Pulse lasers strobing and Helix CIWS guns spitting out streams of thirty millimetre HE rounds at a rate of 6000 per minute, the Defiant Warrior and her four escorting destroyers swatted dozens of hostile fighters from space around them as they attempted to put as much distance as possible between them and the Covenant fleet spilling into real-space behind them.
One of the downsides to the upgraded firepower and protection afforded by the Mark II cruiser was that it no longer had the capacity to support multiple squadrons of fighter craft, leaving the Warrior to rely on the squadrons carried by the Demetrius-class destroyers for interdiction.
"Slip-space rupture front, thirty degrees from port, range eight thousand clicks!" Makeshi cried out. "Single Covenant cruiser, two destroyers, right between us and the fleet."
The Covenant were jumping into knife-fight ranges, where their plasma weapons could be used for maximum effect. Unfortunately for them, at such close ranges the Warrior was just as deadly. Her AI, going by the name Paladin, reacted with a swiftness no organic could match, firing the three dorsal PACs on the cruiser.
The alien ships shield flashed as it was assaulted, rippling as the streams of particles swept across it, glowing a fierce orange as the immense energies were re-radiated back into space. Pulse lasers fired back from it as four six hundred ton MAC rounds shattered one of it's escorts, hundreds of Archer missiles blanketing the other and forcing it to switch to defensive fire.
One of the Warrior's twin MACs fired a round into the hostile cruiser, smashing down it's protective barrier and allowing the heavy rail-guns to turn the purple hulled ship into a floating mass of holes. The Warrior rolled as it continued on-course, bringing it's twin ventral PACs to bear, one set of twin beams cutting deep into the cruisers ruined hull, severing power feeds and ripping open the ships gut, the other sending a similar assault raking across the beleaguered alien destroyers shield.
A plasma torpedo flashed away from the dying cruiser, closing in on the Warrior fast as counter-missiles erupted from their racks. A hundred counter missiles detonated all around the torpedo, EMP bursts rendering the deadly weapon useless as the Warrior's second MAC cracked the remaining destroyer in half and the cruiser received a couple dozen Archers for its troubles.
"We've definitely got to get more of these," Davian said appreciatively, thinking about what the chances of taking down a frigate, two destroyers and a cruiser with virtually no real damage to speak of, to either his ship or his escorts, would be with a Mark I.
"Sir," Paladin said over the bridge speakers. "The Covenant fleet is holding station; they're not pursuing us."
"What? Show me," Davian said, brow furrowing in consternation. Everything they knew about the Covenant, which was admittedly not much, indicated that they never sought to deny contact. Quite the opposite, in fact, they were usually the aggressors, the first to make a move.
The holographic display flickered as the images represented on it changed from his formation to the enemy's. Sure enough, fifty Covenant ships of various classes sat idly in a spherical defensive formation, lighter ships shielding the big ones in the centre.
"Sensor readouts indicate that their shields are active, but their weapons and sub-light drives are on standby," Paladin reported. "Not including ODIN, we outnumber them almost six-to-one. Perhaps that is a factor in this new strategy of theirs?"
Davian somehow doubted that. They'd outnumbered the Covenant in every engagement to date, and that hadn't stopped them before. Ahead of his squadron, Seventh Fleet and Admiral Schweiger's task force had formed up into a massive three dimensional wall, situated far enough outside of Harvest's gravity well to allow for unhindered manoeuvring.
The wall wasn't advancing, although several fighter squadrons were surging out to meet Davian's squadron. They too were just sitting there, waiting for the Covenant to make a move, it seemed, although Davian was quite sure that Admiral Cole was coming up with some grand strategy; there was no way the man would suffer a hostile fleet in UNSC territory.
"Slip-space rupture detected," Paladin reported. "Thirty thousand clicks aft, starboard. Single Covenant ship, unknown classification."
"Unknown classification," Davian muttered. "Now what are they going to throw at us?"
"Solid sensor readings," Paladin said. "Displaying image now."
The holographic display shuddered and morphed, mutating into the image of a sleek alien warship. It lacked the vaguely tear-drop shape common to Covenant ships of all previously known classes, instead taking a shape reminiscent of a sword or dagger, a curved nose sweeping back into a tapering hull that was widest in the middle, before tapering back again until it reached the rectangular engine array.
