++August 23rd, 1820 Hours++
From the word 'go' it took us only a minute to grab the last of our supplies and a handful of seconds more to leave the station. Each of us seems more energetic, tapping into reserves of energy and shaking off the fatigue. We're motivated now, refocused on the reality of the war, the risks, and the potential of failure - not just failure in the traditional sense, but that we might fail each other. It won't last forever, even adrenaline has a shelf life, but it will last long enough; or at least that's what I hope. I watch Chance and Naomi exchange some private words before we step out into the hostility of New Alex's war torn streets. I wonder what they're saying but know not to pry.
Six blocks pass in silence. We move from cover to cover and take shelter behind whatever burnt pieces of debris we can find. We're halfway to FOB Viper now. There is so much destruction it's taken us twenty minutes to walk what should be covered in ten. The sun hasn't fully set, not yet, but it doesn't matter. The sky is so thick with smoke and ash that the streets are now so dark we're forced to switch on our helmet's night vision. Every avenue is packed full with the detritus of war. There are bodies, burnt and crumpled, splayed in poses of violence and panic. Some are marines and police, still clutching weapons in their charred fingers. I find civilians too, those unfortunate souls who, by whatever twist of fate, were unable to leave during the first series of evacuations.
In the spaces between makeshift checkpoints and hastily erected barriers there are vehicles, both Covenant and human but mostly the latter. Many are riddled with either bullets or burn marks from plasma, and sometimes both. These aren't the sights of individual battles, but a prolonged conflict; One day it might be held by the UNSC, the next it may have become a Covenant listening post, or artillery position. In several places we can see where vehicles have been shoved aside, presumably to make way for the enemy's armor.
It's not the bodies that disturb me most though, and that itself gives me pause, it's that often there is something I recognise among the piles of death and destruction; Something inherently innocent. A coffee cup with someone's name scrawled in black ink. A discarded phone. A bottle of name brand soda with a bright, happy label. Personal things too, like wallets and purses, are now abandoned on the black roadtop. When I get into a drop pod I'm prepared, both mentally and physically. This is my job, and this is my choice, but these tokens, these artifacts, are the evidence of people living their lives one normal, sunny day, when without warning or reason, it ended.
I see a child's car seat on its side next to the open rear door of a sedan. It's broken, the plastic snapped where someone violently wrenched it from the vehicle in a state of panic. The entire seat is covered in dust and dirt. As I pass I try not to look inside, but I have to know. My eyes flick downwards at the seat and I see the fabric has little smiling elephants spread across its surface. It's empty, and I've never been so relieved. I hope whoever pulled their child from the car has left the planet, that they got away, and that they're safe.
"Contact." Naomi whispers.
I halt and crouch low behind the driver's side front wheel of an abandoned convertible. It looks in good condition - could probably still run if I had the keys.
"What do you see?" Wink asks.
We've arrived at a four-way intersection entirely clogged with abandoned vehicles. It's a collector road before we hit the main avenue two blocks ahead, where Martin Park and the corresponding FOB is located. At the center of the intersection is the cause for the now unmoving traffic jam: a car wreck. It was a collision between a delivery truck and a car, the latter of which managed to jam itself underneath the center axle preventing either from moving. They were probably both in a panic trying to leave when it happened, and the ensuing gridlock forced hundreds to abandon their vehicles and go the rest of the way on foot.
Two cars ahead of me I can see the dull shine of Naomi's blue armor. She lifts a hand, guiding my vision to the street straight ahead of us that joins the intersection.
"Enemy patrol." She says.
"I've got them." Viking responds. "Looks like a Jackal, and three grunts." He is to the right, forward of my position, at the corner of the intersection and using a pile of refuse to obscure himself.
"There's bound to be a Brute somewhere." Chance adds from behind us in a support position. "Move up and get ready to engage."
I raise myself just enough that I can peak over the wreckage all around us, and I see the patrol. The bright blue of the Jackal's energy shield is a beacon to the night vision in this low light.
"Nobody fire." Naomi orders. "We should maintain silence as long as we are able to do so."
"Eyes on the Brute. He's ten yards back from the Jackal." Wink reports. She is on the left flank, three cars over and one car up from me. I can see the glimmering tip of her barrel as she rests it on the door of a vehicle, treading it through the open window.
"Ginger," Chance calls, "Move up and left. Get close to the Jackal. Naomi you've got the Brute. Viking and I will take the two Grunts. Wink you're on OW. Naomi gives the go ahead."
