Chapter 29 – Deorum
(7th Cycle, 85 Units – Covenant Battle Calendar)
Aquilla System, Actium
Republic of Pavia, Inside Covenant Dark Zone
:********:
The Gods are divine beings, worthy of all praise, humility and appreciation. They in their power had created all and provided them with purpose: the requirement to search for their relics in pursuit of their Godhood. For that they were worthy of pursuit. All glory belonged to them and them alone.
So why then had they made this?
That question had haunted Supreme Commander Beorda Niccoramee ever since the day he first discovered the heavenly relic. In its majesty it astounded him, but in its unraveling secrecy it perplexed him to no end.
The relic of the Gods was an obelisk roughly 200 meters tall, roughly because not all of it had been excavated yet. It possessed an unidentifiable metal composition unique to most divine relics: a silvery compound far more powerful than any Covenant armor. Under even the worst circumstances this obelisk could endure far greater damage than his own assault carrier. In that regard it was a marvel for any mortal to behold in his lifetime. But what was engraved on it was what really captured his attention: the detailed explanation of this planet's history over the course of many lifetimes, eons that, doctrinally, should never have existed.
When he first led his fleet to this world, he immediately set his sights on what his luminary expectantly identified as an artifact buried deep in the interior of the eastern continent. What he couldn't have anticipated was the magnitude of the find. It was a single object and yet its contents, as they were so slowly revealed to him, were amazingly terrifying. At the same time that he was overseeing the construction of the staging grounds for other Covenant fleets to use this planet it was always the obelisk that commanded his attention. He'd gone so far as to have his own supreme command headquarters in the southernmost grounds built over it and implored a pair of Ultra-heavy Site Excavators to dig out the subterranean cavity surrounding it. Those were still continuing their work on the lower levels, as were the dozens of clerical Huragok from the Ministry of Relic Safety's Research and Inquisition Group. He'd assigned the latter to investigate the complex array of glyphs discovered on the obelisk's surface and to discern its message. The group worked unceasingly for days on end. However, Beorda hadn't expected that along the way it would be him who would grow exhausted.
His tiredness was due to the increasingly strange discoveries of the Huragok which made him question each day, more and more, why this obelisk existed. It was not because he was more curious, rather that he was learning far more than he wanted to. But more importantly, the messages written on the structure made him question the very nature of the ones he worshipped.
Heresy was the greatest sin one could commit, warranting the severest punishment in both this life and the next. No true follower of the Great Journey would ever resort to such a sin no matter how low their faith, often choosing death over mocking their Gods.
So how then could those same Gods speak heresy against themselves?
That was the paradoxical question at hand, and it had not come from any heretic's mouth or article of false doctrine but from the obelisk itself.
This object, if he could ever truly call it a relic again, was indeed written upon by the very hands of the Gods in their language. But it spoke little of the deities themselves. According to the philological analysis provided by the Huragok, this object was made by one of the Gods who was, for the first time in his living knowledge, personally distinguished with an individual title: 'The Librarian'.
This 'Librarian' had made something akin to an ancient stela holding an historical accounting that went beyond the bounds of known history. It spoke of a time far before the formation of the Covenant, before even the first meeting of the Sangheili and San'Shyuum, when beings of unspeakable power existed on this planet, this same world the humans called Actium.
But they weren't the Gods he worshipped.
The Libarian had made that distinctively clear in her records. He or she spoke of these beings as a separate species whose origins 'preceded' that of the Gods. The very notion of something having existed before the holy ones was enough to grant even the firmest believer an assured seat in damnation if he proposed such an idea as truth. And yet here was a being he considered divine addressing another as far more ancient than themself.
The record went on to explain that in the past these 'Preceding Beings' used this planet as one of their 'Hub Worlds'. They would reside here to practice what the Librarian referred to as eons-long meditations on some metaphysical concept, one these beings purportedly referred to as the 'Sweetness of Life'.
Further down to what was presumed to be the bottom of the structure there was a progression of time. However, not all of the details could be seen since the excavation scarabs were still burning away the last of the debris.
What was found of great interest to him was that at one point something happened to this world or almost happened. A period was identified by the Librarian that the Huragok translated to several epochs. In the human numerical dating system, it would have been transcribed to an estimated 22 million years in the past. During this era the star neighboring this system called Euryale-1 degenerated into a supernova. Instead of leaving it to its fate, however, these beings chose to protect the star Aquilla and at least this planet by wrapping both the star and this world in what the Librarian called 'Star Roads'. What perplexed him to no end was that these roads or whatever they were somehow acted as a strong enough defense, allowing Actium as well as Aquilla to survive what was essentially an Intersolar blast. How that was remotely possible went far beyond any understanding capable of his mortal mind. Moreover, if such technology existed so powerful as to defend one solar system from another's destruction, then certainly it would be in the Covenant's best interests to recover it for their own use. Such technology could easily help them win this war faster. Then again, that hypothesis hadn't seemed to work out in the end, not for these impossibly powerful creatures.
Near the very bottom of the obelisk there was another account. It appeared to speak of some wider event; a massive war among the stars. This conflict was stated as being fought between the Gods and these Preceding Beings. It was a war with such scale as to put the Covenant's current crusade to shame, a conflict whose magnitude stretched well beyond the very edges of their galaxy. In the end, despite their advantages, these predecessors were ultimately defeated. Later in another conflict which the Librarian stated as being fought by the Gods, though without mention of who or what they were fighting, all the vast wealth of technologies made by these predecessors were irrevocably destroyed. The exact nature of this final conflict was left vague, almost purposefully so in the opinion of the Huragok who examined the linguistic components behind the glyphs. So was the description of how this destruction unfolded or what warranted such an overwhelming response.
He tried to fill in the blanks with what he knew from the holy scriptures. Even that could only go so far. As much as he loathed to admit it, he was too far out of his depth to even attempt to understand it all.
Nevertheless, the fact that there existed a race of beings before the Gods was one thing. The fact that the former appeared to possess technologies that seemed to rival the latter was another. But what captivated him most was the that these beings, for which the holy writ could not account for, had fought a war with the Gods and lost. It begged the most heretical questions Beorda had ever dared ask himself.
How could ancient and eternal beings kill each other? How could those that were immortal risk perishing?
It was a difficult concept to grasp. However, for this he had to rely on his personal knowledge of humans and their history. The information came from databases left intact on fallen human worlds which elements like the Research and Inquisition Group had recovered. They then provided this information for review by Covenant commanders and politicians possessing the required clearance. He'd analyzed their histories out of a desire to know how to defeat the humans faster during his campaigns. Thanks to that, he knew of at least one of their cultures that had expounded upon the idea of such a conundrum more comprehensively than any Covenant scripture.
