++August 12, 0600 Hours++
Despite our previous assumption that we would be at Firebase Golf for only a single night, that quickly turned into a week, and now a few days more. Horn has delayed the attack, presumably waiting for the Covenant's main force to consolidate for a decisive strike. The Covenant have continued to land more forces on this half of Reach, but it's scattered and seems uncoordinated. I look down at the data pad in my hand. Reports show the UNSC successfully fighting back the Covenant at every key battle across Reach. We're winning.
Naomi enters the barracks and beckons us around her. "Come see this."
She stands at the center of our rag-tag circle, and each of us is enthralled by the holographic display held in the palm of her hand. The images being displayed are of a massive Covenant force, the scale of which boggles my mind. Thousands of dots, like stars in the sky, covered a wide valley like a living blanket. The landing zone appears to be in some kind of canyon, probably North of our current position.
"My God…" Wink breaths, displaying uncharacteristic surprise.
"What are we looking at, Naomi?" Chance asks, I assume trying to find some explanation for what he was seeing beyond the obvious.
"These are images captured last night at approximately zero, two hundred hours by Noble team on Szurdok Ridge in the Ütközet region. As you can see…" She pauses, and keys something into the holo display, which causes the image to shift and focus on a particular area. "Covenant forces have deployed a sizable ground force in preparation for invasion."
"How come this is the first we're hearing about it? Early warning sensors should have picked this up the moment..." Scratch trails off, bewilderment playing across his face.
Naomi gestures at a structure within the display, a large conical spire with some kind of energy field emanating from its apex. "The Covenant are using some sort of energy field which has hidden the force from sataline scans until now. A distortion was picked up, and Noble team was sent to investigate. They found this."
"An army." I say quietly. "They must have been unloading this entire time." Naomi nods.
"What's the plan?" Chance asks, clearly eager to get to the meat of the issue.
"Frontal assault." She says carefully. The assessment hangs in the air for a moment, Kilo-Five absorbing the weight of the information. I understand the UNSC's perspective - if we can deliver a powerful, decisive first strike, we can cripple the Covenant before the invasion even has a chance to truly begin.
"They want to end the war before it turns into Harvest." I say.
Chance nods. "Seems that way. Have the element of surprise and they want to use it."
"These images are classified." Naomi adds. "Only ONI and Hi-Com have access."
She's telling us to keep things to ourselves. Everyone nods.
At that moment a voice crackles over the bases' loudspeakers. "All UNSC forces report to your ready stations, and prepare for a briefing from Colonel Horn over the sec-net…"
Chance nods at the squad, and Naomi keys the holo image away. I follow behind her as we move toward the armory. We prepare, double and triple checking our armor, refilling magazines and cleaning what can be cleaned.
With the briefing about to start we gather around the vehicle bay, standing beside two Warthog's Naomi has managed to get assigned to us. I'm anxious, and tap my foot on the metal maintenance deck, hoping to get the move out order sooner than later. I hate waiting and I've been waiting for over a week watching others fight.
Several of the engineers, their yellow overalls making them stand out among the drab, olive-green fatigues of the rank-and-file, are gathered around each other. They speak in hushed whispers, the topic, rumors of a big operation.
"Word gets around quick." Viking comments.
Chance glances over and nods, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.
There isn't much to talk about, and each of us is minding their own, doing their best to make last minute preparation or calm their nerves. We wait for the bases' holoscreens to come alive with the briefing broadcast. Viking pulls himself into the bed of one of the Warthogs, checking the ammo storage for the main weapon and pulling a diagnostics cable from his wrist. Scratch is sat on the hood, legs spread and rifle laid by his side while Chance and Wink are talking to each other over a datapad in Wink's hand. Naomi is standing next to me in front of the other Warthog, her expressionless helmet tilted upwards towards the blank holoscreen.
Ever since our conversation on the battlements I've felt a certain coldness about her, like a door has been shut. Her interactions have been curt, only ever a passing sentence. I feel compelled to try and explain, and maybe repair something, but I don't know how. If I tell her the truth there will be no going back and that terrifies me.
"So… Did you read my file yet?" I begin.
Her helmet moves an almost imperceptible amount towards me. Just then the screen flickers on and Colonel Horn's face appears in the center of the screen. He's an older man, in his late sixties, early seventies, but still has a head full of thick, albeit white hair. The lines on his face are deep, and a burn scar covers the left side of his face. Both eyes are dark and piercing, and when he speaks it is a low, practiced rumble.
