++August 14th, 1400 Hours++
"The propulsion drive is operational - looks like we got lucky." Wink talks over the comms from her position next to Naomi in the cockpit of the Phantom.
I'm in the back of the craft staring at a series of glowing tubes feeding into some kind of central drive core or energy source. It's humming, but there is a discordant sputtering whine which comes and goes.
"There might be something wrong with the power source but it seems like it's holding stable for now."
"What are we going to do about the hole?" Viking asks, sweeping his hand at the port side of the craft. The missile from the M95 had impacted just above the disembarking ramp, cutting open the side like a gutted fish. The ramp was now stuck in the downward, open position.
"We're not going outside of atmo so she'll have to do." Chance is checking for survivors, and alongside the marines dragging Covenant bodies from the craft.
It's the Sergeant Major, the one called Duvall, who's the first to ask about our plan. "So uhhh – Sergeant Chance? What exactly are you plannin' on doing with this here piece of shit aircraft?"
Chance snorts, and gives the man a gentle shrug. "Take the fight to the enemy. I was hoping you'd want to join us."
Duvall raises a speculative brow. "Come again? Think I'm gunna need some details on that one."
Wink emerges from the cockpit. "We're green, Chance. She can fly." She pauses, looking towards Duvall. "We're going to fly this thing at the Corvette. Dock with it, using their own ship, and then shoot every alien bastard inside until we reach their drive core where we'll blow it up." I can hear the grin in her voice. "Simple."
The Sergeant Major laughs. "I knew you ODST boys were crazy, but damn." The man rubs his face, and turns to look at the hovering Corvette. "Wish I could help, really do but…"
Naomi's voice cuts across the comms. "Sergeant Major Duvall, your presence at this location would be a misallocation of assets. The Covenant are very likely to launch another attack, and with your squad's current strength you will be overwhelmed. The only long term solution is to remove the Corvette and buy the UNSC time to consolidate their defenses." I am surprised she was able to listen to the conversation while doing whatever she's doing in the cockpit.
Duvall audibly hums for a moment in thought, then casts his gaze back at his own squad of marines. They're gathered nearby, celebrating the minor victory. Two of them crouch by a dead Elite, and are preoccupied with its quad-split mandibles. They are using the barrel of a rifle to poke and prod at the alien like two children who've discovered a dead frog. So far my opinion is they're good men; energetic, eager, and disciplined. They are the culmination of UNSC bootcamp, but so young. Several don't even look like they've entered their twenties.
"A weakened squad of Marines and an ODST outfit take on a Corvette alone. Seems like a bad joke, Sergeant." Duvall grins. "I love bad jokes. Alright - let's make a difference. I'll tell the boys to collect what ammo they can and we'll be back here in five." With a crisp salute the Sergeant turns about and walks to the marines, already barking orders. "Kowalsky! Jessic! Stop playing with your food!" He says, and the two marines who were playing with the dead elite quickly straighten up and salute.
"I may have been slightly optimistic in my recruitment of the Sergeant." Naomi says, a note of mild annoyance to her voice. I wonder if she's getting more emotive the more time she spends with us, or if I'm starting to pick up on the subtleties of her voice.
"Explain?" Chance talks as he moves towards the cockpit. I follow him.
"The Covenant uses a broadcast code to ID friendly from foe, similar to our transponders, but part of a networked system instead of an individual unit."
"And?"
"Well –" Naomi pauses, and I assume she's trying to dumb down the explanation into something we could grasp without technical jargon. "If I cannot crack into the network, we cannot broadcast the correct ID. It will broadcast whatever was the last input signal."
"And that means they'll shoot us down?" I ask, then sigh, already knowing the answer.
"Yes." Naomi confirms. "If I had a combat AI with me cracking the Covenant network would be a non-issue, but as it is the permutations change too rapidly for even myself to keep up with."
"So we're at a dead end?" Wink concludes. "Fuck."
Naomi backs away from the Phantom's console, her helmet nodding slightly. "It does appear that way."
"Hold on…" Viking interjects, and I feel him press into my back as he tries to enter the already cramped cockpit. "Friendly fire!"
I blink. Wink stares.
"Care to elaborate, Viking, or are you just pausing for dramatic effect?" Chance chides.
"The Covenant aren't going to ask as many questions if the ship is under attack. Right? So we get a few Falcons on the horn and have them chase us towards the Corvette. I mean - it's understandable a pilot might not update their ID if they're being shot at right? Then we just… fly in and dock. Before they know they've made a mistake we'll already be in and wrecking their crew. Piece. Of. Cake."
There is a pause, then Wink speaks. "You know, coming from an idiot, that's a pretty good plan."
"Damn right it is." Viking reaffirms.
"Will it work?" Chance asks, his question directed at Naomi.
The Spartan shrugs. "I am unsure, but it does seem… logical. I believe Viking has the best plan given our current situation."
"Alright. Let's do it. Naomi, contact whatever nearby Falcon wing is willing to help us out."
