October 20th, 2552
1621 hours, local clock
New Mombasa
Tayari Plaza District
8 hours prior to the Rookie awakening
Whmp-bam !
The report of the exploding M9 frag grenade reverberated through the electrically charged afternoon air, scattering plumes of dust and chunks of pavement in every direction. Nearby, a parked seban's windows were punched clean out, glass spilling out onto the ground in countless fragments.
Aieeee ! Ahhhh !
Several Unggoy were flung several yards from the detonation point, their compact bodies tumbling and ragdolling, trailing ribbons of luminous cyan-colored blood from getting shredded by the white-hot shrapnel. Their plasma handguns sailed along with them, hitting the ground before they did and clattering away like the discarded rubbish they now were.
" Raaaaaggghhh ! Rrrrgh-! "
Even before the echoes of his grenade attack had begun to die out, Buck had already shifted his focus to the Jiralhane that was- or rather, had been- leading the Unggoy pack. The beefy alien's fanged mouth was wide open, roaring with what was very obviously unfiltered and primal rage.
Right back at you, ugly !
Squeezing the trigger on the MA5, Buck began emptying the clip into the Jiralhane's chest. The rifle's comforting, staccato ratatatatat firing rhythm filled his ears, as it spit 7.62mm death downrange.
Bronze light flared with loud brightness across the Jiralhane's heavyset frame from tip to tip; its personal shield was doing what it was designed to do. The alien squad leader wasn't relying only on that for survival, needless to say, though. Buck soon had to duck as a volley of searing hot tungsten spikes cleaved through the air where his head had been, barely avoiding the lethal projectiles as they effortlessly trimmed down the tall grass growing in the center of the traffic divider the ODST was hunkered behind.
Close, space ape. I'll give you that
As the Spiker rounds continued raking the top of the divider, slashing off more and more grass and spewing them left and right, Buck carefully but steadily edged his way around the edge of the divider, and poked his head around it.
whp,whp,whp,whp,whp !
The Jiralhane was standing in place, one handing the Spiker rifle, busily hosing down the divider with a storm of spikes.
Taking aim again, Buck took a second to check the MA5's ammo counter readout, glimmering cyan on the back of the barrel shroud: 20 rounds left.
20. Got it. I've done this with 20 before.
He opened fire.
Bullets beat the Jiralhane's shield like a drum, which again flared bronze as it struggled to stop the impacts. It could, but the trick ( as Buck knew ) was to keep up the pressure on that shield and not allow it to fully recharge itself. Lay enough punishment on it quickly enough, and it would eventually collapse. That would cause an electrical backlash to the armor itself, making it vent plasma all over the place and become virtually useless.
Meat on the table did the wearer become. If you could drop the shields themselves first to begin with, that was.
Ratatatatatat-!
Whp,whp, whp, whp ! Flying spikes, previously trimming the grass, were quickly redirected as the Jiralhane reacted fast. The arc of spikes changed, getting walked closer and closer to punching through Buck's faceplate.
'10' , indicated the ammo counter. It always told the truth.
Down to the last bullet ! Buck didn't let up. His trigger finger didn't relax.
He was on the verge of running dry- or getting his cabeza back behind the divider- when he was treated to the sweet spectacle he'd been hoping for.
Kzzt- bam !
A flickering snap of bronze light, and the Jiralhane's shield fell apart.
Jets of cobalt-colored plasma shot out in places, along with hefty chunks of armor plate. As they bounced and crashed to the ground, the big alien they'd been fixed to staggered, the last of the Spiker's ammo getting discharged harmlessly wide. Buck pressed himself prone anyway, rolling slightly onto his right side and reaching around for a fresh magazine.
Gotcha !
" Auuurggh ! Grrrrrh ! "
Buck was a fast loader, but Jiralhane, despite their considerable stature, were no slowpokes either.
Even as his fingers closed around a new clip and pulled it loose, ready to slam it into place, the towering brute was already getting ready for round two.
The Spiker, clearly empty by now, was still immensely deadly- courtesy of its twin crescent-shaped bayonets. Every UNSC soldier worth his salt respected those bayonets, and for good reason; the wounds they left behind couldn't exactly be closed up with kissing and a band aid.
Getting your entire arm removed ( not at all cleanly ) from the shoulder on down was more accurate. Getting into a hand to hand fight with a Jiralhane was not advisable- you kill them from a distance if at all possible.
" RAAAAAGH ! "
A curdling, bellow erupting from its throat, the Jiralhane charged, bearing down like a maddened rhino.
clck !
Buck's experienced hands had been working overtime, frenetically slamming the magazine home and yanking the charging handle. But, there was practically no room by now.
The Jiralhane hadn't been very far off to begin with, and with those trunk-like legs, closing the distance was no problem at all. Already, Buck could look the creature in the eye- which were every inch those of an apex predator.
An apex predator from another world, to boot.
Focus ! Bring him down.
Bring him down
The MA5's muzzle centered squarely on the Jiralhane's contorted-with-fury face.
Buck squeezed the trigger.
Ratatatatat-
Spllrk !