"Men and women of the UNSC…" He begins. "I am here today to deliver a promise, and a declaration. We are at war with the Covenant once again. Once again we are faced with an uncaring, unsympathetic enemy who cannot be reasoned with, who cannot be bargained with, and who desires the very extinction of our species."
I look at the others who have gathered around, each watching the screen with rapt attention. The engineers have halted their conversations, and even the sounds of the base have faded into the background. Everyone is listening.
"But I promise you this will not be another Harvest. Today we have the upper hand, and today we use it. This is the start of Operation Hidden Dagger. Thanks to your tireless efforts we are in a stronger position now than we have ever been. We are armed, well supplied, and supported by all branches. ONI's own fireteams have worked day and night to provide invaluable intelligence about enemy positions and movement. Through this we have learned the Covenant have landed an invasion force in Szurdok Ridge." Horn pauses, letting the information sink in. His face is stern, eyes steely.
"We will crush this invasion force before it has time to prepare. Within the hour we will deploy forces from across Reach to engage in a coordinated surprise attack. You will not be alone. The Navy, ONI, and our heroic Spartans will be in this fight." From outside I hear a small cheer, maybe from a group of navy flyboys excited to be mentioned, maybe from marines eager to get into the fight.
"This is the moment where victory is assured. This is the moment humanity stands tall in the face of our old enemy and says, 'We will not go gently into that good night.' This is the moment we fight, and this is the moment we win." The Colonel strikes a crisp salute and holds it. "I salute you all. God's speed. Colonel Horn out."
The screen flickers a moment and then shuts off. Not even a heartbeat later the bases' speaker system comes alive, declaring deployment orders across the base. At once the motor pool is flooded with engineers topping off tanks and performing final weapon's checks. Behind me the roar of a Warthog's big block engine sounds and I turned to see Scratch behind the wheel.
"We movin' out, Sir?" He asks with a grin on his face.
The large, forty-nine inch tires of the warthog excitedly tear at the dry earth of Szurdok Ridge, spitting chunks of dirt and rocks up into the growing dust cloud. It's nearly day break, and the horizon is just starting to turn that mystical, purple-orange hue of first light. I stare at the sky, and almost forget the stress that has been a constant ever since we arrived on Reach. A sharp jerk of the suspension shakes me out of the calm however, and Viking curses aloud from his position behind me on the main gun.
"Can you try not to hit every single crater?" He says with unhidden annoyance. "This gun keeps digging into my shoulder."
Wink snorts from her position behind the wheel. "I'll be sure to put in a request with the development commission - make sure they get this valley smoothed out for your comfort and concern." She yanks the Warthog sideways, narrowly avoiding a sizable boulder.
Viking grunts, the force of the maneuver pushing him sideways as he grips onto the mounted gun for stability. "That'd be nice." He murmurs.
I look to our right, and see the other Warthog of Kilo-Five keeping pace, swerving and darting in a similarly uncomfortable fashion. Scratch is behind the wheel, with Chance in the passenger seat, the brilliant teal of Naomi's armor on the gun. Beyond that are dozens more; Warthogs in various configurations, Scorpion MBTs, and above an entire combat wing of Falcons with a few gunship pattern Pelican for CAS. The assault force is vast, more than I've seen the UNSC deploy in a long time.
"Colonel Horn wasn't kidding when he said people were coming from all over Reach." I say over the squad channel.
"The Colonel has pulled from defensive installations across the planet." Naomi said. "Key defensive platforms planetside are operating at less than twenty-percent staff."
"You sound worried." Viking says.
"No. It just means we cannot afford to lose."
"With you around, I don't think losing is possible." Viking laughs.
Naomi doesn't respond. I push back memories that remind me just how fragile the Spartans can be, and try to believe we'll all make it through this alive.
"Wink, deviate to the right - That's Noble Team in front of us. We're going to cross a bridge behind them then split off at a highway junktion."
"Roger that, Sir." Wink replies and I feel the weight of the Warthog shift to the left and she turns right.
"We will be within visual range in the next minute." Naomi comments.
I can barely make out the Spartans from Noble Team in front of us, one is in bright blue armor and another is in black. A boom echoes through the air and to the right, on the ridge of the canyon at the base of what looks to be a Covenant outpost of some kind of pillar an explosion ripples out. The alien structure collapses to the ground.
"The pylons are down! Contact, contact!" Comes the panicked voice from one of the Falcon pilots.