It was one of their oldest cultures and was the basis for much of their modern civilizational organization. They called them the 'Greeks'. These ancient humans had referred to the paradox of a deadly conflict between ethereal and eternal forces as the 'Titanomachy', an engagement between the Gods they worshipped and an older hierarchy of supernatural beings. Perhaps they'd been the original order of deities? Could such an idea of one supernatural force toppling another to take their authority be what this obelisk was describing here as well?
The questions made him nauseous just by comparing the holy writ to those of infidels. His uncle would have slapped him with a staff for his shameful near-heresy, but not heresy exactly. It was something else, a dark spot in his mind that he had never known or cared to understand. It was yawning wide for his attention now. Trapped within the confines of his own thoughts with a growing number of questions and a diminishing amount of faith, patience or evidence to answer them, Beorda Niccoramee experienced an unshakable doubt.
Another problem soon arose on the periphery of his understanding. If he was experiencing such confusion with no solution in sight then certainly it was possible for others in the Covenant to fall prey to this dilemma. If anything, should these findings, if they were indeed true, become common knowledge then it would do more harm to the faith of the Covenant than good. On the other end of the spectrum of consequence it could end with a rejection of the obelisk as a heretical replica of a true relic. There would be only one person on which such accusations would be placed, and a myriad of ways that he could suffer for it.
There was but a single solution he could find that would keep both the Covenant out of potential disarray and his head on his shoulders. Until he was certain this was true, that what he had here was indeed a divine relic, he would keep any information about its existence hidden from everyone else.
For the past week or so since the philological discoveries became more intense, he had kept security around the object at a maximum while those allowed inside were limited to three parties; the Lekgolo excavating the very bottom, the Huragok translating the exposed glyphs and himself.
Beorda opened his eyes.
The space around him was well-lit, the bright purple overhead lights almost blinding to look at. It filtered down what was the interior of a cylindrical, subterranean cavity hundreds of meters in height with a narrow diameter. Dozens of ovular observation platforms lined the walls at different levels, all connected to each other by a spiraling arrangement of catwalks that ringed the enclosure.
The obelisk stood at the center. Different facets and sections of its silvery figure were visible from different platforms, as were the numerous lines of glyphs that glowed a luminescent turquoise across the entirety of its surface.
Beorda sat on the highest observation platform. From it he was able to see the four-sided, diamond-like pinnacle of the object of his inner contentions. Every so often it glimmered thanks to a wave of light that pulsated through it from top to bottom in three second intervals. Dozens of the clerical Huragok were at work on various sections. They operated in teams of two or three, brushing their many cilia-covered tentacles over the surface to extract further information. They used their other tentacles to uphold multiple projection dials, circular devices emitting holographic keypads for them to record their findings.
He looked to the ring of holographic projections encircling him on his platform. There were a dozen active displays emitting from projection seams built beneath the outer railing. On most of them scrolled the most recent reports of the Huragok's discoveries. The closest displays showed passages from the holy writ that he'd highlighted during his own research. He was trying to cross-reference the findings of the Inquisition Group with Covenant scriptures in the hopes of encountering anything supporting the idea of a race pre-existing the Gods. Yet days spent in the scriptures yielded no evidence to support the claim that the obelisk was making. From there the real question became one of authenticity. Simply put, were the Gods wrong or were the Gods wrong?
That was another ethical conundrum to add to a growing list. He needed answers. There was no way he could present such an astounding reliquary to the Hierarchs until he found what he needed to confirm its genuineness, at least in their eyes. Otherwise he could never attain to the glory that he so intimately sought for both himself and his clan.
While most other followers of the faith were content to enter into the great winds of the divine with what little accomplishments they had under their names, Beorda wasn't. All of it, down to the last of his actions, was purposed towards eternal glory. What he had accomplished here including the construction of the staging grounds on such a strategically vital location held the potential to enshrine his name in a higher place before the Gods. Once it was there no one could ever erase his legacy. It would endure even for his entire lineage. His actions would also help them win their crusade against the humans. Even more so, the revelation of this obelisk, should it be presented the right way, held a comparatively greater potential for everlasting glory. If he pulled it off correctly, he could very well go down in the annals of Covenant history as one of if not its greatest hero. He would be remembered as more influential than the overall Imperial Admiral, Xytan 'Jar Wattinree or even as more formidable than Fal 'Chavumee, though without the eternal disgrace in the latter case. That was the future he desired. But to get it meant an agonizing exercise of his own patience, a virtue to which his wife could attest that he never knew how to master.
At the moment he was sitting cross-legged in a meditative posture on the platform. He was bare-chested and could feel the chambers chilling air making his leathery skin cold. During his hours of thought and consideration he had removed the upper armor of his golden battle harness including his cape, leaving on only everything below the waist. That way he was able to stay comfortable and remain focused on his studies for longer durations.
However, comfort and focus did little to help him figure things out. In truth, he wondered if he was actually insane for thinking he could untangle literal eons worth of complexity in the space of a few weeks. He just wished he wasn't under the pressure of his current time constraints. Maybe then he would make a breakthrough. But he knew better than to believe for a moment that the Hierarchs would simply reschedule their impending arrival for him to rework his presentation of his accomplishments. His best option as things presently stood was to keep working and hope something gave.
He dragged a finger across a display until it cycled over like a spinning wheel to any scripture that caught his eye. Sadly, for such an aspiring age, the scriptural books assigned for cyclical viewing in this the 9th Age of Reclamation were usually uninspiring. It merely reminded him how happy he was to born a Sangheili warrior and not a San'Shyuum restricted to the digitized pages of ceremonial guidelines and purification rituals.
He was almost thankful when he was finally pulled out of his boredom by three Huragok that arose from a lower area to hover before his platform. One of them floated in front of the other two and looked to be their leader. Its tentacles flailed about in distinguishably literate patterns of communication. Though he wasn't fluent in their sign language he listened to the translation suite of its projection dial.
"Because of the Lekogolo we have uncovered yet another section of importance." It said in a simulated male voice. "We believe this will be of great interest to your findings on the object of our study."
An image appeared on one of his displays. He held out his hand to signal it to draw closer and scrutinized it.
What the Huragok had acquired were a few of the most recent sentences unburied by the fiery blasts of the excavator scarabs. Much of what the Librarian was saying in this part sounded like a lament, especially the last three lines which caught his eye:
'It was the culmination of a thousand years of planning and a thousand failed plans, our last resort. We had no choice. Had we known their true nature from the very beginning, we would never have allowed the-'
The message was cut short since whatever else was there remained to be seen. He nodded at the finding despite that it wasn't of much 'great interest' to him at all. "You have done well. Now continue your work. The Prophets will be pleased by your actions and will most certainly reward you for it."