With a wet, fleshy tearing sound, bullets hit the Jiralhane's exposed face, and hammered right through.
" Agggghhhh-!"
Still moving forward, the Jiralhane died standing.
Carried by momentum, the hefty alien covered nearly another yard, before falling like a felled tree . Buck automatically rolled and threw himself clear, as the Jiralhane impacted the ground, with a 1,500 pound thumping sound.
THMP!
Vibrations rippled through the pavement.
The Spiker rifle clattered off to one side. Heavier than it appeared, the noise was surprisingly loud.
As was the new silence, that had settled over everything.
The fight was over.
Thank god for MA5 superiority
For several moments, Buck didn't move. He was keenly aware of how he was coming off the adrenaline high that he'd been riding on all along; his jackhammering heart rate was slowly creeping back down to normal, blood was slowly stopping booming in his ears, and the icewater of the adrenaline itself slowly began to leach out of his veins.
The whh, whhh, whhh of someone breathing hard caught his attention, and a second or so later, he understood that was him panting. Even after so many years of taking out Jiralhane, doing it up close and personal was always a daunting prospect- to say the absolute least.
They're not the muscle of the Covenant for nothing.
Where's Romeo when you need him ?! That motormouth could've put a 12.7mm round through that bravo kilo's dome long ago
Still laying down, Buck looked left, then right. Even more slowly, he eased himself up from his improvised fighting postion of the asphalt road, keeping both hands on the MA5. Smoke, wispy and cinder colored, coiled up from the rifle's muzzle.
Nothing was left alive around him.
Nothing, and nobody.
The Jiralhane warrior lay dead, sprawled backwards amid a growing lake of purple-red blood, with more of it trickling in from all the facial bullet holes, and from MA5- torn gaps in its buckled armor plates. Scattered haphazardly all around, the dead Unggoy were no less deceased. Their own blood practically glowed, decorating the road in patches and the doors of nearby ditched cars like liquefied sapphires.
Lot of dead Covies. All my own doing.
Warms my heart, it truly does. Coming to Earth was the worst mistake you ever made-and the last
Now fully upright, Buck surveyed the area again.
There was still no need for VISR mode; the sky continued to be more lit up than a Texan bonfire from the Supercarrier's FTL jump, with countless glowing particles still floating down and along. From the generous supply of light, the noncom observed that his surroundings were deserted all over again.
Ahead, the road came to a fork. Off to the left, it swerved off sharply past the thoroughly charred remains of an M12 into an elbow corner, leading away to God-knew where. Off to the right, it ran straight into an energy barrier- a fan shaped field of impenetrable charged particles that burned with a kaleidoscope of loud, Covenant-prefered colors.
Buck had encountered these fields before. They were used to seal off entire pathways roads, and trails, funneling the Covenant's enemies into killzones, or at least into areas they wanted you to go, and away from ones they didn't. The barriers were fiendishly tough; even direct hits from an M808V MBT ( Main Battle Tank )'s 90mm cannon couldn't get through them. As far as the sergeant knew, the only option when you ran into a shield, was to simply find another way.
Which, in all likelihood, would take you somewhere even more lethal than where you'd been headed. But, that was often the case when it came to the Covenant, and you were slugging it out with them on the ground, muzzle to muzzle.
Finally lowering the MA5 ( but keeping it at the ready ), Buck exhaled. Veronica's mystery op was, so far, playing out exactly as ONI ops tended to: Vague as heck, leading you around by the nose, and steering you face first into the hottest grids.
The last one would normally be fine- ODSTs thrived on getting tossed into the fire. But, when that tossing was at the behest of ONI ? Then all of a sudden, you found yourself sharing the resentment reserved for the enemy, with the spymasters as well. ONI only cared about its own
Exactly what they want. Lovely. I am thrilled to play into their hands.
A momentary surge of anger had the muscles in Buck's stubble-layered jaw tightening, and he commanded himself to exhale. This line of thinking wasn't doing him any favors.
After all, he knew who/what ONI was. Who and what, Veronica was.
Roses do have thorns.
Buck couldn't afford to waste energy dwelling on that. With a focused effort, he shunted them away, and out of mind.
He had bigger fish to fry, anyway.
Alpha 9, his squad- his squad, not Veronica's, no matter how much ONI pull she wielded over them all, or thought she could- was scattered far and wide across this city. They had to be still be alive somewhere; Buck knew his men. They were some of the most capable ODSTs he'd ever fought with, and if anyone could stave off the Covenant for a couple hours until he tracked them down, it was them.
Rounding them up was his mission.
And as for Veronica's, hers could definitely wait.
I. Am. Waiting. Edward.
There weren't many things that could genuinely get Veronica Dare upset- which was something that would utterly astonish many folks, given that she was an ONI operative. Remaining completely trapped within an SOIEV, though, with barely enough space to stretch any one of her increasingly aching and cramped limbs, was one of those few.
Drop pods were not that comfortable to sit in even for the relatively short planetfall ride they took you on. They fell, they hit hard, and then you sprang out to fight. Simple as that.
