++August 14th, 1248 Hours++
"Slipspace rupture detected." The calm voice of the extranet AI repeats - this is the tenth time she's said those words, with no sign of stopping. "Slipspace rupture detected." I hear screaming, and watch with placid amazement as the sky is slowly filled with sleek, beetle-like hulls.
Colonel Holland has been rushed onto the pelican - I can see the marines that are his escort securing him into a crash harness.
"How many?" I hear the Colonel ask.
"Unknown sir, but it looks like the whole damn fleet!"
The pilot throttles the engines and within an instant the Pelican is moving full tilt away from the city. I look back to the sky - already I count three Corvettes, and more are arriving by the second, bursting from the dense cloud cover like breaching whales.
"We need to move." Naomi says. "We need to retrieve Scratch's tags as there will likely be no time for a proper burial."
I look towards the Spartan, whose silver visor stares at the sky fixedly. I wonder if she can see past the clouds, and if she knows how many there really are. I don't ask the question, as the possible answer scares me.
We stand before the body, having only had enough time to wrap Scratch in a black body bag. The surface has a shine to it that I find oddly discomforting. It's too clean; it covers up what I don't want to see. His helmet has been placed on top of the bag where his chest would be, along with his dog tags and rifle. There is nothing else we can do.
Nobody has anything to say, or maybe we all have too much to say. My mouth is dry, and as I think back on all the times Scratch has saved my skin, or had just been there for me as a friend I feel my throat tighten. If I speak it will hurt more, and so I don't. In the background, and from shattered windows of the highrise, I can see the Covenant cruisers begin their assault. They are numerous, and already the tides are turning. The ground rumbles as AA emplacements open up on the swarms of Banshee fighters that spill from their hangers like wasps from a distrubed nest. On the coastline plumes of orange fire and black smoke rise into the sky.
Chance steps forwards and I watch with held breath as he removes the tags from the bag. He stands up slowly, pushing off his own leg as he rises. He stares at the thin metal icons stamped with Scratch's name and serial number. He looks older than I remember. So does Wink, and I probably do as well. Viking looks exhausted; his face is grave and pale, and his eyes have deep, black circles beneath them.
Wordlessly, Chance approaches Viking and places the tags in his hand. He claps him on the shoulder, and gives him a slight nod. I look at the ground for a moment, and then pull my helmet into position. Chance does the same, as does Wink. Viking does so last.
"Command this is Kilo-Five, come in command." Chance shoulders his rifle as he talks, and moves towards the elevators.
I switch over to the command channel, and instantly there are a hundred people talking at once. I can pick out a few things in the noise; individual squads reporting casualties, or panicked captains asking for updated orders. Everything is being shouted, and it's hard to blame them.
"The extranet is a mess." Wink comments, "There's just too much traffic."
Naomi nods, taking point. "The Navy has been forced into retreat. It is likely UNSC Command is scrambling defenses as we speak, but it will take some time to react."
"We don't have time to wait for orders." Viking protests.
"I was not suggesting we do so." Naomi counters.
As we get into the elevator Chance moves to press the ground floor, but Naomi stops him, shielding the button with her hand.
"Excuse me, Sergeant. I believe the roof would be more suitable." There is a coy humor to her voice that surprises me. "I believe payback is in order." She adds.
"Fuckin' ay." Viking responds, already eager at the prospect. So am I.
Chance hits the roof. "What's the plan?"
Naomi patches a comms channel through to our helmets, and a man's gruff voice suddenly fills my helmet, distorted by heavy static. "Sergeant Major Duvall requesting– the M95– down. Repeat– defenses at F.O.B. Golf 2-2. Need backup! Any UN– respond!"
"I have isolated this signal coming from the perimeter of a coastal firebase currently in the path of a Covenant Corvette. Their anti-air defenses are critical to holding the docks."
