The Abyssal soldier paused in its tracks at the sound of a light click and looked around for the source. It didn't have to wait long, as two seconds later a pair of grenades rolled out from around the corner, activator lights cheerily blinking, innocently clinking against the ground as they came to a stop eight feet in front of it. Its cold, analytical mind quickly determined that there was not enough time to throw them back the way they came; therefore, there was only one course of action. It shouted a warning to its fireteam and dove forwards onto the grenades while the rest of the Abyssals fell back. The double explosions lifted its body, shrapnel shredding through its armor, and tossed it to the side, the blast waves rebounding in the enclosed corridor and staggering its comrades. As they struggled to regroup, a hazy shape took form in the dust and debris kicked up by the explosives — a shape that quickly scooped up the dead Abyssal's weapon and opened fire.
The volley of crystals immediately tore through two of the four remaining Abyssals. The alien armor, black armor plates that human materials science had yet to crack the formula of on top of an off-white bodysuit made of tough ballistic and thermal weave, could eat half a mag of 7.62 NATO from 50 meters and ask for seconds. Against the dense, high-velocity crystals spitting from the Abyssal weapon, it crumpled almost instantly, composite plates shattering and kinetic-thermal dispersion fabric tearing under rapid-fire hammer blows.
As the unfortunate aliens fell, abdomens torn open into a green-purple bloody mess, the last two Abyssals got over their shock, snapped their weapons up into position and fired into the slowly dispersing smoke. Round after round punched vortices into the particulate cloud. Several hit the shape, which visibly flinched and staggered from the impacts. To the Abyssals' dismay, however, the shape didn't fall like a normal human would, but instead crouched down beneath their line of fire and, before they could shift their aim, sprang at them like a pouncing tiger.
The first Abyssal died quickly, as the shape — now revealed to be a perfectly normal, if rather tall human woman wearing a two-piece suit that had seen better days — tackled it to the ground and slid a knife into the gap between its helmet and gorget. Textile and skin provided little resistance to the absurdly sharp blade, and the Abyssal died gurgling as the woman turned to face her last opponent. Too close to aim its weapon, the Abyssal instead stepped forward and tried to strike the woman with the buttstock. It quickly regretted its decision as the woman caught the blow with one hand, twisted the rifle out of the Abyssal's grip, and then kicked it in the stomach hard enough to throw into the wall. Before it could recover, an iron bar pressed down on its throat, cutting off its air supply. The alien choked and scrabbled at the obstruction to no avail. The last thing it saw was a pair of cold eyes, irises a swirling, nebula rainbow, pitiless gaze burning through its one-way helmet visor as the woman choked it to death.
Even after the Abyssal stopped struggling, Everest kept her arm pressed against its throat for another minute, trying to slow down her fast and heavy breathing so that she could listen for approaching reinforcements. When none came, she shrugged and let go of the alien, letting it slowly slide to the floor. She slit its throat with her knife for good measure, then hissed in pain as her adrenaline drained away and her wounds made themselves known. The meaty portion of her right thigh bled from three separate crystal punctures, and her leg shook as she slowly sat down with a soft groan. Luckily, those wounds were closing on their own, skin and tissue knitting themselves together in real time. Was that how human bodies worked? She couldn't quite remember, but it didn't look quite right. Much appreciated, either way.
More concerning were the wounds on the right side of her chest, two crystals that just narrowly avoided puncturing her right lung, chipping ribs and scraping the organ as they passed through. They hurt like a bitch, and weren't closing on their own. Pressing a hand against the holes, Everest looked around for a first-aid kit that she knew public safety regulations, or at least those of the year of our Lord 2543, mandated. She found one mounted on the wall not far away and stumbled over, open the plastic case with one hand and extracting the biofoam canister. With a sigh of relief, she popped the nozzle, inserted it into the bullet holes, and filled the space with the combination antiseptic-analgesic-coagulant foam, pain quickly giving way to a dull, tingling numbness.