It was his way of saying you can go away now. The three Huragok didn't seem to catch on and the leader made another series of signs. "You flatter us, Supreme Commander. It is enough of a reward for us just to be able to work on this astounding gift left behind for us." Then the Huragok leader floated down out of sight and its two compatriots followed it back to their work stations.
He sighed to himself and added the image to a composition of others being brought together on one display. Since the initial philological work began, the full message of the obelisk was being put together. Subterranean scans revealed that at least 20 more meters of the obelisk remained to be unearthed. It would take the Scarabs little more than a day to finish their work. With that he would be enabled to reach a consensus on what this monument was. Regardless of what was to come he felt that he already knew what to expect.
This obelisk was a memorial, one dedicated to a long-lost species that at least one of the Gods seemed to have regretted destroying. Just when he thought it wasn't possible, he found that that raised yet another frightening question. Was it possible then for the Gods to regret their own decisions? It was easily one of the most dangerous interrogatives to come out of this session of incessant revelations that raised more quandaries than explanations. It could also have the most immediate and lasting effect.
He had fought against the humans for years and had pursued the annihilation of their race one planet at a time. But was it possible then that those who he had devoted his life to fulfilling their will could see something they asked their servants to do as a mistake? That implied rather dangerously that said Gods were not all knowing, not all powerful, and by order of reason, not Gods at all.
It was easily the most frightening idea. It could also be the most dangerous weapon ever wielded against the Covenant, not bullets, missiles or MAC rounds like the humans were so fond of using on his ships, but reasonable doubt. He just had one more reason why no one could be allowed to see this obelisk, not until he sorted through exactly what its message could mean going forward.
A sound broke his concentration on a set of highlighted scriptures. It was the growing roar the super scarabs about to fire their focus cannons. He waited out the loud droning of their lengthy plasm discharges as the temperature heated up and the entire cavity was filled with silvery-blue illumination from below. They finished their periodic salvo and he got back to examining his work, only for something else to pry his focus away.
A video display appeared in front of him with the face of a Sangheili Major on the other end. He was sitting in what he recognized as his Supreme Command Center.
"Commander, there's an urgent matter here that requires your attention." The Major said swiftly.
Beorda closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "What is it?"
"It would be best if you came to see it yourself, sir."
It was said with just enough seriousness to get his attention and just enough subservience not to be insubordinate. If they saw fit to disturb him during his studies then it was probably something that truly required his attention. "I will be there soon. Await my arrival."
"Understood, Commander." The display of the Major winked off.
Beorda took in yet another breath to ease himself before the expected addition of new problems to his plight. He mentally reviewed what he considered to be of the most value to the listening ears of the Hierarchs.
First, there was the matter of these preceding beings.
He held onto a growing hunch that the technology referred to as 'Star Roads' had something to do with intersystem and perhaps even intergalactic travel. It went a long way to possibly explaining the unusually massive amount of slipspace routes near this planet. Maybe these plenteous routes were somehow the remains of some greater, interstellar network, assuming of course that these roads had anything to do with space. If they did then that premise alone terrified him because it meant these predecessors were able to harness slipspace as a defensive and possibly even offensive tool. It also would infer that the Gods had the means by which to destroy such tools. All of this made him feel unflatteringly small in the grander scheme of things. That said, it was possible that something remaining of these roads could be found, examined, and with time, restored for their own use.
Then there was the maker of the obelisk's memorial message.
Perhaps the Librarian was some sort of God of recollection or history, which was why they made this. In many of the human religions they were known to attribute certain aspects of existence to certain deities. Maybe that conceptual idea pointed to a greater, universal truth about the real Gods themselves being complexly organized according to their fields of specialization. Whether that was true remained to be seen until the faithful came face to face with those they worshipped. Still, here was more evidence giving credence to this hypothesis than most would ever find in their lifetime. The uncovering of the solid identity of one of their deities could possibly provide them with clues pertaining to the finality of their devotion; the embarkment on the Great Journey. Someway, somehow, it would be an important key to that.
Everything else might very well have to be, in his own words, sanitized.
Beorda pressed a red, triangular icon on his display which pulsed a light blue. The silence was disturbed by the unlocking of mechanisms and the hum of gravitic movement lanes as the platform slowly began to turn. A seam appeared in the wall behind it. It slid apart into open doors leading to a wide elevator shaft. The platform turned 180 degrees to face the opening as inbuilt magnetic propulsion pushed it along the necessary lanes.
At hearing the movement, several nearby Huragok disengaged from their tasks. They floated upwards and followed Beorda's platform into the shaft. The doors closed and sealed shut behind them.
:********:
Corporal Marcus Lozano had never felt so drained of energy in his life. He mostly had the plasma scarring on his stomach to thank for that, as well as the one on his thigh where a lucky shot nearly blew out his leg. To add more pain to what was probably the proverbial sunset of his life he had two large hands carrying him along by his underarms. He was being dragged across what felt like smooth flooring, too smooth to be anything human. His BDU still clung to his battered body but just barely after everything he'd gone through in the last few hours.
Lozano, or Griffin-6, had later come to be known as Bandit-10 after what remained of Griffin was reintegrated into another squad. They had a certain Brute to thank for that, a Chieftain he was hoping to get one last shot at before he left the planet. But it seemed he would never get that chance.
Back in High Mediolanum, the remains of Griffin along with Colonel Taylors were saved thanks to a few Warthogs that passed by their area during the push into the 2nd Tier. Where he was at the moment there would be no chance of any such rescue, and he'd accepted that.
His squad were among those that infiltrated this place earlier in the morning. They'd successfully planted their telemetry probe near the northeastern staging ground. But when they returned to their landing zone, they found only the burning wreckage of their evac Pelican and a well-laid ambush.
Squad Bandit was quickly overwhelmed by a team of special operations Elites. Everyone, including the remnants of Griffin were killed. Everyone except Lozano.
Griffin-7 stayed behind to buy him some time to limp away and escape. She told him that she wasn't about to lose the rest of their squad and was so adamant about it that he couldn't convince her to run with him. In the end, while already wounded, he tried for a few hills. He hadn't gotten far before he looked back and saw his squadmate briefly engage four Stealth Elites by herself from a tree-line, a near impossible challenge even for a Spartan. That remained true since he saw her fall after taking several plasma bolts to the chest. She still tried crawling to her gun. He briefly wondered if he could save her but then an Elite stopped at her side, aimed his needle rifle at the back of her head and dashed those hopes.