The elevator dings a happy tone, and opens into a stairwell. Naomi is first out, and I move in right behind her. Two flights of stairs go by and then we're out onto the roof. I see that the area has been turned into a staging ground. Five falcons are sat on skids, and their pilots are frantically flicking switches with hands holding headsets to their ears. This must have been the team keeping the majority of the Banshees off the building while we advanced up from the ground.
Naomi wastes no time in approaching one, and I hear her easily over the roar of running turbines. "Pilot, we require transport to Firebase Golf 2-2."
The pilot stares at the Spartan, his brown eyes flicking back and forth between her armored figure and us. "S-sorry, Sir, I can't do that. I have orders-"
"They're being overridden." Chance says, already climbing into the back of the aircraft. "Tell them a Spartan told you to do it." He adds.
The pilot frowns, but nods and signals for the rest of us to board. "Beats sitting here doing nothing." He replies.
Within a minute we're lifting off from the roof and soaring down over the side. I am sitting on the edge of the cramped aircraft, one hand on the railing and the other holding my rifle. Wind whips at my armor and clothes, and I nervously tap my foot against the skids. There is a pressure on my shoulder, and I look to see the blue armor of Naomi's hand. She gives me a nod, and I return the gesture with a hidden smile.
The dense streets of New Alex pass by in a blur and as we divert down a wide boulevard I can see a flare burning atop a small pedestrian bridge. Further down I spy the overturned wreck of the Pelican we arrived in. The cockpit is black with soot, and the memory of burning fuel fills my nostrils. It takes us less than five minutes to cover the distance to the coast, and already the boom of heavy plasma batteries can be heard in the near distance. The Corvettes are wasting no time delivering their payloads into the docks and industrial districts, reducing fortified positions to rubble with enough time.
"This is as close as I can get you!" The pilot shouts, and sets the aircraft down in a small grass clearing next to a sandbag emplacement with marines hunkered down behind it.
"Good enough." Naomi says, and hops down. I feel the aircraft shift as her weight is removed, then I follow.
The Falcon peels off as soon as we've disembarked, likely called away on some urgent task, and a marine with a ruddy face and a flat patrol cap jogs up towards us.
"Didn't expect them to send a damn Spartan. You're a sight for sore eyes!" He calls out.
"Sergeant Chance, Naval Intelligence. Nobody sent us. What's the situation?"
"Sergeant Major Duvall, Marines. We lost the firebase. Damn Covies landed right on top of us soon as the big boys broke atmo. Didn't have time to get the M95 targeted, but they haven't destroyed it yet. If we can retake the position we can force that Corvette back out to sea - we sure as hell need the breathing room." As he speaks the Sergeant points through a rocky pass that appears to lead into a well-groomed garden of some sort.
"What is this place?" I ask.
"Was a Hotel." Duvall replies. "It's got a hell of a view of the bay and made a damn good place for the M95. If we can hold this we've got almost half the docks covered just from this single position!"
I hear Viking slap the charging handle on his rifle. "Enemy force?" He asks.
"Big - Two spirits, but more are likely gonna show once we start fighting back. Dropped a full combat team and they brought Brutes along with 'em. Big fuckers too, packing some serious firepower. Lost two men in the retreat."
I count the remaining marines - there are seven, not including the Sergeant. Without reinforcements this is looking grim. Then I remember we have Naomi.
Naomi moves past Duvall, "I will distract the Covenant. Please focus on securing the gun emplacement."
We follow Naomi around a small bend that leads into a wide open space alongside a green hill. Steppes have been carved into the side, leading up to a glimmering hotel of white and silver. The steppes for a complex series of waving patterns I assume are meant to mimic the sea which it looks upon, and in the middle of it all is a raised area. The platform looks like an observation deck for hotel guests, or maybe the patio for a restaurant. Whatever its original now sandbags surround the shadow of a M-95 rocket battery.
"Enemy spotted." Wink radios, "Two Brutes left side of the platform."
I see her call. One is covered in blue armor, the other in red is holding a DMR and firing it into the sky. I hear his roar of challenge, though he is not looking towards us yet.
"Get a shot and wait for my mark." Chance orders.