Like an ant hill being stepped on by a careless child, the sky is immediately filled with Covenant Bashees. Then they're on us. They speed and howl unnaturally through the air, opening up with twin-linked plasma from their bulbous noses. Blue bolts collide with the Warthog to our left, tearing through its engine bay and igniting the fuel within. The vehicle dips forwards, flames exploding outwards, and its front buries into the dirt causing it to somersault forwards through the air before crashing down and rolling several times.
"Get that fifty firing!" Wink shouts and immediately the air is filled with the cacophony of battle.
Viking sweeps the gun from left to right, spraying bullets into the swarm of enemy aircraft. One takes a hit to the left pylon and dips sideways.
"Stay with it!" I shout and raise my rifle, squeezing the DMR's trigger several times.
Viking and I follow the Banshee down as it tries to recover, pulling off into a wide turn but in the process exposing its belly. We pump shot after shot into the weak underside of the enemy aircraft and it finally erupts into purple flame then soars into the ground. There isn't time to celebrate though, as another swoops in and takes its place.
"Incoming!" I warn, just as the enemy fire hits our position. Part of the windscreen is sheared off, as a plasma bolt impacts only a few inches from my head, and melts the headrest behind me. Several shots hit Viking's position, but the gunshield's heavy metal absorbs the abuse and Viking's return fire forces the Banshee to abandon its attack line.
"I've got the bridge in sight!" Scratch radios from the other Warthog who I see are having just as much trouble as we are, with part of its rear bumper hanging off limply and battering the ground.
"Right behind you!" Wink replies, wheeling the unruly Warthog into position.
With the battle truly commencing in earnest, dust is swirling all around us now reducing visibility. I look up just in time to see a group of Falcons roar into view, guns opening up and raining spent brass down on us. The concentrated fire from the Falcons knocks two more Banshees out of the sky with one spinning sideways and impacting the side of the bridge.
"Pull off!" Chance orders, and I watch as the bridge collapses just ahead of him.
Wink yanks the wheel but I see Noble's Warthog press forwards, undeterred. The Spartan driver guns the engine, and takes the bridge at full speed, trying to jump the gap. The Warthog clears it, but crashes onto the other side, rolling over as it does so. We speed down a natural ramp into a riverbed where I lose sight of Noble team.
"Did they make it!?" Scratch askes, his helmet turning rapidly, trying to get a look.
"Yeah, they made it!" I answer while firing at another incoming banshee who has swooped into the narrow gully in an attempt to chase us down.
"We have to keep going," Chance says, "Here, take a left and get us out of the riverbed then head towards the objective. We'll have to fight through the main lines."
"Let's do it!" Viking replies, still spitting lead at the aircraft pursuing us. It's pylon is hit and starts spewing black smoke. I watch the pilot try to pull out of the gully only to smash into the side after failing to gain altitude. It erupts into flame and debris, the rolling wreck tearing itself apart.
Scratch finds another natural incline in the gully and drives the Warthog up the side, bouncing as its nubbly tires struggle for grip on the steep incline. They clear the edge of the riverbed where it meets the plateau and we follow. For a second I'm weightless as our Warthog takes the same jump. We come down hard with a jolt and a swerve, but the Warthog shows no sign of slowing.
In front of us is the vast expanse of the engagement. A Scorpion MBT drives by, then fires its main gun with an ear-splitting boom. The sheel screams towards an enemy Scarab, a massive four-legged machine, beetle-like in its appearance with an articulated head that fires beams of deadly plasma. Several Warthogs follow, their gunners firing wildly, doing their best to keep the enemy aircraft from targeting the valuable armor.
Ten minutes of swerving through wreckage and enemy fire, though it has felt like an hour, and our primary objective is finally in sight. I look towards the ridge, where the enemy hardpoint lies perched on an outcropping of the canyon wall. The large Type-38 Anti-Aircraft Cannon, or 'Tyrant,' is preventing two Paris Class frigates from providing much needed support to the ground units.
The radio crackles to life, the marines' voice on the other end half obscured by background noise. "This is Foxhound-Three, requesting support! We're pinned down enroute to the Tyrant! Low on ammo and in need of additional medical supplies. Enemy plasma-mortars are present at the location, and dug in. I repeat, enemy armor is present. We need a Scorpion up here stat!"
"There is no way we're getting armor through these rocks." Wink says, swerving around another boulder half the size of the Warthog itself.