It wasn't long before they caught up to him too. They found him hiding in a small cave less than a few hundred meters from the crash site. His M6 did little good against their higher-grade shields or the return fire that more than burned away his resistance. He was expecting to die. However, even that hope was dashed when one of them managed to rip his gun away, grab him by the neck and drag him outside.
From there everything became blurry. He sparsely remembered alien voices, purple lights that stung and the distinctive drone of a Phantom's engines. Now there seemed to be a commotion of voices from different species. But he barely had any strength to try understanding where he was.
Soon he felt himself moving upwards on what he guessed to be an elevator. Without warning, something sharp stabbed into his leg. He wanted to scream. Nothing more than a muted grunt came out. Whatever stabbed him felt like a needle and was roughly withdrawn from his left thigh.
Slowly he started to feel more self-aware as the pain of his wounds dulled, giving him the strength to open his heavy eyelids.
As expected, he was inside some sort of elevator sporting the characteristic purple sheen of Covenant architecture. It was a less than comforting sight, as were the group of four grayish-red armored Spec Ops Elites standing around him on the lift. Two were carrying him by the underarms, one of which was glaring at him with its two glowing eye visors.
The elevator came to a gentle stop. The door in front of them hissed open and the Elites walked in, dragging Lozano behind them.
The place he was brought into looked like an absurdly large theater. It was a wide, circular chamber made of seven concentric rings that acted as floors, the smallest ring being the ground floor where he was. On every level were screens of various shapes and sizes, monitors emitting holographic displays with dozens of Elites seated before them. What he guessed to be the personnel of some major command center were hard at work handling a vast array of tasks, typing away at hovering symbols and dragging others into organized clusters.
A Hunter pair patrolled along the ground floor. They circled around what looked like a central platform to stand between it and the approaching Elites, not in a threatening way but just enough to get the point across that they needed to identify themselves.
Another voice spoke. It was an Elite's though it hadn't come from any of those around him. This one had an inherent authority to it that made the Hunters turn back to the main platform. Standing there at the center of the room's lighting was an Elite that had its back turned to them. It was surrounded by three Engineers that floated around it, using their tentacles to place the upper part of a golden armor set onto its torso. After a few more seconds they were finished and floated aside as the Elite finally lowered its arms and turned to face them.
The moment its gaze settled on him Lozano knew for a fact that he was on borrowed time. He watched the 2-meter-tall alien stride down a railed ramp onto the main floor, its purple cape trailing behind it. By the look of its armor and the menacing bearing of each footstep he was dealing with a high-ranking officer.
Both the Hunters and the two Spec Ops Elites not carrying him readily stepped out of its way. It stopped a meter short and glared down at him the way he would at seeing a rat or roach in a place it didn't belong.
It said something to the leader of the Spec Ops group in their rumbling, intelligible language. The leader said something back and gestured at Lozano. Whatever it had said it didn't bode well since the overall commander seemed to get more and more annoyed at what he was hearing, often glancing at him with an increasing venom behind its eyes.
At the end of their brief conversation, the leader of the Spec Ops team took a step back and the two holding onto him cast him onto the floor. The overall commander now towered over him. Without warning its mandibles relaxed along with its sharp gaze into what he could only guess was a fine mix of curiosity and irritation.
"What is your purpose here, human, yours and your comrades'?"
Lozano involuntarily flinched at the way the head honcho suddenly spoke fluent English as if it was a second language. His voice had a reserved, smoothness to it that held the promise of a threat. He wasn't sure how to respond. At most he could just stare back at it and not say a word. How could he do anything else? A slip of the tongue could very well say more than he ever wanted to. He'd resolved not long after being captured not to say anything, not even under torture. That way they could never found out about the probe or the actions of the other teams that moved into Sabat. Dying with those secrets was now the least he could do to honor what his squadmates had given up their lives for.
The commander cocked its head to one side and scrutinized him. "Did I not speak in your tongue, human? Now respond with your own or I may very well see fit to remove it."
Lozano, lying nearly prone on the floor without the strength to stand up, found that he had the strength not to say a word. He simply glared back with a silent defiance.
A displeased grunt emanated from the commander. Its growing ire unexpectedly softened into a small sigh from its mandibles.
Lozano felt fear flood through his frame when the commander raised its right foot and rested it on top of his helmet-less head. The weight of its boot immediately pinned him down to the floor. It pressed down with such pressure that it locked his jaw in place and made him groan from the pain.
He heard the amused laugh of some of the Spec Ops Elites standing around him. But then their laughter died out as the pressure on his head increased. He felt small cracking sounds coming from inside of himself and his vision blurred.
One of the Elites said something in an uncertain, cautionary tone. The commander merely pressed down harder on the ODST, although it didn't need to exert much more effort to make him feel like his head was about to explode. And maybe that was the intention. The leader of the Spec Ops team continued to speak worriedly while the commander continued to ignore him and press down harder.
There were more cracking sounds followed by a shooting pain in his head that pulsed through him like lightening. Small trickles of blood began rhythmically shooting out of wounds that he couldn't see to splash over his eyes, blinding him. In silent agony he tried willing his weary arms to move to try and push off the boot. In the end he stopped himself halfway.
He thought of Captain Asana, of Griffin-7 and the rest of the squad of whom he was the last survivor. As he learned firsthand what it felt like to have his skull slowly caved in, he came to realize that he was thankful. This way he avoided the slow torture that he feared would result from his refusal to talk. He was fine with breaking one way and not the other, so that none of Griffin's sacrifices would be in vain. He closed his eyes, kept his arms at his side and accepted what was about to happen.
:********:
Beorda kept pressing down his boot on the head of the piece of living filth lying down in front of him. He ignored the pleading of Special Operations Officer Untaro Rezumee that they needed him alive for interrogations until the cracking of bones rose well above anything he had to say.
The human's skull was resilient but only up to a point. Then, at reaching that breaking point, it yielded, cracking open like rocks crushed underfoot. There was a large burst of that strange red blood unique to its species onto the floor of his command center, a few more snaps and more yielding until he reached something soft. The human's entire being began to twitch spasmodically. He finally put his full weight onto his boot and twisted it, earning several succinct crunches and more blood splatter that seemed to put the human at ease. Its twitching slowly died down then stopped altogether.
To its credit, the human never screamed nor said anything in protest. Not once. It was almost honorable. Almost. What was saddening was that Officer Rezumee was more desperate to save the human's life than the human itself. Then with its final demise, even Rezumee had gone quiet.
Beorda huffed at the show of concern. Compared to what the Jirilhanae were known to do with their prey, this was nothing more than a mercy killing. He turned away without looking at the corpse and headed back for his main platform.