Wink breaks off to the left, and drops to her belly. She flicks the bipod out from her rifle and sets up the heavy weapon. I keep advancing with the rest of the ground when Naomi crosses my field of view, heading down the steppes towards the lower part of the hotel.
"Naomi?" I ask.
"Please focus on securing the gun emplacement." She repeats, her voice focused as she starts to pick up speed. It always amazes me how fast she can move with all that weight.
"Target acquired." Wink says.
"Hold." Chance says as we climb another of the steppes.
A marine accidentally bumps my shoulder as we arrive at the balcony of the hotel. He apologizes before falling into position on my flank. We're now in position slightly above the platform, and I double check that my rifle is hot.
"Weapons free!" Chance radios, and Wink's rifle roars to life.
The brute in red armor collapses, his head vanishing in a cloud of crimson mist. I waste no time and brace my rifle against the railing then depress the trigger. A stream of yellow tracers arcs through the air, peppering the area where the other Brute is still looking around in confusion. A few of my shots hit, but it barely slows the alien who raises a chunky pistol and returns fire.
Red streaks of hot metal hiss past my head, leaving small smoke trails hanging in the air, before the spikes embed themselves in the hotel facade behind me. The team of marines open up, their rifles joining my own and within seconds the Brute's legs are cut out from under him. He roars in frustration, still firing his weapon wildly and crawling on the ground. Another burst of chattering rifle puts an end to his resistance.
I break cover, moving with Viking down towards the platform and its sandbag safety. Plasma starts arcing overhead as Grunts, Jackals, and a smattering of additional Brutes take notice of our attack from the steppes further to the right. One of the marines following us takes a hit and goes down screaming, and I look back to see him clutching his leg in agony. Another marine is soon by his side, dragging him forwards.
"Get to cover!" He shouts, firing his rifle from under his arm.
We're the first to reach the emplacement, and I slam myself against a waist-high wall of sandbags just as a stream of blue plasma streaks overhead. I peak over the barrier to see an Elite pulling a plasma grenade off his belt. He depresses the activation on the side of the blue sphere and raises the device above his head. Then without warning it explodes, momentarily engulfing the alien in a blue ball of light before sending him to the ground in a pile. Wink's rifle echoes off the hotel.
"Establish a perimeter around the emplacement! Jenkins, you're on the gun! Get that baby firing!" It's the Sergeant Major who I'm hearing, electing to shout his orders like the commanders of old instead of using the radio. He has an impressive set of lungs.
I watch a thinner, bespectacled man dash towards the control panel of the M95. He drops into a skid like a baseball player hitting home, and slides into position at the keyboard. Within a heartbeat he's hammering away and I hear the large battery begin to click as it starts up.
"WRAITH!" Someone screams.
Once more I look over the barrier. The Grunts and Jackals have almost all been cut down, blue blood staining the grass, but beyond their position and further down towards the shoreline a glimmering purple hull looms menacingly. The Covenant tank fires, a burst of plasma easily the size of a compact car, arcs high into the sky towards us.
"Take cover!" Chance shouts.
I watch the ball of death move through the air. Time seems to slow down as my brain desperately tries to work out its trajectory. Do I need to abandon the M-95? What if the shot falls short and I inadvertently jump into the blast? Should I run back instead? It's too late now, and I abandon any attempts at guessing the impact location and simply huddle on the ground like everyone else.
The ground shakes violently and for a moment I fear the burn of plasma will soon melt my flesh. Then it's over, and with a wave of relief I realize the shot has fallen short.
"We need a Jackhammer!" One marine shouts.
I look around for any evidence of the anti tank weapon affectionately titled the 'jackhammer' but find nothing. Nobody expected the Covenant to be able to land heavy armor when UNSC air defenses were still active.
"Naomi?" I call out over the radio, "We could really use your help!"
"Do not worry, Ginger. I have it under control."
