Chapter 36: Breaching the Walls of Sunaion
The Pregnant Sea was abnormally quiet. The storm that had hidden the sun behind black clouds had cleared. The raging winds that had drowned out all noise had grown silent. It was only an illusion, of course. The city of Sunaion was merely in the eye of the cyclone. This particular time of peace, like all others, was but an illusion.
Jul 'Mdama was blind to its serenity, in any event. His eyes were riveted on the display of an oddly shaped and cumbersome dataslate. He was examining the files again. Those most special scrolls that only he would ever see. They were eminently useful, for they stoked the fire that burned within him. They renewed the anger, hate, and lust for revenge that fueled him at his core.
He examined them frequently.
A chime rang out. It seemed one of 'Mdama's aids was reporting in. The Didact's Hand sighed, shut down and carefully hid the dataslate, and rapidly consumed the last of his mid-day meal. He was the only one within Sunaion who enjoyed the privilege of frequent feedings. His mandibles pulled tight to his face as he grimaced. The loss of Kaidon 'Zama and his agricultural genius had harmed the Storm greatly.
The aid entered once 'Mdama unlocked the door. The bureaucrat moved slowly towards his leader and knelt before him, placing his head and both hands onto the floor in a respectful bow. "I report as commanded, oh most glorious Hand of the Didact."
"Yes, yes, enough pleasantries," 'Mdama snapped impatiently, blind to the fact that he had dismembered those who failed to show the proper ceremony before. "Present your report."
The next hour was spent learning the latest goings on within Sunaion. It seemed that the unexpected survivors of the seaport were grumbling again. Not openly, of course, for fear of penalty, but the discontent was clear nonetheless. The supreme leader of the Storm Covenant bit back his frustration.
Originally, he had planned to order the seaport's defenders to fight to the last to delay the false-Arbiter and his heretical forces. While superior to those defending the capital, in combat record at least, those he had assigned to the seaport were not as loyal as the Honor Guard. They had begun to show signs of discontent with their rightful leader's decisions. As such, 'Mdama had planned to utilize the seaport as a means to eliminate malcontents. He had neglected to mention the nature of their defense until after they were under siege in an effort to minimize the probability of a revolt. His plan had been masterful.
The swift destruction of the Kraken had not been a part of that plan. 'Mdama had expected the titanic war machine to last for at least a few days. He was so confident, in fact, that he had decided not to interrupt his sleep schedule for it. Thus, when news of its destruction and the rapid assault upon the seaport reached Sunaion, it found him fast asleep. Those closest to the religious leader had proved unwilling to wake him. They had decided to leave it until the morning rather than risk being the recipients of his wrath. By the time he woke and learned of it, the battle was lost and there were many unwanted survivors taking up residence within the city.
The cowards who kept him ignorant were swiftly executed.
'Mdama suppressed a sigh as he reflected on the way things had changed. In the beginning of his movement, his followers would never have grumbled like the new arrivals to Sunaion. Nor would they have been so fearful of him that they would refrain from delivering vital information merely because he had been in a slumber.
So many things had changed over the cycles. In the beginning, 'Mdama had been a non-believer, or at least a skeptic. He had merely parroted the sacred words of scripture as a tool for uniting the sangheili under his rule. Even in the time before the Great Schism he had been dubtful of the Covenant's religion.
His faith had been found gradually. As the cycles went by and the war dragged on, the sangheili leader found the words of scripture an ever increasing source of reassurance and strength. The sermons he gave began to have more and more meaning for him personally. Eventually, he recognized the truth of his divine mandate and became utterly devoted toward the restoration of the Old Ways. His piety now fueled him.
Well...piety and rage. A growl emerged from his throat as he remembered those who had wronged him. Those wretched aliens who had enslaved him and tortured him. Who had born a very particular emblem.
The aid began trembling, mistaking the growl for being directed at him. 'Mdama barked at his subordinate to continue his briefing.