The dorsal surface of the ship was smooth, dotted with gun ports and turrets, but the ventral surface was covered in rectangular structures that protruded out away from the main hull. Most of these structures had readily identifiable weapons on them, and all of them had what appeared to be windows with internal lights aglow. The structures themselves reminded Davian of apartment buildings, hanging upside down.
But, he thought, there's no way that's what they are.
"Hostile vessel measures approximately seven thousand two hundred metres in length, three thousand metres in height and three thousand four hundred metres at it's widest point," Paladin stated, his voice synthesizers doing a good job of expressing awe and worry. "Power readings are enormous, easily twenty times our own."
"Jesus Christ," Davian heard one of his crew say as his squadron reached the safety of the fleet and was absorbed into the defensive wall. He agreed. He'd never seen any space construct that large before, even the Epsilon Eridani Fleet Yards primary shipyard was dwarfed by the alien ship.
"New class designation," Paladin said. "Dreadnought."
00000
Marathon-class Cruiser Mark II Fascination Street
Flagship of Seventh Fleet
Flag Bridge/Combat Information Centre
"Who decided to call it a dreadnought?" Admiral Preston Cole said, glaring at the image of the massive alien ship as it moved into formation with the rest of the alien fleet.
"My colleague aboard the Defiant Warrior, Paladin," Fascination Street's AI, whose avatar took the form of a burly fisherman and who had chosen the rather underwhelming name "Barry", replied.
"Rather fitting, if it's even half as powerful as it looks," Cole said a little gruffly as his mind went through a variety of possible counters to the alien fleet and the dreadnought. Ideally, he'd have one of the ten Orbital Defence Platforms in orbit of Harvest fire their massively powerful 'Super' Magnetic Accelerator Cannons at long range to thin out the fleet and possibly even take out the dreadnought before it could be come a threat to his ships.
Unfortunately, none of them had finished construction yet, thanks in part to the Senate stonewalling the UNSCs efforts to have nothing but the best for the defence of the only world the Covenant knew the location of, so that left that option out.
He had a number of carriers at his disposal, not to mention a dozen orbital hangar bays each containing thirty-six fighters and bombers; he could send the strike craft in first loaded with fusion missiles to soften up the fleet, but the Covenants enormously effective point defence would undoubtedly reap a high toll on them. The potential gains did not outweigh the potential loss; he wasn't the kind of person to send hundreds of pilots to their deaths when there was no guarantee that it'd have an appreciable effect on the enemy.
His fleet outnumbered theirs by a huge margin, much more so than in previous engagements, but he wasn't about to charge in with an unknown factor, namely the dreadnought, staring him in the face. From what he understood of the briefings he'd received about Covenant technology, it was thought that Covenant shield strength scaled with the size of the ship; simply put, the bigger the ship, the stronger the shield. The same seemed to go for their plasma weapons, too.
Maintaining stand-off range would be ideal, but at these ranges it was possible to dodge MAC rounds and Archers and Halberdiers would be easy targets for their point defence. Closing range with them would allow them to engage with all of their weapons, and given the fact that most of his fleet was made up of destroyers, that would result in heavy light ship casualties, potentially unacceptably high kill/death ratios was not something he was going to risk.
That left him with one reasonable option; split the fleet, having half make an intra-system micro-jump behind the alien fleet while the other half closed the range at sub-light, creating a vice. It would put tremendous strain on the slip-space drives of the ships doing the jumping, probably enough to ensure that the ships would need a drive overhaul before they could jump again, but it was the best option he had.
He was about to give the order when Barry spoke again.
"Hostile fleet is moving, sir," the AI reported in his deep, hoarse voice. "Away from each other; they're splitting up into groups of ten. The dreadnought is maintaining position."
"Damn," Cole said as he observed the alien ships splitting up and advancing on Harvest from different vectors. "They're not here to fight us, they're a blockade running force. There must be something planet side they want bad, and I doubt it's the safe return of their soldiers."
"Shall I inform the Marines, tell them to hasten their advance on the enemy stronghold?" Barry asked, to which Cole nodded an affirmative.
"Whatever they're here for, it can't be good for us. We cannot let them get their hands on it," Cole spoke quietly, more to himself than to Barry or the quietly bustling CIC crew. Louder, he said, "Split our own forces to meet them, cruiser squadrons are to use their own discretion when engaging. Load our bomber wings with Halberdiers and tell them to strike at targets of opportunity. Nothing purple gets into orbit."
"And the dreadnought?"