"Roger." We all respond. I waste no time moving. I sling the rifle, tightening the strap to keep it hugging close to my body in order to minimize the noise of rattling equipment. It's a struggle to stay low, but the many cars offer ideal cover as I bound forward. In twenty seconds I'm close enough that I can hear the strange guttural, almost bird-like squawking of the Jackal. It's walking towards me, and will pass within a single car-length.
"In position." Naomi radios.
I can see just across from my position that both Chance and Viking have circled around to the right of the intersection and have got on the other side of the patrol's path. The trap is set. The Grunts are in flanking positions on either side of Jackal, and the Brute is farther back still. This means that if the others are too slow I'll be the forward target and the one most likely to receive return fire.
"In position." I whisper, and crouch low at the rear end of an abandoned gray sedan. I intend to let the Jackal pass, and ambush him from behind, but the moment I speak it stops dead in its tracks. I catch a glimpse of its head, twitching with avian precision, and its bulbous eyes stare out into the dark. Could it hear that whisper? Were its senses really that keen? I hold my breath and with painful slowness remove the combat knife from my thigh. The straight-edge weapon has even its blade painted a matte black to reduce the chance of an errant shine giving me away.
"They know somethings up." Wink chimes in. "Ginger, the Jackal is moving towards the rear of the sedan."
I can hear its three-taloned feet clicking on the asphalt as it draws closer. It's probably only six feet away now.
"Go." Naomi says cooly.
I lunge forward, and grab the taillight of the car in order to wrench myself around the turn as quickly as I can. The Jackal squawks warning the moment it sees me, and already it's raising its pistol. I barrel into the energy shield with my shoulder, collapsing the alien's arm against its body and pinning the blaster where it can't threaten me. I swing my knife-wielding arm wide, over the edge of the circular shield, and feel the blade sink into the alien's wrist. Purple colored blood washes over my hand as I pull the blade down, cutting the tendons to its fingers. Without the ability to shoot the creature screams and already the Grunts are sounding the alarm. I glance sideways, and see both Chance and Viking spring into action. They're behind both aliens in a matter of heartbeats, and their knives sink into gas-mask covered necks.
I can't see the Brute, but as the Jackal falls onto the ground beneath me I don't have time to worry about it. The creature kicks outwards, and its taloned toes scrape at my thigh plate, but it isn't enough to save it. The Jackal's avian features are more than skin deep. Its light, and generally speaking ill suited for melee combat. I easily wrench an opening as it flails, and drive my blade through its neck. A quick drag sideways, and within a few seconds it's gone. No shots have been fired.
"Where's the Brute?" I ask, and scramble to my feet.
"Dead." Naomi calls, walking out from behind cover. "All clear. Good job."
"Hell yeah." Viking responds, and sheaths his knife. "How'd I look, Wink?"
"Slow."
"Oh as if." He huffs.
"We need to move quickly." Naomi responds. "This patrol is concerning."
I look down at the dead Jackal. "Why? They went down easy enough. Covenant won't know they're missing for a few hours at least." Even as I question, I'm sheathing my knife and pulling my rifle back into position ready to move out.
"The direction they came from is the direction in which FOB Viper is located."
The realization is more than a little concerning, and I wonder why I didn't notice it before. "Shit." If they've got pratrols out that means they've established a perimeter, or at the very least they're covering the rear of their own attack. Either way, it means Viper is about to be, or is already in, deep trouble.
"Over here." Chance calls, and I see him wave near the front of the wrecked box truck. "I've got something."
We each move to his position, and on the other side of the truck is the scene of an ambush. A warthog is riddled with plasma burns. Its gunner is dead on the ground behind it, and its driver motionless in his seat. Behind the warthog is the remains of a logistics truck, its unmistakable construction noticeable amongst the civilian cars.
"Do you think it was the ammunition trick?" Viking asks.
As I look over the vehicle it's hard to tell. The entire rear half of the six wheeled utility truck is basically scrap metal. It's been destroyed by a frighteningly powerful explosion that's collapsed the driveshaft. While the others survey the area I move to the Warthog. I reach past the driver and depress the voltage check switch. A red light appears and the gauge needle jumps into place indicating it has power.
"We could take the Warthog." I suggest. "It's banged up but the battery is good. I think she'll run."
"We shouldn't add more noise to an unknown." Naomi points out. I look over and see her crouch by the side of the logistics truck.
"Fair point." I admit and start moving towards the rest of the group.
Naomi stands up, and takes one last look at the truck. "Based on the debris pattern and the relative strength of the detonation I am confident this was the ordinance shipment we were expecting. The heat from the Covenant plasma detonated the rockets, and set off the reaction."