"O-of course, my liege," the sangheili said deferentially. He continued for a while before coming to his last point. "It seems that the unggoy are still...voicing concerns over their current conditions. They claim that they are receiving inadequate food and rest. Their labors are falling behind."
This time, 'Mdama's growl really was directed at his aid. "I grow weary of the rebelliousness of the lower races," he said, his impatience clear in his voice. "Make an example of the unggoy's leaders. Throw them all into the sea. I have no patience for any more delays!"
The aid replied with more trembling and platitudes before bowing again and leaving the room. 'Mdama shook his head and decided to get some fresh air. He exited his quarters, a pair of Honor Guard following deferentially and protectively behind, and walked to the edge of the central pylon. The sangheili emperor gazed down into the depths of the Pregnant Sea. He imagined he could see the mighty weapon deep below. He imagined the wondrous things he would do once he harnessed this gift of the holy Forerunners.
The Didact's Hand spread his upper mandibles in a grin.
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Sunaion. The Capstone City. So named because of the ancient and terrible beast that, legends said, it kept imprisoned. It was a network of kilometers-tall spires of alien metal with hard-light platforms all but hanging off of the sides.
Locke suppressed another yawn as he examined the reconnaissance footage provided by the Swords fleet in orbit. He took a drink of his coffee and forced himself through his fatigue.
Sunaion. The Spartan didn't think he'd ever seen a less ideal place to wage a major battle. The size of the spires, or 'pylons', varied greatly. Some were several kilometers thick in diameter while others were less than 5 meters. The size and extent of their platforms were also varied. They and the translucent energy bridges connecting them were a maze. Enemy fire could come from above, below, or to the sides. The crowded Storm facilities, crammed into whatever space was available, would ensure the alien equivalent of house-to-house fighting for the duration of the engagement. Not to mention the lack of true outer walls, meaning there would be the perpetual danger of falling over the side into the deep waters below.
In the center of it all was the Central Pylon. It was by far the largest at over 5 kilometers in diameter. At its top was a structure that resembled an ancient ziggurat. Ramps along one of its exterior walls were the only visible way of ascending into the main area from the 'floor' of the lower platform. Fighting up those paths would be obscenely bloody.
Not to mention the fact that this was the Storm Covenant's last stand. There would be nowhere to go after this. Nowhere the Arbiter would be unable to easily conquer, anyway. Jul 'Mdama and his fanatical warriors would fight to the bitter end to deny ultimate victory to those they deemed 'heretics'.
The leader of said 'heretics', the Arbiter, gestured to one section of the holographic representation of Sunaion. "The ring anti-aircraft batteries will prove a substantial problem. Sea vessels will take too long, even excepting the submerged defenses the city will have in place. We must find a way to disable as many of the air defenses as possible before I lead the full assault."
This was as much of a concession as the Arbiter would allow in regard to his own personal safety. It had been all his generals could do to convince the, admittedly martially talented, head of state not to be among the first to enter the city. Locke was starting to suspect that the sangheili leader was addicted to the thrill of combat.
The ball of dark matter in the pit of the ONI agent's gut made itself known once again. If there was ever a time to execute his orders and kill the Arbiter, it would be in the chaos of this battle. He might even be able to avoid any blame for it if he pulled it off correctly. His gut felt worse as he considered how to go about it.
"Once a breach has been made," the Arbiter continued, oblivious to the Spartan's train of thought, "our forces will split into 2 groups. The first group will focus on further disabling the defensive ring to enable more extensive landings. The second will push toward the Central Pylon and secure it. As this is undoubtedly where the so-called prophet will be, its capture will signal the end of this current war."
Locke moved forward and crossed his arms over his chest, his hands resting on opposite shoulders as he slightly bowed his head. He had learned from Vale the proper way of voicing an objection after last time.
"You have a concern, Spartan?" the Arbiter asked. The fact that none of the generals objected indicated to Locke that he had been successful in his effort at diplomacy. Small blessings.
