Politics
Part 2
Duties upon High Charity were of a simple affair, but even the easiest of tasks can seem extremely taxing to a grunt. Compared to the other Covenant warriors, the grunts stood an unimpressive five feet tall; their short legs supported a large, and toned, upper body. Grunts had long oddly shaped arms and displayed surprising upper body strength, yet they were slow and often quite cowardly. But with everything going against the grunts they held one upper hand; one grunt was nothing to fear, but a pack was deadly. For this simple fact, grunts often traveled in groups of four or more. Their sense of bravery would be increased so long as the numbers were on their side, but a lone grunt would know his limits; a running grunt was common within the Covenant.
Deep within the lower levels of High Charity, a pack of four grunts tended to the deeds presented before them. Their duties were loading Phantoms with food and supplies for cruisers and capital ships. It was a typical venture for young non-combat grunts, deeds that would help them learn to follow orders and understand discipline.
Their duty day was quickly coming to an end, and after six hours of back breaking labor they were eagerly looking forward to spending the next few moments in the training halls. Compared to the manual labor of working the docks, combat training was a simple fare. The young pack of grunts waddled tiredly toward the lower levels of High Charity in silence. They passed several groups of elites that seemed displeased with something, but grunts learn at a very young age to not interfere with elite affairs.
But as they passed they heard one of the elite mumble, "... and the brutes have been assigned numerous ships to command. Half the fleet is now in their control..." The grunts heard these words, but paid them no mind.
At the head of the pack was Etah, the first born of the pack. Like all grunts, there was nothing special about Etah. Walking proudly at the front of the pack, he slowly navigated into the grunt combat training area. He walked on his knuckles, with his hoofs clicking upon the metallic floor, and sniffed the air questioningly. There was a new smell in the room, something that he found to be out of the norm. The smell was clearly an elite, but elite's rarely came into the grunt training areas; it was strange.
The elite turned the corner and looked to the group of four. Naturally the grunts seemed concerned as It was nothing new for elites to unleash their anger or frustration on a lone grunt. Reports of dead grunts was common, but no one questioned it; such acts were ignored.
The grunts nervously trembled at the sight of the elite. Its armor reflected the lights of the training room and caste a greenish hue from its yellow shine. He stepped forward, holding his head high and clasped his hands behind his back.
"Which of you is the eldest?" The elite's voice was deep, yet he spoke quietly.
Etah stepped forward, "Me... me first born." A stutter in his voice showed his nervousness.
"You and your pack are young, you have yet to be assigned a squad formation. I'm here to gain your loyalty and trust."
One of Etah's younger pack brothers stepped forward, "Why gain loyalty?" Etah quickly grumbled toward his younger brother, fearing that the elite may become displeased.
"We have our reasons, young one. But now is not the time to dispute our motives. Eldest, do you have concerns? If so, I will push on and seek others."
"No, me not have concerns." Etah quickly stated.
The young grunt once again spoke out of turn, "But Etah, we not know what happening..." Etah elbowed the young grunt and snarled in disapproval.
"It seems your pack brother has doubts." The elite stated. "As elder, you should speak for him, but if he has concerns it may be best to leave you all behind. You must be sure of this decision to join us."
"Me eldest and we give loyalty." Etah stated firmly as he aggressively glared toward his younger brother. The young grunt quietly kept his peace.
"Very well. Beyond the training area you will see several of my brothers. All of whom are special operations. You will follow one of them to the docks and there you will receive your assignments. Dismissed!"
"We go." Etah turned and pushed his pack out of the training area, the three younger siblings stumbled upon themselves as he shoved. Quickly Etah began to snarl to his mouthy younger brother. "Do you not know that he could have killed us?" Etah nervously questioned in their native tongue.
"I wanted to know why they wanted our loyalty, Etah. Does it not seem odd to you?"
"Everything seems odd to you, Palab." Etah and his three pack brothers pushed on and met with the group of elite spec ops. The towering black armored elite nodded toward them and waved for them to follow.
"Etah, can I ask him what is going on?" Palab softly questioned. Etah gave a nervous grumble, but agreed. "Mighty one, what happening? We young pack, not ready for combat."
"The commander has given orders to assign several grunts to the sacred ring. You will be positioned at our base in order to defend it against the parasites. More information will be given when we arrive." Satisfied with the response, Etah stepped ahead of the pack and pushed Palab back in line. Etah wasn't angry at his younger brother, but he knew he had to keep him in line whenever they were around the elites. Palab was always curious, questioning and smart, sometimes too smart. On many occasions Palab would over step his bounds and speak to high ranking elites, the result of such acts is usually death, but Palab often found a way to avoid harm; usually by stroking the oversized ego of the offended elite.
They marched on for several minutes, passing by snarling Brutes and hissing jackals, but the elite ignored them all and maintained his calm. They arrived at the outer docks and were no longer strolling through the miles of High Charity's metallic tunnels. As they exited the parting doors, the lower level docks opened before them. It was just as they had left it a few minutes earlier, only now it was crowded with elites, hunters and hundreds of grunts.
