Chapter Twenty-Six
Caddo Parish/ Wesley Mill Road
It could not have been called a battle. At least, not without a great feat of intellectual gymnastics. Field Master 'Caaln surveyed the utter carnage that stretched out before him and thought, No. No battle happened here this day. This was a slaughter.
More than a thousand Sangheili warriors had surrounded the site over the three day period, breaking off into waves to insure none escaped and converging on the location to face largely unarmed, unprepared, uncoordinated, and sickly opponents.
It was ugly work, crushing so thoroughly an oposition composed of largely innocents.
It could not even have been said that they had at least died well. The cries and shrieks of terror and of dying had pierced his ears until falling abruptly to a roaring silence. At least it had ended quickly, and with it their suffering.
Now, scattered across the landscape, nearly two hundred humans lay charred amungst the remains of their crude and overturned encampment. 'Caaln shook his head. There was little to be proud of here, and the Elites under his command were appropriately somber as they went about their remaining grizzly tasks. They were inspecting the bodies and taking pains to locate and dispatch those who were yet clinging to life. Others were collecting the remains, policing the scattered effects and depositing the corpses and items into low heaps flagged with magnetic targeting markers. Everything these people had been and touched within a sizeable cordon of the ground surrounding that on which they had lived and died would be doused with sufficient fossil fuels and incinerated.
Ugly work.
The only solace which the Field Master took as he looked over the carnage was that this slaughter, this... extermination carried out against these humans had been necessary. It had not been necessary for these people to have been exposed to a contagion in the first place, that was a thoughtless and reckless endeavor undertaken for selfish and barbaric reasons; but...that would be a reckoning for another man on another day. 'Caaln hoped, for all the death he had dealt the human race in his lengthy, if ultimately erroneous, service to the Covenant, at least the blood for these human souls would not be his to make an accounting for in the hereafter.
"Objective complete, Field Master," came the clipped report over 'Caaln's helm relay.
He let a moment slip by in reverence to the meaning of those words before responding, "Understood." Then, "Major 'Hakkamr, you may send them in."
The solemn stillness which had permeated the air since the end of the brief direct engagement was broken by the collective mechanical and laborious noise of several human vehicles coughing to life in the far distance. The sound traveled from the Saint Vincent's forward staging line, and was carried through the cool pre-dawn air across the eastern darkness to roll in a mutter over the descimated remains to finally be transferred through 'Caaln's helm pickups. It was lengthy minutes before he could discern boxy trucks plodding toward the site's footprint and several more before these vehicles reached their target. Warriors swarmed the smaller of the vehicles, removing large canisters stowed in the rear beds and moving to distribute the vessels amungst themselves and empty the liquid contents over the masses of corpses and debries and dousing the buildings. The final truck in the line was a noisy cube which pulled a large cylindrical tank. As it idled, relief valves along the top hissed open and empty canisters were returned to be filled from ports in the back. By their sheer number the soldiers had the task completed swiftly. While the smaller human vehicles returned from whence they came the tanker jerked and sputtered under the guidence of an in experienced Elite driver, sloshing along and spilling the last of its contents before having its end capped and being guided in fits and starts back into the darkness.
Without prompt the soldiers fell into loose assemblage behind, headed afoot at a brisk pace to the ready decontamination zone. The Field Master stood surveying the field for long moments before turning to follow in their wake.
Comms checks began to roll in from every movement and file; every man was accounted for and confirmed to be out of the kill zone. Away and stepping into the decontamination area, 'Caaln was the last to check his comms, loathe to proceed his men away from battle in any wise. Once his transmission was acknowledged the Field Master called the all clear and made an abbrieviated report over comms back to Major 'Korid at the Saint Vincent's command center.
A moment passed, then, "Proceed at your will," came the reply.
Without so much as a pause, "Ready primary cannon," 'Caaln said evenly.
Captain Gillery's voice crackled across the comms, "Primary cannon ready."
"You heard him." 'Caaln said without emotion, "Burn it."