Cole considered for a moment, then shook his head a little, watching his fleet split up into individual squadrons and move to intercept the aliens. "Squadrons 8, 11 and 26 are to move to engage the dreadnought with Carrier Groups 2 and 9 in support."
"Will it be enough?"
Cole had no answer.
00000
Harvest, Surface
Mount Hieronymous
Suspected Forerunner Facility
Weeks was running, harder than he ever had in his life, zigging and zagging as plasma rained down all around him and bullets and missiles roared by overhead. Plasma mortars splashed to earth as the air caught fire from multiple tank guns firing in return. The haunting howl of the alien fliers as the made strafing runs filled his heart with dread and he will his legs to pump faster.
Hundreds of other Marines were sprinting flat-out across the open ground toward a shallow ditch in the artifical flooring, with clear water flowing through it, the only cover they had aside from their own vehicles. Weeks skidded hard on his backside, sliding into the ditch, the chilly water barely registering through his temperature regulating fatigues. More Marines dropped in around him as the few that arrived ahead of him began returning fire, keeping low and praying that the aliens indirect fire tanks or fliers didn't decide to make their day worse.
A Cyclops thundered down into the ditch further along, crouching low and firing it's 40mm grenade launcher several times at a cluster of alien infantry huddled behind a stationary shield generator. The noise was incredible, the sharp retort of hundreds of rifles, the whine of plasma weapons, the boom of explosions, all echoing off the walls and ceiling of the chamber in a cacophony of warfare.
Weeks adjusted the noise dampeners in his helmet, bringing the sounds down to a more bearable level, then took a knee and fired a long burst from his SAW, forcing a group of bird-like Jackals to hunker down behind their shields, becoming less mobile in doing so and making themselves easy targets for the Cyclops; a trio of incendiary grenades shattered their formation and sent the survivors screeching away in agony, trying to put out the flames.
A rapid fire plasma turret mounted near their objective, the controls to a hard-light bridge so common to known Forerunner facilities, swivelled about and targeted the Cyclops as the battle suit targeted it in return. Plasma crossed paths with depleted uranium and high explosive grenades, the Cyclops' armoured casing glowing white hot under the impacts, melting and running in rivulets.
DU rounds pinged off the armour of the turret, denting and perforating the casing but not getting through to the operator as a pair of 40mm grenades detonated at it's base, washing it in flame and shrapnel and mangling one of the twin barrels. Blue flame erupted out of the ruined barrel and something, presumably the power cells, detonated in a blinding light that made Weeks' visor auto-polarise to its darkest setting.
Ground attack craft shrieked overhead, spinning around and angling to attack the Marines assembled in the ditch; Weeks brought the SAW to bear alongside a hundred other rifles and machine guns. Depleted uranium and tungsten rounds punched up into the relatively fragile craft, denting the armour and perforating in places; one ship suffered a failure and careened into the ground as the others opened fire with a combination of rapid-fire plasma cannons and radioactive fuel rods.
Man and machine scattered, seeking cover that wasn't to be found as MANPADS were finally broken out. Fragmentation rockets flashed up at the retreating forms of the shrieking aircraft, fire-and-forget systems locked on and guiding them to their targets. Not one of them lived to make a second run.
"This is fucking insane!" Weeks shouted at no one in particular as plasma comets arced over head, splashing down behind the creek-bed, most missing their targets, two claiming a Cyclops battle suit and fire team. Four-legged walking machines began advancing away from their holding positions, bright red lances of energy sweeping the battlefield and incinerating anybody unlucky enough to be out in the open.
Over the constant chatter and whine of small arms fire came the booming of tank guns firing; streaks of flame connected the marauding MBTs to their targets, 120mm ferric tungsten rounds shattering upon glowing energy barriers as they sprung to life around the walkers.
"Shields!" someone screamed over the Battle Net. "Those walkers have shields, you see that!?"
The walker nearest to Weeks swept its weapon over one of the IFVs as the lightly armoured vehicle opened up with it's auto-cannon and anti-tank rockets. The walkers shield shimmered and rippled as hundreds of 30mm rounds and a pair of Violator anti-tank rockets battered against it. The searing beam weapon cut into the hull of the IFV, turning the armour a fiery orange and cooking the crew alive in side.
Then, it turned toward Weeks.