"Shit." Viking laments. "Does this mean we have to evacuate the station?"
Chance waves his forward. "We should get confirmation of Viper's status before making the call. Only a few blocks away. Agreed, Naomi?"
She nods and shoulders her weapon. "Agreed."
No sooner had we finished making the plan than a long series of gunshots echoed through the streets. These weren't the distant cracks and pops now common to the city – this was close and coming from FOB Viper's direction.
"Double time." Chance orders, and we each set off.
The avenue leading to FOB Viper's perimeter had been hard fought. As we get closer the first sign that something is truly wrong is the hulking, and wounded form of a Scorpion main battle tank. Its quad-tracked body is covered in black soot, and the metal plates covering its tracks and main chassis have been deformed or entirely removed in some places. The massive barrel of the 105mm main cannon droops pathetically, probably melted from the high heat of a Wraith plasma shot. The rear engine plate has been blown off, exposing the engine bay, where a small fire burns off the excess oil.
I arrive at the Scorpion, its shattered silhouette more than enough to conceal the entire fireteam. As I peak around the rear track towards the FOB I can already see we're far too late to do anything.
"They're all over… damnit." Wink curses.
The FOB was established in the center of Martin Park; it was a reasonably sized greenspace that was easily dug up and fortified into a series of interlocking firing positions. There was also plenty of space for logistics trucks to load and unload while pelicans and falcons dropped off whatever they could at white, spray-painted landing pads. It's the typical emergency supply and dispatch center - or at least it was.
The gates, which were little more than chain fences and sandbag barriers, have been destroyed. Most of the firing positions, bunkers and all, have been reduced to flaming piles of slag. Covenant forces crawl all over the area, chattering, arguing, and rummaging through whatever remains of the base.
"At least two dozen grunts. Jackals too, and plenty of Elites." Viking reports the numbers as he sees them.
"Platoon strength." I add. "At least." These are truly surprising numbers. I wonder how so many could get past our position at the police station? The only logical conclusion I can think of is that we're one of the only defensive points still remaining, and they simply went around us.
"Wraiths. Center of the FOB - look there." Viking says, and highlights the point of interest on my visor.
In the center of the mark are a collection of three Wraiths. They're hovering several feet off the ground while their Elite operators celebrate. Atop one of the tanks is an Elite covered in gold, gleaming armor. He's holding aloft a helmet, and shaking it in victory. Another of the creatures fires a marine's discarded rifle into the air, probably planning on taking it as a trophy of conquest.
"What's that in his hand?" Wink asks.
"A helmet." Chance answers grimly.
"A Spartan helmet." Naomi growls.
Her words confuse me for a moment, and I squint at the Elite. Now that she's pointed it out, it's unmistakable. The Elite holds a red CQB pattern assault helmet. It has a silver visor and one large, gaping black hole where some high-powered projectile punched through. The alien, whoever he is, is shouting and barking a speech in their strange language, no doubt praising their triumph over the defenders.
I feel a bump on my shoulder and it's Naomi moving past me and out of cover. I react instantly and grab her bicep. "Naomi!" I hiss. "What are you doing?" I try and pull her back into cover, but it's like trying to move a boulder.
"What's going on?" Viking asks.
"Wait, are we actually attacking them?" Wink questions with slight alarm.
"Naomi," I repeat. "Talk to us."
She pauses, still standing there, unmoving and unflinching. "You take the left flank. Lay down suppressing fire to draw off the troops. I'll go for the tanks."
I blink. "What?" Her visor turns to stare at me and I shake my head. "Naomi, no, thats suicide!"
"You said you wanted to help. Isn't this why you came?" She sounds more frustrated than usual.
"We came in case something went wrong. That doesn't mean we try to make things go wrong." I look over my shoulder at the others, expecting some support, but they say nothing. I wonder if she could actually do it – three Wraith tanks would normally take an entire UNSC platoon coordinating fire. "I'm not going to tell you you can't do it, because maybe you can, but even so you shouldn't. Look – The FOB is already lost, and they've probably detonated the supplies already. Even if you take out those tanks and we wipe out the platoon, it's just one platoon. It won't win the war."
She looks back toward the enemy and I feel hostility in the air around her.
"We've lost this part of the city. It's already happened. Look how many got past us to hit the FOB. The line is broken; We have to get back and evacuate the station before we lose even more." I look at Chance who is slowly moving into position just behind Naomi.
"This isn't where we need to fight, Spartan." He says, "But we'll back you up. It's your call."