"Supreme Commander." Rezumee said, his voice a low whisper. "We...needed that human. We needed to know what they were after when they infiltrated our perimeters."
"He had nothing of value to tell us."
"But-...commander-"
"Isn't it obvious?" Beorda stopped on the ramp, causing the four other Sangheili to stand at attention. "They came to perform reconnaissance in this region. They wanted to know what we'd kept hidden from them. Now they certainly know, and I certainly grew tired of entertaining a pretending mute that wouldn't admit the obvious truth. Whether they will act on what they've found or not remains to be seen. Their level of understanding about our defenses will depend on the number of forces they deployed to scope out our territory. On that note, how many did you apprehend?"
"Our teams have captured 12 alive in total. However, we have received many reports of other infiltrations. On that basis we have good reason to believe that the incursion force was far larger than just a few dozen. Perhaps there were hundreds."
"That still isn't enough to be considered a cause for concern, yet alone an actual threat. We will address them once they've committed their full strength to our position. As it currently stands, we are already more than prepared for them." He continued up onto the command platform where a number of projected interfaces awaited him. He eyed a few displays showing the situational reports from different sectors and quickly developed a good idea of what had happened in his absence.
"Then what should we do with the rest of the humans we've captured?" Rezumee asked.
At hearing the question, Beorda rounded on the team of Spec Ops Sangehili with the air of authority due his rank. His gaze flitted to the human shock trooper lying on the floor in an expanding pool of its own blood, its head a mess of blackish-red, white and pink organic materials.
"Kill them." He replied with such simplicity that it made any other answer seem foolish. "Kill them as a sacrifice to our Gods. Kill them in whatever way seems pleasing to you. They are vermin. Treat them as such."
Without another word he set his focus on the encirclement of displays. The special operations team took the cue that they were dismissed. They each took one last look at the dead trooper before being ushered by the Hunters to the elevator.
The Supreme Commander used his displays to issue orders to the three supreme command headquarters as well as the sub-command headquarters to put his staging grounds into a state of standby alert. It was in anticipation of the humans possibly attempting an invasion later in the day. His immense ground forces and overwhelming command of the skies would be more than a match for anything they threw at them.
Once that job was finished, he decided to check on the progress of the construction of his three prized possessions. So far, the last of the mining installations in the northeastern staging ground were receiving a delivery of energy cells by the CCS Battlecruiser Enduring Clarity to power the last of their Tritium drives. From the looks of the reports by the Ultra overseers there, the Yamme'e and Unggoy workers were widening the mines by a kilometer on average each day and the Lekgolo operating the mining drills were reaching up to four times that distance into the planet's crust. There was a high influx of ruthenium, platinum, Iridium and the all-important rhodium being extracted from Actium's upper lithosphere which were sent to the local factories for processing. Its material rich crust made this world an ideal spot for mass ship manufacturing, an ironic bonus given what it had been used for by the humans prior to his arrival.
In the northwestern staging grounds, they were laying down the foundations for the last armories and expanding into the hillside. The construction crews there had suffered a minor setback because of a traffic blockage on several of the major lateral gravitic lifts running southeast to northwest. Still, they were making good time thanks to the work of Huragok crews that engaged bypass liftways for the convoys carrying in weapons caches.
For the southern grounds, the one under his direct oversight, he skimmed over reports from the shipyards. According to the air traffic control stations, ships patrolling the continent were encountering little resistance from the human naval forces stalking along the edges of Covenant territory. Although there were a few minor engagements, surprise run-ins and skirmishes, things were for the most part uneventful. Then there was the matter of the extension drydocks. What caught his eye momentarily was a report that earlier this morning his personal CAS Assault Carrier, the Faithful Eulogy, was undergoing preliminary repairs after an accident caused by the Lekgolo made several of the docking braces on the ship perform an emergency release. Though there was little infrastructural damage incurred, the fuel pipes weren't able to stop the refueling process in time. That hadn't bode well for the scores of Unggoy dockworkers who were drowned beneath torrents of refined liquid deuterium and Lekgolo worms. There were a few hundred casualties from the Unggoy and the officers in charge were awaiting direction. It was a simple fix. Beorda put in an order for a few hundred more that were recently bred and drugged into adulthood to be brought in from the breeding citadels. They would act as replacements. The Lekogolo would just have to clean up after themselves until their partners in grime arrived to help.
Otherwise, everything was going quite smoothly. The air fields for his plentitude of smaller aircraft were almost complete with hopes of expanding out from the mountain region to the flatter plains of the southeast. The pinch fusion reactor installations providing power to the heart of each staging ground were also showing signs of progress. There were markable surges in their output levels with a factor of 0.3 per hour. He knew he had the thousands of Huragok working there ceaselessly to thank for that.
Very soon the Hierarchs would arrive to review his work. When they did, he suspected they would be more than impressed by what he'd managed to accomplish in such little time. Certainly, a promotion would be in order. And if he wasn't being too brash, it wasn't completely out of the equation that Imperial Admiral Wattinree was no longer in the good graces of the San 'Shyuum. That much was obvious by his excision to the edges of Covenant territories despite the pressing war against the humans. Perhaps the Prophets would now see it fitting to make another Sangheili a consideration for the position, one far more worthy of such a mantle.
Then another thought cast aside his growing ambitions to offer a warning. It drew his focus away from the displays to the three Huragok floating around him. Though they were from the Research and Inquisition Group, they wouldn't dare return to their tasks until he gave them the explicit order to do so. For that reason, they hadn't bothered to move from his side and were looking around the room at the various stations. Something about them uneased him. Despite any of his attainments he was reminded of one glaring fact thanks to their presence, or rather their true master's lack thereof.
At the very start of the incursion on this planet, no, that wasn't it. It was at the very moment he learned in the Sanctum of the Hierarchs that the Minister of Iconography, Avuum Rezzic would be joining him for this mission that he had set his own intentions in motion. He could still remember the Prophet of Truth's exact instructions:
"He will carry out his duties as the Minister of Iconography in sanctifying this region for our usage."
The sanctification of this region of Actium was the minister's entire reason for being assigned to the 2nd Fleet of Theophanic Revelation. However, he was never given that chance. After taking control of most of the eastern continent, Beorda had the prophet non-consensually dispatched to the capital on the west coastline to 'sanctify' it instead. His excuse to Rezzic when the San 'Shyuum demanded to know why he was being transported elsewhere was that the city was far more important as it was where they were getting their main resource supplies from. They would need the blessing of the Gods there first. That way the divine protection of their distribution network would be established and there be no need to worry about any external forces that could upend their interior operations. Rezzic, in the end, agreed to stay for that purpose.