00000
Betty Blue, Devastator Main Battle Tank
Captain O'Bannon
That same time
"Target acquired, firing main guns," Lieutenant May reported, his words punctuated by a double-thump as the twin accelerators fired in succession. Their target, an alien walker that had just killed an IFV, was struck hard, it's weakened shield collapsing under the strain and it's rear-left leg ripped wholly from its body in a shower of flame and shrapnel.
A third round struck the crippled walker from another tank, hitting dead centre and killing the walker as another of the alien machines strode out from it's position, beam weapon raking across Betty's armour. The tank lurched forward as the beam played across it's hull, the turret atop it's body swivelling and firing another two tungsten rounds. The walkers shield flashed to life around it, absorbing the kinetic energy and radiating it away over the entire surface area of the shield.
A trio of Marines carrying anti-tank gauss cannons fired of a series of shots at the walker, several of the rounds shattering against the protective barrier before it collapsed and the comparatively fragile walker was perforated with half a dozen holes. The rounds must have severed power feeds or perhaps killed the vehicles operator, because it stopped moving and seemed to power down.
"Incoming," O'Bannon said as the ADLS came alive, targeting a series of glowing green projectiles. Three of them detonated prematurely under the ADLS's onslaught of deadly accurate fire, the fourth going wide and sailing just a few feet over the top of the human tank. The mini-gun whirred to life, sending hundreds of rounds in the direction the shots had come from and cutting down a group of the squat little aliens now known to the Marines as 'grunts'.
Betty's radio was alive with the chatter of battle; Marines on foot reporting contact, destroyed vehicles or aircraft or requesting assistance from other units or nearby vehicles, UNSC vehicle crews reporting damage to their vehicles or likewise reporting vehicle or aircraft kills. The command channel was almost eerily quiet in comparison, the rear echelon officers holding position outside the chamber delivering orders or tactical updates to the frontlines.
"Hostile air unit," May said. "Air defences online and acquiring target."
Plasma bolts rained down on Betty as she zigged and zagged across the open ground on their side of the chamber, striking her armour and causing it glow white-hot and partially melt under the intensity of the hits. The ADLS opened fire again as the alien aircraft fired one of those green projectiles down at Betty, neutralising it quickly even as a single anti-aircraft rocket escaped it's tubes nestled at the back of the tanks hull and arced up to intercept the little ship.
The flier tried to evade, only to have the rocket alter its trajectory and slam into one of it's stubby wings, shearing it off and spraying the cockpit with shrapnel. Betty hurled her bulk away from the falling craft, skirting around the flaming wreck and firing one of her main guns, punching a hole clean through an alien mortar tank on the far side of the chasm.
Alien infantry taking cover behind portable shields on their side of the chasm opened fire at the massive machine as it hurtled past at breakneck speed, splashing it's flank armour with dozens of plasma bolts, causing the composite armour glow. The mini-gun swivelled on its mount, whirring as it spat thousands of shards of depleted uranium death back in retaliation, shattering shields and flesh alike.
A brilliant beam of vibrant green-blue plasma lanced across the chasm as the massive four-legged walker spotted by the recon drones stomped forward, slamming into one the Devastators, boiling away armour in the blink of an eye and cutting through the tank with ease.
"Son of a bitch!" someone shouted in O'Bannon's ear; probably another tanker.
"Critical threat!" May called out. "Targeting and engaging!"
Betty's twin cannons levelled with the behemoth walker and fired in succession, the rounds leaving a burning trail through the air and smashing into the armour around the walkers "head". Armour dented and deformed, but the walker was left otherwise unharmed.
More tanks joined in, half a dozen rounds striking the walker seconds apart from each other. Unfazed, the walker fired it's plasma beam again, this time sweeping it between two tanks, incinerating a group of unfortunate Marines using the vehicles as cover from Covenant infantry and slagging the vehicles' armour and weapons, effectively mission killing them.
Betty and the remaining tanks fired again, supported by nearby IFVs as they opened up with their auto-cannons and anti-tank missile launchers. Even a number of shoulder launched AT missiles and AV gauss rounds detonated against the thick hide of the massive walker, none of it doing any appreciable damage as far as O'Bannon could tell.
All these vehicles and soldiers concentrating their fire one this single target left them vulnerable to lesser Covenant units, and more people were lost in this short exchange than had been in the rest of the battle in it's entirety.
"We're getting slaughtered!" May said. "We just can't take this thing down."