"Whoo… that takes the edge off." Her voice, surprisingly smooth and deep given how parched her throat felt, echoed in the corridor. As the numbing agents took effect, she tossed the spent canister aside, then closed the kit and returned it to its place on the wall. Everest then brushed off her pants, scooped up one of the intact Abyssal guns and some ammo, and set off on her way, experimenting with her newly acquired oropharyngeal architecture by whistling a jaunty, tone-deaf tune. Only a slight limp in her gait and an occasional hitch in her breathing betrayed the effect her wounds still had on her, despite the application of biofoam. It was only a temporary solution, working along with her inhumanly resilient physiology to prop her up until she got wherever she was going and got some real medical attention.
"Ninety nine floors in the bunker to go, ninety nine floors in the bunker, clear one out, head on down, ninety eight floors in the bunker to go…" Inspecting her stolen weapon, she frowned at the filth and grime that covered her sleeves. "Dammit, I liked this outfit, too." She did her best to brush off the filth, but eventually accepted that it simply wasn't happening, and settled for straightening out her rumpled necktie. Wasn't like a little dust mattered anyway, what with all the rips and bullet holes that the previously immaculate suit now sported, to say nothing of the blood, both alien and her own, that stained it. "Well, I've got no money, so I hope the UNSC'll take an invoice for the laundry bill. Now, where in the good goddamn is the elevator on this floor…"
A combination of red emergency lights and surviving LED light panels threw odd shadows throughout the hallways, making Everest's job of reading the direction signs just that little bit harder. She managed, though, squinting in the half-darkness and mumbling multilingual invectives. For the sake of security and compartmentalization, no single elevator in Bravo-6 could access every floor. The only way to do so was through the emergency stairs, and good luck trying to climb over a hundred flights of stairs without stopping for a rest. t worked well enough when trying to slow down an attacker, but when Everest was trying to reach the bottom? Yeah, just a massive pain in the ass.
It would help if she had a definite idea of where to go or what to do. No one had had the damned courtesy to give her a pamphlet or something; however, it was plain to see that the HQ of the UNSC was under alien attack. From there, it wasn't hard to deduce that the aliens aimed to get to the lower levels, where more sensitive intelligence, material assets, and personnel were secured. The slowly increasing numbers of alien corpses she found laying about supported that deduction, along with far too many human bodies, evidence of stubborn resistance from the UNSC defenders. She did what she could for those unfortunate lost souls she found strewn about, slumped over security barriers and still clutching their empty weapons. Each body she found added to her determination to reach those lower levels as fast as possible if only these stupid elevators would extend for more than a handful of fucking floors!
Of course, there was the matter of those odd, roaring sounds she heard kept hearing every now and then, ever since she woke up. Whatever produced them sounded very large, and very angry. With no armor except a two-piece business suit and no weapon except a knife and a gun pulled off a dead alien, Everest didn't know what her chances were against whatever was making those sounds, especially after coming across a few more… gruesome scenes, with humans and aliens alike smashed into the ground like broken toys. With planning and quick thinking she could take out small groups of small fry easily enough, but could she make a difference against something that could apparently wade through three machine guns and smash their operators like porcelain? Was she walking to her death, here?
… ah, whatever. She'd cross that bridge when she got there!
Everest finally found the next elevator, somehow still in service despite the devastation around it. She got in and jabbed the lowest floor it would go, tapping one foot impatiently as it descended. Her arms were relaxed, gun cradled in front of her stomach, but ready to come up as soon as the doors opened. If the aliens were paranoid, they might have an ambush set up, just in case anything came at them from the rear. If that was the case on this next floor, then Everest would only have a few moments to act before she was torn apart. If only she still had some grenades…
Her gaze flicked back and forth between the doors and the floor counter, with only a few seconds left in the short ride. Three… two… one… The elevator chime dinged, the doors opened, and Everest was already moving. She barely caught a glimpse of a stunned Abyssal soldier as she barreled out of the door, time seeming to slow as she coolly evaluated her tactical position.