"I am concerned about the fleets in orbit, Arbiter," Locke said. "'Mdama has shown a willingness to break from tradition in the past. I know that Sanghelios is sacred ground but it is possible the Storm fleet, in their desperation, will break the taboo and attack with an orbital bombardment. Will we be prepared to counter such a move?"
The sangheili generals glanced among each other, evidently unhappy about the prospect. The Arbiter simply grinned. "Do not fear, Spartan. I have an...unconventional counter-move for just that possibility."
Locke was about to ask what he meant when a sound pierced the walls of the command tent. His blood ran cold. He recognized the noise instantly. It was, after all, the one that had haunted his nightmares for months.
Blind to the other members of the tent, Locke rushed out and toward the edge of the encampment. He activated the zoom function on his helmet and utilized its positioning software to look directly at the far away city of Sunaion. Across the plains, seaport, and stormy ocean he could just make out the distant lights of the Forerunner installation. The sophisticated software in his helmet alerted him that a substantial wave had emanated from the facility like a giant ripple. Distantly, he heard the sangheili shouting orders to secure the seaport against the wave. He tuned them out.
They didn't have weeks or months anymore. They didn't even have days. Their timetable had been shortened to a matter of hours.
It was happening.
The Guardian would soon awaken.
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The empty datachip felt heavy in the Master Chief's hand.
It was the only such device that Blue Team possessed. It's storage space and hardware capacity dwarfed that of a mere datacube. They had not used it yet but, if all went well, it would be the most important piece of gear they had.
It was the only storage device they had that was rated for Smart AIs.
The cold mercury feeling of Cortana interfacing with his neural implant echoed distantly in his skull. He had felt empty when he first separated from his digital companion; that feeling had never completely gone away. The Chief reflected on how much time he had spent with one of these chips plugged into his helmet. Compared to the entirety of his career, it was practically no time at all. A matter of months in a professional life spanning decades. Yet...it felt like so much more.
The time the Master Chief had spent with Cortana had been among the most eventful of his life. He had discovered the existence of the Forerunners, defeated the Covenant, and saved the galaxy. Cortana had been there for all of it. She had been an invaluable combat asset, ensuring victory where even the Spartans would have suffered defeat.
More than that, though, she was...special. The Chief had never mentioned it to his siblings but he considered Cortana an unofficial member of their family. He trusted her more than anyone other than his fellow Spartans. Only Dr. Halsey had come close, and even she suffered from being a civilian.
Now, Cortana was more important to the Master Chief than ever. She was his last hope for clarity of purpose. She was the only one he could trust to tell him who to fight, and why. She was the only one he could trust to tell him what to do.
The sounds of heavy footsteps and alien chirping drew the Chief away from his ruminations. It seemed Blue One and the huragok finally had something to report.
Fred and Reaches-Far-Quickly rounded the corner and approached the other members of Blue Team. Fred was carrying 2 pieces of the Forerunner equipment they had recovered from Meridian. Hopefully, that was good news. After the Arbiter told them about the imminent activation of the Guardian, the need to find an edge over 'Mdama's forces had increased exponentially. The Master Chief had ordered the team engineer to report whatever progress he had made that could be of immediate use.
Fred carefully set down the larger of the 2 objects, a bulky device the size of his own torso he had carried under his arm. He kept hold of the smaller one, which was about the size of a compad. Taking a second look, the Chief recognized the larger piece as the teleporter that he had used on Biko.
"We've managed to restore these pieces of equipment," Blue One reported after exchanging salutes with the Chief. "Before you ask: yes, the teleporter is back online...to an extent." Fred glanced at the huragok, who had taken to fiddling with one of Blue Team's toolkits. He decided to press on by himself. "I think we can manage 1 full party transit. Maybe 2 if we only send a couple of us. After that, there is a substantial risk of the device completely breaking down."
"Breaking down?" the Chief asked.
"Yes, sir," Fred responded. He paused in thought before continuing. "It's difficult to describe. In layman's terms, the strain of age and use has almost completely burned the thing out. It wouldn't last much longer in any case without substantial repairs. Maybe not even then. If we use it, we'll probably lose it."
