Chapter 25: Cost
Vivian stood with her hands clasped behind her back as the Pelicans began drifting back into I'm Alone's Hangar 01. Some were damaged, bearing large gray-brown plasma burns on their bulkheads and wings. Others were riddled with smaller plasma strikes and the impacts of what few munition-based weapons the Covenant utilized. Armor plating was dented and chunks were missing from the wings. A number of the dropships did not so much gently touch down as they lumped to a landing. Damaged landing gear finally failed and several Pelicans landed on their bellies. Others rolled halfway onto one side. Through the windscreen of the cockpit, she could see the pilots being jostled by the impacts.
As rear hatches began opening up, Vivian looked over at the medical teams. Jasmine was standing by with a contingent of medical personnel equipped with rolling litters, biofoam dispensers, and first aid kits. Everyone appeared incredibly grim; even Jasmine's usual calm expression was drawn and lined with stoicism. Behind her glasses, her golden brown eyes seemed to lack their common radiance. They were dim.
It was difficult to look at her at that moment. Jasmine was more than her best friend and she relied on her not only as a reservoir of courage but a reprieve from the arduous nature of command. A sanity check, always present, always willing to lend her time. They both served one another in such a capacity, as Navy officers and friends. As different as they were, Vivian took comfort in a matching spirit they shared. Those days at Luna OCS bound them together. But the good doctor was her own person as well, she was in possession of feelings removed from Vivian. In her eyes, the dim light and mounting concern only Vivian could see was all she needed to ascertain who was on Jasmine's mind. If Frost was killed down below, it would be Vivian's orders that did him in. Defying all that transpired between them, noting the man he was now and the woman she had become, she would regret his death. More so, she would never forgive herself for breaking Jasmine's heart.
Red lights were flashed inside the cockpits of landing Pelicans, indicating wounded were on board. These dropships swung around so the rear hatch to the passenger compartment was more accessible to the medical staff. One by one, Jasmine ordered the teams forward. Eventually, one badly battered Pelican entered, swung about, and touched down gracefully. When the rear hatch opened, Gunnery Sergeant Frost appeared. Vivian breathed in relief, glad that Jasmine was to spared the pain.
The Captain began to approach the Pelican. As she did, Frost was the first one to jump onto the deck. Although partly shadowed by his helmet, she could see his expression was drawn grim like so many others in Hangar 01. He turned around and began motioning towards himself with both hands. A little was carefully slid out of the dimly lit passenger compartment. Lance Corporal Grant appeared, followed by Corporals Bishop and Knight. One by one, the rest of his squad appeared and carried the little from the Pelican. On it, a body was covered by an olive drab blanket. Only the booted feet were visible and a pale hand that slipped from underneath.
Standing in her foreboding, scarred, olive drab armor, Carris-137 approached the litter. She took the hand, lifted the blanket, and solemnly placed it back on the casualty's chest.
"Gunny?" Vivian asked as they passed by. Frost finally noticed her, paused, and then nodded for Carris to take his handle of the stretcher. While the squad continued on, joining on a trail of other Marines and ODSTs carrying their wounded and dead, Frost walked over to Vivian.
"Ma'am," he greeted tiredly. He took off his helmet and ran his free hand through his light brown hair. Gray concrete dust and ash coated his lower face while his eyes, protected by the helmet, were relatively clean. He looked back over at his squad and sighed. "Lance Corporal Moser. One of my grenadiers."
"I'm sorry," Vivian offered.
"It was a real mess down there, Captain," Frost said and breathed in. When he did, he inhaled some of the dust on his face and coughed. When he finished, he spit on the deck. "A real fucking shitshow."
"I was receiving reports and monitoring the comms channels the entire time. It all sounded bad." She looked back at the miserable procession of troops. Victorious as they were, there were too many wounded and dead among them to celebrate. Navy personnel were coming out of the corridors to help them with their casualties. Teams from the mess hall erected tables and stands by the bow entrance, returning to the barracks via the armory. On it were cups of freshly brewed coffee, fresh water, energy drinks as well as sandwiches, protein bars, and select snack food. Marines gratefully accepted, raising their cups or nodding silently as they shuffled by.