Except when they malfunctioned on you, leaving you cocooned inside them, unable to do anything but stare at the scenery until you shanghaied a way out, or until someone came by to set you free. Whichever happened first.
Come on, Buck. I can't stay here forever ! This is getting on my nerves.
Her imprisonment was definitely getting to her. Truth be told, though, Dare did consider herself to be relatively mild mannered. Living as a spy for so many years hadn't actually given her anger issues- if you could consider not having that many of them to be an issue at all. That was fairly normal for ONI operatives; their careers were all about keeping to themselves, after all, and keeping back information from virtually everyone they ever interacted with. They were not popular with the rank and file at large, to put it mildly.
For most of them, all they had was the mission. Their ops, and the endless gathering of intel and reports to be processed into actionable data that the rank and file who loathed them so much could use.
There was no denying too many ONI officers had earned that disdain. Heck, maybe even the whole organization, and that was the way things were. Even so, however, someone had to get that kind of work done. The UNSC needed its shadow experts now more than ever these days.
Dare was no different than the rest of the Office, in that regard at least. New Mombasa held something of great value to the intel community, and that was the reason she was in town at all. Why she'd commandeered a unit of ODSTs with such a shining combat record as Alpha 9, and brought them with her.
Buck, where are you ?!
Without them, without such skilled backup, she couldn't retrieve the intel from its highly secured location deep within- no, beneath- the metropolis of New Mombasa. That was why she had singled out Alpha 9, out of all the ODSTs units that were standing by in the Home Fleet. Out of all the ones aboard the Say my Name.
But, there was no point in lying. That wasn't the only reason.
Because Alpha 9 had a very particular man in charge.
I needed him. Because the men look up to him. Not me. They'll follow my orders because they are good soldiers who respect the chain of command, but they don't respect me.
Besides, like I told him, I haven't forgotten about that question he asked that morning
" Oi ! Trooper !? Hey, over here ! "
Someone called to Buck from a point dead ahead of him.
Someone with a strong Australian accent.
Marines ? Has to be.
Buck hadn't run into or seen anyone except Covenant alive until now. It was heartening to think he might finally be meeting some allied faces.
Keeping the MA5 angled down, he jogged forward.
The road he'd been following- the left fork, needless to say, had taken him into what was nearly a complete dead end- 3 sides of high duracrete walls that formed a rough horseshoe, with a grass covered grid-shaped plot of land off to one side on the right, bordering the street. It was obviously some kind of compact city park, complete with benches, a handful of bushy palm trees placed here and there to provide a degree of shade, and a visitor's information signboard, complete with a map of the district.
It was immediately obvious to Buck, though, that the Covenant had been here. And, that someone had met them here too.
The signboard was half missing, and what was left was slagged like a melted wax candle. Divots had been blown out of the grass, leaving behind well roasted craters. Several of the trees had been neatly bisected, their fronds strewn on top of each other across the ground.
Completing the post-battle mosaic, was another shredded M12. The fast recon/ skirmisher vehicle was out of action, with its front and back left wheels missing. The armor plating on that whole side of the 4x4 was heavily pockmarked and battered with plasma scoring, and adorned by the cooled-by-now projectiles of a Spiker rifle.
Someone had clearly been using it for cover.
And someone' helmeted head was poking up now over the rear bumper. Not an ODST helmet, though- instead, it was the smooth, jade colored and gently sloped contours of a CH252 Combat helmet.
Marines at last. Someone on my side, rather than aiming to shoot some plasma into it.
Buck one handed the MA5 for a moment, raising his right fist to signal he'd spotted the leatherneck.
The helmet's wearer was a man with a dusting of stubble on his chin, and a set of bronze-tinted ballistic goggles on his face. He nodded once, then turned to his right and appeared to speak to someone.
A moment later, a second helmeted man poked his own head up into view. He had less growth on his jaw than the first, and wore no goggles, but was clearly no less surprised- and grateful- to have an intact and well armed ODST approaching.
What did you expect, boys- Spartans ?! Ha ! Even better- you're getting an ODST.
" Trooper ! ". It was the goggled marine speaking, the one with the pronounced Aussie accent. " Thank God. I thought we'd be on our own even longer. "
" Yeah. Ammo's running low, even with salvaging what the dead Covies drop. ", the second one added. He spoke with a Southern US drawl.
Spotting the three chevrons rank insignia on on Buck's armor that marked him as a Gunnery Sergeant, he added" That's PFC Dubbo, Gunny. Me ? Private Chase Deckard. "
Coming to a halt in front of them, having rounded the end of the M12, Buck took a moment to size up these two jarheads.
They'd already been hard pressed for a while, that much was obvious: their woodland-MARPAT camouflage BDU ( battle dress uniform )s were coated with layers of grimy dust, nearly hiding their rank insignia, and their M52B body armor plates had chips of it missing. Decker's helmet had faint scoring marks on it, and Dubbo's rifle had clearly been grazed by a Spiker round.
They still had fight in them, despite it all. Buck was reminded again that there were more hardy fighters in the rank and file Marines than the ODSTs gave them credit for. These jarheads were the real deal, whether they knew it or not.