The Master Chief swore silently. Functional teleportation technology would provide an invaluable tactical edge against any adversary. Delivering the device to the UNSC in working order could change the course of human history.
Then again, so would failing to stop 'Mdama.
"We'll have to risk it," the Chief decided. "With the Guardian starting to activate, we're out of time. Is a strike insertion into Sunaion viable?"
"I had a feeling you'd ask me that," Fred chuckled. "That's where this baby comes in," he said, gesturing to the compad-sized device. He waved a hand in front of it. A complex holographic display was suddenly projected from its surface. Fred 'touched' various parts of the hologram to manipulate it as he spoke. "From what we can tell this is basically the Forerunner equivalent of a universal remote. It seems to be designed to allow access to any Forerunner system. I—well, we" he said, a bit uncomfortable mentioning the contributions of the admittedly helpful alien currently floating obliviously off to the side. The Chief couldn't blame him; he felt the same way. Fred continued, "wrote some of our own programs that should allow us access to the city's systems. I have limited access to the city from here—just enough to get the teleporter to engage in handshake protocols with the city systems and triangulate a viable destination. We shouldn't materialize inside a wall or anything."
"Can you have us sent to an unoccupied area?" Linda asked. "Any level of stealth we can add could prove invaluable."
"I believe so," Fred replied, flicking rapidly over the Forerunner compad. "I think I can access enough of the facility's systems to add that as a parameter. That would just about stretch my access to the limit, though. It's not that I don't have authorization—I literally don't understand most of what I'm looking at. Giving the system general commands and letting it figure out how to perform them on its own is as far as I can go without a lab and a few expendable grad students."
The members of Blue Team shared a mild laugh as they remembered Dr. Halsey joking about such subjects. She had once claimed that said advanced students were worked so thoroughly that universities must order them in bulk. The laugh was short lived, as they all remembered that the good doctor was now gone. Fred rubbed the back of his neck in mild embarrassment. They refocused on the mission at hand.
"Anything else we should know?" the Master Chief asked.
"Yes, actually," Fred replied. "The teleportation device doesn't have enough power for a full jump. We could tap into our suits, but without an AI to execute the process that would be risky. My expertise only extends so far. It would probably be best if we used the Lich's powerplant."
"Agreed," the Chief answered after a moment's consideration. "I'll talk to 'Khebrem and comm the Arbiter. Finish any preparations you have left, people. We move out ASAP."
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The center of the encampment occupied the full attention of the entire expedition. The soldiers were on high alert, on guard for threats beyond and within the perimeter. The academics watched in fascination as ancient Forerunner technology was integrated with contemporary systems.
A set of thick cables connected the teleportation device to the Lich's powerplant. Ancient symbols glowed blue along the sides of the ancient machine, giving it an arcane aesthetic that no modern race could replicate. Fred tapped away furiously at his Forerunner compad. He was quintuple checking the commands that would send Blue Team into the heart of the enemy stronghold within the blink of an eye.
The Master Chief felt confused as he approached 'Khebrem. No matter what happened, the Spartans' time among the academic expedition had now come to its end. The members of the respective groups would likely never see each other again after this. He should have felt relieved that his time working alongside these aliens was finally coming to its end.
Instead, he felt a jumble of odd, unidentifiable emotions. It was almost like melancholy but the Chief couldn't believe that. What would he have to feel sad about?
The Chief reached the academic leader and stood a short distance from him. He found himself at a loss for words.
"I suppose this is farewell," 'Khebrem said. The Spartan nodded in agreement. "Was your time among us enlightening?" This did not produce a nod. The Master Chief still wasn't sure what to make of what he had observed while in this unusual company. After a moment, the academic realized he wouldn't get a response at this time. "I suppose that is fair. I ask only that you meditate upon what we have discussed. I have not given up." The sangheili spread his upper mandibles in a smile. "Not even upon you."
The alien reached out his hand. The Spartan hesitated for a moment before making his decision.
John shook 'Khebrem's hand.