Lowering her gaze, Vivian shook her head. "Maybe it was too rash."
"We had to go down there, Captain," Frost replied. "Our job is to win the war and the only way we can do that is by killing the enemy. If we left a pocket of Covvies there, who knows what could have happened had their own forces recovered them? Better to destroy them now, rather than in a fight later on."
"It cost a lot," Vivian murmured. She looked back at the dwindling line of wounded Marines. Standing apart from the main body of overseeing medical staff, Jasmine was looking her way. Frost was already gazing at her.
Clearing her throat, Vivian touched Frost on the shoulder. "Dismissed."
"Ma'am."
Vivian watched him leave. He tiredly walked across the deck towards Jasmine. She didn't wait for him to come to her. Meeting him halfway, Jasmine threw her arms around him. Frost wrapped his arms around his middle. Her hand clasped the back of his head, her fingers running down his brown locks. Their embrace lasted only for a moment; they parted slightly, shared one kiss, and then turned away. Jasmine returned to her duty and Frost began to search for his squad.
Following the Marines returning to their barracks, Vivian decided to take a longer route towards an elevator. As she passed between the grunts in the armory, she offered them a kind, reassuring smile, a resolute nod, or briefly paused to converse with them. Most did not have much to say but a mild, 'thank you,' as she praised them. Many were too busy taking off their blackened or grayed armor to really notice her. Weapons were returned to their stations, munitions to their docks and crates. Men coughed and entertained brief, solemn, muttered conversations.
Nobody looked Vivian in the eye. Before long, she began to recognize the animosity in their expressions. Glaring eyes, pursed lips, furrowed brows; the blame was slowly falling on her. The victory was not theirs even if they paid for in their wounded and dead. It was hers and she used them to achieve it. Was it a matter of strategy, was it a maneuver to allay her anger at seeing so many wounded Navy men and women in the medical bays, or just a way to satisfy her own wounded ego at suffering her own challenging triumph. As she marched through the throngs of Marines, feeling their antagonistic gazes resting on her, she began to wonder if it was the right decision.
After making her way through the barracks, she reached an elevator and rode it all the way to the bridge level. Just as the doors opened, all the Navy officers jumped to their feet.
"Captain on deck!"
"At ease."
"Congratulations, Captain," Lieutenant Bassot said. "We really gave the Covvies a hell of a fight."
"We're doing pretty well for ourselves, aren't we Captain?" Tsang added. "Another Covenant battlegroup, a defense fleet, an entire repair yard, and a garrison."
"This is more progress inside of a year than I've ever experienced," Lieutenant Koroma added from the communications station. "When I was an ensign, we were lucky enough to make a dent in a Covenant ship."
Vivian, not quite at her station yet, suddenly felt like she couldn't walk. All her officers were smiling at her and they appeared very proud. Even after the close call they endured during the orbital engagement, their spirits were jubilant. She wanted to share in their enthusiasm so badly it hurt. But as she tried to force herself to smile, she could only see the accusatory expressions of the Marines and the river of wounded, dying men meandering to the medical facilities. It did not feel right to exalt in victory at the expense of so many.
Before she could speak, she heard the doors open and a pair of booted feet enter the bridge. Vivian turned around and found herself face to face with Colonel Hayes. He was still in his own set of M52B armor which clearly saw a great deal of action. The armor was covered with ash and plasma burns. A carbine round apparently grazed the left side of his skull as dried blood was caked into the hair. His expression was taciturn and bleak.
For a brief moment, Vivian no longer felt like a Navy officer. She felt her youth, she felt dwarfed in front of the imposing Marine. A verbal tirade presented itself and she knew she would have to bear it, even if her officers disagreed. Would they respect her after receiving it without protest? Would they admire her for accepting the blame for a costly victory?
Hayes clicked his heels together, snapping Vivian from her thoughts.
"Captain Waters," he said in an unemotional voice. "I wished to report our casualty figures to you personally." He reached behind him and retrieved his personal data pad from a large pouch attached to his rucksack. Opening a window on the screen and scrolling down, he finally found his numbers. "Two-hundred sixty-seven killed in action, three-hundred thirty-nine wounded."