Dubbo was armed with an MA5C, like Buck was. Deckard carried a Needler- the Chinese-cookie shaped SMG that the aliens often handed out to their Unggoy fighters. The impressively bizarre weapon had a forest of amethyst-purple, twistedly jagged crystal shards protruding from the top of his upper casing, which were actually its ammunition. It shot those shards out in an automatic firing mode, and each of them could actually track a moving target. If at least 5 of the shards impacted and got stuck into what they'd hit, they'd daisy chain themselves off in a ripple of explosions that could shear a man in two as easily as snapping a toothpick.
The idea of turning the Covenant's own toys back on them, rather than watching them use them take out more Marines ( let alone in such a way ) brought a near smile to Buck's face. It always did.
Poetic justice, you xeno scum.
" Glad you boys are still kicking too. "
Buck tipped his head toward the abused M12. " Seems you've kept yourselves alive. Been a lot of activity in this grid. "
" And not enough full strength squads to handle it. ", Deckard shook his head. " Everyone's been separated from everyone else. After that carrier pulled an FTL jump in atmosphere- "
" I know. I rode through it. "
Both Marines' eyes widened quite a bit at that.
" Wait- that was your pod ?! ", Dubbo exclaimed. The incredulity in his voice was palpable. " We saw one hitting the Kensington Moats apartment tower. That was yours ? "
" It was ", confirmed Buck.
" What about the rest of your team ? ", Deckard leaned to one side, nearly as if he expected more troopers to come into view following Buck at any moment.
" Hate to say this, but my own team's as scattered as yours is. "
Admitting this would probably dent their morale, Buck knew, but better than giving them false hope. To their credit, though, both Marines didn't look too crestfallen. A full strength ODST squad would've been like putting a blowtorch to paper, though.
But the damn EMP had seen to having them otherwise.
Decker bit his lower lip, but slowly nodded that he got the picture. " So, we're in the same boat. "
" For now. Covenant have saturated New Mombasa with their forces. Any of us still alive are bound to be outnumbered and outgunned ".
Glancing at the ammo counter on his MA5, Dubbo exhaled slightly. " Gotcha. "
" Command's out of reach of our comms- or they got taken out. We don't know. We holed up here instead- there was nowhere else to go. "
" What about the B-Net ?", Buck asked.
It was down for me, but perhaps-
" That's a no go for us ". Deckard confirmed. " We're out of contact with everyone. "
So that's the sitrep, then. The UNSCMC's presence here is reduced to pockets and fireteams stranded from each other from one end of the city to the other. Not exactly a cohesive fighting force
Somewhere in the distance, the whine and crash of plasma fire echoed and boomed- proof that the battle for New Mombasa wasn't yet concluded. Buck and his new Marines were still neck deep in hostile territory, and they had nobody to assist them. No support to call on. They had been on their own until now, and that could've been hours. The Covies had been pouring substantial- and heavily equipped- forces into the city well before Alpha 9's ill-fated jump had even begun.
Most UNSC forces in New Mombosa were out on a limb and running out of steam. None of which could be said for their enemies. The Covies had resources and firepower to spare, and then some.
I am an ODST. We live for this.
They need to remember that. I need to take control here
" Allright, listen up ", Buck took a step forward, lifting a hand for emphasis.
" I've been in contact with an ONI officer. She's not far from here- Tayari Plaza. "
The word ONI was not a long one, but it always had an effect on every UNSC soldier who heard it. Dubbo and Decker's faces reflected that at once, proving they were no exception.
Oh, here we go
" ONI ?! ". Decker frowned. There was a note of doubt when he spoke. " You said you've been talking with an ONI agent ? "
" Shiiite ". Cussing like an Aussie, Dubbo expressed his displeasure.
" Secure that ! ". Buck couldn't say he disagreed with their anti-ONI stance at all- because he didn't-but they didn't get ONI's " monster under the bed " reputation also came with a fair bit of strings they they could pull. " I don't like them either, but they're my mission handlers. And by extension, yours. "
" What good is ONI ? ", Deckard muttered. Not despondently-bitterly.
Does he have some kind of history with them ? Could be. But that's neither here nor now.
" Usually ? Not worth spit. But today, the one who sent me here could be the lady to save your hides. "
" She pulled my unit to drop- right into the center of this mess. ". Buck jabbed a finger at the ground. " We were supposed to drop elsewhere. She tends to get what she wants. "
" You can't reach command, right ? "
" Affirmative ". Dubbo sounded like he knew where this was going, but like Deckard, he didn't have much enthusiasm for ONI's involvement.
Buck was on their side when it came to that, but he continued anyway. " Then you're coming with me. When we reach Tayari, one way or the other, she's your best shot to get you both back to your unit. Until then, I'll do what I can to keep you alive. "
He wanted to promise them. Wanted to promise them, something. But, they weren't fools. Throwing out guarantees ( good or otherwise ) at soldiers was even more unwelcome that telling them that an energy projector was about to be fired at their exact position.