Contacts, front, both sides. Friendlies, zero. Hostiles, six. Target order, shotgun, then rifles, then heavies. Highest priority target, right.
Go.
An Abyssal, holding its version of a shotgun, found itself in the unfortunate position of being on the wrong end of a crystal rifle on full automatic. The high-velocity blizzard of crystalline shards, fired with the barrel almost touching its face, practically ignored the sturdy, head-enclosing helmet as it shredded the alien's head into ribbons. Everest then drew her knife and used her momentum to bury it up to the hilt in her next opponent's throat before whirling around and pumping another burst into a third Abyssal's chest.
Three down, three to go. However, even as Everest swapped in a fresh cylindrical magazine, the Abyssals were responding. They were crack, veteran troops; something as trivial as fifty percent casualties within three seconds wasn't about to faze them. It was only due to her innately enhanced reflexes that Everest narrowly avoided a burst of crystal fire that would have blown her brains out the back of her skull; as it was, a couple of rounds still caught in the meaty part of her left shoulder, causing her to hiss in pain. They weren't the first hits she'd taken, they wouldn't be the last, and they didn't penetrate that deep, but they served as a reality check — she wasn't invincible, and she needed to find cover. Fast.
A lightning-quick sweep of her surroundings revealed a sturdy-looking reception desk of sorts just a few meters away, one which Everest promptly vaulted over and upended at the same time. Crystal rounds gouged chunks out of the durable laminate as the shipgirl caught her breath, pulling back her sleeve to check on her gunshot wounds. Not bad, not bleeding too much, and from the odd twisting sensations in her deltoid her body seemed to be doing its best to force the intruders out. Were bodies supposed to do that? She couldn't recall any human casualties in her medbay exhibiting that sort of behavior. Her suit was a lost cause at this point, unfortunately, but hopefully her somewhat-but-not-totally-human biology would stop the bleeding soon.
Ah, well. No time to figure out where exactly the divide between human and shipgirl laid. Wishing more than ever for a grenade, Everest popped up to send a long burst downrange, just to keep the fuckers honest, then dropped down to reload and run through her options. She could rush the fuckers. Would definitely get one of them, but they were spread out now; no way'd she check her momentum in time to avoid being shredded. Could try to engage in a gun battle from behind her cover, but one versus three was a losing proposition when they had cover too. Besides, the alien bastards probably had grenades, and any moment now they'd remember how to use them. Third option, and probably the best, was to reposition behind something a little more permanent and try to disengage. But where to go? That big filing cabinet — who even used those anymore? — looked decent, as did the toppled storage closet that took up half the corridor—
Everest's train of thought derailed as a new series of shots rang out. She immediately picked out the sound as being different from all the alien weapons she'd heard firing over the past hour or so, and took another moment before she identified them as UNSC. The crystal fire pelting her position immediately slackened, then died off, accompanied by the sweet sound of alien death gurgles. Her first impulse was to stand up and greet her timely rescuers, but she just as quickly realized that might not be a good idea with jumpy soldiers currently pointing guns in her direction. Instead, she held her gun by the barrel waved the stock in the air, shouting, "Hello! Thanks for the save. Don't shoot me!"
"Slide your weapons into the open and come out with your hands on your head," a slightly synthetic, yet definitely human, voice replied. "Don't try anything funny."
Still behind the desk, Everest frowned. "Well, fuck me for trying to be polite," she muttered. However, with little ammo left, less in the way of armor, a lung that had only just stopped bleeding and a shoulder that still was, she wasn't much in a position to argue. With a sigh and a forlorn look at the scavenged weapon that'd taken her so far, she put it on the floor, pushed it into the open, and then raised her hands over the edge. "I'm coming out now! Don't shoot." She stood up slowly, then blinked when she was met with the sight of an empty corridor. Huh? Before she could ask, the voice spoke again.