"Understood." Naomi replies, and moves back to the console.
"Wink," Chance continues, and turns his visor towards Wink. "You running co-pilot on this venture?"
"Best I can." She says with a shrug.
"Good shit. Ginger, get the marines organized. Pack 'em in and avoid the doors. If the fly boys are shooting at us we don't want a stray squib taking off someone's leg. Viking, locate some explosives. Anything big enough to punch a hole. Let's get it done."
It takes us roughly half an hour to get the Phantom prepped and ready to fly. The damage to the side of the aircraft has completely trashed the closing mechanism for the port side deployment door, and it now hangs open permanently. I'll feel like a right twit if the Covenant simply sees us huddling inside during our approach; it'd be a very short assault in that case. Naomi assures me that isn't going to happen based on our approach angle, that the broken door does not represent a 'tactical liability.' It actually makes me feel better to hear her say that. A Spartan wouldn't throw themselves away, and Naomi wouldn't endanger us needlessly. Not if she could avoid it.
I can see in his face that Duvall is less convinced, but he's already committed to the mission, and in the interest of preserving morale doesn't press the issue. He has the marine called Jenkins examine the door controls though, just in case the apparent technical wizard can figure something out.
The Phantom starts to rattle as the last of the marines climbs onboard. The troop bay is surprisingly spacious, and even relegated to only one side of the craft the entire group fits without problem. I even have elbow room. Myself and Viking are standing next to each other near the back of the craft, and I hold onto a blue-colored nodule built into the wall. I hope it's a handrail of some kind, but Covenant design is so rounded an object's purpose is ever really clear until it breaks off in your hand. Like a supercar without cup holders.
I look towards the front of the craft and do a headcount to make sure none of the marines are about to be left behind. I know Sergeant Duvall will have already done the same, but checking again never hurts. The eight marines, including the Sergeant, are gathered together in the midsection of the Phantom. Past that, near the entrance to the cockpit, is Chance. He gives me a nod, and I return it. Both Naomi and Wink are in the cockpit, trying to get the big transport into the air. There is a grind of metal against rock, and the alien engines whine in high-pitched protest, but eventually with a shuddering jolt the Phantom dislodges itself from the scar its crash had created. The aircraft turns portwards to the bay and the cityscape of New Alex beyond. It moves like a bathtub, or maybe a boat. Large, stomach-churning sweeping motions. After just one turn my body is threatening motion sickness, and I am suddenly grateful for the open troop door.
"I have contacted a nearby squadron of Falcons that is willing to assist us." Naomi has resumed the unnatural calm and monotone voice she first met us with. "I am patching Captain McKnight through to our comms."
"Thanks Naomi." Chance replicas, and I see him reach up to his helmet to switch channels. I do the same. "Captain McKnight, this is Sergeant Chance with ONI. S010 gave you the rundown?"
"This is McKnight, 95th Squadron. That she did, Sergeant. I'm not sure if you're crazy or brilliant, or a combination of both, but I'm giving you B wing. They're my most accurate shooters."
"Appreciated."
Viking snorts and elbows me in the side, then speaks off the comms so only I can hear. "I was hoping for a cross eyed pilot. Make it look convincing."
I chuckle quietly.
"S010 I want you to turn North-North-West. B Wing will rendezvous with you along that corridor, and follow at a distance till you get to the edge of the city. I'm leaving the weapon's free command up to you."
"Thank you, Captain."
"I'll be on standby with A and C wing. That's eight Falcons - this plan goes wrong and you send the word, we'll be in the fight within a minute."
"Understood. I appreciate the assistance."
"Good luck, Kilo-Five, and don't let those marines get lost in there. McKnight out." There is good humor in the man's voice as he goes quiet, and the jab at the marines doesn't go unnoticed. Several of the men guffaw the remark.
"Maybe he should draw us a fuckin' map then." One of them says,
"Or better yet get out of his bird and come onboard with us as a guide." Another adds. Several others laugh in agreement.
The aircraft shifts again, moving the nose towards the skyscrapers and office buildings of New Alex downtown where we're to meet with the 95th. As we cross the bay the Phantom sputters, and the port side tilts downwards. I tighten my grip on the handhold, and Viking grabs my shoulder for stability.
"Easy girl." he says.
"Report. Engine trouble?" Chance adds.
"We're handling it." Wink says with an irritated tone. "These buttons all look the fucking same."
A whine from the rear of the Phantom reasserts itself and the transport levels off.
"You girl's need a man's touch up there?" Viking jokes. "I'm pretty good at finding the right buttons."
"This cockpit is a testosterone free zone, Viking." Wink replies. "And us girls are enjoying the break from body odor."
Chance chuckles, while Viking pretends to be incensed.
"Kilo-Five, this is Bravo-One, we have you in sight."
I look out of the open troop door and see some distance away two Falcons racing towards us. The afternoon sun is glimmering off their cockpits, and the knowledge that they'll be firing at us relatively soon puts a tinge of anxiety in my chest.