Dozens of phantoms and ships hovered throughout the area for as far as they could see. As they peered into the expanse they could cast their eyes downward and see the darkness of space through the hundreds of flickering shield gates that lined the base of the docking area. These gates served as gateways for phantoms and cargo transports.
A nearby phantom descended and several squads of special operations warriors emerged from a door on the opposite side of the landing platform. The lead elite, followed by several grunts all in a dark purple armor, raced toward the phantom but did not board. As Etah and his pack neared the phantom, they could see that something was happening and many elites were mobilizing; heading back into High Charity.
The elite leading Etah, and his pack, ran toward an elite wearing red armored. "What has happened? Are we mobilizing?"
The elite nodded with respect, he was the dock master and he seemed as though he were in shock. "Yes. Word has spread that the Demon is some where on board." He seemed increasingly nervous and twitched whenever a door opened.
"What? The Demon is here?"
"Yes, he was last reported inside the council chambers and interrupted Truth's sermon." The elite lifted his carbine, scanning it to make sure that it was ready for anything. "We have been ordered to gather at all surrounding hallways. But..." Again the dock master seemed lost in thought. He focused deeply on a set of elites that had entered on the opposite side of the dock. He was undeniably nervous.
The special operations elite stepped forward, "Speak."
"Forgive me, but the brutes have begun to attack our brothers whenever they attempt to take position within the hallways. They say they want to be the first to slay the Demon. But I fear that it is more then that."
"The Demon lives and now we must fight against the brutes because of their pride!" The elite roared in frustration. "How can the commander hope for us to continue at a time like this?" With a heavy sigh he regained his focus. "Very well, continue with your orders. I will transport any grunt packs that arrive."
"There are four more grunt packs and three spec ops squads that are on their way. Wait for them before you go to the ring."
A startled elite in blue armor ran from a nearby control room door, "Sir, we have word that Tartarus is ordering a section of brutes to take control of the docks! He says that he doesn't want the demon to escape." The elite shouted before he arrived.
The dock master snarled, "What! That barbarous creature has no authority!"
"None the less, they are coming. It is simply a ploy to take further resources away from us." The young blue armored elite added as he stood at the dock master's side.
"Dock master, the commander needs these troops. Surely the brutes will not allow us to disembark."
"Agreed." The dock master nodded. He turned to the young elite at his side, "Notify all dock hands, to take up arms and defend all entrances to the docks." The young elite nodded and raced back to the control station as the dock master faced the spec ops elite. "Gather your pilots and get your grunts aboard the phantoms. The others should be here shortly."
"I will stay and help defend the docks until they arrive. However, I would much like to hunt the Demon…"
"No. The commander has given you orders, just as he has to me. We are to get as many regiments to the ring as possible. I wish he would have told me what he was planning…" The doors behind Etah and his pack parted and six elites stormed in. A group of blue armored elites greeted them at the door, weapons at the ready but none threatening.
It is said that wars are started with words, but no one is eager to fire the first shots. Many brutes and elites have killed each other after verbal disputes, but such is the life of a warrior in the covenant; their bonds are fragile.
Etah glared at the elites and brutes, but couldn't hear what was being said. Every elite, hunter and grunt standing upon the docks was eager to know what was being said, and the dock master sprinted to see what he could do to stall the brutes. He ran closer to the brutes and stepped passed the six elites.
There was a deathly silence within the docks, no shouts, no uproars, nothing. It was the calm before the storm. Throughout the expanse of High Charity, hundreds of elites and brutes were fighting, but their reasoning was to be the first to kill the Demon, but the struggle in the docks would prove to be the real deciding moment of what would become the Covenant civil war.
A ship wide communication opened and Truth's voice echoed across the docks, "Fear not my brothers, for the Sacred Icon is secure. It was Tartarus and his Brutes who took the Icon from the Flood. For this, they have our thanks." The communication ended and every elite glared at each other, seemingly dumbfounded by the words.
"What is this?" The spec ops elite stated through snarled teeth. "Not only have they dishonored our honor guards, but now they gain the favor of the Hierarchs?" He spat as he gripped his plasma rifle. He turned to Etah, "Get your grunts aboard the phantom."
Etah nodded and quickly grabbed Palab, not trusting that his younger brother would keep his mouth shut. The group waddled to the nearby Phantom, other grunt packs were doing the same, but Etah and Palab could not take their eyes off of the elites and brutes near the door.
Again, Truth spoke over the ship wide communicator, "The elites have failed to protect the Prophets, and in so doing put all our lives at risk. Let no warrior forget his oaths. Thou, in faith, will keep us safe whilst we find the path."
"What are they saying?" Palab mumbled in their native tongue. Behind him stood Etah and his other pack brothers, but also several other grunt packs that were waiting to board the phantom. "The holy one speaks as if the elites have betrayed them."