It was as bad as Vivian expected. The numbers cut into her like a blade being slowly driven into her heart. Such pain resonated and reverberated in her chest. Hayes tucked the data pad away and folded his hands behind his back. "What's our next move, Captain?"
She turned her gaze to the port side tactical display. On each one, she could see the damage reports in numerical and text readouts next to the image of each ship. Hull integrity, facility damage, emergency thruster units, munitions, and Navy casualties were all displayed. Since the beginning, Vivian relied on momentum, capitalizing on daring ideas and plans, and aggressive action. Following that route led to many victories with limited casualties. The strategy still worked but both elements suffered because of it.
Vivian turned around and faced Lieutenant Koroma. "Launch a comm buoy and link us to FLEETCOM. Get us patched through to Vice Admiral Travers to request a slipspace-capable refit station be detached from his task force with a light escort to these coordinates." Vivian bent over her station, briefly examined the local clusters, and selected one in which there was no Covenant presence.
She sent the coordinates to Koroma's station and stood back up. "We've won a two-fold engagement today, but we're not in the best shape. If we attempt to continue operations in our present condition we will not survive the next few engagements. We're going to refit, repair, and rearm, and then commence further operations. Commander Solak, issue slipspace instructions across the battlegroup. We're jumping in thirty minutes. And Solak, you have the bridge."
"Aye, ma'am."
Everyone returned to their stations while Vivian brushed past Colonel Hayes. She went to the elevator and rode it to the level her personal quarters were on. Briskly, she walked to her quarters, entered, and locked the door behind her. Briefly, she leaned back against it and covered her face with both hands. A few shaky breaths passed her lips. Inhaling unsteadily through her teeth, she stood back up and went over to her desk. Slumping into the chair, she unbuttoned her tunic until it was open, exposing her white tank top. For a few minutes, she sat hunched over the desk with her head in her hands. Then, she opened the bottom drawer and gazed at the bottle of prized brandy Travers gifted her a few years before.
Just as she was about to reach for it, she heard the blip of the AI pedestal. She looked over and found Decatur's blue hologram standing on the top. One hand was resting on the pommel of his cutlass, still in its scabbard, while the other clutched his hat.
"What is it?" Vivian breathed, leaning back.
The AI gazed at her inquisitively for a time. Despite being a hologram, his face was well-detailed; he had a long, dignified nose, long, overgrown sideburns, a number of curly locks which came down over his forehead, and somewhat large eyes.
"Perhaps, my greatest accomplishment as an officer of the United States Navy was the burning of the captured ship USS Philadelphia. What a daring action, I say, without pomp or arrogance. How we came upon the vessel under the light of the moon, boarding in the dead of night in disguise. I would have prefered to fight in my blue, but I daresay we made handsome Maltese. Our clandestine assault saw us completing our mission without loss of life." Strangely, he inhaled, as if he was smelling something sweet in the I'm Alone's neutral air. He smiled sadly. "You know of Lord Horatio Nelson? Of our mission, he called it, 'the most bold and daring act of the Age.' Fine praise coming from one so distinguished."
Vivian regarded him with a slight smile. Decatur looked at his hat and then dropped it; the imaginary floor he seemed to stand on caught it, making the cap look as if it was floating by his feet. Sighing, he sat down and hugged his knees to his chest. "In August, we attacked Tripoli again. In that fierce fighting, I lost more than a few men; my brother, on another ship, received a most fatal wound. I was able to avenge him, killing the enemy captain who struck him. By the grace of God, I was able to stay with my brother before he passed."
Decatur bowed his head slightly before standing back up. "We won that day, but victory was bittersweet. It seems almost infantile to use such a word; it merely does not characterize the cruelties of war, the horror that not defeat but victory can bring. Victory, like command, bears many hardships Captain Waters. As I learned, you have learned there shall always be a cost. It does not merely hurt, it takes parts of you away. But that is what is required of a Navy officer: to bear the costs and never spend lives cheaply."
The two regarded each other for what seemed a long time. Eventually, Vivian straightened up.
"Thank you, Decatur."
"I am, ever and always, at your service." The AI bowed, put on his cap, and flickered away. Vivian sat immobile for a few minutes more, then stood up, buttoned her tunic, and left her quarters.