Instead, tell it to them straight. No bull, no cottony words. When you're in a foxhole ( or sheltered behind a smashed M12 ), smeared with shower-worthy dirt and other detritus, with your ammo running nearly dry and your canteen only having drops, getting straight and honest info was always welcome.
Even if that was to say that an energy projector was about to fire on them. At least they'd know it was coming. Nobody had lied to them, strung them along, or given them a pipe hope to hold onto. It wasn't nearly the same as hearing actual good news, but it better than false hope. Anything was.
" That's how it is then ", Dubbo was quiet for a moment, but then nodded. " Alright then. "
Buck saw that " At least we know what's coming "-ness written all over them. It was oddly encouraging.
If he couldn't grant them the rest of their unit right here and now, or a Pelican, or an M808, or anything remotely like that, then at least he could be straight and honest with them.
Let's get rolling, then. Tayari Plaza won't come to us
" Are you ready ? ". Buck reached into one of his ammo pouches, and pulled out a mag of 7.62mm rounds. " I have more ammo for you, Dubbo, if you need it. "
The Aussie, however, declined . " I've got enough for now. At least to last a few more rounds with the Covies. "
Deckard briefly examined the spines atop his Needler, then exhaled slightly. There was still a fair bit of doubt on his face from the mention of ONI ( which was completely understandable ), but when he looked back up at Buck, the noncom saw there was definitely determination there too.
These two have some fight left in them, then.
" I don't trust ONI, but I'd trust an ODST any day of the week ", he declared resolutely.
" We've got your back, Gunny. "
Wreeee,oooowowowo !
The bizarre, warbling screeching sound reached Dare's ears, even from within the confines of the SOIEV.
Hh !
She inhaled sharply.
That sound. That one particular noise, no matter how alien it sounded in of itself, was unique to her. It was to any high level ONI operative worth their salt.
Adrenaline began to rise, in a gentle tide of icewater. Her pulse quickened.
Can it be ?!
Having already undone the crash harness, Dare was free to move about the interior- what ( very ) limited space there was. Nonetheless, she moved as far forward as she could, pressing into the pod's heavily dented front hatch.
Forehead nearly touching the chilled, fractured glass, Dare pressed her palms into it as she craned her neck toward where the sound seemed to have come from.
So far, all she'd been able to spot in the outside was the towering amphitheater walls, and hints of the sky. There had been no movement at all- she'd been all alone.
If that sound she'd heard was anything to go by, though, that wasn't so anymore. And the newly arrived company could very well be exactly what she needed.
It has to be one of them. I know what they sound like.
I think, an Engineer is close by
" DECK GET LOW ! "
Dubbo's bellowed warning was a millisecond from coming too late.
Zssssh !
A beam of metal-meltingly hot energy, the color of an eggplant, carved a channel through the air exactly where Deckard's head had been before he threw himself to the street's pavement. It bored into a parked semi truck's front window, shattering it with a cacophony of pulverized glass.
" Damn, damn damn ! "
Flat on his front, Deckard rolled over and over, until he was prone behind an abandoned SUV, putting him out the line of sight of the Kig-Yar sniper who'd come within a hair of beheading him.
" ***k me, that was close. ", he gasped.
Ratatataatatat !
Dubbo's MA5 roared, sending return fire the sniper's way at the tail end of the MA5's effective range, as he dashed the final yard to join his brother in arms.
" Jesus, mate. ", He hit Deckard on the back with a fist, keeping the MA5 raised. " You alright ? "
" Yeah- Yeah, I think so. Thanks for the save. "
" STAY. IN. COVER ! "
From his own cover point- a raised traffic divider topped with the now-familiar tufts of tall grass- Buck shouted his orders at the two leathernecks, as he risked another glimpse around its corner at the beakheads who were keeping them pinned.
My favorite aliens !
Great, great
It was a real glue-trap that they were caught in. The squad Buck had now cobbled together with these two castaways was taking direct and heavy fire from a file of Kig-Yar sharpshooters-all armed with beam rifles.
Deadliest thing they've got. For the infantryman, that is
Each of the overpowered energy weapons was a finely crafted weapon, that fired superheated energy particles in a laser-like beam. The white hot energy instantly tore its way through any known kind of body armor, along with anything along the lines of glass, sheet metal, etc. It could cover hundreds of yards in less than a second- even quicker than one of the .50 cal SRS99 sniper rifles that the UNSC gave to its own snipers. As a final deadly note, it was on par with the SRS99 in terms of accuracy too.
On top of all that, the beam rifles were always issued to Kig-Yar.
Damn birds !
With their long hooked-tipped beaks, eyes that looked like they'd be right at home on a hawk, and the gently flexing tufts of quills emerging from their tops and backs of their heads, the race of aliens that every UNSC soldier had formally dubbed " Jackals " ( Buck didn't get why, but he ran with it ), did indeed resemble birds. Except, no actual bird had ever gotten a reputation for shooting at you.
The Kig-Yar had, though. The avian aliens somehow possessed an inborn talent for accuracy, and they had the right kind of gear to go along with it. Their beam rifles, resembling a heavily stretched-out, boxy triangle with a crescent-shaped grip handle at one end, were perfectly designed for putting heat on target with pinpoint dexterity at long ranges.