I nod, though I hope to high heaven she relents. After a tense moment of doubt Naomi moves back into cover. She places a hand on my shoulder and even though the armor I can feel the pressure of her hand. "You're right." She says with a nod.
"Move out, Kilo-Five." Chance orders, waving us back from the position. "Viking, try raising Tynam just in case."
It doesn't take long for us to break into a quick jog, and I'd wager we'd be moving faster if it weren't for all the discarded vehicles and debris acting as improper obstacles; at several spots I almost lose my footing, but I catch myself each time and keep moving. It's reckless to be moving this fast. Even though we've already been through this way, another patrol could have come through, but I don't think anyone cares. The quicker we get back, the better our chances of getting the station out of the area, and that's the big concern. If the Covenant have the entire area surrounded it's only a matter of hours before they tighten the noose, and at that point it will be too late.
We're passing the remains of the logistics convoy and its bullet-riddled escort when the general comms channel suddenly flares to life with a burst of whitenoise.
"Noble team did it!" An ecstatic marine roars into his mic. "Interference is clear, we're evacuating the civilians now!"
We each stop dead in our tracks, and I assume a security position alongside Wink without thinking.
"Anyone still receiving, New Alex is lost! General evacuation is underway – anyone still left alive, fall back to your nearest evacuation point!"
"Who is that?" I ask, not recognising the voice.
"No idea." Viking admits. "Come in, this is Kilo-Five! Over." But the channel is already swamped with traffic. People are screaming, trying to vie for attention among an ocean of similar pleas. Normally rebuilding the comms channels would be a simple matter, but with the line of command broken, and so many without an immediate superior, most are desperate; they're using the general channel to try and get answers, just like we are.
"Try and raise Tynam." Chance directs.
Viking nods and switches over channels. "Tynam, Commander Tynam, this is Kilo-Five, do you copy?"
A rush of static follows but within moment's the older man's voice is on the comms. "I've got you. Our whole network just lit up. I'm trying to organize efforts with whatever stations are still active, but I'm having trouble getting anyone on the horn. What's the status of FOB Viper? Over."
Viking allows himself a moment of celebration, doing a half-mast fist pump before continuing. "The FOB is down. I repeat, FOB down. We're on the way back to your position. We're evacuating. Get everyone ready. Over."
Chance signals us to fall in. "Let's get moving!"
"Hold on, Sergeant…" Naomi says cooly. "That's not a good idea."
Naomi has her helmet's visor raised to the darkened clouds above, and I turn my gaze to follow it. A deep rumble passes over the city; It's primal, like thunder, but pulsing with the power of immense engines. The sound makes my teeth itch and my senses scream danger. An unnatural wind is instantly upon us. Trash flies through the air, whipped into a frenzy of dancing debris and dust. The clouds above begin to churn like the break of a massive wave, great billows forever falling upon one another as some titanic hidden force pushes them forward. Lighting strikes shine in the depths of the dark sky, illuminating a giant shadow. Then the monster breaches.
Clouds cling to its hull like twisted fingers desperate to contain it, but even nature cannot stop it. A Covenant CCS-Class battlecruiser. It's almost two thousand meters in length with a terrifying armament over every inch of its armored hull. These are the heavy hitters of the Covenant fleet, and their shape is burned into the mind of every man and woman who fought on Harvest. They are death dealers. World enders. These are the ships that turn entire planets to glass.
"No… It can't be…"
I don't know who spoke. Maybe it was me? My eyes are transfixed on the circular structure that sits embedded in the belly of the massive warship. The lightning continues to strike at the cruiser's hull, but it isn't coming from the sky like I had previously assumed. The electric bolts fire off from the fin-like rods that jut out from this central spire. Glimmering spheres appear around the cornea of this device, pulled inward like the last gasps from dying stars as they're consumed by a black hole.
"It's charging." Naomi says. "We need to move."
"Not again…" And this time I'm sure it was my voice. A radiation flare warning appears on my HUD, and the weapon erupts from the ship with a terrible, ear-splitting howl. My night vision switches off automatically, saving my eyes from the light. My helmet tries to compensate for the noise, but even with dampening it's incredibly loud. It's the scream of damnation, and even though I'm not a religious man, I can't help but think it must be the sound of hell itself.
The beam that smashes into the ground is as thick as an office building. Whatever is inside its gaze is burned away in a matter of seconds. Concrete, metal, and stone are melted under the incredible intensity, and form into a smooth, molten, glass-like substance. The cruiser is about two miles away, near the docks, but it slowly starts to creep forward. It will arrive at the police station in a minute, maybe less, and It will arrive at our position in just under two.