With her helmet under her left arm, Carris journeyed through the medical bays. Her heart was heavy, still feeling Moser's loss, but she needed to be away from the squad. Together, they mourned him silently in the Pelican ride back to the I'm Alone. It was arduous, having to sit there with the body of the man she talked to many times. Moser was such a kindly person, quiet, simplistic, who was a dutiful Marine. Just thinking of him enabled her mind to recall so many of their conversations and encounters. Such images were nearly irresistible and Carris did not want to indulge them now.
She continued to search the medical wards. Wounded Marines were everywhere, writhing on cots, being transported in and out of surgery, and being treated right on litters in the hall. Many Navy personnel were still in their berths and undergoing treatment for wounds sustained during the orbital battle. Despite the onslaught of wounded men and women, despite their plethora of grisly wounds, the medical staff moved around diligently. Orders were issued and followed to the letter. Each one, from the doctors right down to the most basic hospitalman, were working at peak efficiency. It was a marvel to see them working.
Up ahead, she spotted Dr. Jasmine, who was standing at an intersection between two medical bays and a surgery ward. As she approached, the medical chief was still giving commands to her personnel.
"Type-51 carbine rounds are to be removed first and then the casualty is to be treated for radiation poisoning. Type-33 needler rounds combust, ensure to check the wounded for micro-shrapnel. Plasma burn casualties will have to wait, we have a lot of amputations. Tell the robotics staff they're going to be working double shifts, we need all the transplants we can get."
As the medical staff around her hurried to complete their tasks, Carris waited for the crowd to clear. Once Jasmine ordered them off, she approached her.
"Lieutenant Commander, ma'am," she said. "I'm looking for Corporal Steele but I couldn't find him in the medical bay he was assigned to. Was he moved? I couldn't find him in the others."
"I needed the space for critical casualties, Petty Officer," Jasmine said without looking away from the data pad. "I dismissed him from the medical bay to his quarters. He's recovered enough to walk carefully. I suggest you start looking for him there."
"Thank you, ma'am."
Carris turned around to walk away.
"Carris?"
She turned. Jasmine was looking at her with a concerned expression. "Is Nate...Gunnery Sergeant Frost...how's he bearing it? I only got to see him for a moment."
"It's hard for everybody, ma'am," Carris replied honestly.
"I know," Jasmine said quietly. "We'll be jumping soon. It'll be short, so there won't be a mandatory cryo period. If you see him, can you tell him I'll be at my quarters by eighteen hundred hours?"
"Of course, ma'am."
Carris turned on her heel and lightly jogged back through the medical facility. Crossing through both hangars and then the armory, she maneuvered through the crowd of Marines still returning to their quarters. The barracks was busy but quiet. Nobody was talking all that much. All the usual jovial conversation, rowdy jokes, and colorful cussing were all absent. To experience the barracks without its typical nature made it feel foreign to Carris.
She found their quarters and opened the door. Everything was undisturbed. Each bunks' olive drab sheets were immaculate, the whtie pillows were plump, and the personal effects of each individual squad member were arrayed in their usual order. For a few moments, Carris looked around and found no sign of Steele. Sighing, she turned to leave but stopped when she heard the toilet flush.
The door to the bathroom opened and Steele walked out. He was clad in nothing but an olive drab tank top and his fatigue trousers, which were partly unzipped and unbuttoned. His belt was in his hands and he was just beginning to redo it. Looking up, he met her blue gaze with his own and smiled why.
"Hey love, you're back!" he greeted warmly. "I'm happy to see you. Where are the others?"
Carris stared at him for a few moments. Something surged in her chest, a cloudburst of relief, happiness, shock, and anguish. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and instead of her voice, all she heard was a choked sound from her mouth. She dropped her helmet on the deck, rushed over to Steele, leaned down, and embraced him. Taking the back of his head into her hand, she pressed his face into the side of her neck just to feel his skin against her own.
Steele made a few grunting sounds, hugged her halfway, and tapped her armor several times. "Carris, Carris," he squirmed, "my ribs..."
Carris let go immediately and stood up.
"I'm sorry, Louis, I'm sorry, I—"
"What's up with you, love? Are you alright? Did something happen?"