As for the Kig-Yar themselves, they were more than comfortable to sit back and let their long guns handle what came their way. Despite their muscled legs, they aliens weren't that tough at all in a close up fight, and they knew it. One on one, you could kill one without much trouble.
Except when they were hanging back. Which they were right now. Making things exceptionally deadly for Buck and company.
Shit. We're stuck.
Zsssh ! Zssssh, Zssssh !
Multiple beams stabbed out from the other end of the street, at least 100 yards distant, which was bookended by another set of sealed up city traffic gates. The road leading up to it was decorated with the typical assortment of local vehicles- which were proving to be godsends for the Marines, letting them get out of the Kig-Yat's LOS and a moment of reprieve from the rain of energy streams, any one of which could pierce them through and through.
Zssssh ! Zssssh !
They've got this place on lockdown
The Jackals were commanding this street from their nest: One of those sniper towers they were often posted to.
Several of them were standing guard right in front of the gate. Each of them consisted of a donut-shaped upper level that hovered about 25ft over a base platform, via the use of repulsorlift technology. A centrally placed, shimmering, cyan-colored gravity lift allowed rapid access between there and and the top floor, which was ringed with a sharply raised parapet wall to give the snipers some cover.
Which they were using, to rake the length of the street. If it wasn't for all the vehicles that were filling it, the Marines would've been wide open targets. As things were, they were hunkered and crouched behind them, furiously seeking to stay out of their enemy's dead on aim.
Getting pinned down was a infantryman's worst enemy. One not easily defeated.
Zssssh !
" Gunny ! "
Though long range comms weren't online, short range was. Through his helmet speakers, Buck listened to the Southerner calling out. He sounded, well, somewhat stressed.
Not panicking, though. Good.
" Dubbo and I can't move over here. Those Jackals have us dialed in. "
" How's he doing ? PFC Dubbo !?"
" Still alive, Gunnery Sergeant. Deckard's right, though. "
Doesn't sound terrified either. Alright, I can work with that.
Got to find us all a way out of this jam
" Don't move, understand ?! Don't move. They don't have a line on me yet. "
" Sarge ?! If they spot you- ", Dubbo protested.
I know. ODST battle armor shrugs off most hits, but beam rifles go right through. Like the proverbial knife through butter
" I don't plan to let them. " Buck checked his ammo counter, and found he had 27 rounds left.
His mouth was dry on the inside, in that annoyingly powdery way, but his canteen was down to its last third. He wanted to save those last few gulps for when they should be enjoyed.
Like when I don't have to worry about getting a beam rifle shot through it in the next 5 seconds.
" Now, listen: I'll be working my way along the divider over here. They don't have an LOS on me. When I get close enough to the tower, I'll frag it, and we can get moving. "
Repositioning his legs to let himself face around the end of the divider closest to him, Buck leaned out. Keeping himself as near to the pavement as he could, bracing an elbow on it, he spotted the other two.
They were still behind their cover- a bright red #550 Scuderia. The civilian version of the M12 had a front tire already punctured, and its radio antenna was shot off, but otherwise, it was intact. For now.
" Look right ! ", Buck told them.
Turning their heads that way, the Jarheads noticed him. Buck raised a hand, then jabbed his palm toward the ground several times.
Stay low. Wait.
Nodding that they understood, the Marines pressed themselves into the side paneling of the #550. They were clearly leaving things up to their Sergeant. Which was normal for most Jarheads.
Now Buck had to make that trust count for something.
Alright. Prone all the way. Let's go
The ODST now went down flat against the ground. Slinging the MA5 over his back, and securing it into place, he began to propel himself forward in army crawl style.
Sccrth, scccrh, scccrth.
Buck's armor scratched its way along , leaving long and narrow gouges behind. The rock solid, smooth surface rasped against his bare fingers as they pressed down, getting purchase and pulling him forward as his boots did the same. Inching forward that way, he maneuvered his way around the vehicles filling the road, going beneath the ones with enough clearance for him to fit, and around the ones that weren't.
It wasn't a graceful trip. Unable to stand up, Buck was snaking his way ahead, and with around 300 yards to go, he was forced to travel that way till he got to where he wanted. Crawling along and hugging the deck while fire carved the air right over your head was at least something Buck was familiar with though. He'd done it often enough during training; shimmying his way beneath barbed wire with his face plowing its way though mud, while a gang of screaming DIs ( as if there was any other kind ) had fired TTRs ( tactical training rounds ) at him.
Presumably, this is what they'd been prepping him for.
Zsssh ! Zsssh !
The TTRs had stung like a b***, but at leas they wouldn't puncture your torso, unlike the Jackals still sniping at him.
Keep wasting ammo, beaks. Buck dragged himself on.
" Sarge ?! How's it going over there ? ".
From somewhere behind and to the left of him, Dubbo asked for an update.