In truth, Beorda was lying.
That city was not a major concern. It never was. It was just a node in a network of redistribution channels that in and of itself was too large to be affected by the loss of a few cities, even the capital. It was partly why he didn't bother wasting reinforcements there and why Field Marshal Duracomee's requests always fell on deaf ears. There was a bit of regret in that though. Duracomee was truly his best ground commander and fought many battles with him on the surface of human worlds whilst Beorda directed the fleet from space. It was a mutually beneficial dynamic that had come to an end for the greater good. The greater good here was that Duracomee was now what the humans would politely refer to as a scapegoat.
By inference of being commander over that city, the Field Marshal would also be held the most responsible if not solely responsible for the minister's demise, just as planned. The reality was that of all the cities, High Mediolanum was the one that he needed to fall to the humans, hence why he was reluctant to finish them off in Treviso at a certain Supreme Commander's behest. In tandem with the invasion, he refused to evacuate the minister. It was perhaps more saddening that Duracomee, for all his tactical prowess, lacked the wisdom to see what he was really doing to him.
Everything in finality was orchestrated by Beorda to bring about the death of the Minister of Iconography. Everything thereafter had gone to plan in that regard.
At the very outset of seeing what the Hierarchs wanted him to accomplish he knew the eternal weight of that glory could only be his. So, he was less than ecstatic when he learned that his rival and leader of the Fleet of Particular Justice, Thel Vadumee, would be assigned to the mission as well. He detested the idea of splitting the glory with another. But more than anything he was filled with silently seething rage at finding out that the glory would be thirded because of the minister. Undoubtedly, Rezzic would assert himself to be in charge of the procedure to unearth the heavenly relic and receive the full praise and acclaim for it from the rest of the Covenant. Such a find would be added to his own eternal legacy, not Beorda's. With that in mind he searched early on for an opportunity to have him removed. Still, he knew Rezzic would likely report this displacement of duties later to the Hierarchs. That could not be allowed to happen. When the humans counterattacked and descended on the capital, he saw the perfect opportunity to eliminate at least one contender for the renown that he desired as well as the chance to place his blood on someone else's hands.
That overall goal enabled him to look Duracomee straight in the eye knowing full well that he was essentially killing him with each refusal of aid.
"And who ever said the San 'Shyuum are the only ones with machinations?" He thought quietly to himself. "And if I could do the same to you, Thel, I wouldn't hesitate."
Yet that last sentence made him remember he still had another contender, one who could not be so easily removed. If anything, he realized, his long-time rival could possibly be his undoing if he spoke of what he thought to have occurred in the east. The last thing Beorda needed was for a Sangheili of equal rank to question his official report before the Hierarchs.
He decided to check in with how things were progressing in the west.
He would occasionally look past the displays showing situation updates on the Covenant Battlenet to the ground floor. A team of Unggoy had recently waddled inside from the elevator. Two of them took the dead trooper by the arms and legs and hefted him away while several others armed with sanitation equipment got to work cleaning up the blood.
Upon cursory examination of the updates, he discerned that things were going remarkably well for the Fleet of Particular Justice. Late yesterday they departed Caerleon to beat back the human naval groups besieging them for a third time then pursued them to the north and south. Near midnight they had recaptured the southern city of Patras. Around dawn today the northern city of New Athens had also fallen into their hands. As a result, the surviving human ships and their forces fled east from those cities. However, Thel didn't appear to have any patience for reoccupying the settlements.
Presently, the Fleet of Particular Justice were conducting a low orbital plasma bombardment on the two cities. The accompanying video feeds portrayed bright-red skies above New Athens and Patras filled with battlecruisers, destroyers and a few carriers. Their projectors fired blinding columns of blue energy that seared through the urban forests of skyscrapers and buildings below, burning the land to an angry red cinder.
That didn't bode well, not for the humans or for Beorda himself. If Thel was already beginning to glass his half of the planet then there was a good chance he was feeling rather aggressive, possibly brought on by his own frustrations at how events were unfolding in the east. Beorda wasn't blind to that idea. He personally witnessed the hijacked feed from the humans showing the minister's cadaver. Though the sight of him dead came as a partial relief that his plans had succeeded, what worried him was the affect such a broadcast would have on general moral. Still, with the broadcast blocked from all other holo-pedestals in the staging grounds to keep word of the prophet's death from spreading, he couldn't block the broadcast from reaching Thel's side of the world.
Seeing it could have enraged him to the point of carrying out a glassing. That said, he oftentimes wondered if there was some deeper grudge that he still held towards him. If there was then it probably had to do with his second in command, Voramee, specifically how years ago Beorda had tried unsuccessfully to murder him after finding out the true circumstances of his...lineage. Those were older times and could do little except explain the potential plethora of motives Thel might have for his newest offensive.
Yes, it meant the humans would now be on the ropes again. But he could sense the change in the winds. The current state of affairs on Actium were moving towards an ultimate resolution. From hereon he needed to delay his research on the obelisk for later to commence the additional construction of new defenses. Those he would have built would be created with the purpose of compensating for a single potentiality; that a human invasion was no longer the only threat to his intentions in the east.
:********:
It was the evening of the same day of their first meeting in the Luna Alta and yet, to Colonel Mentieth, it felt like years had passed. That feeling was not entirely misplaced thanks to the years' worth of events that had seemingly taken place in the span of a few hours.
The sole good news to be found at the meeting in the observation room was that several battlegroups of a Task Force from the 91st Expeditionary and Sigma Octanus Home Defense Fleets had arrived at 1100 Hours as reinforcements. Considering the other topics of discussion between himself and the other field commanders, it would've been better that most of those reinforcements never came. At this point all they could really amount to were more prospective UNSC casualties. More blood on his hands.
"How in God's name could they have gotten this much past us?" Lieutenant Colonel Serakovich asked, his voice horse and his knuckles white as he, like everyone else, held the handles of his seat with a death grip.
The ovular, wooden conference table in front of them held a projector in the middle. It emitted the translucent yet very real three-dimensional landscape of the Sabat Mountain Region, along with the three titanic Covenant staging grounds occupying the bulk of the mountains, valleys, passes and plains.
There were more ships flying around or docking at the local shipyards there than any of them had likely ever seen. That first in a lifetime notion became a general rule applying to everything else laid out in front of them.
What no one could wrap their heads around was the sheer magnitude of everything. Mentieth tried and failed to perceive how massive these installations would be in real life while he was reviewing the topics of their discussion prior to the meeting. He couldn't imagine what the experience must have been like for the ODSTs that saw them firsthand. Losing the will to fight right there wouldn't be unreasonable in the least. Just sitting in his seat, he was torn about his own thoughts on the situation.