Tucked inside the Wraith far across the field, Captain Gillery was watching through the secondary gunner's forward view screen when the vehicle's driver, the Sangheili equivalent of a tanker, Spec Ops Minor Zern 'Soma did whatever was required to initiate the firing sequence. Lights and instruments momentarily dimmed and Gill could feel more than hear the hum of the main cannon's field generator priming an electromagnetic suspension field. With a rumbling hiss, the Wraith spit out a parabolic round of high-mass, super heated hydron plasma which passed through the vehicle's shield flux with a crackling snap of energy. The magnetically encapsulated round lit the sky in a trailing arc of angrily popping atmosphere and was carried at a low velocity in a magnetically guided trajectory toward the markers in the field.
When the round impacted there was a rhythmic, heavy rumbling as the concussion force collapsed the mortar's magnetic suspension field and sent out a wash of hydron with its explosion which ignited the waiting fossil fuels. The subsequent blaze sucked up available oxygen in a gulp and the rapidly expanding plasma wash ignited everything within the mortar's blast zone in an expanding wave of fire which crawled out from the impact radius.
Gill watched the show occurring downrange as behind him the Wraith's primary cannon began to prime for another blast. By the time it was done the field would be reduced to ash and smoldering slag. What might have been considered overkill given the Covenant mortar's properties was not enough to satisfy the Elites given what Cean's doctor had said about the sickness. All caution was being taken to insure the local contagion was thoroughly obliterated and the cleansing fires fed with enough fuel to be certain everything in the hot zone not in the direct line of fire was rendered vapor and ash.
The combined concussion force of five successive 35cm plasma mortars striking and igniting the target area was enough to make the ground tremble beneath 'Caaln's feet nearly a mile away. As he stood looking back toward the hot zone the sky lit up in a blue-green glow of plasma and fuel fires which radiated up in a muted haze and colored the underside of low cloud cover. The Sangheili commander turned away from the spectacle as the blaze began to die down, knowing that what was once a hovel of struggling life was now nothing but moldering, cooling pools of glass.
Saint Vincent's Orphanage
The official meeting of command staff was set to occur late in the morning following the bombardment. Amy managed to make it, somehow dragging herself out of bed in the hour beforehand, feeling like she had been hit by a truck, thirsty and with the taste of rancid death in her mouth. Armed with clean clothing and her hygiene bag, Starr had struck for the upstairs shower to ponder events of the night before. She couldn't remember much past finding a nice spot on the front lawn to enjoy her alcohol alone... and what she could remember made no sense no matter how long she stood under the shower's spray and thought about it.
Well, getting into an argument with Stealth Major Ass-hole was situation normal so that was probably a good recollection, but the rest of it seemed completely out of character and was a bit fuzzy.
Okay, a lot fuzzy.
Showered and dressed in ripped jeans and a thin white t-shirt, Starr padding back to her room where she wound her wet hair up into a bun and secured it with a pencil. Donning low boots with the steel showing through one toe and her fatigue blouse she set off for the downstairs.
There, she almost ran smack into Naaco as he had come in from the side door at the same time she made the landing.
He shuffled back a step, casting her a fleeting and tentative smile, "Amy, th..."
"Wait," she had said, side-stepping around him and into the kitchen, "I need coffee before I can think today."
Of course, it had come out more like "Mercoffeethurmdray" but Naaco got the point and had given her space, following to watch patiently as Amy had hunted down a clean cup.
Steaming brew in hand she had waved Naaco on. He proceeded to tell her about the upcoming command meeting and, when he had filled her in and scurried off to the dining room she had stepped out onto the side stoop just in time to see a Wraith, it all its glory, accompanied by a rattling human truck make the end of the courtyard.
As she watched and let the caffeine seep into her muddled brain, Stealth Major Torsch 'Korid greeted the newcomers. There was a hushed bustle of excitement buzzing in the air about the complex and from her perch Amy could see residents eagerly finding reasons or excuses to come and see the arrivals. As Starr sipped her coffee, 'Korid began leading the men, two Elites and two humans, up the courtyard to the main house.
Introductions were kept brief, though slightly more than a mere placing of faces to voices and names which had become familiar as the group collected in the communication/dining room.
There was Field Master Nosalstius 'Caaln, a man who made his feelings regarding dealing quickly and thoroughly with Azrael Ashmund abundantly clear right off, and in very few words. The Sangheili officer had a presence, though it quickly became evident that the weight of what he had ordered and subsequently witnessed his men carry out weighed heavily on his conscience. To this was added the obvious disappointment at finding Daniel was absent the proceedings; more so that the man he knew as his Legion Master was alive and present in the complex but altogether unwilling to lead.