" Going steady ", the noncom replied. There was an tingling sensation rippling down his spine- the lingering concern that one of the Kig Yar would get a sliver of a view of him , and beam rifle him to death- but he largely ignored it. " You boys good where you are ? "
Deckard spoke up. " Yeah, pretty much. Beaks are shooting at random now. They're playing whack a mole with us. "
That game is a scam. " You won't have to much longer. ' Bout halfway there. Copy ? "
" Solid copy ". That was Dubbo again. " We'll be here. "
Satisfied that the Marines were still alright where they were, Buck wove his way around another #550 Schuderia. Parked/abandoned directly ahead of it, was a semi trailer truck that had been pulling several bulldozers.
Poking up above the top of the bulky, segmented machine, was the tips of the sniper tower's upper level. Buck was essentially there.
There you are, suckers.
Automatically, one of his hands went to check his stock of carried grenades, securely tucked into their storage pouches. Most of them were standard M9 frags, but he'd also secured some plasma grenades- popularly known as " Stickies ", for their ability to stick firmly to most surfaces, before exploding seconds later.
As he'd learned from experience years prior, the metal that Jack sniper towers were built of was one of those surfaces. Plus, said experience had given him a decent throwing arm.
Anticipation-branded adrenaline began to flow, as he reached the front of the semi truck. Rising to a kneeling position, he pressed his left shoulder into the cab.
The tower's tips were still visible. Leaning around the cab would bring the whole tower into full view- and give the beaks a clear shot.
Got to give them a distraction, somehow.
Oh. Got it.
" Dubbo ! Deckard ! Come in. "
It was the Aussie who responded first. " Here, sarge. "
" What's the word ? "
" I need you to make some noise. ". Buck removed one of the plasma charges, and slid this thumb over the bulbous device's arming switch- oddly etched with a design that reminded him of a thumbprint.
" Is that #550 you're hunkered behind locked ? Check. "
After a few seconds pause-
" It is, sergeant. ", Deckard reported.
Most of these empty vehicles were abandoned in a hurry. Occupants didn't lock them on the way out. A locked one's alarm is still armed, though.
Surprised none of the ones the beaks hit have been. That'd have made this whole place way too loud.
" Good. That means its alarm will go off if you smash its windows. ", Buck reminded them. " So take one out. Get the Jackals to look your way and put some heat downrange. It'll give me a second or so to frag their tower. "
" Got that ? "
" Sounds like a plan ", Dubbo sounded optimistic.
" Sure, we can do that. "
Deckard did too.
Worth their salt, both of them
" Get set, then. On my mark !".
Gripping the grenade tightly in one fist, Buck stepped to the knife edge of coming around the truck's cab, making sure to keep his head beneath he cab's windows. Every second counted here.
Now
" Mark ! "
After about a moment-
Weooh ! Weooh ! ! Weooh !
The shrill electronic shrieking of a car alarm rang out clearly, right on schedule.
Zsssh ! Zssh, Zsssh !
As the Jackals responded with another beam rifle fusillade, prompting Dubbo to cuss loudly , Buck seized the moment. He pivoted around the corner of the cab, and got a clear view of the tower.
It was roughly as close as he thought it'd be. About 20 ft from him, give or take, with the spiny heads of the Jackals bobbing around as they moved around, taking potshots at Dubbo and Deckard. They were easily within reach.
Here goes !
Pressing the switch, Buck armed the grenade. Then cocking his arm, he lobbed it as hard as he could toward the tower.
The alien bomb sailed out, hissing and sizzling, leaving a stream of glowing cyan particles behind it. Dropping to a knee, Buck quickly dragged the MA5 off his back, and got it ready as the plasma grenade-
- struck home.
Say goodnight, sweet prince !
With a crackling bwoom ,the grenade detonated. The hovering donut was thrown violently to one side, torn loose from the grip of the repulsorlift.
The Kig-Yar squawked and cawed wildly like the other worldly bird creatures they were. Their slender, sinewy bodies, along with their precious beam rifles, were thrown clear as the dazzlingly white-purple explosion consumed their position, sending smoking fragments of metal everywhere.
They wouldn't be a problem anymore.
" Whooo ! ", Deckard yelled, as all the detritus clanged, clattered, and thudded down onto the road. " That sounded promising ! "
" It was. Tower's scrap, and the Jackals have gone to meet the grim reaper ". The corner of Buck's mouth tugged up, as he strode forward into the field of wreckage. He kept the MA5 up and scanning, watching for any hint of contact, but there was none to be found.
" Fire's slacked off, eh ?! ". Dubbo chimed in. " Good shooting, Sarge. "
" Thank God for ODSTs . "
Coming up to one of the dead Jackals, laying face up amid the still-hot ruins of the tower, Buck nudged the dead alien firmly with the toe of his boot. Their was no response.
Dead as dead can be. You got what you deserved. Same as any Covie, or Insurrectionist.
" All hostiles KIA. ", the noncom stated. " Dubbo, come here. Come. Here. And bring Deckard with you. On the double ! "
" Tayari Square's still the objective, and we don't have all day ! "
They were strangely beautiful, Engineers.
A more accurate description would, granted, be weird as all heck. Because, frankly, there was no creature in the entire animal kingdom that you could compare Engineers to- aside from jellyfish, that is.