Mentieth took in a steadying breath and pointed to the image. "Each individual staging ground is roughly 794 square kilometers in size. We've identified shipyards, armories, barracks, mining installations and command structures among many others. We're also looking at an entire fleet about twice the size of the one in the west as well as a network of multiple Tyrant AA Guns more than able to skewer a few battlegroups alone. What's more, their ground forces are so massive that the scan from the probes couldn't distinguish between individuals. But it's no small guess when I say that the low estimate from the JSOC base in Scilly was about more than half a million."
He stopped to look around the table.
To his immediate left, Serakovich wore an expression that suggested someone had just stabbed him in the back and twisted the blade. His wide eyes and partially agape mouth left little to the imagination. The same went for Major Krauss sitting another seat down who looked blanked out while staring at the projection. On Mentieth's right, Colonel Garrison had deadpanned into a concentrative stare of such intensity that it made several veins visible on his forehead.
Colonel Taylors was the hardest to read. Preferring to stand, he was leaning against the wall a few seats down from Garrison, his arms crossed over his chest and his brow deeply furrowed. His eyes were closed in pensive thought.
No one said anything for a moment until Krauss breathed out. "Well...could we somehow-"
"That's not all." Mentieth said, cutting him off before he could get too ahead of himself. "There's still more."
Krauss raised a worried brow. "...More?"
Mentieth nodded.
The Major blinked a few times but said nothing else, allowing the colonel to pull out his personal datapad and press in another part of the presentation.
The image changed to show two separate projections, one three-dimensional and the other two-dimensional. The former was a portrayal of the planet, specifically highlighting two points on Preveza's eastern coast as pulsing red dots. The latter showed two video feeds of different cities with the names of each underlined below.
The two showing 'New Athens' and 'Patras' displayed the labeled cities on fire. Covenant ships in low orbit were firing down plasma beams across the entire area, turning it into a glowing hellscape.
Mentieth barely had to say anything judging by the way individual expressions of the group visibly worsened. "At around 2355 Hours yesterday, UNSC forces had to abandon Patras. They were forced to do the same with New Athens at 0530 Hours." He took a deep breath and clasped his hands together. "As of 0600 we have officially lost Preveza. All our forces are in route to rallying points in New Eretria, High Estonia and here at High Mediolanum."
Serakovich winced. "But what ever happened to Battlegroup Crimson? Weren't they trying their hand at securing Caerleon again?"
A shadow grew under Mentieth's eyes as they narrowed. "Battlegroup Crimson has been wiped out."
The statement was enough to make the other commanders stiffen in their chairs.
"Both they and every element of Battlegroups Gold and Cyan that assisted them in the battle were annihilated down to the last ship. Long after they broke their assault on Caerleon the other Covenant fleet pursued them across the continent until there was no one left. The loss made it easier for them to retake New Athens and Patras as quickly as they did. Whoever's left of Gold and Cyan as a whole are rendezvousing with Medallion, Silver and Indigo." Mentieth set his attention on the floor and slowly closed his eyes in acceptance of what he was about to say.
"I...have requested that the battlegroups work together to help evacuate UNSC Forces from New Eretria, High Estonia and here."
The quietness in the room became palpable. For a long while he couldn't bring himself to look at anyone. At length he did.
The others sat utterly still and looked to be dealing with the same problem of processing what was happening. Garrison collected his thoughts first. "...We're leaving?"
Mentieth slowly nodded.
Garrison turned away, quiet again.
"Let me guess." Taylors sighed. "That's not all, is it?"
The colonel of the 53rd Armored Division gave a gradual shake of his head. "No."
The heaviness in the room grew. There was no real way to change that either. In fact, what he was going to do next would arguably make it much worse.
But he had to do it. Someone had to do it.
Mentieth pressed another button on his pad which revealed a third presentation. The holograph now showed a three-dimensional image familiar to everyone in attendance. It was a rotating portrayal of the three jellyfish-looking sub-structures of the underwater Covenant Command Center.
"The enemy C&C that Blue Team and Garrison's Bravo Company managed to recover from the Koronea Sea was, since its arrival on the surface, put under investigation by personnel from the Office of Naval Intelligence. Thanks to many of the systems that were recovered from the interior including an intact database, the agents were able to uncover a major finding. The information they gathered shows that a third Covenant fleet is on its way here carrying dignitaries of extremely high importance. It appears they're coming to inspect what the other fleets have done thus far. Reasonably, this third fleet is expected to be larger than the two we're handling now because of the importance of these dignitaries. They're expected to arrive in two days."
He stopped again to gauge their expressions. Everyone in the room looked to have aged a few more years in the last two minutes. Their eyes hung low and their gazes fell to the floor after he'd finished. However, Garrison had the strangest look of all, as though he saw something that made him understand the whole situation. It took Mentieth a second to realize the cause, but didn't quite understand why the colonel was looking at it.
It was merely the report slowly scrolling past the C&C detailing the procedures of the ONI personnel to extract the information they'd acquired. What caught Garrison's attention was a section labeled 'Assets' which mentioned a single item just beneath it: 'AI - Mr. Green'.
"So, is that it then?" Taylors asked from the side with a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Just like that?"
Mentieth refocused on him. "We are facing a Covenant fleet stationed over the three largest staging grounds I have personally ever seen, a second fleet that just took back half the planet and will likely be moving in our direction fairly soon, and now a third Covenant fleet larger than the others that we know for a fact is on its way to Actium. My apologies, colonel, but there is no sound strategy that we can use to win here."
"And you brought us all here just to tell us that?"
"...I did."
Taylors gritted his teeth and looked about to approach Mentieth when Garrison gave him a warning look that stopped him before he could make a move.
Mentieth didn't make any pretense not to understood why he was so ready to swing at him. To lose so many ODSTs, much of his Delta Company in the 2nd Tier, only to find out that they were abandoning that same planet was no easy thing to lay at any respectable commander's feet. In all honesty he didn't mind letting him get in a solid punch to knock out a tooth or two. Not that it would do justice for the scores of men and women whose lives he'd spent for what had now amounted to a doomed counteroffensive. It was something at least for the betrayal he would have committed against their sacrifices if that was all he did, 'would have' being the emphasis there.
What no one could have known was that this meeting was not for the purpose of deciding what they would do. That had already been decided, their fates and his.
"Starting in the next hour we will begin the evacuation of UNSC forces from Actium." Mentieth said. "By tomorrow evening, you and all your units will be off the planet and on your way back to human-controlled space."