Down towards the coast I see a blur of movement. From this distance I can make out the corpses of a dozen Covenant troopers, and a pair of grunts fleeing towards the Wraith. A Mongoose assault bike drives full tilt towards them. Naomi is onboard, clutching the quad bike's throttle and pushing it into the red. The engine roars as rubber tares as well manicured grass, and sends dark brown earth sputtering into the air. It doesn't take long for the Wraith to notice the oncoming Spartan, and it moves with surprising agility, with the gravity propulsion drive the Covenant are so fond of giving off its distinctive whine.
"Cover fire!" I shout and depress the trigger while sweeping my rifle towards the fleeing grunts. One goes down, and the second follows as the marines open up.
The Wraith finishes its turn towards Naomi and the support gunner, whose position is just underneath the main cannon of the tank, releases a stream of blue plasma towards her. With inhuman reaction time she swerves the agile bike to and fro, splitting the stream of incoming fire and dodging several shots by mere inches. The Wraith starts moving backwards - he's panicking.
"Focus on the Wraith!" Viking shouts, grabbing one of the marines and forcibly pulling his gun to target.
I guide my gun towards the tank as well, releasing several bursts in its direction. Shot after shot hits home, and bounce off the purple hull uselessly. The armor is too thick, and at this distance there's virtually no chance we're doing any damage, but the gunner isn't so lucky. A shot catches the Elite in the neck, and a spray of dark blood erupts. The stream of plasma that was moments before aimed at Naomi suddenly lurches upwards, spraying into the air as the Elite crumples and its dead weight pulls the rear of the gun downwards.
The tank fires a premature shot, unaimed and desperate, but lucky. A bright blue orb sails over Naomi's head and collides with the ground a dozen feet behind her. The Mongoose is propelled forwards at speed, lifted into the air along with Naomi. This is her moment – the Spartan pushes off the bike, leaping like a torpedo through the air directly towards the tank. She covers the distance in a matter of seconds and collides with the front of the vehicle like a cannonball. I watch the Wraith bounce on the gravity fields which keep it hovering two feet off the ground, and then I hear the boom of Spartan fist against Covenant metal.
Naomi is striking the front of the tank, punching her way through the hull like a pistol shrimp on steroids. On the third boom I see her fist delve deep, ripping the cockpit's cover clean off and discarding it carelessly to the ground. Gunfire follows, as the pilot tries to rid his vehicle of its assailant with the green glow of a plasma pistol. It's no use, and a heartbeat later Naomi fires down into the creature's skull with her rifle. In an instant the Wraith collapses to the ground, the nose burying itself in the soft earth.
"Yeah! Thats how we do it!" One of the marines shouts, standing up from his position to cheer at the display.
I smile behind the silver of my visor. ODST don't celebrate - not around other branches.
"Good job." Chance radios.
"Thank you, Sergeant. Your performance was exemplary." Naomi replies.
Before he can respond the marine called Jenkins shouts with glee. "I got it! M95 online, target locked!"
"Fire!" The Sergeant roars.
The huge emplacement grinds for a moment, then pivots with the abruptness characteristic of a machine. It pans sideways first, then the square cradle which holds its deadly payload lowers on the vertical axis towards the Covenant Corvette. The alien craft hovers a few kilometers away in the middle of the bay, the stream of Spirit dropships with their Banshee aircover still spilling from its side.
"Firing!" Jenkins says, and the cacophony begins.
Missile after missile erupts from the M95, each followed by a trail of puffy white smoke. They streak upwards, gaining altitude rapidly and then leveling off. A flash of bright orange appears from the tails, as secondary boosters ignite and send the rocks screaming towards their target at a truly frightening speed. The distance to target is covered in a matter of seconds.
The first missile explodes against the Covenant curiser's shields, the purple-blue barrier shimmering into existence around the craft like a strange, misshapen bubble. The second fares no better, nor the third. With each impact though the shield flares brighter until the forth breaks it. In an instant the shield collapses in on itself, and specs of energy vanis like a thousand snowflakes melting in the sun.
"Second salvo!" Jenkins calls, and the rockets roar into the sky once more.