Carris, still holding the sniper by his shoulders, stared into his eyes. His gaze was confused at first and then began to search her face. Slowly, his mouth opened and he shook his head. "Is it Nate?" he asked, his voice thick. Carris shook her head slowly as her lips pursed. She almost didn't, or perhaps, couldn't bring herself to say it. Eventually, she sniffed a little and dabbed at her eyes. Once the tears threatening to roll down her cheeks were gone, she was able to summon her familiar strength she carried for so many years, but only just.
"Moser."
Steele's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He looked away from her slightly and walked out of her grasp. Carris turned as she watched him walk over to his cot and sit down on the edge. Both hands gripped the edge for a few moments. The look of shock began to dissipate and Steele smiled sadly. His hands rested on his thighs and he released a few, sad, laughs. Carris approached and crouched down in front of him.
"I thought he was such a strange bloke. You think of a Marine and you think of some jock with a big chest and a block head, ready to kill anything that looks like the enemy and fuck anyone who remotely resembles a female. But then you had Moser, this tall skinny fella who had nothing but nice things to say to everybody. We used to tease him about that in basic but he said it was proper of a Christian like him to be kind to everyone he met. All his anger, he said, he reserved for the enemy. But you know what, I don't think his religion had anything to do with it. It was just the way he was built; he was just one of those people who is...who was, kind, thoughtful, and never harbored anything against folks."
Steele sniffed and looked up. "We were all so angry on Skopje. Just so, so mad, we were going crazy. Some of us did. Moser was furious too but he kept it all under control. I never told anybody this, but I used to go to him when times were quiet just to talk. Just me and him, talking about things. If it wasn't for him, I think I might have done a lot worse on that miserable planet. Moser was a reminder for me, that there was hope, that there will always be kind people."
Tears rolled down his cheeks. He scoffed, shook his head, and swiped at them. No sooner had his hands fallen from his face did renewed tears follow in the wake of the first. He held back a few sobs and shook his head some more. "Of course, people like him are the ones who end up dying."
Carris reached up and cupped his cheek in her hand. She wished she took off her armor before arriving. His face didn't feel right in her gauntlet but she still ran her thumb across his cheek and wiped the tears away. Steele leaned more into her grasp and she ran her fingers into his thick mop of blonde hair. As he began to cry freely, he looked up at her. "Tell me it was quick. Tell me he was taken right out."
"It wasn't," Carris admitted. "He bled out through his throat."
"Fuck," Steele swore through his teeth. "Fuck. Shitty way to go. He didn't deserve that."
Steele cried quietly for a time and then reached up and took her wrist with both hands. Carris allowed him to lower it somewhat and then he slid his hand into hers. Their fingers laced carefully around one another. "Are you okay?"
At first, she stared at him. Then, she looked away as tears began to well up in the corners of her eyes again. Shrugging a little, she looked back.
"I'm hurt," she answered quietly. "Inside, I'm hurt inside."
"Yeah, I know, love," the sniper said. He reached up and took Carris by the cheek. "I know."
To feel his touch on her skin, still foreign yet so alluring, electrified her. She closed her eyes and allowed his thumb to run back and forth across her pale cheek. Then, his hand traveled, gently took her by the back of her head, and brought her close. Just as Carris opened her eyes, she felt her forehead pressed against his. Steele's eyes were shut and he was breathing calmly. "We just need to stick together right now. We'll talk about it when the squad comes back. Damn awful thing to say, but we've been through this before and we'll work through it."
Carris nodded in agreement.
"I'm glad he's at peace," she said. "I wish he was still here, but he's at peace now."
Steele nodded, readjusted slightly, and then winced. His other hand went to his ribs. Carris parted from him and put her hand over it. The sniper smiled confidently. "No worries, love. I'm getting better. Just get a few twinges from time to time, you know?"
Standing no nonsense, Carris gently turned him, put her hand on the back of his head, and began to gently push him down onto the bed. She expected a few jokes, a crass remark, or even some manner of flirtation. But Steele just smiled silently and allowed her to put him to bed. When he was flat on his back and his head was on the pillow, she ran her hand through his hair repeatedly.
"You still need your rest," she said. "I need you to get better, Louis. I don't want to go out there again without you. The squad needs you now. Frost needs you. And I need you."