"Understood Bravo-One. We're making our turn towards the bay. Keep five hundred meters back, and hold until I give the go-ahead." Naomi finishes her statement just as the Phantom makes its swing back towards the coast.
The pilot's voice is choppy and distorted in the comms from the loud open-air engines of the Falcon. "Hold at five, roger that, Kilo-Five."
"How long till we're in sight of the Corvette?" I ask.
Naomi answers a second later. "We will be within visual range of the enemy Corvette in one minute. The Falcons will commence firing in half that time. Please inform the marines to brace themselves for evasive maneuvers. It would be wise if you do so as well."
I take a moment to tighten the two-point strap to my chest, securing the rifle there and allowing me to grab hold of the Phantom's strange design with both hands. Viking does the same, as does Chance across the corridor.
Sergeant Chance is the one who informs the marines. "Get braced for incoming fire and evasive maneuvers."
Sergeant Major Duvall takes over, turning onto his squad with hands on hips like a parent chastising children. "Alright marines, this is it! We're going into the maw of the beast. Hold onto your shit, and yourselves, this is gonna be a bumpy ride!"
"Bravo-One, this is Kilo-Five, you are cleared to engage."
Before Naomi has finished the sentence a streak of yellow tracers tares past the open troop door and slams into the side of an office building just as we fly by. Glass shatters and falls through the air, glimmering like diamonds in the sunlight.
"That was close." Viking murmurs,.
The Phantom lunges to the side like a whale trying to run an obstacle course. A sweeping lilt to one side, followed by an abrupt course correction that slams be against the wall. I grunt in discomfort just as another streak of incoming fire whistles through the air. None of them are hits though, and I'm not sure if that's because of Naomi's flying or the Falcon's kindness.
"We are entering the Corvette's defensive perimeter in twenty seconds." Wink informs us.
Naomi cuts across the comms. "Bravo-One, your shots are no good. Please readjust for positive hits."
I hear Viking give a half grunt, half yelp of awareness. "You want them to hit us!?"
"We only have one chance to sell the illusion." Naomi replies.
"This is Bravo-One, confirm last - you're requesting positive hits?"
Viking looks nervously towards me, and I shrug sympathetically.
"Confirm. Avoid the engines if you are able."
There is a pause where no incoming fire happens and just then we break the cover of the city and I can see the nose of the Corvette peaking into view of the troop door. My guts tighten.
A calamity of noise sounds through the Phantom as shots start to hit the outer hull. I don't hear them like I heard the misses, there is no whistle of passing tracers, just the impacts that sound like a giant hammering his fist into a metal door. I regret taking a position near the rear of the Phantom, and consider moving, but the aircraft jerks again into an evasive bank and the risk of falling out is too great.
More of the Corvette comes into view as we get closer to our target, and with every passing second I hear more fire pouring into us. Bravo-One are doing a good job, and it's taking Naomi pushing the Phantom to its limits to avoid the majority of the incoming rounds. If this doesn't sell it, I don't know what will.
"Incoming Banshees." Wink says with audible strain.
"The plan appears to be working." Naomi adds.
"How do you know?" Viking asks.
"We are still alive." She replies.
The Phantom jolts, this time dropping at least fifteen feet out of the air, enough to send my stomach into my throat. Black smoke streaks past the open troop door, which ironically provides us some additional cover from being spotted.
"We're losing power." Naomi informs us. "Hold on, I see an open hanger."
The transport groans as it's suddenly yanked upwards into a steep ascent. We bleed airspeed just as a streak of blue zooms past. Ihear Bravo-One report they're peeling off, engaged by multiple banshees, but their voices sound far away as the sudden increase in G's forces blood into my boots.
"Brace for impact!" Wink calls out as I white-knuckle the handhold.
"Brace!" Duvall roars and I watch the marines grab onto each other.
The Phantom lists sideways the moment before impact and the starboard side of the hull clips the edge of the hanger. Screeching metal fills the air as we're suddenly thrown into a half-spin across the deck. Boxes and equipment are sent in all directions as the transport drives through the Corvette's flight deck. From the open transport door I can see grunts trying to dive out of the way of the rampaging aircraft but their short legs make the task difficult, and most are caught underneath the belly of the ship. Abruptly the whole world jolts to a stop as the nose of the Phantom collides with the back wall of the hanger. The force throws most of the marines to the ground, and Viking stumbles as he clutches onto my arm. I manage to keep upright only just and let out a relieved sigh as everything becomes still.
"We're starting to make a habit of crashing transports." Viking calls out over the comms.
"Next time take a cab." Wink replies through a series of coughs and colorful expletives.
"Sound off!" Duvall shouts, and I see he's already going around and picking the marines off their feet. Several reply immediately, and the others follow suit. I think everyone has made it out without injury.
"This craft is no longer operational." Naomi reports. "We will have to find alternative means of evacuation once we are ready to leave."
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Chance says. "Prep to disembark!"