"We rejoiced," 'Caaln rumbled, slipping a scuffed helm from his head and placing it on the table in front of the seat reserved for him, "upon receiving instructions originating from 'Berovai's cartographer. Believing the man yet lived sustained those of us flung wide across this planet when the ships were destroyed. Moral will suffer knowing he is effectively dead."
"We would follow him into the mouths of hell." The comment came from Special Operations Minor Fal 'Oosuk, a young soldier who had found himself by necessity field promoted to a command position and leading a small contingent of surviving Elites and humans from Cean.
'Korid gave the wiry Sangheili a nod, "Unfortunately for us, the hell he has entered is one of his own making," Caaln wagged his head with thoughtful sadness as Torsch went on, "There is a place we cannot join him."
While the Elites continued on in their discussion, reverting into their native language, Captain Marcus Gillery took the moment to better acquaint himself with Amy. He rounded the table and eagerly thrust a hand toward her, "Gill," he said, giving her a disarming smile.
"You're not UNSC," Amy heard herself say blandly, shaking the offered hand and eyeing the faded Ambrosia II Department of Corrections uniform, which Gill's tall muscular brawn filled to show off his wide chest and bulging arms.
He didn't seem offended. On the contrary, the jab just seemed to make Gillery beam wider, dimples appearing in his cheeks beneath a blonde travesty of beard, "Aww, you're not gonna' be like that are you? And here I was thinking how much prettier you are in person."
Amy arched a brow, "Flattery will get you nowhere around here, Gill."
"But you can't blame a man for trying," he quipped, grinning like a fiend. He winked, looking her over, "From where I'm standing, I'd sure blame him if he didn't."
Amy snorted in response, "Are you for real?"
"Unfortunately, yes," 'Caaln rumbled, turning his brawn from his Elite compatriots and interjecting himself casually, "However, allow me to put your mind at ease, Sergeant Starr, despite his vulgarity, Captain Gillery has served at my side adequately. He has proven himself apt in leading our human contingent even when one considers his limited and purely theoretical military knowledge."
Amy felt herself grin at the comically brooding expression which clouded Gillery's face.
"Gee," Gill said sarcastically, cutting his eyes at the Elite, "Thanks for clearing that up, Field Marshal."
Torsch and Fal gave Gill disconcerted looks but 'Caaln simply made a gesture with his mandibles which Amy knew was the Elite equivalent to an eye-roll, "You are most welcome, Captain." He quipped.
"Madame," a bizarre figure offered as the Elites returned to their talk, "I fear what you might think of me." With a rifle slung across his back, this man stepped before her dressed in rumpled clothing which was at one time the height of fashion, tailored to every inch of his tall, lank frame. No one would have mistaken him for military, or law enforcement for that matter. Instead of shaking, he took Amy's fingers with a flourish and lightly brushed a kiss atop her hand.
When she recovered from the unexpected gesture, Starr stood back and looked at him cautiously.
"And this smooth operator is Pierre Croix," Gill said.
Gillery seemed to wait, his deep hazel eyes sparkling as they darted back and forth between Amy and Pierre. The ADC Captain seemed barely able to contain his amusement as Amy looked the other man over.
"The Pierre Croix," Gill offered, bobbing his eyebrows expectantly.
Amy squinted, drawing her mouth into a thin, hard line if for no other reason than to keep herself from smiling.
"He was something of a tailor," Fal cast over his shoulder in a deep rumble as if to help.
At this Pierre made a sickening noise in his throat and languidly rolled his eyes. Pinching up his dark African features he let loose with a torrent of French expletives, a smile hinting at his lips, "I will have you know, monsieur, I am not a tailor." He said the last word with open disgust. The Elite shrugged and turned away.
Pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose between the tips of a thumb and index finger Pierre composed himself. He daintily pirched a hand against his chest and turning to Amy went on, "Pardone my companion's utter ignorance, madame, but allow me to clarify, I was one of the premier up-and-coming designers of the House Duvall. I am a clothier," he then gave one tab of his collar a smart jerk and eyed the back of Fal's head playfully as if highly put upon, "Not a tailor."