The goodbyes completed, Blue Lead moved to join his squadmates in the center of the encampment. Fred nodded to him; they were ready. The Spartans gathered close together.
With a flash of light, they were gone.
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After the flash passed and the spots faded from their eyes, the sangheili glanced at where the humans had just been. There was only an empty patch of ground. The Forerunner device lay off to the side, its runes dim, its form melted and ruined by the strain of the final performance of its duties. There would be no sending reinforcements by it.
Those present wished the departing warriors the best of fortunes.
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Coming out of a teleport was always disorienting. The new surroundings, the flash of light, the...experience of whatever happened to the physical form to enable transit. It all combined into a punch that would knock anyone off-balance for a minute.
For a Spartan that 'minute' only lasted a few fractions of a second.
Blue Team had its weapons up and their heads clear almost instantaneously. They were in a dark area surrounded by Storm equipment crates. It seemed the Forerunner systems had seen fit to dump them in a pre-fabricated storage closet. The Spartans secured the area. Finding no enemies present, they moved to exit the space and accomplish their objectives.
It only took a moment for Linda to hack the door controls and let them outside. The members of Blue Team found themselves looking up at a large, circular platform suspended a few meters above their heads. The deep purples and blues of the crates and other pre-fabricated Storm structures stood out starkly from the grays of the hard-light Forerunner platform. Daylight streamed in unhindered from the open sides.
Judging by the schematics Fred had accessed, they were on one of the lowest of a series of decks that extended dozens of meters above them. They were moving through what was effectively a series of sub-basements.
The sounds of heavy weapons fire echoed from above. Looking out over the side, the Spartans could see Swords of Sanghelios aircraft attempting to push through the defensive ring. Several of them were hit and incinerated as they watched.
The Master Chief motioned them forward. They had to find a way to disable the anti-air defenses in order for the Arbiter's forces to take the city.
Stealth was more difficult in Sunaion than it had been at the slaver fortress. There were no washouts or castoffs manning the defenses. Only hardened warriors. Numerous times the Spartans had to duck into cover or whatever pre-fabricated Storm building was available in order to avoid the regular patrols.
Linda, as always, proved to be invaluable. She swiftly hacked into the Storm's security network and used her skills to clear the way for them as best they could. She looped data into security feeds to cover their advance. She silenced alarm systems that would have given them away. She even sent a false order to move a patrol out of position when the Spartans' progress was unavoidably impeded.
The powerplant for the anti-air batteries was located several decks above them. Judging by the information Linda had gleaned from the network, the Chief had decided it would be the easiest target. They managed to ascend the ramps that connected each level without incident until there were only 2 decks between them and where they needed to be.
The Spartans hunkered down in a vacant Storm structure. It was a religious shrine, if the murals projected onto the walls were any indicator. Linda was furiously accessing the Storm security net. The network had been surprisingly robust so far. There were multiple layers of encryption, frequently changing codes, and numerous overlapping fields of coverage. It seemed that 'Mdama had finally learned the lessons the Spartans had worked so hard to impart over the course of the Human-Covenant War.
Security had been relatively light at the other ramps, at least in regard to live guards. This made sense. The Storm leadership had little reason to suspect an insertion here. However, this current area was fortified and heavily guarded. It seemed the more occupied levels were better defended. Linda was struggling to conjure a way to lure the guards away from their posts without attracting attention.
A loud, roaring noise pierced the walls of their enclosure. The Chief moved toward one of the viewports and snaked a fiberoptic probe into position.
The eye of the storm had moved on. The waters below and beyond the city limits were raging once again and heavy rainfall restricted visibility significantly. The flashes of weapons detonations and deaths of aircraft were the only aspects of the air battle that the Chief could see anymore.
The door to the back of the shrine turned from red to blue and, to the Chief's horror, slid open. A group of unggoy waddled in, apparently to get out of the rain. The sudden return of the storm must have temporarily confused his armor's motion trackers as he hadn't detected their approach. The alien patrol paused in shock as they saw the human supersoldiers.