"Advance thirty paces." Everest complied, walking forward with her hands up, and then had to stop herself from striking out as five armored figures dropped active camo to reveal themselves surrounding her and pointing guns at her head. "Identify yourself."
"Jesus Christ on a rusty bike— don't pull that kind of stunt! Inconsiderate bastards!" Heart pounding like a snare drum, Everest said, "Ah, fuck, whatever. Let's see… you can call me Everest. I, uh, don't have a verification code or anything, but you can search me if you'd like. Just make it quick, busy woman, got places to be."
"Three, do it." A soldier in mottled grey-brown armor stepped forward and efficiently patted Everest down from head to toe. They didn't miss an inch in their search, and from the way their visor bobbed up and down Everest had a feeling that they were seeing more than clothes. Did they have some sort of X-ray vision in those fancy helmets, or some image interpretation software?
"Clear, Commander."
"You've gotten quicker, Three," said the soldier in white armor with red accents. She must be the team leader, Everest thought, and the one who first spoke. "And you're wounded," the soldier continued, "Torrent Four, check her out."
Annoyed though she was, Everest dropped her arms as another soldier, this time in armor shaded dark blue, produced a medkit. As the soldier got to work, Everest said, "Thanks for the save, really, but give my poor heart a thought. I only just got it. What are you all, anyway? That's not any kind of armor I've seen, and I don't think the Helljumpers have the budget for anything that fancy."
"ODSTs?" A new voice this time, from another blue-armored soldier. "You serious?" Upon seeing her deadpan expression, he continued, "Well, the Commander used to be, and Three there, but, like, we're Spartans. You… know what Spartans are, right?"
"Spartans, Spartans…" The term was frustratingly familiar. Everest furiously jogged her brain; she'd heard it before, several times, usually in the context of hushed conversation behind locked soundproof doors between Admiral Cole and various ONI officers. And soldiers, wearing bulky suits of armor, imposing and intimidating yet somehow so silent and skilled at masking their presence that even her top-notch security systems sometimes failed to pick them up. "Ah, yeah, you're those super hush-hush spec-ops guys, right? Had you onboard for SILENT STORM and a couple other times. Hmph. Fair bit more relaxed than the last time 'round, though I guess it has been, what, a few decades now?" Everest cocked an eyebrow — damn, that was a versatile expression — as she received only silence as a reaction; even the Spartan examining the bullet holes in her shoulder stopped their work to look at her strangely. Feeling the weight of their gazes, even from behind their opaque visors, Everest experienced a sudden bout of self-consciousness, a fun new emotion she could now have. "What? If you got something to say, say it to my face."
"What do you mean by 'onboard'?" The white-armored one didn't step back, not exactly, but tension definitely reentered her posture. "No, before that, repeat your identity. Who the hell are you?" she said in a deceptively calm tone.
"Oh. My bad, guess I should've been more specific. I'm Everest. Valiant-class Super Heavy Cruiser, Hull Number CA-7. The one and only. Don't mean shit at the moment, since all I got — had — is that alien piece of crap, but there you have it."
A shared look passed among the Spartans. "Oh, no fucking way," Torrent 4 said. "What are the goddamned odds?"
"Beg your pardon?"
"Four, did I ask your opinion? Eyes on the job, Spartan," the white one snapped, before turning to face Everest. "Well, shit, if you're what I think you are… tell me, how long have you been alive?"
"Er… that's a weird question? But three hours, I guess? How'd you know?"
"Right. Perfect. Just perfect." The white Spartan sighed and rubbed the top of her helmet. "Well, you haven't tried to murder us so far, so I suppose I should introduce us. I'm Spartan Commander Sarah Palmer, this is Fireteam Torrent." Palmer placed a hand on Everest's good shoulder. "And, my existentially confusing friend, you and I have some talking to do."