O'Bannon's earpiece crackled to life before she could answer. "This is Colonel Mokena, CO of Elephant Base Alpha, all units commence tactical retreat pending release of Fury tactical warheads."
"Damn it," O'Bannon murmured. Aloud she said, "You heard the man, get us out of here but let's keep those Marines covered as best we can."
Betty lurched backward as the giant walker across the chasm fired again, slagging Betty's sister tank, Jasmine. O'Bannon winced as her fellow tankers were incinerated and Betty's main guns fired back at the behemoth that was single-handedly forcing the UNSC forces to retreat.
They'd hit it with everything they had short of aircraft or orbital assets, which were unavailable for obvious reasons, to no real effect. Despite that, O'Bannon felt that perhaps ordering a tactical nuclear strike might be going too far.
The Covenant forces remaining on this side of the chasm seemed to have regained their confidence at seeing the humans retreating, some even charging out of their cover and firing wildly, plasma, needles and radioactive projectiles surging after the Marines.
Their retreat wasn't quite a rout, at least; fire teams were peeling off, leap frogging by twos and offering a constant wave of covering fire, tanks and IFVs were moving slowly enough to provide some cover and were keeping up their own streams of fire.
As the first elements of Marines reached the opening to the massive corridor and turned to cover the next group, the thrice-damned walker fired again, playing it's beam across an IFV and a few Marine fire teams, reducing them to little more than cinder and ash.
A roar followed the retreating humans as the aliens cried out in victory, still shooting the fleeing soldiers in the back as they tried to escape. The chatter of small arms fire died off as the human soldiers reached the safety of the entrance to the chamber, the last few vehicles close behind, guns still blazing as they kept the aliens of their backs.
"What the hell was that thing?" May asked, wide-eyed and breathing erratically.
O'Bannon shook her head as Betty trundled past an emergency triage site to take position next to a heavily damaged IFV.
"Hell if I know, but it looks like Command isn't going to let it be a problem," she replied. Deploying a tactical nuclear warhead sounded like overkill to her, on top of essentially just wasting the lives of the men and women that had died trying to take the chamber, but she could understand the reasoning.
"Captains," her radio chattered on a channel reserved for the commanding officers of this force. "This is Colonel Mokena. Send your wounded top-side and maintain a security cordon of the entrance for the time being. Things have gotten interesting upstairs and you will need to keep the aliens from leaving before we deploy the warhead."
"HICOM is very clear on this," the colonel continued. "Whatever the aliens are after here, we can only assume that it's good for them. And if it's good for them, it's bad for us. If we cannot take it, we cannot allow the Covenant off-world with it. Understood?"
"Yes sir," O'Bannon replied amongst a chorus of the other remaining captains. To herself, she said, "fat lot of good that's going to do us if they bring that walker out here."
OOOOO
Marathon-class Cruiser Mark II Fascination Street
Flagship of Seventh Fleet
Flag Bridge/Combat Information Centre
Admiral Cole's mouth set in a thin line as the TAC display lit up with thousands of contacts; missiles streaking across space to meet hostile ships in ceaseless conflagrations, battering shields mercilessly even as vast swathes of them were shot down by alien point defences.
Lines connecting the ships of the Harvest Defence Fleet with those of the invading fleet flickered and began rapidly shortening as MAC rounds were fired and approached their targets. A separate TAC display to the right of the main one showed the Fascination Street's status, specifically ammunition counters informing Cole of how quickly his flagship was burning through missiles and rail-gun slugs.
"New hostile contacts, Admiral," Barry said as the flagship manoeuvred away from a pair of hostile cruisers that had taken an interest in it. "Fighters and dropships, sir. Approximately six hundred and and that number is rising rapidly."
"Launch our ground-based Rapier squadrons to compliment the fleets own units and tell GROCOM to launch all available F-99s," Cole responded quickly, wincing as a friendly carrier was struck by a pair of plasma torpedoes and began listing to starboard, bleeding atmosphere and crew. Two more torpedoes hit the wounded carrier and it's running lights flickered off as it lost power; the ship was listed "Mission Killed" on the TAC display.
A Mark I Marathon and a quartet of destroyers positioned themselves between the flagship and the two alien cruisers on the TAC display and hundreds of new contacts appeared as the allied ships fired off a salvo of missiles. The alien cruisers opened up with every available pulse laser and only a few dozen warheads struck each ship.