I peel my hands off my makeshift railing. My fingers are stiff with tension, but a flexing crack of my knuckles has them ready for combat. I grab hold of my rifle and shoulder it just as Viking moves ahead of me to the open doorway. Before we're able to jump down onto the deck a grunt pops his head around the Phantom's aft section. The alien is holding a cylinder in both hands, and wavingan angular nozzle back and forth over flames belching out from the Phantom's hull. He stops dead when he sees the collection of marines and ODST, and the extinguisher clangs to the ground. Just then Naomi appears from the small cockpit doorway and the grunt's reaction is immediate.
"DEMON!" It screeches, falling over itself as it attempts to flee.
Chance is the one who fires first, puting three rounds through its chest. Duvall is quick to react. "Move, move, move!" He shouts and the marines charge forward with a variety of war shouts.
Weapons fire fills the hanger as we engage what I assume is the Covenant deck crew. Most of them are unarmed and flee our approach, but some have plasma pistols and other small arms which they return fire with. In the grand scheme of things it was over before it began; we have the element of surprise and that goes a long way.
"We need to get the console above." Naomi states so that both Kilo-Five and the marines can hear her.
The hangar is separated into three distinct levels, each with a ramp connecting them to the floor above and below at three equal-distant intersections. The layout looks like the letter 'E' with the openings therein being the rectangular cutouts for departing and arriving aircraft. We've landed, or crashed, at the bottom levels which looks to be where most repair, maintenance, and general supplies are prepared for transport. Above us there are two docked Phantoms, one on the third, and one on the second level above us.
"Make for the middle ramp!" Duvall orders, gather his marines up with a variety of hand signals.
Naomi is already at the bottom of the ramp, working her way up past a collection of grunts and jackals. There are elites here, but they're fewer than I expected and on the upper deck. I managed to clip one, but his energy shield sends the shot rocketing into the rear wall of the hanger. So far not a single brute has presented itself and I'm grateful.
We trudge up the ramp after Naomi. Viking is at the head of the pack, sprinting forward like a madman and gunning down whatever gets in his way.
"On your six!" Wink shouts, and I hear her rifle roar to life. A jackle's wrist-mounted energy shield deflects the round into the side of a grunt. The jackal recoils from the impact of the heavy bullet, which enables me to finish it off with a well-placed burst to the skull.
"Thanks…" Viking replies.
"Slow down." Chance cautions, but Viking seems to ignore the warning and resumes his efforts to follow Naomi up the ramp.
It doesn't take long for us to push up the two levels. There were only three elites here, two of which Naomi dispatched before they had any real chance to react. Without the stronger Covenant like the elites or brutes to act as their leaders, the jackals and grunts are prone to panic. They flee every time we close the distance, which only makes them easy targets for the marines who mow them down with a hail of automatic gunfire.
Once on the uppermost level it's a straight sprint down the central 'tooth' of the 'E' shaped platform. At the end is a collection of consoles, clearly some sort of flight control for the hanger. That's what Naomi has us moving towards, and where the last remaining elite has gathered up what forces he can and dug. The elite is at the console, presumably raising the alarm.
"We have to move quickly." Naomi says and rushes forwards.
She guns down one of the forward positioned grunts, and two more panic, screaming 'demon' as they do so. I try to shift position to send more fire down range as Naomi presses forwards fearlessly and out of cover, when I notice the docked Phantom to our right has opened its troop-bay door. There isn't a squad inside like I'd feared, but a single grunt who's taken up position on a heavy plasma turret mounted to the side of the transport. The stubby alien swings the intimidating weapon towards Naomi and I break cover into a sprint.
"Naomi, get cover!" I roar but she doesn't seem to hear me and presses forwards heedless of my warning.
The first two shots arrive before I do, and catch her on the shoulder and the side of her torso. The gold shield of her armor flares to life, absorbing the fire effortlessly. Then I collide with her back and it's like hitting a wall. For a moment I think I might just bounce off, but her legs give out and we fall behind one of the waist-high walls that line the ramparts of the hanger. I hear the sizzling of plasma as it pours into the metal plate. Naomi's silver visor stares at me for a moment, and I hear the exclamation of Wink's rifle.
"Gunner is down!" She says over the radio.
Within a heartbeat Naomi moves me off with a single hand and scrambles to her feet. She sprints the last few yards, opening up on the elite at the console. The alien cries out in pain as his shields fail from the concentrated onslaught, and he dies with a three-fingered hand on the console. With his death, the last of the Covenant panic, and it's only a few seconds later before the marines finish the job.
"In the future please refrain from disrupting my attacks, Ginger, I am quite resilient." Naomi says cooly, and there is definitely a hint of irritation in her voice. "We were too slow, and the elite managed to activate a hangar lockdown. We will have to disable it before we can leave."
I look up, and notice that the rectangular cutouts through which we had entered are now blocked off by a bright blue energy shield. I frown, but say nothing.
"How do we take off the lockdown?" Duvall asks as he steps up beside her to stare down at the console.