It seemed that the earth would never stop shaking, such was the duration and intensity of the barrage. Howitzers dropped shell after shell with drone-guided accuracy onto Abyssal defensive positions across the Parramatta River while hulking Paladin tanks occupied vantage points along the river bank to provide more on-demand, direct fire. High explosive shells threw debris far and wide, tracers turned the air above the water into a virtual Christmas party, and wide treads churned pavement and dirt into mud as the tanks dueled Abbie tanks and missile crews, weaving between blasts while onboard targeting systems kept their guns level.
The aliens hunkered down on Sydney Harbor Bridge itself were spared the ferocious bombardment, lest the bridge collapse by the UNSC's own hands, but in return were subjected to strafing runs by strike fighters, suicide attacks by hunter-killer drone groups, and shelling from Warthog light mortar carriers. Abyssal engineers, cloaked in active camouflage, tried to discreetly carry out demolition ops, but Promethean vision-equipped UNSC snipers picked them out and off, sending their bodies to the water below. Strike drones carried out one-way interdiction runs, cutting the beleaguered forward alien troops off from reinforcements with missiles, machine guns, and, when all ammunition was exhausted and their cheap airframes shot too full of holes to make it home, their own mass.
Hunkered down behind whatever cover might protect them from ordnance that would turn their bodies into bloody pulp, UNSC marines and soldiers had a front row seat to the drama through the battlenet. Armandez's platoon, assigned to the spearhead for the main assault on the bridge, was among them. "Christ," Laughley muttered, voice muffled by a gas mask yet strangely loud in the almost claustrophobic troop compartment of a Hoplite IFV, "brass might well have us get out and form a firing line at this rate. And we're doing this to our own city, even. Might as well just let the Abbies have it, if it's just going to be one big crater."
"We can rebuild cities, sergeant," Armandez replied, her own gas mask hanging around her neck. "However, the good citizens of the UEG are expecting us to turf some troublesome squatters off of their rightfully owned property. We wouldn't want to disappoint the people, now would we?"
Laughley shot her a strange look through his mask lens. "Since when did you turn so metaphorical, eltee? And I dunno if they're going to appreciate the state of their property once they get it back."
"Then they ought to have been more specific about what condition they wanted the goods delivered in. Besides, every round that lands over there is one less bullet we have to fire. Let's hope the brass doesn't suddenly get stingy with the shells."
A general sound of agreement went around the Hoplite's interior, even as the thunder of a nearby gun was answered by an Abbie rocket airbursting a few meters overhead, showering the area with shrapnel and burning plasma. Armandez picked up a minute change in the sound of the shells whistling overhead. The artillery crews were starting to add phosphorus and tear gas shells into the mix now, to create a smokescreen in order to hide the advancing infantry from enemy view. It was a nice gesture; unfortunately, that meant it was almost go-time.
A few quick slaps to her cheeks calmed her nerves. From her position right next to the rear ramp, Armandez looked down the two rows of seats, making sure her marines all had their gas masks handy, and caught Laughley's eye. The sergeant shot her a remarkably steady thumbs up; with his expression concealed behind his mask, the only thing betraying his anxiety the truly astonishing amount of chewing gum spat out onto the floor of the troop compartment. "Good to go, sergeant?" she said, raising her voice to make herself heard over the din of artillery and the growl of the IFV's idle engines.
"Good to go, sir," he replied, just as a hollow metallic clang reverberated through the compartment. 10 heads looked up in alarm; from the crew compartment, towards the front of the vehicle, the vehicle commander's voice came over the intercom; just a dud plasma shell, bounced off the front, didn't go off, no concern. There was a brief burst of muttering among the marines — the Abyssals weren't going quietly. Most of their return fire was targeted on the Paladin tanks lining the river bank, who made a good show of taking it on the chin and paying it back with interest, and the Army self-propelled guns, who by now were in the habit of packing up shot after every third shot or so. Unfortunately, whether by design or unlucky accident, some of those shells also landed among the UNSC troops waiting for the signal to commence the main assault.