These have no shield to contend with, but the element of surprise is gone. I watch as the large Corvette starts to wave off, its engines flaring bright as the captain directs it back out to sea and to relative safety. In a last ditch effort to protect the Corvette from damage, dozens of Banshee divert towards the incoming rockets. They fire wildly, hoping to whatever Gods they pray to for a lucky hit. They are given no such boon. The first missile impacts the nose of the craft, and the second is close behind. Gouts of orange and blue flame explode out from the wound, and sparks of brilliant white shower down into the bay. The third hits low, and the forth along the side of the craft, each with similar results to the first two.
It will take a lot more to bring the Corvette down for good, but this is more than enough to buy us the breathing room we need.
"It's retreating!" One of the marines calls, just as I see Naomi lift herself up onto the platform with the ease of an olympic gymnast vaulting a fence.
"Prepare yourself," Naomi declares. "I have detected multiple incoming Phantoms. The Covenant wish to retake this position."
"Let 'em try." Viking says with a palpable edge in his voice.
"Retargeting." Jenkins declares, and I hear the gears of the M95 whine into action. I've never seen an M95 target anything smaller than a frigate, and doubt it will be of any real use against the incoming dropships.
I see the smooth shapes of the Phantoms speeding across the bay, their thrusters kicking up ocean spray as they close the distance. They're flying low and fast, and hope to beat us to the deck. I eject the spent magazine from my rifle and slap in a new one, then pull the charging handle and take up a position at the corner of the platform. Naomi slams her rifle down next to me.
"We will stop them here." She says calmly.
"Without a doubt." I say.
"Firing!" Jenkins says, and once more missiles soar into the air.
"C'mon… c'mon." The slender marine says over the radio, having forgotten to turn off his transmission in his apparent excitement. His fingers are hammering against the keys, so much so that I can hear them over the comms. Suddenly the first missile drops into a knife-dive straight towards the bay.
My jaw hangs open as I watch the white hull of the explosive scream towards one of the Phantoms, but miss by only a handful of yards and splash down into the bay. Key strikes pick up speed where I didn't think there was more speed to be found. The enemy aircraft are closing fast, but the second missile is faster; it hits the lead Phantom, engulfing it in flames that quickly dive into the water. Then the third missile also finds its mark, and detonates the entire aft section of another of the gunships. The fourth missile hits, but it's a glancing blow. The side is crippled, part of the landing-bay doors rendered into molten slag, and the Phantom dips forwards aggressively.
"She's going down!" The Sergeant hollars.
I start to laugh as I see the Phantom only just reach the shore. It slams into the ground violently, mud and railing thrown in all directions. It takes a dozen yards before it slides to a stop.
"C'mon!" Viking says, and waves the marines forwards. He abandons cover and sprints towards the down aircraft.
"Viking!" Chance shouts over the comms, but it's too late to stop him.
I abandon cover and jump down onto the grass below. I'm sprinting alongside Naomi, who quickly outpaces me. Viking arrives at the crash just as the side doors open. A grunt stumbles out, only to be immediately executed by a hail of gunfire.
"Welcome to Reach!" Viking taunts, as he loads another magazine.
The rest of us arrive just as more Covenant bleed from the aircraft only to be cut down like wheat before the scythe. It's a slaughter, and no less than they deserve. I add my fire to the onslaught, and don't stop until the last Elite crumples to the ground in a pool of dark blue blood.
"Position secure." Naomi says with no hint of adrenaline to her voice, only a polite note of positivity.
Chance arrives alongside me, catching his breath while looking out towards the bay. I follow the gaze of his helmet, and my eyes come to rest on the wounded Corvette. "For now." He adds.
Naomi joins us, and nods. "I agree with your tactical assessment. The Covenant will continue to pressure this position and without significant reinforcements it will not survive." There is a pause. "There is only one course of action available to us that will ensure this position remains secured and the docks defended."
Viking and Wink arrive, forming an informal circle. "We got a plan?" Viking says.
"I believe so." Naomi continues. "We will destroy the Corvette."