The Spartans suffered no such hesitation. They gunned down the unggoy within seconds. The Chief could only pray that had gone unnoticed.
"A security alert just went out," Linda commed, dashing his hopes. "They had life-sign monitors. They knew as soon as we dropped them."
Yes, the Storm had definitely learned its lesson. 'Mdama was sparing no expense to keep his final refuge secure.
Their presence compromised, the Chief ordered Blue Team to attack the checkpoint directly. Heavy plasma fire raked the hard-light walls around them as they pushed forward at superhuman speeds. Linda eliminated the gunners with her trademark efficiency, dropping each of them with a single headshot from her beam rifle.
The Master Chief rushed up the ramp, firing his assault rifle on full auto. His augmented strength allowed him to easily compensate for the recoil and his own movement as he went. Several enemies fell to his rifle, the others forced into cover as he and Kelly sprinted up the ramp, their sniper pulling up the rear with Fred covering her. The remaining guards quickly fell to their combined fire.
The fighting grew increasingly thick the further they pushed. Linda was doing well in preventing the enemy from zeroing in on their position but there were only so many targets they could be going for. It didn't take the Storm long to figure out they were headed for the powerplants.
More and more Storm structures began crowding the platforms. Crates of anonymous supplies, spare parts and the like if the Chief was remembering the Storm's categorization properly, cluttered the platform. At one point they were forced to fight within a meter of the sheer edge.
The bottoms of their MJOLNIR boots were as high-tech as the rest of their equipment. As such, they did an admirable job gripping the wet deck. Unfortunately, there was only so much any equipment could do to compensate for the chaotic maneuvering required of combat. The Spartans had to take great care not to slide off the edge.
Of course, the poor conditions affected the enemy as much as it affected them. The Spartans made good use of the environment, often aiming their shots to force their enemy into movement that left them unsteady. A sangheili stumbled and struggled to regain its balance. The Chief grabbed a nearby piece of equipment and threw it at the alien warrior, knocking it over the edge and into the water below. Any shouts of terror were drowned out by the sounds of the storm and battle.
They were nearly at the last ramp when they ran into what felt like a wall of enemy fire.
Plasma shots melted cover and plasma grenades reduced entire crates to molten slag. The members of Blue Team kept up the attack. Scores of unggoy and tens of sangheili were dropped by their coordinated fire.
The Chief was in the process of reloading his rifle when his armor alerted him that a plasma grenade had landed on the other side of his cover. He dove to the side as the equipment crate was consumed in a spherical blast of blue plasma. Plasma shots immediately began peppering his shields.
The other members of Blue Team shifted their fire to cover their leader. The Chief sprinted to the next piece of cover. He barely made it before his shield broke. He hastily completed the reload and waited several seconds for his shield to recharge.
Unfortunately, as was so often the case, the Spartans were outnumbered. There was simply no way they could compensate for the overwhelming numbers and inferior tactical position. They were gradually forced to pull back until they found themselves cornered.
There were few actual Forerunner buildings upon the platform, but there were some. The members of Blue Team found themselves in a small cluster of what appeared to be empty sheds. The abstract architecture provided bizarre outcroppings that made adequate cover in the dead-end alley they found themselves. Things were not looking good.
"Blue One, do you have anything?" the Chief commed, ducking behind cover to reload his rifle once again.
"Negative, Blue Lead," Fred replied. He had ducked into one of the 'sheds' to try accessing the pylon directly through his Forerunner compad. "I've managed to expand my access to include the power systems but there don't seem to be any functions that would provide an advantage."
"Can you cut power to the AA batteries?" the Chief asked. It wouldn't qualify as completing the objective, as the Storm could potentially find a way to turn them back on, but it was certainly better than nothing.
"Negative, sir," Fred commed. "The Storm must have set up their own independent power grid. I'll keep looking."
The Master Chief took a few seconds to think. They weren't going to last much longer here. He thought of several options, eventually deciding on the least insane one.
"Blue One, can you cut power to our platform?" he asked.