Torpedoes flashed away from them and began tracking the flagships defenders as the five UNSC ships fired a MAC round each. The munitions crossed paths in the blink of an eye, five MAC rounds cracking one of the cruisers shields and warping and mangling it's hull, taking it out of the fight for now.
One of the UNSC destroyers manoeuvred away from the torpedoes tracking it, inadvertently moving into the firing solution of a hostile battle cruiser and getting struck by an energy projector. The beam of energy sliced the ship neatly in two, cooking off unspent Archer missiles and setting off secondary detonations all across the ship until the reactor was breached and a new sun was born.
Another was struck by two torpedoes, losing the MAC and a number of missile pods but otherwise still capable of fighting. The cruiser that was the lynchpin unit of the squadron took no less than four torpedoes amidships and, despite having been weakened first by counter-missiles and then by the EM shield, the damage was terrible.
Two hundred metres of armour boiled away as hundreds of unspent missiles detonated in their housings, sending fire sweeping through the fragile innards of the cruiser. Archer missiles fled the ships remaining pods and spent themselves against the guns and shields of the offending cruiser even as the Marathon-class ship was further punished by pulse lasers and dozens of alien fighters sensing blood in the water.
"Damn it," Cole murmured, glaring at the TAC display as a pair of friendly contacts winked away. "Barry, bring us around and bring our guns to bear on that alien cruiser."
"Sir, I must advise against committing the flagship to -"
"Four thousand people are about to die, Barry," Cole growled. "We have the power to save them, and we're going to do it. Commit us to battle."
"Yes sir," Barry said, resignation evident in his voice. "May I be granted total control for the duration? Odds of survival will increase by approximately thirty-two percent."
"Very well," Cole said. "Just get us between those ships."
Cole rattled off orders to a small group of ships maintaining position on the planets far side, bringing them into the fight as the first Covenant ships began to enter effective range of Harvest's defence satellites.
Meanwhile, Fascination Street brought its multi-million tonne bulk around to bear on the ship besieging what remained of the friendly squadron as Barry acquired firing solutions for the cruisers many rail-guns, missile pods and particle accelerators. The secondary TAC display lit up with new information as the flagship committed itself to the fight.
All three dorsal PACs fired in unison with thirty dual rail-gun turrets and a dozen missile pods, seemingly taking the Covenant ship completely by surprise. The ships already weakened shield strained against the energies arrayed against it before failing in spectacular fashion; the hull was punctured and warped in a hundred places.
Pulse lasers strobed back at the flagship, punching into her armour and sending molten titanium jetting out into space to cool rapidly, but it was too little too late. Fascination Street brought it's MACs to bear and fired one slug followed immediately by another.
The cruiser seemed to crumple almost in half with the first impact, the second gutted it and sent it tumbling away, engines flickering on and off as it's reactors failed.
"Order that squadron to retreat to the far side of the planet, they're combat ineffective," Cole said, distracted as a pair of hostile battle cruisers cut down half a dozen UNSC ships and set to work tearing a hole in Harvest's ODIN, shields blazing as countless missiles and slugs beat them like a drum.
Hostile destroyers and frigates slipped past the twin behemoths, skirting around their fields of fire and making their way through the hole in the ODIN, hundreds of dropships and fighters surging through with them.
"Sir," Barry said. "Captain Davian requests immediate support; he feels he will be unable to defeat the dreadnought without it."
"We have nothing to spare, Barry," Cole said as he used his CNI to direct ships to plug the hole and drive away the battle cruisers. "Give him authorisation for the release of fusion warheads. If that's not enough, he is to abandon the engagement and return to the main lines."
"Aye sir, authorisation sent."
The Covenant ships that made it through past the fleet and through ODIN were making a beeline straight for Mount Hieronymus and there was nothing Cole could do about it now.
"Get me Admiral Schweiger, Barry."
"Aye, sir. One moment."
OOOOO
Marathon-class cruiser Mark II Defiant Warrior
Bridge
The Warrior heaved itself mightily out of the way of a group of plasma torpedoes, crushing Captain Davian into his seat under the gee-forces. Missiles flickered away from the cruiser and the other ships in the battle group in response, joined by a handful of MAC rounds and rail-gun slugs but, as with all other attacks, seemingly did no appreciable damage to the mammoth ship.
They were down five destroyers already, and every ship had suffered damage; one of the Mark I cruisers had a gaping hole along it's dorsal surface, edges still glowing from the heat of the torpedo impacts and her main gun was offline.