Hidden among the trees and buildings surrounding the bridge's on-ramp, they could do little else but wait; with armor meant only to repel up to 40 millimeter hits from the front and 15 millimeter everywhere else, a direct hit from one of the shells or rockets glancing off Paladin turrets would eviscerate a Hoplite and pulp the squishy humans within, and they didn't have the luxury of repositioning every time a counter-battery alert came through like the artillery did, not when they were due to advance at any moment. Even though Armandez knew that here, inside the armored and air-conditioned troop compartment, she was as safe as possible, she still had half a mind to take her chances outside the increasingly claustrophobic box. At least then she could die breathing fresh air.
Another explosion, close enough to rock the IFV on its treads. A casualty notification popped up on the battlenet, right next to the suddenly-red status icon of a Warthog. Armandez chose not to read it, as well as to ignore the slightly concerning chatter from the Hoplite's crew; there was no more room for distraction, not that there ever was. She keyed her radio to the platoon net and said, "Okay everyone, it's showtime. All squads, radio check!"
"2nd Squad, okay!"
"3rd Squad, ready!"
"4th Squad, ready!"
"1st Squad okay, sir," Laughley said.
Armandez nodded in approval. "Very good. You all know the drill. Check your surroundings over the battlenet before exiting and plan out your first moves. I'll be assigning squad sectors once we get a clearer picture of the AO; stick to your sectors, hit them hard, and keep moving forwards. Do that, and we'll all be okay," she said, over the radio for the entire platoon's benefit. "Gas masks ready and fix bayonets, everyone," she added, as the "go" signal came down from the battlenet, "and good luck."
With a shout from the commander and a whoop of excitement from the driver, the growl of the Hoplite's engine turned into a roar as the vehicle lurched forward. For a moment, Armandez thought that the artillery might have done the trick, that there might only be a few, shaken Abyssal foot soldiers left for the infantry to rout. That was a lie; almost as soon as the Hoplite pulled onto the on-ramp, a sound much like hail off a corrugated iron roof began to fill the interior. Crystal rounds, from what sounded like at least three machine guns, combined with the whoosh-boom of a missile being successfully engaged not seven meters away from the side of the IFV's hull by the active protection systems.
The battlenet showed all of this to Armandez in horrifying, clinical detail. If she wanted to, she could track the missile back to its launching point, and see the two hunter-killer drones that obliterated the launcher with laser-guided bombs. She could also see another Hoplite, not forty meters away, change its combat status from green to orange as a near-miss Abyssal plasma shell tore its tracks apart and ground it to a halt, then from orange to red to blank as its crew and passengers bailed out just in time to avoid being vaporized by the next shell. The marine sitting across from her vomited onto the floor grating; ignoring the stench, Armandez leaned over to pat him on the shoulder.
"Lucky bastards," she heard Laughley, watching the same status readouts unfold, mutter. Armandez couldn't disagree; at least they could hunker down behind some cover and be, for all intents and purposes, hors de combat. Her IFV, along with the ones containing the other three squads in her platoon, were so far unscathed beyond a few bullet scratches on the paint. As it pulled onto the bridge proper, the lieutenant heard the gunner say "firing", and then the Hoplite's forty millimeter autocannon open up. Through the external camera feeds, combined with the thermal footage from overhead drones, she could see it, along with machine gun fire from the three Paladin tanks leading the charge, start to methodically dismantle any surviving Abyssals still out in the open. She ran a finger down her rifle's bolt and prayed she wouldn't have too much need of it.