Gill chuckled and shook his head.
"You were here for Governor Krumfelt's gala," Amy said, surprising both men.
"Oui," Croix chirped, his eyes going wide as he clasped his hands and beamed at the recognition, his spirits bolstered. He stepped back and gave a little bow. "You know my work?"
Amy nodded, then wagged her head from side to side in a gesture of non-committance, noticing the appreciative smirk on Gillery's face, "I served with Ignacio Garcia." She said.
Pierre's smile wilted at the corners.
"Krumfelt mentioned the gala during one of our pow-wows for media relations," Amy clarified. "He was pretty surprised you were willing to come all this way just to put the finishing touches on the dresses for his wife and daughter."
Croix gave her a sheepish look.
"Ignacio spoke highly of you."
Pierre averted his eyes to his alligator boots.
"I understand you were close to his son," Amy added softly.
The man managed to nod, "Eduard...he...he didn't make it..."
Croix struggled with the words many were still unable to speak.
"I'm sorry," Amy said.
"No, no." Pierre said suddenly, dabbing his eyes and regaining his composure, straightening his shirt collar, "I am glad to be here," through his pain and unshed tears he forced a sardonic face, "While I'm sure Murie Duvall is going out of his mind without his top designer, but oh, oui, the show will go on. There is nowhere in the galaxy I would rather be than where Eduard drew his last..." he sniffed defiantly, hooking his thumbs under the rifle sling which crossed his chest, "...than here."
With that, Torsch cleared his throat and beckoned everyone to sit so they could get down to the business at hand.
The meeting carried on into the afternoon. Field Master 'Caaln had listened intently as Torsch had gone over, in detail, what he and Major 'Hakkamr had gathered from Hagart and the plan of attack against Ashmund's forces as it was currently formulated. This was supplemented by hard information on numbers provided by Naaco, which 'Caaln reviewed carefully. In all, and as the most senior Sangheili soldier at the table, the Field Master found the battle plan agreeable with no immediate suggestions.
'Caaln's human counterpart, Captain Marcus Gillery, an overly smiling and inappropriately jovial human male who seemed to enjoy hearing his own voice, had asked innumerable questions, engaging Amy at every turn. He expressed what appeared to be genuine curiosity at the prospect of the experimental weapons she mentioned, and questioned her about them at some length.
In truth, this irritated Torsch for a number of reasons he could not quite grasp, chief among them that the existence of these weapons was a thing which he had dismissed and not put a great deal of consideration to, realizing only then that he had allowed his hurt feelings and stubbornness to blind him to the genuine utility. That a man who had no military training in a conventional sense would see this was a blow to 'Korid's pride.
Gillery made no secret that his rank and service as the commander of on an elite team within the corrections department had been the catalyst which thrust him to lead the human team of reinforcements from North Etienne. This had been at the behest of a UNSC Major who wished to remain behind to coordinate the effort from there in conjunction with 'Caaln's only surviving Stealth Operations General.
Minor 'Oosuk held his peace throughout the meeting, having the least to offer militarily in the way of both experience and power. Cean had been a small city, little more than a township which had outsourced its police force to neighboring New Saint Etienne. There was not a true soldier or trained member of law enforcement to be found among the humans there. With him, 'Oosuk had brought a handful of untrained human civilians willing to complement his force of largely rookie Sangheili soldiers. The flamboyant Pierre Croix had been elected head of the human movement based solely on name recognition and amenities personality and not on any martial merit. Still, it was commendable he would take up arms and make the journey given this admitted deficiency. They left behind as their Sangheili/human counterparts to oversee Cean a Spec Ops Minor junior in grade to Fal and the aged chief of a small volunteer fire department.
Yipip came in at the appointed time and contact was made with Cean and North Etienne via comms. It was this communication which carried the meeting longer than anticipated. It was agreed that all haste would be made to ready an assault and finalize details in the coming days. While the reinforcements were admittedly travel weary their command staff assured 'Korid all were eager to proceed. Those who lingered behind at the respective represented cities made it clear they were also ready. North Etienne soldiers had prepared several launch bridges in order to traverse personnel and supplies across the river and to effect points of direct entry and attack into her neighboring city when the time came.