We are progressing uphill now, heading along a quickly-narrowing path up the canyon wall. Ahead the wall curves, and beyond it towards the enemy Tyrant's position, I can hear the crack of gunfire. Below to my right is the bulk of the battle and what we had just driven through. Looking down from this elevated position I can see the mass of UNSC forces pressing on towards the main landing zone. A huge dust cloud now obscures almost everything and within the yellow flashes of Scorpion main guns and Warthog anti-air fire compete for dominance against the blue of their enemy. A sudden bump and right front wheel of the Warthog gets caught on a rock, the rubber squealing as it vies for grip. The rear tyres dig into the ground, churning the earth below and jolting the vehicle.
"Use the diff-lock!" Viking says from his position.
"I know how to drive, Viking!" Wink curses, thumping the wheel with her gloved hand. "Chance, I think we're stuck."
I look up and see the red tail lights of Chance's Warthog about fifty feet ahead, struggling to get over a large boulder. I shift myself over and disembark to examine the wheel when chance comes over the radio. "We can't get much further up here anyway. Disembark and catch up. Grab as much ammo as you can, and extra medpacks for the marines."
Towards the back of the Warthog Viking is struggling to get a large pack on his back, one he had packed previously full of ammunition and spare medical supplies. I walk over and grab the underside of the backpack, shifting the weight onto his back. He lets out a grunt, strapping it into place.
"Thanks." He says, and does a few mini-jumps to get everything shifted into place before grabbing his rifle from the truck bed and racking it.
Wink is already moving ahead, rifle in hand. "Come on boys, keep up."
"Right behind you, mom." Viking replies, and taps me on the shoulder before taking off at a light jog.
We are about two hundred yards away from the Foxhound-Three, and I can see that the marine squad has been pushed back from the enemy position. They're hiding alongside the canyon wall, behind an outcropping of boulders that, for the moment, is shielding them from plasma artillery.
"Wink, flank left and get overwatch on Foxhound. Viking, you and Ginger head towards Foxhound's position. Provide aid and get me a sitrep on-."
"You all need to hear this." Naomi cuts him off and patches a command channel through.
"Kilo-Five this is Colonel Holland, new task assignment; cease all objectives immediately and pull back. Redeploy your team to Orbital Defense Generator B-242. This is a code black, all other objectives secondary. You have a thirty-minute window to get there, as Covenant forces are breaking through the Eastern flank enroute to the facility. Do you copy, over?"
Viking's mirrored visor turns to look at Chance then back towards the Foxhound's position. From our position it's easy to see they aren't in good shape. Several men are clutching their sides, crimson leaking out onto the orange earth. They have managed to drag several of their wounded into cover by the rocks, but the plasma mortars are continuing to pound their position. One man screams, thrown to the ground by a blast of heated energy. He flails for his rifle while another marine grabs him by the collar and drags him back into cover.
"Sergeant, they won't last without us." Viking protests, his voice hard and straining.
"We have our orders." Chance says after a meaningful pause.
"We can't just let these men die when we're this close!" I say, suddenly getting flashbacks of Harvest and the men we left to die there. "If we don't take out the Tyrant the whole battle may be lost. Just look at what we drove through on the way here. We need air support from the Frigates!"
"Exactly." Viking adds.
"We don't have all the info." Wink interjects. "If we're being ordered off the assault, imagine what's happening at the ODG facility? Might be even worse?"
Naomi's characteristically calm, almost unnatural voice quiets the squad. "Ginger, we are not in a position to question our orders. The mission comes first. We have to leave."
"And you're okay with that? Just leaving." I snap at her and wish I hadn't a heartbeat later.
"We're wasting time." Scratch adds.
"If we fight the same way we fought on Harvest the result will be the same." Naomi's visor stares right at me.
Her words cut deep, and the memories force me to look away in shame.
"No… We can't." Viking protests.
"Come on." I reply, the defeat clear in my voice. I hate the sacrifices we're being forced to make, now more than ever. This isn't what we were trained to do, this isn't how humanity is supposed to fight. We don't leave people to die, treat them like meat, like fodder. I shoulder my rifle and move away towards the Warthog.
"Fall in." Chance says to Viking and I see him slowly rise.
Wink and Scratch fall in behind Chance, jogging back to their Warthog. Viking and myself take up the rear, each of us risking a glance backwards. Another call comes from Foxhound over the radio, and this time the voice of a much younger man. I take a deep breath, cut the channel and move on.
"I'm with Viking and Ginger, Wink switch Warthogs." Naomi orders.