For several seconds the group was silent with their eyes growing heavy at what he'd said. Then those same eyes widened as, one by one, they caught on to what he hadn't said.
Garrison was the first to the draw. "Don't you mean we and our units?"
Serakovich leaned in closer. "...Colonel?"
Mentieth glanced between each of them. He took in a calming breath, sat straighter and looked them all in the eyes. "When a navy ship is rendered inoperable or beyond repair, it is a common practice for that ship to be scuttled so that it won't become a navigational hazard." His hands clasped together tighter. "As things stand, Actium is much like an inoperable ship, too far gone to be saved. That is why I and my division are going to 'scuttle' it in a sense. That way it won't prove to be a problem in the future."
This time, Krauss raised both eyebrows in wide-eyed confusion. "...What do you mean by 'scuttling' Actium, sir?"
"Understand this. Even with the new reinforcements from Sigma Octanus, nothing we send at either of these three groups will be sufficient to break them, nothing that won't result in a mutually assured destruction."
Mentieth got up from his chair to stand before them. He pressed an option on his datapad and the holograph changed back to the staging grounds. However, it now showed three large yellow arrows arcing across the surrounding landscape into Sabat. Each one headed towards a specific staging ground before touching it, causing the red-colored multitude of structures to emit a wave of crimson light.
"Tomorrow, at 1330 Hours I will commence the 53rd's final operation. My division will break into 3 brigades. Each will be assigned a staging ground. Our goal is to plunge as deep as possible into enemy territory to keep their attention focused on us while the remainder of UNSC forces evacuate. Once the brigades reach their designated target areas, on my signal they will each detonate a HAVOK tactical nuke."
The display changed as three flashes of bright yellow light erupted, swallowing up the staging grounds, the red masses surrounding the yellow arrows and the arrows themselves. Secondary blue eruptions from what Mentieth knew to be the pinch fusion reactor complexes virtually flattened the Sabat Mountain Region. Within a few seconds there was nothing left of anything.
"The Covenant plan on using this planet as a way of accessing the rest of the inner-colonies and UNSC space. It's a base of operations on our doorstep that we cannot allow to exist. So, we'll go to their doorstep first."
Mentieth again gauged the room.
If they were shocked before, the commanders were pale in the face now. Even Colonel Taylors' standoffish demeanor had melted into a look of shocked horror. He opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out.
Garrison swallowed as he stood up to face the organizer of the meeting. "With all due respect sir, and much is due, what you're considering is a mass suicide mission the likes of which will have no equal in human history. You have plenty of personnel, probably the most out of any of us here. But if you go in there with them, not a single one will have a chance of making it back alive. No one."
"No one." Mentieth repeated, nodding in agreement. "Not even me. I know. And they'll know it too. Which is why later on today I'll be sending out the announcement on the E-band. I don't intend on taking anyone who can't accept that they won't come back. Whoever I take with me will be in it for the long haul. Anyone else can evacuate with your units."
Serakovich stood up, the blood only beginning to return to his face. "Wait, but wh- why not just have the ships fire a SHIVA salvo from a safe distance. If we have this much naval power, we should use it while we can."
Mentieth shook his head. "That won't work. Their network of Tyrant AAs will shoot them out of the sky, not to mention that they have more than enough ships to do that as well. To win we'll need to approach them on foot."
"And what's to stop them from just glassing you from low orbit?" Krauss asked.
"They won't. The goal is to rapidly deploy to the staging grounds. By the time they organize their efforts, we'll be too close in for them to risk a bombardment.
"It all depends on you being fast enough to grab them by the belt." Garrison thought aloud. "And what about that? What's to stop them from stopping you before you even get close?"
"Simple. Our reinforcements brought two Orion-class assault carriers, the UNSC Dragoon from the 91st Expeditionary and the UNSC Syracuse from the Sigma Home Defense. I'll have them transport my division to the Etna and Amiata mountain regions to the north and south respectively. While parts of battlegroups Silver and Indigo distract Covenant ships patrolling those sectors, elements from the 24th and 61st Air Reconnaissance Groups will drop off the three brigades on the edges of the Dark Zone via Pelican and Albatross insertion. We're prioritizing shock and awe tactics to muscle are way in. However, because of the possibility that groups may get wiped out before they reach their destinations, I've decided to have Pelican crews bring in the carrier teams for the nukes. They'll be escorted by Longsword squadrons and fly in low to avoid detection. They're only to come once a brigade has reached their target area. This way we potentially avoid losing a bomb if a group gets annihilated, and we'll need all three HAVOKs to make this work. It's not a fool proof delivery system but it's the best option I could think of. We'll just have to see how things play out to determine if it was the right call."
Garrison nodded in grim understanding. "I see."
"What about manpower?" Taylors intruded as he walked over to the table. "You'll need more than just your own people to get this job done properly, sir."
Mentieth looked him over. "You would commit your troopers to my command, knowing where they're going?"
Taylors didn't hesitate. "And I'll be there right alongside them."
Mentieth stared at him with marked respect. After a second, he turned to the other Shock Troops battalion commander. "Tell me, colonel, if they knew where they were going and what they were to do, would your troopers still do it?"
Garrison didn't hesitate either. "My ODSTs are exhausted and have lost too many comrades as it is. But I know that if you asked them, they would all follow you right into Sabat, no questions asked." He shrugged. "That's just how Helljumpers are, sir."
"I see." Mentieth turned back to Taylors and sighed. "Its' a good thing then that I'm not asking them." He pressed his pad and the image of the obliterated staging grounds disappeared. "From this point onward we're parting ways. I don't intend to sacrifice more forces than I think necessary to achieve this last objective. The 7th and 22nd Shock Troops Battalions as well as the 4th and 27th Marine Expeditionary Divisions have seen enough fighting. But I will see to it that what we started here is finished. You have my word."
There was a lengthy silence in which he waited for anyone to voice their objections. No one did. They merely looked on with a soundless acceptance.
"If there is nothing else then you're dismissed."
The four commanders rose around the room. Then to his surprise, instead of just leaving they each offered him a final, farewell salute. He nodded back and watched them walk one after the other out the door, none of them ever looking back.
Garrison was the last to leave. He approached Mentieth and offered to shake his hand, an offer he quickly accepted.
"It's been an honor, Colonel." Garrison said with the quieted firmness of a friend.
"Likewise, Garrison."
He watched as the leader of the 7th Battalion turned about and walked out the door.
Alone, Mentieth pressed a function on his pad which deactivated the table's projector. He took one last look around the room. With a final deep inhalation of the cool air conditioning, he took his pad in hand and left.
Deorum - Of the Gods