Crystal bullets and shrapnel continued to glance off ceramic-titanium composite armor in a constant hailstorm rattle. Explosions, both near-misses and on-targets engaged by the active protection system, rocked the vehicle as the IFV neared the drop-off point. Armandez could hear the vehicle commander issuing rapid-fire orders: aim left, engage, cease fire, aim front, slow, angle left, angle right, all stop, smoke out— The Hoplite jolted to a stop, sending the ten marines in the troop compartment lurching forward and into each other. Disentangling herself from the scrum, she said across the platoon net, "Gas masks on now. All squads, ready for exit," at the same time that Laughley barked much the same to 1st Squad.
As smoke grenades discharged, adding to the swirling clouds of white phosphorus already blanketing the bridge, the rear ramp of the Hoplite dropped as quickly as its hydraulics could go. The full din of battle, previously muffled by the armored hull, entered the compartment, the thud-thud-thud of the forty millimeter mixing with the rat-tat-tat of machine guns, the pew-pew of plasma weapons, and the sound, almost like breaking glass, of crystal rounds shattering and filling the air with their lethal splinters. Simultaneously, a small light near the rear door turned green, shining bright for a split second before an errant crystal fragment struck it, smashing it to pieces and sending bits of broken plastic raining down on Armandez's shoulders. "Go, go, go!"
Following tradition, Armandez was the first out the door, sprinting for her assigned waypoint, First Squad fanning out behind in a predetermined formation as they too made a mad dash for their positions and for cover. The lieutenant made a beeline for an eight-car pile-up conveniently placed in her designated sector, a tangle of self-driving busses and luxury sports cars that would do perfectly as a chunk of metal to hide behind while she got a better sense of the battlefield, as long as she ignored the slightly toasty corpses trapped inside. As she approached, however, Armandez could see that she wasn't the only one with that idea. An Abyssal AT team was hidden in the mess, concealed from aerial and ground observation by a fallen bridge girder, and currently worked to get their launcher on target against an unaware Hoplite advancing up the bridge with a full load of infantry.
Armandez tagged the aliens on the battlenet and called for supporting fire, simultaneously activating a grenade and chucking it into their midst. They got a missile off first, striking the front of the IFV and destroying its engine, but then the frag exploded and Armandez and the marines from the sectors to her left and right sprayed them with bullets. Most fell quickly, as the storm of metal found gaps in their armor, but one still struggled on the ground, winded from the impacts but not critically wounded. Armandez put an end to all that when she stepped over its body and slid her bayonet into its throat.
Safe in cover, Armandez took a second to reload, and wondered just what the hell Abbie armor was made of that it could take 16 rounds of AP before failing when her own armor could only take 11. Materials Science officially had no idea; unofficially, she suspected black magic. Well, no matter. Not like she was in danger of running out of ammo. As she caught her breath and considered the situation, a pair of marines threw themselves down next to her and immediately open fire. A quick ping to the battlenet showed her platoon spread out, in cover and getting to work on suppressing the enemy. Further on, towards the right side of the bridge, she could see 2nd Platoon spilling from their own vehicles to take up position on that flank. To her dismay, it also showed that of her original 38 marines, three were down with varying degrees of wounds. "You two operational?" Armandez said, shouting to make herself heard. One of the marines said something she couldn't make out and shot a thumbs up. "Good to hear. All squads, report position and status!"
"1st Squad in position, sir."
"2nd Squad, we're green!"
"3rd Squad, Sarge took a gutshot, crystal burned him pretty bad, but doc's stabilized the surrounding tissue. Harris got his bell rung. Corporal Llewellyn is in command. Otherwise good!"
"4th Squad, Viers is alive, but she got torn up by a mortar. We've got her in cover and stabilized. Rest of us are good to go, sir."
"Understood, call for medevac. Everyone, listen up! Abbie's pulling back to a new defensive line, about two hundred meters up the bridge, with a lot of AT and AA. We're gonna flank them along with 2nd Platoon and let the armor through! We've got the left side of the bridge, 2nd Platoon has the right. Bounding overwatch, usual squad rotation sequence. Understood?"