Wink nods, and shifts position without complaint. When we reach our Warthog Naomi moves to the front of the vehicle, shoulders her rifle, and grabs the front rambar in both hands. With a grunt of effort she lifts the entire front of the Warthog clear of the rock and shoves it backwards ten feet, freeing it from the beached position. Viking and I stand there stoopified for a fraction of a second, and I realize how frequently I am starting to forget what Naomi really is.
"Come on." She says.
"I've got the gun." Viking announces, hopping into the bed of the truck and swiveling the turret around.
I hop in the passenger seat beside Naomi and rest my rifle on the rollbar to stabilize it, ready to engage whatever tries to block our path. Naomi and Wink both gun the engine of their Warthogs and soon we're speeding off in the opposite direction of the battle, falling back inland towards Orbital Defense Generator B-242. We're already five minutes behind schedule, the window fast closing.
Soon we're far behind the main force of the battle and making good time. Here the battle is quieter, only the distant crack of gunfire occasionally punctuated by the boom of a tank gun. Around us wrecks of Scorpions and Warthogs crackle with fire. In some cases the charred armor of their drivers and crew are still in their positions, helmets forever looking ahead. ODST are no strangers to hard decisions, in fact we're known for it. Spats like the one before are kept private within the squad, but they do happen. Still, this one feels different. As we pass more and more death on our way towards this new objective I wonder, how far is too far? At what point will we give up our humanity just in order to ensure victory? Will it be worth it? Is survival the ultimate goal that justifies anything? I look at Naomi sitting in the driver's seat. Her helmet is forward, eyes presumably scanning the road. She's probably calculating the most efficient route to the objective, as well as a hundred other things. I think of the girl under the armor, the girl that was once a child with a family who loved her, who lived on a small outer-rim planet no one had paid much attention to. Does she even remember her home?
"James?" Naomi asks over a private channel.
"Hu?"
"Are you alright? You seem distracted."
I frown behind my visor and realize I've been staring at the side of her helmet. "Fine. Just- thinking."
"Don't." She says. "We follow orders. Always. No matter what they are, we get the job done, we push through."
"It doesn't bother you?" I ask.
There is a long pause. The Warthog continues to bounce over scraps of metal and debris as we scream towards our objective. "No."
I'm about to follow up with another question when a roar of thunder echoes through the sky above. No, not thunder, engines. A Paris Class Frigates breaches the cloud cover above us, bursting through like a primordial serpent. It's over five hundred meters long, and one of a pair on standby to support the assault. I watch as wisps of atmosphere cling to the hull of the massive ship as it powers towards its objective.
"It's the Grafton!" Scratch calls over the radio.
"The marines must have taken out that Tyrant if she's coming in this close." I say, shifting my position so I can look behind the Warthog, wanting to keep the cruiser in sight as it moves past us. It dives forwards into the valley and I see the venting on the side of the MAC gun open up. "It's going to fire!" I shout. Viking whirls in his position pointing the gun rearward, and both Warthogs slow and come to a halt.
The voice of Control comes over the coms. "Be advised, all ground units, Frigate 318-Heavy is inbound and MAC rounds have been authorized."
I watch the Grafton move into position and fire at an object I can't quite make out. The bright shot lances through the air, and even at this distance I feel the shockwave. Seconds later wind buffets our Warthog as the pressure wave passes and the sound echoes through the dusty plains of the canyon.
"About time." Scratch says, a grin in his voice.
A blue lance, as bright as the sun, drives through the spine of the Grafton from above and punches clean through its belly. Fire erupts from the monstrous wound, and the ship starts its rapid descent reachward. I watch the engines break apart first, the strain of keeping the severed ship afloat causing chain overloads in the quad reactors. More explosions tear through its guts, the engine pylons crumpling like tinfoil. The ship cracks in half, the front half colliding with a cliff and breaking apart, the rear half nose-diving into the ground where it is consumed by flame.
"What happened?!" Viking shouts in confusion.
Above the Grafton a Covenant ship of almost incomprehensible size decloaks, appearing out of thin air, and then descends from the low atmosphere. A Covenant CSO-class Supercarrier, presumably the one that has been unloading most of the Covenant forces here in the valley. They've been here the entire time, hidden. I don't have time to process what I'm seeing before Naomi guns the engine.
"What are you doing?" Viking asks, clearing wanting to turn back and help.
"We have to get to the ODG. The defense platforms won't have the power to take out something that size without them."
The other Warthog quickly falls in behind us. I try not to look up. I focus on the road ahead. I focus on the mission.