"I know this is a bit off topic," Amy said, resting her elbows on the table and steepling her fingers before her face with a sigh, "But, it's become my responsibility to keep the civilians around here in the loop and placated as much as possible... while I'm just as hungry for some payback as anyone, if I could ask for a day, just a day; use it however you want, to let the guys who've come a long way get a home-cooked meal and a bath, rest up, whatever, but I could really use a day to let the civvies know what happened this morning wasn't taken lightly. To let them greave, to see that those people mattered to us. It would really make that part of my job a little easier."
Field Master 'Caaln leaned back in his chair and studied the woman while Croix nodded thoughtfully and Gillery shifted in his seat, giving Amy a sympathetic look. In the uncomfortable silence, 'Oosuk looked to each of the senior warriors for a cue as to what his own opinion should be.
That was the moment when Torsch looked at Amy and saw just how great the burden she was carrying, how much the loss of Penny Laroche had magnified her stress.
"I believe that would be agreeable," he heard himself saying far more gently than he had intended.
"Yes," 'Caaln rumbled, straightening in his chair.
Those at the other ends of the comms were voicing their agreement when Kote 'Hakkamr stepped in through the kitchen door and crossed into the room.
"Stealth Major," he addressed 'Korid, then giving a nod of acknowledgement to the senior ranking, though guest in the house, and the others, "Field Master, gentlemen, my lady, troops are fully through decontamination and arrangements have been made at the fore for appropriate encampment of the reinforcing parties."
"Then, let us adjourn for the evening," Torsch said, addressing the comms, "Gentlemen, until tomorrow, when we will formalize our plan in detail."
With that, the men across the comms signed off and everyone rose from their seats. The proceedings broke without ceremony, 'Caaln and 'Oosuk stopping to more formally greet 'Hakkamr. As he lingered about the Sangheili discussion, 'Korid watched from the corner of his eye as Croix bid Gillery and Amy ado until the morrow.
Unknowingly under Torsch's watchful eye, the humans made their way through the kitchen. Gillery held open the door and when Croix had disappeared out onto the stoop the Captain addressed Amy with a shameless grin.
"So, how's about you let men take you to dinner?"
Amy paused, seeming stunned at this forwardness, "What?" she finally asked, a look of complete, horrified confusion on her face.
"I hear there's a great little place, serves a mean stew," Gillery went on, bobbing his eyebrows in play.
The vague thought of walking over there and tearing the man's head off passed through Torsch's mind, but he choked it back.
"I don't think so," Amy said, folding her arms.
Gillery stepped back and studied her a moment, "Alright," he said, clearly changing gears, "How about you let me follow you in the general direction of dinner."
Amy's eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.
"No date. Scout's honor. Let's say we happen to be after a meal at the same time and I happen to sit in your proximity and you agree to not shoot me if I happen to talk to you."
There was a long pause in which Amy's face belied no expression.
Then, "Fine," she said, "but no promises on not shooting you," the hint of a smile cracked her lips as she disappeared out the door. Gillery pumped the air with his fist and followed.
Torsch stood there, he knew not for how long, simply staring after the door while his mind refused to form a clear thought around what he had just witnessed and the emotions it set loose. Jealousy was not befitting a warrior, so certainly he should not feel that. But, he did. He wanted to hold on to the belief that he had done nothing wrong... but even that eluded him as the feeling that he had made a mistake again whispered it's unwelcome message.
This was precisely the reason he had stayed away from women for most of his life, why even after refusing a noble's honorary title he had not sought to marry, though that was the reason he had touted for refusing the suffix. Even knowing he had been nothing to her, watching Amy being pursued by another hurt more than Torsch could have ever thought.
"Major 'Korid?"
Torsch turned to find himself and Kote standing alone in the comms/dining room. He had never even seen 'Caaln and 'Oosuk exit.
"Yes," 'Korid cleared his throat, "Yes?"
Kote looked at him long and hard then turned and fixed his gaze on the kitchen door, "I will never know if Penny heard me," he said softly, "I will never know if she knew how much I cared for her...how much I still care for her. How desperately I love her," his voice wavered, "I was too proud... too much the coward to say the words. And you..." At that 'Hakkamr seemed to deflate, drawing into himself as his eyes glazed over and he turned and walked away.