"Standby," came the response. What felt like an eternity passed before Fred continued. "I can't isolate any single platform and cut the power to it and only it. If I kill power to one, it'll start a process that will eventually take the whole pylon offline."
"Meaning all of the platforms will disappear?" the Chief pressed. Kelly and Linda both ducked behind their own respective covers as the incoming fire increased. Their position was being swarmed. Once again, they were out of time.
"Affirmative," Blue One replied. "The targeted platform will deactivate. The rest of the platforms will deactivate as well within a few minutes. Everything without a gravity drive will fall into the ocean. It will only affect this pylon, though, and none of the city's other functions will be affected."
The Master Chief grinned behind his helmet. The top of the pylon was rounded and extended far beyond the highest platform, which precluded its use for Storm equipment. The AA batteries would fall right into the sea if the platforms were deactivated. "Turn off the power to our current deck on my command. Copy?"
"Affirmative, sir," Fred replied without hesitation, no confusion or doubt in his voice.
"Blue Team, prepare for a drop," the Chief commed. He pulled up a schematic of the deck layout below them; his armor had been automatically compiling a map as they went. He compared the readout to his own mental map and nodded at the confirmation. The area directly below them was relatively clear. He opened a comm to his team. "Blue Team, the nearest neighboring pylon is 45º clockwise from here. Roll with the fall, sprint into position, and go across. Copy?" Blue acknowledgment lights winked in response. The members of Blue Team all stowed their weapons in preparation for the flight. "Blue One, execute."
For several moments, nothing happened. Plasma shots continued to fill the air around their cover. The Spartans' motion trackers recorded scores of additional hostiles closing in.
The deck beneath their feet seemed to shimmer. Its entire surface was suddenly underlined by a grid of white lines and the artificial textures faded.
The deck disappeared.
Time slowed as the Master Chief's augmented reflexes went into overdrive. The hostiles' shouts of surprise/terror were drawn out into long roars, comparable to a slowed down audio recording. The Chief tuned them out. He focused on the rough landing he was about to take.
The ton-heavy human supersoldier slammed into the deck. Grids of light reached out from the impact point like cracks as the hard-light deck reacted to his landing. His armor's shields were drained and fell in an instant from the sheer force of the impact. The Chief's legs screamed in pain even as he rolled with the fall and channeled his momentum into a dead sprint. He ignored the discomfort with practiced ease.
The MJOLNIR helmet automatically filtered out all sound as the pieces of Storm equipment and personnel crashed down around them. The only sound the Chief could hear were his own breath and heartbeat as he pushed himself to escape the soon-to-be vanishing structure.
Sporadic enemy fire occasionally lanced out at them. Fortunately, most of the enemy was still too shocked or injured to respond. Plasma shots impacted the various crates and structures as the Spartans vaulted over or around them in their race to the next pylon.
By sheer luck some enemy fire struck a piece of rectangular Storm gear that had landed on its small end. The Chief was forced to dive out of the way to avoid being crushed. It only took him a second to regain his footing but that still left him dozens of meters behind his squadmates.
Kelly, naturally, was the first to reach the edge and cross the energy bridge to relative safety. She drew her assault rifle and secured the area. Linda arrived moments after. She drew her beam rifle and turned back to cover the other Spartans' retreat. Her weapon pulsed several beams of lethal energy as she eliminated potential threats. Fred reached them shortly after.
The Master Chief was still tens of meters away when he noticed the deck start to shimmer and turn into a grid. Realizing he was out of time, he leaped onto a nearby crate.
The deck disappeared. Along with the ceiling. Time slowed to a crawl.
The Spartan tensed his augmented legs and leaped to another crate.
One closer to the neighboring pylon.
His mind raced as it plotted a 'path' to his destination. He leaped from crate to shed to arms locker. The now-vanished platforms above provided a steady stream of stepping stones to compensate for his falling altitude.
Calculations were performed with superhuman speed to determine the exact amount of force and the exact trajectory necessary to accomplish his objective. Each movement was executed with precision enabled by his subconscious, fed by decades of experience.