Naomi's fingers type at the holograms in a feverish blur. "I am pulling up a layout of the ship. We will have to alter our plans. We will need to go to the security control room for the ship, as well as the reactor to place the charges. I chose this hanger for its proximity to the reactor, so I am unsure how far the security control room will be." Even as she says it a holographic display appears above the console with two highlighted rooms. "We are in luck, the security control room is here."
Duvall looks over the layout with Kilo-Five as the marines take defensive positions around the control plinth. The two locations are at either end of an 'L' with the security room being northward near the nose of the ship, and the reactor being horizontally near the central spine.
"Guess they ain't in the same direction." Duvall says with a frown.
Naomi nods. "No, they are not, but assuming we encounter resistance, the security room is only ten to fifteen minutes away."
"Fifteen minutes assuming we don't get bogged down." Chance adds. "Not that I'm saying we will but – that gives them a lot of time to defend that generator and I doubt they think we landed here to do much else."
Naomi hums. "I agree with your assessment, Sergeant, it is likely the Covenant have already deduced our plan as there are no other objectives we can realistically accomplish with a force of this size."
"Then we split up." Duvall interjects. "I'll take my boys to the security room, bust some heads, get this hanger unlocked 'n we'll meet you back here after you've planted the changes." The Sergeant major looks at Naomi and Chance for approval, both of whom nod slowly as they examine the map. He continues, "Plus that'll stop 'em from locking down the reactor assuming they can."
Chance changes the magazine on his rifle. "It's a plan. Let's get moving. Naomi you've got the map - take us to the reactor."
She nods and moves out with a swift bounce in her step. "This way. Sergeant Major, your objective is through that door to our left. Follow the main corridor."
"Yes, ma'am." The Sergeant replies and rounds up his fireteam.
We move down the rampart to a different door. It opens as we approach and plays an almost cheerful tone. Inside the hallway I am forced to acknowledge how bizarre Covenant design can be. The walls of the hallway are curved outwards instead of inwards, meaning that that ceiling has to arch across and upwards almost like a church roof. I am also painfully aware that there is practically no cover. The entire way down is smooth with deep-purple panels covering the are no access ports, no alcoves for maintenance or security terminals, just a singular path.
"Targets ahead." Naomi warns as we jog our way forward.
Our boots echo on the metal floor, and as we fight towards our destination the rifles sound even louder in the confined space. Resistance is heavy, but with Naomi leading the charge the Covenant are barely given enough time to organize before we've already broken them. I wonder if Duvall is faring as well, not having a Spartan as we do. The benefit I hope he has though is that the Covenant won't expect us to be going for security. If I were them, I'd assume this was a suicide mission.
"Grenade out!" Chance calls and I see him wizz a frag down the hallway underhanded like a bowling ball. The sphere clangs and tumbles downwards then detonates in the center of a group of Covenant blocking our way. Three are shredded instantly, and the shield of an elite flares a bright silver which makes him an easy target for the rest of us to gun down.
"How much further?" I ask just as I pop in another magazine. "I've only got four mags left."
"The reactor is just ahead." Naomi replies.
I glance sidelong at Viking who has a collection of satchels slung onto his back. He'd managed to locate them in the M95 firebase before we'd left, and brought more than enough. Maybe even too much, but I suppose when you're blowing stuff up is there really such a thing as 'too much' boom?
We come to another of the automatic doors and it slides open only for us to be greeted by incoming blue plasma. I dive forwards behind a small, waist-high wall in time to avoid the worst of it. A few shots hit Naomi, though I believe it's by choice as she uses the time to return fire. I glance over the railing to get a look at the room. It's circular, and there are two levels. We're on a raised platform, with ramps leading off the left and right. Those wraps wrap around the edges of the room, dipping down in the middle, and then rising up again to an identical platform on the other side. On that platform opposite our position is the group of Covenant currently pouring fire into us. They've set up a defensive turret, and the group consists of at least four elites that I can see. One of them is in bright golden armor, and those flanking him have clean white armor with fully covered faces.
Over the edge, below us and in the center of the circular room is the reactor. It's a massive construction of layered rings, one stacked on top of the other and each proceeding layer rotating in the opposite direction of the previous. There are ten rings in total, and the reactor itself, or at least the part we can see, is probably thirty feet in height. The entire structure is behind some kind of energy field, and in the center of it all, behind the rotating rings, is a series of what look like conduits or pipes. These pipes all feed into a central column atop which an impossibly bright light burns and throws harsh shadows across the entire room.
"That's the reactor!" Viking says eagerly.
"No shit!" Wink retorts. "Focus on the people shooting at us maybe?"
A bolt of blue plasma sizzles past my head just as I duck back down.
"Naomi," Viking calls, "You go left, I'll go right! Deal?"
"What?!" Chance says, but it's too late.
Naomi nods and takes off down the leftern ramp, and Viking sprints down the right. The Covenant gunner has a moment of hesitation as he decides which target to go for, ultimately deciding on Naomi as the bigger threat.