"Sir," Paladin said over the bridge PA. "Admiral Cole insists that he has no forces to spare. We have been authorised to deploy fusion weapons at your discretion."
Davian winced as another destroyer was struck by an energy projector and it's representative on the TAC display winked to Mission Killed. Another ship down. At this rate, they weren't going to last. The Warrior itself was no longer sparkling new; her hull was pitted and scored with countless pulse laser impacts and she'd lost a handful of rail-guns and CIWS mounts as well as had power feeds severed to one of the ventral PACs by a glancing blow from an energy projector.
Counter-missile racks were emptying as quickly as they were filled to keep torpedoes at bay and their reserves were dwindling rapidly. Davian saw no other option available to him.
"Alright, send word to the whole battle group; release of fusion devices is authorised," Davian ordered. "We'll stagger-fire, one torpedo after another for optimal effect, we don't want to risk a full salvo and having one torpedo impact too soon and cook off the rest."
"Aye sir, sending orders. Calculating optimal firing solutions. Done," Paladin responded. "The battle group stands ready to fire on your order."
"Do it."
With those two small words, hundreds of Archer missiles erupted from the battered ships, accompanied by dozens of fusion-tipped torpedoes hidden behind clusters of missiles for some protection against the Covenant dreadnoughts many pulse laser clusters.
MAC rounds hurtled along behind the missiles and torpedoes, overtaking them in the blink of an eye and shattering harmlessly against the colossally powerful energy barrier protecting the enormous alien ship.
It was then that the dreadnought did something unexpected.
"Slipsace rupture detected," Paladin said. "The dreadnought is jumping."
Sure enough, a burst of light and radiation warped space in front of the collossal enemy ship and the vessel slid forward into the slipspace rupture. The rupture winked shut behind it seconds before the mass of missiles passed harmlessly through the space the dreadnought had occupied.
Davian ground his teeth in frustration, knowing he'd just wasted dozens of fusion weapons and hundreds of Archer missiles that he couldn't afford to waste.
"Slipspace rupture detected," Paladin said again. "The dreadnought has entered Harvest's high orbit."
"Bring the battlegroup around and reform us with the main fleet," Davian ordered, wondering what the Covenant were trying to pull with that stunt.
"Yes sir," Paladin responded and the assorted friendly ships began assembling to return to the defensive lines. Alarms started blaring suddenly as the Warrior about-faced. "Alert! Multiple slipspace ruptures detecting, fifteen thousand clicks aft! Hostile reinforcements slipping in!"
"Redress the battleline!" Davian all but shouted. "Bring everything we've got to bear on those reinforcements and order all ships to full reverse thrust; we need some distance."
The friendly ships on the TAC display shifted formation once again, many captains taking it upon themselves to launch salvoes of missiles at the new alien contacts. The two Carrier Groups assisting Davians small fleet launched their Rapier interceptors en masse at the rapidly growing number of hostile ships, Shortsword bombers laden with fusion bombs right behind them.
Not having time to launch fighters of their own and with their shields still down from the slipspace jump, the Covenant ships proved to be surprisingly vulnerable for a few precious moments and three frigates and a cruiser fell prey to the marauding strikecraft before the strikecraft themselves were mercilessly cut down in their droves by pulse lasers.
Still, they managed to claw down a pair of destroyers and bought time for the larger UNSC ships to bring their weapons to bare before being savagely ripped from existence, the cries of their pilots echoing over the BattleNet.
MAC rounds whipped away from the now-retreating UNSC ships and pummelled the disorganised Covenant fleet, now numbering three-dozen vessels. Davian was rewarded with a destroyer and a cruiser dying under the weight of the salvo.
"Multiple slipspace ruptures detected," Paladin reported grimly. "Thirty thousand clicks aft; we're being boxed in."
Davian cursed as his mind whirred; they were outnumbered and had expended far too many muntions for this kind of fight. If he split his forces to fight both enemy fleets, he was going to get his teeth kicked in. He only had one option that didn't involved the destruction of his ships.
"Order all ships to prepare for a slipspace jump to the edge of the system," he ordered. "Inform Admiral Cole that our position is untenable and we're making a tactical withdrawal; we'll regroup at the systems edge, take on fresh supplies from Outer Supply Platform 8 and jump back into the fight as quickly as we're able."