Jellyfish, that floated around in the air, and that had a head that looked like it was stolen from a giant tortoise. On the end of that head, were its, well, its eyes, for lack of a better word. 6 onyx-colored dots, that was all.
Supporting the head, was the engineer's body. A bulging, lumpy, vaguely spherical body. Trailing beneath it was an array of 4 tentacles, with 2 more poking up from the point where that long and narrow head met the body. The two upper tentacles had curiously fan-shaped tips, and two of the lower ones did as well.
As a final touch, the whole package was levitating- hovering several meters off the ground via the use of internally placed buoyancy sacs. They seemed to work like a hot air balloon, keeping the Engineer aloft. They were not at all the swiftest of fliers, but they weren't sluggish, either.
As odd as all of that was, what truly made the engineers engineers, was their colors.
The body ? A deep shade of purple, the same as that of eggplant, with luminous cyan ( The Covenant seemed to have a fondness for cyan ) patterns spreading out across all the hilly contours of the Engineer's " torso ". Each of the tentacles was the same color as the patterns, as was the head.
Even in broad daylight, the luminescence of the Engineer was strikingly obvious. The strong African sunlight that was filling the plaza couldn't dampen it. If night had already fallen, the glow would've been even more impressive.
Veronica Dare had studied these creatures. Seen images and watched grainy video footage of them. Scoured every last scrap of every variety of intel ONI had on them and understood that they were the most sought after fixation for ONI's Section One. Her section.
But, she had not ever come face to face with one.
Until now, that is. Now, there was an honest-to-God Engineer, right outside her SOIEV !
It was right there. Right. There.
God. Today is the day I get to meet one of you.
The creature hovered, rather serenely, a few yards outside the SOIEV's hatch, with each of its tentacles gently swaying . Its long head tweaked forward, all 6 " eyes " seeming to focus on looking through the glass at who might be inside.
With a mildly shaking hand, Dare reached out and tapped hard on the glass.
Dnk, dnk, dnk !
With a muffled shreee, the Engineer pulled back. It'd been drifting closer, the tips of its tentacles brushing the edges of the hatch. At the expected noise, though, it was clearly startled.
Woah- easy, easy ! Wasn't out to scare you.
Besides, you might be my ticket out of here.
Engineers were flighty creatures, easily spooked. Their usual response to danger was to huddle up and obviously hope that the clear and present danger would simply leave them alone. That immensely strong desire for self preservation was only exceeded by one other desire they had in them:
Their desire to fix things.
Anything, that was. Engineers were the most skilled and talented tinkerers, mechanics, and inventors in the known galaxy, bar none. Their capabilities when it came to those fields were nothing short of mythical; all field intel gathered proved that Engineers could accomplish feats such as disabling and reassembling a tank's engine, in mere seconds.
They could take anything, absolutely anything that was mechanical and/or electronic , and proceed to either dismantle it down to its base components, reconfigure and improve it to a level of performance it couldn't ever have attained otherwise, put it back together if they had disassembled it, or-
Any combination of those. They were supreme masters at their craft, to get a tad dramatic. It was no wonder that the Covenant were relying on them so heavily, given how they could take a Wraith that had been shot to the knife edge of obliteration, and get it back to full working order. Having them gave the aliens a tremendous edge, one that couldn't be matched by the UNSC.
An edge we need. An edge, that I dragged a team of the best ODSTs I've ever heard off into this deathtrap of a city to get our hands on
But not any of them will give it to us. Not even this one. But, I can get something out of this-
" Hello ", she mouthed at the skittish alien. Whether it could " hear " her through the hatch wasn't clear- this was her first encounter with an Engineer. To have any hope and chance at getting the alien to help her, she had to prove she wasn't the enemy.
Palms out, she held up both hands. Her M6 SOCOM was still tucked away; the Engineer could only see she held nothing.
See ? Nothing to fear here. Its ok
It seemed to work, too. Carefully, but with some commitment , the Engineer drifted closer. Puffs of its internal buyouncy sacs pivoting and steering it, the bulbous creature floated right up to the hatch.
A few tentacles reached out. Tentatively, but within seconds, the Engineer became more confident.
Dare got a jolt of 5-year-old level amazement, as the tips of each tentacle split into innumerable cilia ! The abruptly altered tentacle gently began to dance across the meandering cracks and fractures on the hatch's glass-
- near instantly repairing them. The cracks and gaps fused up, as if made of liquid.
So, that's how they do it ! Well, that's what it looks like, at least. The exact mechanics will likely be beyond us.
There weren't any words Dare could think of to fully encapsulate this. Both for how astonishing it was to witness, and for what it could mean for the UNSC- and especially ONI's section One.
Her mission had become suddenly that much more important. She had to get back to the rest of Alpha 9.
As the source of her newly found excitement continued its mechanical ministrations-
- heavily thudding footsteps suddenly sounded from nearby.
They, and the guttural growling that immediately accompanied them ( " Rgggghh ! " ), both turned Dare's blood into ice.
She recognized both.
Oh, God.
A Jiralhane.