"You do not know that, Palab." Etah returned, gripping his younger brother and pulling him closer to the gravity lift. The purple hue of the lift created an eerie glow around the grunts, but everything was slowly beginning to take shape in Palab's mind. But the Elites could also sense that something was not right.
The spec ops elite roared as he began to understand. "By the rings! The commander, he knew this was coming!" The spec ops elite turned to Etah. "Quickly, board the phantom. There isn't much time!" With that the opposite door to the dock parted and dozens of brutes marched in. They were greeted by several elites, and again Etah and Palab could not hear what was being said.
"Damned brutes, they mean to fight!" The spec ops elite grumbled.
Once more Truth spoke, "With my blessings, the Brutes now lead our fleets. They ask for your allegiance, and you shall give it to them." Every elite within the dock seamed to boil with disapproval. It was as they had feared. The Brutes had taken the favor of the Hierarchs, but there was a darker side to this act, one that only the special operations elites could understand.
Etah pushed and tugged the younger grunts into the gravity lift, forcefully at times. Palab continued to glare at the massing horde of brutes and elites on each side of the dock. The door was quickly filling with brutes and more elites were heading toward them. A powder keg had been lit, and its fuse was about to make contact with its explosive charge. There was no way around it, no way to predict the outcome and no way to stop it.
Truth spoke, "Creatures of the Covenant, the path is clear, and we shall walk it side by side." The spec ops elite ran toward the dock master, sprinting as fast as he could. He had to warn him, to tell him that it was a trap. He had to pull the elites away from the door. "At this moment, the Council is gathered on Halo to see the Icon Safely placed."
The spec ops elites reached through the crowd of elites. "Pull back! Get away from them. Dock master!" Yet his words were would not arrive in time.
The burly voice of the Brute Chieftain sounded over the com, "Rise, my brothers! Cast down the Elites!"
No one knew who fired the first shot, brute or elite, but it was no longer a concern. Plasma flowed between the two walls of warriors. There was nowhere to run, no way to get away from the waves of super heated plasma fire that streaked between the two ferocious combatants. At one time they served as allies, but now a blood feud had been uncorked.
For the brutes, years of lingering in the shadow of the elites had been put to rest. No longer were they second, no longer would they be kept out of the Hierarchs graces, and now they could release their anger.
For the elites, it was insult to their pride. They were the glory of the Covenant, and the instruments of the prophets' will. They had been betrayed, outcast and thrown to the ground. The brutes were beneath them, but they had been lifted above them in one swift movement of Truth's frail hands.
Elites fell backwards, shields overloaded and vanished, and their blood soaked the metal floors. Brutes were torn in half, limbs singed off by plasma the hair smoking in a flash of dieing cells. Roars came from both sides, anger and curses even before death. If their spirits had substance, they would fight even in death. Hatred. Hatred in its truest form was spilling from each the massive warriors.
The spec ops elite felt the pounds of red plasma rushing across his shields. He reached out and gripped the dock master's shoulder and pulled him back. The elites began to gather the senses and began to back away from the doors and sought cover. Plasma grenades littered the doorway but the brutes had already pulled back. The cascading explosion melted part of the door, causing it to jam open. The elite then ran to guard the dock master and the special operations elite as they retreated. The spec ops elite suddenly felt that dock masters incredible weight slump behind him, and turned to see that he was dead; laying face down with a trail of purple-blue blood behind him. He was holding on to the arm of a long dead corpse.
"It will not end this way, brother." The spec ops elite released the dock master's lifeless limb, realizing that he had probably died in the first volley of fire. He lifted his plasma rifle and fired a round into the door as a brute attempted to rampage into the room. The brute met a slaughtering end as dozens of wounded, yet resilient, warriors fired into it. The brutes on the opposite side of the door began to fire back with brute shots and three of the weapons deadly arsenals exploded near the spec ops elite. He was tossed back as his shield overloaded and shrapnel splint through his lift side. He roared in agony as he dropped his weapon and crawled back toward the phantom.
Palab had watched it all, and he watched as the elite crawled back to the phantom. This was combat. He had never seen it before, and his training could not have prepared him for it. Etah brushed passed him and quickly waddled toward the wounded spec ops elite.
"Etah, no!" Palab grumbled. "The brutes are coming!"
"We need him to fly the ship, Palab! Help me!" Etah gripped the wounded warrior and began to pull him toward the phantom.
"Elites do not care for us. Why should we help him?"
"Because without him… we will die here!" Etah's words cut through Palab's moment of fear. He was right. None of the young grunts could pilot the phantom, and the brutes would certainly kill them. Palab tossed his fear to the wind and grabbed the elite. Other phantoms, carrying hunters, elites, and grunts, were lifting off as the dock hands continued to fight back against the growing brute numbers.
As Etah and Palab rose in to the Phantom's belly, the last voice they heard was from Truth, "There are those who said this day would never come. What are they to say now?"