"Cover fire!" Chance calls out, and we begin pouring fire into the enemy position. I see shields flare into life as the elites direct their fire in three directions.
"Over here you four-lipped fucks!" Viking shouts, firing his weapon on the move. Two of the elites turn their attention away from Naomi and discharge their plasma rifles in his direction. I'm not sure if Viking has a death wish, or what.
I see Naomi has crossed the midway point, and is starting up the ramp towards the enemy position. Her ability to fire accurately while on the move has kept the Covenant on her side from being able to open up on her with their full capability, as each time one pops up from cover a series of rounds pelts their shields. Viking isn't far behind, and crosses the halfway point a few beats behind her. His accuray at a full sprint however, is compromised. The elite in gold armor rises from his position and before I'm able to get suppressing fire on point sends a stream of plasma into Viking's chest. Three shots impact at different points on his breastplate, and he stumbles forwards, then collides to the ground. He doesn't say anything over the radio.
I open fire on the elite, and Wink sends a round into his shoulder, but his shield absorbs the brunt of the retaliation. Still - it keeps him from finishing off Viking, whose prone body is thankfully still moving.
"Viking, report!" Chance demands.
Naomi vaults over the railing which serves as the enemy's cover, and I watch her plant a heavy boot into the face of a crouch elite. It's quickly followed up by a series of point-blank shots to the head, and within an instant she's among them with a combat knife in one hand and her rifle in the other. The gold armored elite is on his feet, and pulls a small tube-like object from his belt. The energy sword blooms into life, just as Wink's rifle replies. This shot hits at the top of his armored shoulder, and the shield ricochets the round upwards into the side of his skull. The elite staggers for a brief second, then collapses.
"Got you." Wink hisses.
I turn my rifle on the last elite, pepping him with shots just before Naomi jabs her blade into his neck. Even from this distance I can see the dark blue blood splattering against her light blue armor.
"Clear." She says coolly as the enemy combatant collapses to the floor.
"Viking!" Chance repeats.
"I'm fine." He coughs, and pushes himself up onto his feet.
I follow Chance down the ramp towards the midpoint of the room and the spot that is closest to the reactor. Viking and Naomi join us, and I see most of the plasma was absorbed by Viking's breastplate. All save for one, which hit below it and grazed his size. There's a hole in his fatigues at the impact site, and angry, burned, bleeding flesh peaks out.
"You got a death wish?" Wink asks.
Viking snorts. "What was I supposed to do, let them shoot us?"
"Maybe let the fucking Spartan handle it?"
"Last time we did that, Scratch got ghosted. She can't solve all our fucking problems."
"Jostad…" Chance cautions.
"What?!" Viking snaps. "We're ODST, she's not here to fucking babysit us."
There is a pause and no one says anything. Chance simply walks up and places a hand on the man's shoulder. "You're no good to Scratch dead." He says with a matter of fact tone. "He's gone. We're not. Keep it that way."
Viking stays quiet for a moment, then with a resigned sigh I see his shoulders sag and his helmet nod. "Sorry." He murmurs. "Where do we put these charges?"
Naomi waves him over. "Place the charges here, here, and here, at the base of the structure. We will destabilize the containment rings."
"Alright - I brought what I could. We want a detonator rigged up or what?"
"Timer." Naomi says sharply. " If the Covenant jammed the detonator signal we are unlikely to have enough time to come back before being overwhelmed."
"Roger that. Time?"
"Fifteen minutes." Naomi replies, and crouches down to assist arming the other charges.
"Alright." Viking ducks down and gets to work, removing one of the charges from his back and moving it into position. "You know… for the size of this ship I expected the reactor to be… like… a hundred times bigger than this at least."
"This is only the overload of conduits. It is part of a series
"Might want to inform Duvall." Wink suggests.
"I got it." I say, and open the channel. "Duvall, do you copy? Charges are planted. I repeated, main objective complete. How are we looking on your end? Over." There is no reply. "Duvall, do you copy? Over." I shake my head. "Static."
"It is possible there is interference from the ship, or the materials between here and there are causing interference." Naomi suggests. "We should make for the hanger and try again as we do so."
Viking stands up, and pretends to dust off his hands. "Charges are set. Let's blow this place."
The rush back to the hangar is relatively effortless compared to the push to the reactor room; it's us loudly sprinting down the tight corridors of the Corvette. Thanks to her increasing familiarity with Covenant tech, Naomi was able to lock down blast doors behind us as we exited the reactor, which will hopefully slow down the Covenant response. So far it seems to have worked.
"We have just crossed the halfway mark." Naomi says over the comms.
"Viking, time check?" Chance asks as he glances backwards over his shoulder.
"Twelve mikes till payday."
I decided to try raising Duvall again. "Duvall this is Kilo-Five, come in? Over."
Once more there is the static pause of dead air, when a distorted voice cracks onto the radio.
"This is Duvall! We encountered heavy resistance. Two injuries. But we managed to break through and have secured the objective and Jenkins is working on the lockdown. Over."