"We need each other, now more than ever," Steele said. Carris nodded and rested her head on his chest. She closed her eyes and found comfort in his chest as it steadily, gently, rose and fell with every breath.
Frost lay in Jasmine's bed in her room. He felt empty, blank. Above him, the bare titanium bulkhead offered nothing for his eye. It shone in the warm yellow light of Jasmine's bedside lamp. The room was very quiet and he couldn't hear anything outside in the halls. The officers' quarters generally received little foot traffic except when watches and shifts changed. He was glad the shift was over so he could have the quiet.
No sooner had the thought passed through his mind did he feel the I'm Alone shudder. The ship was maneuvering away from the mobile refitting station Travers sent. The past few days, the entire battlegroup had been undergoing repairs. Seals were replaced by new, massive, glittering titanium battleplate. Weapons, engines, and prows were repaired. The station even loaned some of its engineers, mechanics, and technicians to speed up the repairs on the Pelican fleet. Fresh emergency thrusters were installed, Archer missile pods were refilled, MAC rounds and Shiva nuclear warheads resupplied, and point-defense blocks were repaired. Vivian had ordered the ships to be repaired in sequence from the smallest tonnage vessels to the largest. Because the mobile station was so large, the I'm Alone and Batavia were able to be worked on at the same time. From the feeling of the ship pulling away, he guessed the repairs were finished.
He looked over at Jasmine. She was clad in black service trousers and a gray tank top. Her fingers tapped away at her terminal. Instead of being tied in a ponytail, her mane of black hair was spilled all over her shoulders.
"I'm almost finished," she said, sensing his stare. "I just have to finish going over the transfer orders. Batavia is taking on some of our long-term casualties to free up some space here."
"What about the medical evals for the new personnel?"
"Already processed."
Frost chuckled a little.
"I don't think Lieutenant Commander Jasmine Ebrahimi knows how to delegate."
He heard her scoff a little, followed by a giggle.
"It goes a lot faster when I do it."
"What's your IQ? Like two hundred or something?"
"Never took an IQ test. When you know you're smart, you don't need a number to validate that," Jasmine replied in a false, overly-confident tone. "There, done."
She stretched and closed her terminal. She stood up and came over to the bed. Sliding under the sheets next to Frost, she rested her head on the left side of his chest. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tight against him.
"How are you holding up?" Frost asked. "It's been a tough week."
"I still get waves when I see the wounded like that. When the situation gets that bad, it becomes over-stimulating. When I see a man who lost his arm, or a woman who has bulkhead shrapnel in her knee, I still feel pain in my arm and knee. I can still work, I can still keep going, but it's not just the physical aspect with my synthesia. I don't just see these people in pain, I don't just hear them crying out, I feel it in here." She placed her hand on her stomach. "A pit, that's the only way I can describe. A pit forms and it just eats away at me, makes me want to keel over. I can't find any other way to describe it."
Frost studied her for a few minutes. Jasmine appeared very tired; there were dark bags under her eyes. He knew she'd gotten very little sleep since the battle. The medical facilities were only beginning to stabilize in their casualty states. Plenty of wounded were still filling up the cots and going into surgery, but the situation was far more stable. Nonetheless, it was draining on her and not just because it was her duty. He watched her when she was working in surgery or making her rounds throughout the wards. One look into her eyes revealed the true compassion and empathy she held for these men and women. When they were in front of her, they were no longer a warrior to her: they were a person, a human being, and she would do everything in her power and more to save their life. Watching her save countless individuals, bringing them back from the brink of death, he was not only proud of her, he truly admired her.
Still, he was unsure of what to say to relieve her of so many days of stress. It took a few moments of thinking before he grinned cheekily.
"Your stomach, huh?" Jasmine looked at him and nodded. "Maybe you should take a pregnancy test."
Jasmine opened her mouth in feign shock and smacked him lightly on the chest.
"Shut up," she said, blushing. "You're just a big idiot."
"Yeah, I am. You wouldn't need to one to know if you're—"
"Stop it!" she giggled. "I'm not pregnant. Don't freak me out."
They both laughed and she hugged him tightly. Frost ran his hand up and down her back.