A friendly destroyer winked off the TAC display and one of the Mark I Marathons flashed and was listed as Mission Killed as the Covenant brought their plasma torpedoes to bear on the retreating human ships.
Davians assembled fleet poured all available power into their slipspace cores as they fought off the Covenant from in front and behind, losing another three destroyers and a carrier before finally managing to escape to the safety of slipspace for the handful of seconds it took for them to jump to the systems edge, just sixty thousand clicks from OSP 8, a reasonably large space station that served as a supply station for just such a situation.
Lightly armed with only a CIWS network, the stations carried huge numbers of Archer missiles, Halberdier torpedoes, railgun rounds and MAC rounds, as well as counter-missiles and CIWS ammunition. The station's resupply cycle was largely automated, making the process relatively quick, but even so Davians group would be out of the fight for some time.
OOOOO
Harvest, Surface
Firebase Alpha
Admiral Schweiger strapped himself into the dropships seat, cursing himself for being caught dirtside when his flagship needed him most. Beside him, the Colonial Ambassador, Eva DeSenta, strapped into her own seat, eyes wide with terror as Firebase Alpha was rocked by sonic booms from passing F99s.
"Oh Gods," she whispered to herself. "Don't let me die here."
"Relax," Schweiger said, voice deceptively calm. "We'll be out of here in no time. Besides, the Covenant aren't even looking our way, all their attention seems to be focussed on Mount Hieronymus."
Schweiger had just been speaking to Admiral Cole and knew that, despite a numerical edge, things weren't looking great in orbit. The Covenant had opened a hole in ODIN and a number of ships were making planetfall, safe from retribution from UNSC ships for the time being as Cole was understandably reluctant to order MACs be brought to bare on ships in atmosphere.
To make matters worse, the enormous Covenant dreadnought had so far proven impervious to anything the fleet had been able to hit it with and more than sixty new Covenant ships had slipped in and forced a sizeable friendly battlegroup to retreat.
"I thought you said the Covenant would need a thousand ships to breach Harvests defences?" DeSenta said accusingly, almost hyperventilating. She was no coward, but being on a planet that was in the process of being invaded was a little too much for her.
"It's a figure of speech," Schweiger said. "ODIN has to cover every approach to the planet, so even though we've got an enormous number of satellites up there, only a certain percentage can engage at any given time. And our fleet can't be everywhere at once."
"I know," DeSenta said apologetically as the dropship jerked off the ground and began climbing. "I'm sorry, I'm just scared."
"It's quite alright," Schweiger replied, making sure his CNI transmitter was inactive before leaning over conspirationally to the woman, though they were alone in the dropships troop bay. "If you want to know a secret...so am I."
DeSenta snorted in a very unladylike fashion. "You look so calm though!"
Schweiger nodded. "I have to. It wouldn't do at all for the command staff to let everyone know they're just as frightened as everyone else. We have to be unflappable in the face of anything; that way, our crews and soldiers are reassured that somebody has a plan."
The dropship swooped suddenly and alarms blared in the troop bay, ruining the mood and causing DeSenta to gasp in terror, too scared to even scream.
"Sorry for the turbulence, folks," the pilot announced over the intercom. "Just had to avoid a real furball. ETA to Myrmidon sixty seconds."
"Furball?" DeSenta inquired, looking to her companion for the answer.
"I'd say our drones got into a scrap with alien fighters and we had to take a detour," Schweiger responded, leaning back into his seat, heart racing.
"Wilhelm," his CNI reciever spoke to him, seeming to be a thought of his own but taking Preston Cole's voice. "The Covenant are holding a position in orbit; they're not attacking us any more, just defending their position. The other fleet has formed up a couple hundred thousand clicks out and are holding that position too."
"I'll be using this opportunity to regroup at point Theta Nine," Cole continued. "I'm going to order an alpha strike on the fleet in orbit once we're able, we'll hit them with everything we've got while they're sitting ducks."
"Understood," Schweiger responded. "What do we know about this new behaviour?"
"Very little," Cole admitted. "We're assuming that the Covenant want something bad, something within the Forerunner facility under Mount Hieronymus. It doesn't look like we'll be able to stop them from reaching whatever objective they have in mind."
"Once we've dealt with the ships still in orbit," Preston said, before a long pause and an explosive sigh. "Once they're no longer a factor, I'm going to order a Strategic Orbital Bombardment on the ships already in-atmosphere."