"Good copy. Charges are set. I repeat, charges ARE set. Twelve mikes till fireworks. Over."
"Understood Kilo-Five. We'll be at the hanger in ten. Duvall out."
As we cross a corridor intersection a hail of plasma fire streaks across my field of vision. I glance sideways and see a fireteam of Covenant with several elites charging towards us.
"Contact!" Wink shouts.
"Keep moving!" Chance orders.
I keep running, boots slamming down on the metal deck. I hear the Covenant round the corner behind us and soon blue plasma bolts are chasing down the hallway after us. Naomi returns fire, not even breaking stride as she does so, but there is only so much she can do without the time to properly engage her targets.
"This hallway is getting longer!" Viking protests.
"Then grow longer legs!" Wink adds.
"Does anyone have any smokes?" Chance asks.
I pat my waist and find the smooth cylinder, then pull it free. "Got one. Smoke out!" I drop my rifle and let the strap catch it. It bangs around my legs painfully, but it frees up my hand to pull the pin. I toss the grenade in front of us. There is a sharp pop, and then a hiss as billowing white smoke fills the corridor. We blitz through the cloud and for a moment I feel like I'm in an underground rave. Blue and green plasma light up sections of the smoke as we push on and burst through the other side.
"Once we get to the hangar," Chance says, "Wink and Viking, you're on the door. Naomi, can you get that Phantom on the third level prepped?"
"I believe so." She responds.
"Ginger, you're with me. We're getting those door guns ready to cover the retreat."
"Understood." I say, pumping my legs as hard as I can.
"Ten mikes!" Viking says.
"I can see the door!" Wink shouts with relief.
I look up and see it too. The end of our sprint! The door makes that same cheerful tone, and the heavy metal slides open smoothly. Wink drops into a baseball slide and then whirls around the corner and into cover. Viking is far less graceful and comes to a skidding stop. They both turn around and commence firing at what were our pursuers.
The Phantom in question is docked on the third floor of the central finger of the 'E' shaped hangar. It takes us a handful of seconds to clear the distance now that we're no longer being shot at, and leap the six foot gap into the troop bay. I watch Naomi disappear into the cockpit, as I grab hold of the port side door gun. It's one of the heavy plasma turrets the Covenant are so fond of. It rotates on some kind of gravitational axis, floating a few feet above the ground. On either side of the main body of the gun are two fins, energy shields to afford protection to whoever is operating it. The gun feels floaty, and awkward to aim due to its momentum and weight, but I pivot it towards Wink and Viking's door without too much trouble.
"Set!" I call out over the comms.
"The lockdown has been successfully lifted." Naomi informs us.
"Sergeant Major Duvall, we've secured evac. Where are you?" Chance has a worried strain to his voice.
"Five mikes!" Viking adds.
"Sergeant Major Duvall–"
"Kilo-Five we're on the way! The bastards tried to retake the security room. We've got wounded but we're moving!"
Chance curses under his breath. "You've got four mikes, Duvall, hustle!"
There is an odd calmness that hangs in the air even as I hear the crackle of gunfire from Viking and Wink at the door.
Naomi's voice is cold, and emotionless, like a computer relaying facts. "By my estimation, without the wounded, it will take Duvall approximately five minutes to arrive at the hangar."
"We wait!" Viking states without hesitation. "We're not leaving them after coming on this insanity with us."
"I agree, Viking, I was not suggesting we do so. I believe the tactical value of holding the door has expired. You should make your way to the Phantom."
He curses, and I see him peak around the corner and mag dump his rifle. "Wink, go!"
She discharges one final shot from her sniper and then bolts across the platform towards us. Viking is right behind her after crossing the doorway. As they arrive I see the first Covenant exit the doorway; an elite in shiny blue armor. I take a sharp intake of breath and depress the thumb switches on the turret. A stream of hot blue plasma erupts from the barrel and races towards my target. In the blink of an eye his shields are down, and the armor offers little obstacle to the searing bolts. The elite screams, but it's a short lived noise before he's simply thrown backwards onto the ground into a smoking pile. The recoil on the heavy weapon is virtually non-existent thanks to whatever gravity suspension technology keeps it in place, and as more targets present themselves I sweep the gun back and forth, keeping up the hail of suppressing. The barrel of the plasma turret starts to glow bright orange after the second wave, but I dare not stop.
"Thirty seconds!" Viking says and I'm startled at how quickly five minutes have passed. Bodies crowd the doorway. The Covenant have stopped trying to push into the hangar, but now they peek around the frame, taking pot shots at our position while hoping for a lucky hit.
"Where is Duvall!?" I shout.
"Give him time." Chance says with as calm a voice as he can muster.
"Ten, nine, eight, seven…" Viking counts.
"WE GET IT!" Wink roars.
The other door opens and Duvall throws himself through the opening with all the gusto of an olympian finishing a race. He has a marine with him with one hand slung over the Sergeant's shoulder, hobbling along as fast as he can. There are two more wounded that follow but they move under their own feet. The rest of the fireteam follows, each backpedaling as they return fire towards unseen pursuers. Then it happens.