"You've done everything you can for the people in medical right now, Jas. If it wasn't for you, a lot of them wouldn't be around still. You're the best force multiplier we have here and I can assure you a lot of us sleep a lot more soundly at night because we know you're watching over us."
Jasmine smiled almost bashfully and kissed him on the cheek.
"Thanks, Nate." Then she propped herself up slightly and tucked her hair behind her hair. "Hey, do you want to talk about Moser? Or would you rather..."
Frost's smile faded and he looked up at the bulkhead again.
"I don't know what more I could say about it," he said. "I don't really want to talk about it anymore."
"Okay, I understand." Frost knew Jasmine well enough that there was still something she wanted to say. He looked back at her and saw she was chewing on her bottom lip: a clear indicator. All he did was raise an eyebrow. "It's just you haven't said all that much about it. Please, I'm here for you and so are your friends. Talking about it will really help."
"I know. Now's just not the right time, I think," Frost said.
Jasmine folded her hands on his bare chest and rested her chin on top of them. She gazed at him curiously and wore a small, cute smile. He found her irresistible at that moment, craned his neck forward, and kissed her on the forehead. Jasmine smiled wider.
"Instead of cooping ourselves up here, why don't we go up to the bridge? I haven't taken a real look at that station. I'd like to see it."
"Yeah, why not?" Frost said with a shrug. "Better than looking up at the ceiling."
The pair got out of bed, dressed, and headed out the door. Frost was clad in his MARPAT fatigues while Jasmine had donned an olive drab sweater and her white lab coat. They journeyed down the halls to the nearest elevator and began riding it up to the bridge level. Nobody else was on board and the two stood shoulder to shoulder, their fingers intertwining. After a few moments, Frost smiled slyly at her. Jasmine caught his cunning gaze, grinned, and shook her head.
"Not here."
"Because of the security camera?" Frost asked, nodding at it.
"That and we wouldn't even have our clothes off before we got to the bridge." The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Their hands parted, Jasmine stepped forward, and turned around as she did. "See?" she said, winking at him and offering an attractive smile. Frost just shook his head and followed.
"Just you wait until we're back in your room."
"Ooh, big threats," Jasmine teased, still walking backwards.
The pair approached the bridge doors and they slid open. They found Vivian and her officers sitting at their stations. Everyone was working diligently, their fingers dancing across their keyboards, monitoring data streams, and sending files and reports to one another's terminals. A few of the staff members who weren't at the stations briefly conferred with one another, exchanging data pads and other files. Some were communicating with officers from other sections of the I'm Alone or from other ships in the battlegroup.
Decatur was at the AI pedestal beside Vivian's station. He was saying something to the Captain but noticed the pair enter the bridge.
"Captain Waters, Lieutenant Commander Ebrahimi and Gunnery Sergeant Frost."
Vivian turned around sharply in her chair and smiled.
"Jasmine," she greeted and stood up. They approached one another wearing wide smiles. "How are you?"
"Just fine, you?"
"Feeling better now that our repairs are finished. I take it you came up here to see the Pannier." Vivian led them to the front of the bridge, right up to the viewing glass. The three stood side by side as they gazed at the massive ship. It was long and wide, with an octagonal shaped forward section, and large rectangular sections protruding from the starboard and port sides. Underneath the port wing was the Batavia, which appeared quite small by comparison despite being a large vessel herself.
On top of the Pannier was a series of smaller facilities and hull-mounted cranes. Resupply tubes extended to the Batavia and cargo trams ran along the hull. Hundreds of EVA repair crews, armed with industrial repair tools, were hovering along the carrier's hull. Other EVA crews and robotic cranes were erecting extra scaffolding around the ship.
Vivian was standing with her arms akimbo as she gazed at the ship. Jasmine whistled and Frost nodded, folding his arms across his chest.
"How many ships can that thing take at a time?"
"Depends on the tonnage," Vivian replied. "The frigates and the Best of the Best were quick jobs but we took some bad knocks during that fight. Batavia is still finishing up."
"Any idea where we're heading after this, Captain?" Frost asked.
"I'm still working that out with my staff but we have a few viable options. Smaller targets, but still targets of opportunity. We'll work our way up to taking a big bite out of the Covenant again."