The Spartan's weight meant he was heavier than many of the objects he was landing on and leaping from. That made it easier to gain purchase, but also meant he was falling faster. Another variable in his calculations.
The falling rain hindered his grip. The heavy winds affected his trajectory mid-flight. More variables. They didn't stop him.
He landed on a stationary gun emplacement. A sangheili gunner sat within, gripping the controls with white-knuckles. The Spartan distantly noted terror in its eyes in the fraction of a second before his next leap shoved the whole unit downward at high velocity.
An anti-air battery provided the last stepping stone. Any triumph at his accomplished objective was buried beyond notice by the Spartan's absolute focus on reaching his destination. Upon landing he 'sprinted' along the massive barrel of the weapon before leaping 15 meters high and 10 across to land upon the stable platform.
The Master Chief ended his journey with a roll that found him on his feet with his weapon drawn.
The rest of Blue Team maintained discipline. There were no signs of shock or surprise at his survival. After all of the time they'd spent fighting together, they had grown accustomed to him pulling stunts like this.
"Guess that hopscotch experience paid off," the Chief quipped, his heart still pounding in his ears. He steadied his breath with an effort.
"Yes, sir," Blue One replied, deadpan. "Seems we've accomplished our objective," he said, gesturing to the waters beneath the now-vacant pylon. All of the Storm equipment, as well as its personnel, had fallen into the sea and sank beneath the waves. The Forerunner structure was now a blank metal spire hanging in the air.
The pylon abruptly fell into the sea. It smashed into the water and disappeared beneath the waves like a peg driven by an enormous, invisible hammer. The signs of its impact were promptly buried by the raging waters.
"I noticed a lot of vehicles falling as you made your way over," Linda commented. "Everything from Phantoms to Banshees. I think that pylon may have doubled as an airfield."
"Two-for-one, can't beat that," Fred added. Perhaps he didn't want the Chief to get the last quip in.
"Move out, Blue Team," the Chief commed, deciding they'd wasted enough time. They had to go to ground now and prepare for the Arbiter's forces to make landfall. This was almost over.
A deep, malevolent song rang out. It was so loud it even overwhelmed the noise of battle. The Spartans' MJOLNIR helmets automatically shut out all sound, but it could still be felt in their bones. The Guardian song.
They were running out of time.
Note: Sorry about the delay. I decided to take my time outlining the last few chapters in this story to make sure I set everything up properly. I usually don't plan out the details of future chapters as much as I did this and the following 2. This allows me to alter my story if I have new ideas as well as post more frequently, but it also means I'm basically flying by the seat of my pants in a lot of ways. I'm pretty bad at thinking ahead in general, so this is probably an extension of that. It's something I need to work on.
Note: The intro was inspired by objections that some readers made about my depiction of Jul 'Mdama earlier in this story. Apparently in canon he is actually an atheist who is just using religion as a means to gain supporters and forge his new empire. I decided to try to reconcile the disparity here by making it so he started out as he is in canon, but eventually started to believe his own propaganda. I think that this is rather common in real life. After all, you can only tell a lie so often for so long before you start to believe it yourself.
Note: 'Mdama being asleep at the time of the seaport battle is based on the story of how Hitler slept through a rather important surprise attack by the Allies. One of the problems with a narcissistic tyrant is that those beneath them tend to be justifiably terrified of displeasing him. This has lead to the downfall of more than one such leader. It's also the reason why people who pull a Darth Vader and execute underlings who displease them tend not to be the most successful sort, at least in the long term.
Note: The part with the Chief jumping from falling debris to falling debris was inspired by a part near the end of the book Crysis: Legion. It's the novelization of Crysis 2, written by sci-fi author Peter Watts. I highly recommend it as not just a good adaptation but as a stellar piece of science fiction in general. It's surprisingly hard sci-fi, although it's not too surprising when you consider the author's background in real science. The alien that tried the jumping trick wasn't as successful as the Chief is here, though :P