Naomi grabs my helmet and forces my gaze onto her. "Ginger!" She shounts. "I need you!"
Has she been calling my name? I blink, shaken out of my daze.
"We have to move!" She says.
I nod, and look around. The others are just as bewildered as I am, each looking around for a place to hide. None of these buildings will hold up against the glassing, nothing except a military bunker has any chance. We have to leave.
"The Warthog!" I shout. "Come on!" I start running towards the battered vehicle without waiting for a response. I yank the driver's limp body out of the seat and it hits the ground with a wet thwack. I don't have time to care. I grab hold of the rollcage and hoist myself in, thumb already jamming the start button. The engine coughs, sputters, the starter whirls, and after a few cycles the cylinder lights and the Warthog roars to life. "YES!" I scream, slapping the steering wheel in excitement. "Come on, come on!" I wave the team forward.
"I'm in!" Viking bellows as he dives into the back.
Wink is right behind him, dragging herself up into position manning the main gun. She yanks back the charging handle to ensure its live and swivels the turret towards the ship. Naomi helps Chance into the back, almost tossing the soldier in like a sack of potatoes, and then she's in the shotgun seat with one smooth motion.
"GO!" Naomi orders, and I floor it.
The nubby tires screech on the pavement as the full might of the 12 liter ICE is brought to bare. The engine howls as RPM spikes and the computer system struggles for traction. I yank the wheel sideways, let off the throttle, and swing the rear end of the vehicle outwards in a tight 180. Tires smoke as I slam the gas once more the moment we straighten up, and abruptly swerve past the remains of the once-vital logistics truck.
"What about the station?!" Viking shouts from the back.
I glance at the rearview mirror and see the encroaching beam of death. Naomi looks at me, and wordlessly shakes her head. It's too late for them. We'll be lucky to survive ourselves this close to the initiation point.
"Get to the highway," Naomi directs, "We need to get out of its path."
I pull the wheel, and steer the Warthog down another street towards Martin Park and the remnant of FOB Viper. It's the quickest way to the highway just a few blocks beyond, and I'm betting the Covenant will be too busy fleeing the path of their own weapon to bother shooting back at us. In the rearview I can see the bright light still heading our way. It's already passed over the station. Tynam is gone, as is everyone we've spent almost an entire week fighting beside. In another forty seconds it will be on top of us.
As we approach the old FOB I see Grunts and Jackals run around in a panicked frenzy with no clear sense of direction. They don't even seem to notice us as I send the Hog through the shattered remains of Viper's front gate. The three Wraith's are still here, and we're going to pass within thirty feet of them, but the Elites are too busy trying to load their tanks onto a single Spirit dropship. All three won't fit though, and given the time frame I don't think any are getting out. As we drive past the gold armored Elite looks at me, and for an instant I think I see a very human-like fear in his eye. He doesn't sound the alarm, or order his tanks to open fire. He just stares at us as we drive out the other end of the park towards the highway onramp.
"They'll glass their own damn assault force!" Viking declares. He sounds indignant, almost insulted, but also in disbelief.
Wink snorts. "It looks like the Covenant doesn't have time for a single platoon. Even one with a Spartan killer."
As we start heading up the ramp the glassing arrives at Viper. The gate is gone, consumed in a heartbeat. The Spirit peels off, abandoning the armored column entirely as it flees for its crew's lives. Then, just like that, the Wraiths are gone along with everything else.
"It's about to be right on top of us!" Wink screams.
Finally we turn off the ramp and onto the main stretch of highway. I stamp my foot down as hard as I can, desperately trying to coax more power out of the engine but there isn't anything left for it to give. I don't look at the mirror, I just stare at the road, willing the vehicle forward with all my might. We're heading perpendicular to the beam now, screaming towards downtown and the central business district, but there's no telling if it will be enough.
A shudder passes through the road as the beam scythes through an entire section of highway behind us, columns and all. We've made it out of the weapon's direct path, and even with sections of highway falling behind us we're moving too fast for the collapse to matter. We're in the clear.
It's five minutes of driving before anyone says a word.
"Holy shit." Viking breaths. "I think I shit myself."
Wink laughs.
"Ginger…" Naomi says, and I feel her hand on my wrist. She squeezes it reassuringly, and without thinking I've taken my eyes off the road to stare at her. "You did good." I can hear the smile in her voice. "Let me drive."
"I'm fine." I assure her.
"You don't know where you're going." She points out.
"And you do?"
She chuckles. "Just let me drive."