The lights in the hanger flicker, and then go out, and a titanic rumble flows through the ship. In an instant alien alloy is screaming as metal flexes from the force of the internal detonation. I feel the still-docked Phantom shift under my feet in sync with the dying Corvette's movements, and the only thing that keeps me standing is my grip on the turret. Lights fall from the ceiling, and panels are forcibly dislodged from their housing, exposing the wiring beneath. The fleeing marines have all been thrown off their feet, and they now scramble on all fours with panic stricken eyes, like cats trying to find grip on a freshly waxed surface. After what seems like an eternity, but was likely only a handful of seconds, the shockwave passes.
"Get on your feet, marines!" Chance shouts from the troop door of the Phantom.
Duvall is the first to the door, passing Jenkins into Viking's arms before turning to help the rest of his men. Jenkins is clutching a ragged hole in his side, and already I can see he's lost a dangerous amount of blood. His olive drab fatigues below his waist are almost entirely red from a sizable hole punched through his guts.
I look back towards the door I had previously been covering. The Covenant are gathering for another attack and I ready the weapon for one last bout of suppressive fire when the gun's reticle is pulled sideways. I feel my weight start to shift. It's subtle at first, but with every heartbeat the pressure of gravity exerts itself more.
"The Corvette is losing engine power." Naomi informs us. "We do not have much time left."
Realization hits me; we're falling. The entire Corvette is now in a free fall, slowly building speed as its engines sputter out pitiful protests. I turn to look out the open hangar door and where once I saw the skyline of New Alex now I see the frother blue waters of the bay. The ship has tilted almost 30 degrees so far, with no sign of stopping.
Duvall all but throws the last member of his fireteam onto the transport and then dive on top of their prone body. "GO, GO, GO!" Several people scream. "All on! All on!" Duvall repeats into the comms again and again.
The Phantom disengages from the docks, but I feel no shift in weight as both craft are now in free fall - that is until Naomi pushes the engines into the red. A sudden burst propels the heavy ship forward with enough acceleration I'm reminded of a pod drop from orbit. That is quickly converted into brutal G's as she takes the Phantom out of the hangar and yanks upwards, trying to both outrace the side of the falling Corvette, and the rapidly approaching ground. I grit my teeth, and squid my eyes as though I were staring into a very bright light as the water draws closer and closer till I'm certain we're not going to make it.
The curve flattens and I feel the Phantom start to vibrate as components are pushed past their test limits. An alarm sounds somewhere in the distance, but my eyes are glued to the surface of the water. In what feels like a miracle, Naomi manages to yank us up that last ten degrees just before splashdown. We zoom across the surface of the water like a strider, and just behind us the Corvette makes an impact.
The noise is tremendous. Rushing water louder than anything I've ever heard. Behind I can see the sleak outline of the Corvette spear into the bay. A giant wave, at least a hundred feet high, materializes from the point of impact as thousands of gallons of water are violently and suddenly displaced.
"We're clear." Naomi says calmly as the Phantom speeds away, but I barely hear her. My eyes are transfixed on the Corvette.
The craft itself suddenly halts as it makes contact with the ocean floor, or at least the front half does. Fracture points appear midway along the aircraft, centered along the thinner portion where the bulbous front joins with the wider rear section of the ship. Sparks in a myriad of colors join erupting explosions,, and I see the Corvette break in two. The back half, presumably heavier with its powerful engines, continues forward, smashing into the stalled front sections. Rending metal and hundreds of detonations ring out from the collision, like the finale of a firework's display. Then the back half too stalls out, and slowly falls back into the water, causing a second large wave to chase the first who's already half-way to shore.
"Wow! That got him!" One man says from the deck of the Phantom.
"Whose flying?" Duvall asks.
"Spartan." I answer.
"We need to get to a firebase. Jenkins needs medical attention." The Sergeant's declaration causes many of the marines to forgo celebrating the Corvette's demise, and return to caring for their fellow squadmates. I look at Jenkin's who is laid against a wall with one marine holding an already bloody bandage to his wound. He looks pale, but his eyes are still blinking and he hasn't lost consciousness.
"I have already set a course for firebase Starlight. They are the nearest that is also out of the flood zone of the approaching waves." Naomi explains.
The Sergeant Major is already on the radio before she's even finished speaking. "FB Starlight, come in, this is Foxhound Charlie 1-1."
Once more I look out from the Phantom's troop door, at the burning wreckage of the crashed Corvette. There are still three more across the city, and I see another of the alien vessels already shifting its position to fill the gap we've just created. In the grand scheme of a war, it's hard to weigh the loss of a single ship. I can't say if we've made a difference, not really. I've seen this before on Harvest, but unlike then we know what we're getting into. We can't be the only squad taking risks, hitting back with everything they've got. Each marine, each ODST, each pilot, and each Spartan knows the score. Maybe that will be enough? It has to be: for Reach's sake.