair of marines standing guard gave us a crisp salute, which we returned, and stood aside.
"Basically the exact same as your company, just a different location," I replied.
Hiawatha gave a hum of agreement. "It's a meatgrinder. We're taking it one building at a time. It'll take us at least twelve hours to clear everything."
"Well, you know the blokes who say that you never quite appreciate the small knick-knacks in life until they're taken away?" I chuckled, "Well I sure am missing our Armored brigades—they're all bogged down elsewhere, but if we had them here we could advance much faster then we are now."
The elevator dinged and slid to a halt. The door opened and we emerged into a dimly lit hallway. An aide spotted us and directed us down several hallways to the hotel's large storage room, which had another pair of marines standing guard at the door. "At ease, boys," Strome ordered them. They relaxed and stood aside, giving us a respectful nod as we entered the storage room.
The storage room had been completely cleared out. Dozens of tables filled with SAT imaging, COM stations, Aerial coordination stations, and many other pieces of equipment filled the whole space. It was definitely the main Ops room. I spotted Major Sutherland hunched over the table in the center which had a representation of Old Mombasa and the locations of all of our troops. He was probably working with spotters throughout the city to pinpoint enemy positions. That was all normal, however. The one thing about the room that really startled me was the large white-armored Elite standing right in front of the entrance.
I let out a surprised shout, but I had already seized my magnum sidearm—my only weapon at the moment, which I was mentally cursing myself for—and was leaping at the alien. The Elite barely had time to grunt in mild surprise before I barreled into him at his waist football-style, managing to knock him flat on the ground.
The Elite activated his glowing blue energy sword and held it close enough against my torso that my armor singed slightly while I aimed my magnum straight at its unprotected mouth. "Cease, Human, we are allies!" the Elite raised its deep baritone voice.
"Aerath, would you please lower your sword and not skewer my company commander," I recognized the firm, authoritative voice of Major Sutherland, "And Ian? I'd also appreciate if you didn't shoot our guest in the mouth. That wouldn't exactly improve relations."
I didn't lower my magnum, unable to comprehend what Sutherland was saying. "Do you mean to say that—"
"Yes," Sutherland cut me off, "The Elites have joined us in this fight."