"Can we take that thing with us?" Jasmine asked, pointing at the UNSC Pannier.
"I wish."
"Hey, isn't that the frigate we saw in drydock at the Port?" Frost asked, pointing at one of the escort ships.
"The Frying Pan, yes. She's here with another Charon-class frigate, Double-Down."
"Any word on how the main task force is progressing?" Frost asked.
Vivian's smile faded and she looked at him worriedly. The Gunnery Sergeant was taken aback by this sudden shift. He wasn't expecting it by any means and his mind began racing with all the hideous outcomes that may have befallen the operation.
Just as Vivian opened her mouth to speak, Decatur spoke up urgently.
"Multiple slipspace ruptures detected, Captain!"
Vivian whirled around.
"What!? Which quadrant?"
"Adjacent to the sun, ma'am!"
Everyone looked forward. White-purple rifts appeared in the darkness of space. From it, long, slender Covenant ships appeared. First, a DDS-class carrier appeared, followed by four CRS-class light cruisers, two CPV-class heavy destroyers, three CAR-class frigates, and three DAV-class light corvettes. As soon as the enemy ships were in system, they formed up and began speeding towards the UNSC ships.
Vivian rushed over to the comms station and Koroma stepped aside.
"All ships, all ships, Covenant ships are in-system. Do not engage, repeat, do not engage!" She turned around. "Decatur, slipspace coordinates to another system, now!"
"Drafting!" he flickered. "Sent!"
"All ships proceed to coordinates for immediate slipspace jump." She switched to the I'm Alone's intercom. "All hands, man your battle stations, we're jumping!" Vivian then went back to the main comm net. "Pennier, disconnect the Batavia and get out of here!"
But the Covenant ships were closing fast. White and purple weapons began flaring along their hulls. As the I'm Alone began to turn away, the Batavia shot away from the Pennier, tearing apart the scaffolding around it and ripping cranes from their sockets. Before the repair station could make any maneuvers, a wave of plasma lances and torpedoes struck it. A huge, orange explosion blossomed from the center of the ship. Fiery secondary explosions sprouted all along the hull and then the octagonal bow blew off from the rest of the ship. EVA crewmen disappeared in the flames.
Vivian slammed her hand down on the station. "Sosa, get us out of here, now!"
Sosa conducted a high speed, tight degree turn which saw the I'm Alone swing away from the Pennier, which was still exploding. As Tsang, Bassot, and Decatur continued to rattle off incoming enemy fire, the I'm Alone passed by the Batavia and began speeding towards the coordinates. Ahead of them, Determined Guardian, Lion's Den, Best of the Best, River Styx, Frying Pan, and Double Down each back their jump. White-blue portals appeared in front of each ship, proceeded to swallow them, and then close. Once they were all gone, Batavia jumped from the system. I'm Alone was the only ship left.
Frost grabbed Jasmine and held her close. Warning indicators blared and flashed all over the bridge as countless enemy plasma weapons fired at them. He looked over at Vivian who was staring straight ahead with a ruthless conviction in her eyes. She met his gray gaze. "It's going to be one hell of a chase," she growled. "Execute slipspace jump!"
Words: 6,621
Pages (Google Docs): 15
Original Font: Garamond
Original Font Size: 12
Original Line Spacing: 1.5
Author's Note: Hey, might be the end of the week but I was still able to crank this out in three hours! Busy week indeed but next week I'll hopefully have the next chapter up earlier. As of right now, I think there's only one day I'm doing my "real," job due to prolonged inclement weather. Looking forward to a good writing week. Thanks for reading!
Comment Responses:
Qrs-jg: Yep, was bound to happen eventually and we all know he won't be the last. True, it makes more sense to us to do it like that but for the sake of action, and the fact that it seems like more often than not in the Halo games the UNSC tends to send in the ground pounders instead, it seems proper to engage in some ground action.
MightBeGone: No problem, there's never been an expectation of you or any reader to comment every single chapter. It's kind but it's a lot of work for you guys. I'm glad the ship combat was interesting. It's tough because I don't want to copy how it was described from the novels, but there's a lot of technical aspect and I still want it to be engaging. Glad to know I struck a balance.