"Oorah!"
"That's what I like to hear! Designating initial positions now, let's—" A blast hammered into her chest and cut her off. One of the Hoplites, attempting to maneuver through the numerous wrecked vehicles, improvised barricades, and craters that littered the road, was struck on the turret roof by a mortar shell that eluded its active protection systems. The thin armor provided little resistance, and within moments the cannon ammunition cooked off, along with the vehicle's missiles, blowing the turret sky-high. Counter-battery mortar fire rained down in response, but the damage was done.
The heat from the uncontrolled ammunition fire only underscored the need to get moving, and to get across the bridge, fast. "If you've got time to stare, you've got time to shoot!" she snapped, rousing the two marines next to her from stunned inaction. "They're killing us here! Let's get across this damned bridge and get killed over there!"
"You heard eltee, First Squad on me, let's do this!" Laughley shouted, answered by his squad taking up a battle cry and jumping to their feet.
Armandez nodded in approval and said, "Second Squad, cover First Squad. Third and Fourth, move up behind Second!" As bullets cracked and ricocheted off the ground all around her, as cannon fire and plasma blasts deafened her and singed her skin, she added a call for a medivac to the rapidly-filling fire support queue, then stood, hopped on top of the wrecked sports car, and waved her marines forwards. "All units, advance!"
Palmer lifted her boot from an Abyssal's caved-in skull and gave it a shake, sending a small spray of gore flying, then looked around at her fellow super soldiers and the stray shipgirl who'd attached herself to the team. "Ammo check. How we all doing?"
Amidst the corpses of an Abyssal patrol, Fireteam Torrent responded with varying degrees and combinations of head shakes and sagging shoulders. "Not brilliant. This time took more than expected, and we already used some just getting through the city," said Torrent Three. She added, as she reloaded her rifle, "Even scavenging from dead UNSC, we'll be relying on Abbie weapons before long."
Torrent Two nodded in agreement, performing a rapid breakdown of his rifle. "Yeah, this lot was made of tougher stuff than most. Took a good bit of ammo to dig out. Gonna be slower going from here on… unless Everest's got any to spare?" The last bit turned his sentence into a question as he finished reassembling his weapon, causing Everest to look up from where she was busy rifling through the equipment of a dead Abyssal in search of more ammo for her appropriated Abbie gun.
"Hm? What are you talking about? Only ammo I've got is stuff I've looted. And fuck this guy," she cursed, "this fucker's got nothin'," and aimed a resentful kick at the Abyssal's corpse.
"Hey, careful with that thing," Two warned, "eggheads have a hard enough time getting intact Abbie bodies to pull apart without you bruising that one up." As Everest looked away, chastened, he continued, "In the combat recordings, you shipgirl types are always pulling ammo and weapons out of thin air. Right, guys?" The rest of Torrent nodded along and made noises of agreement.
Everest pinched her nose and let out an aggrieved sigh. Combined with her somewhat incongruous yet strangely fitting business outfit, it made Everest sound for all the world like a put-upon office worker. "How many times do I have to tell you, I know nothing about that? I just got here, I have no idea what I'm doing besides killing aliens, I barely know what this new war's about. I'm just tagging along 'cause you all seem like you know what you're doing, and you believe me when I say crazy shit like "I'm UNSC Everest'. But when you tell me all these crazy things I'm supposed to do, like create ammo from thin air and summon a backpack mecha and breathe vacuum, that's where you lose me."
"Alright jokers, break it up," Palmer said, bringing the conversation to a halt. "Torrent, did you all forget the first rule of battlefield requisition? Or have you all gone so soft you can't handle a mission without access to resupply?"
"Sir no sir!"
"That's right. We didn't come in here expecting to get restocked with ammo. Just 'cause we have a plus one now, doesn't change that fact one bit." Palmer frowned, the expression hidden under her helmet but given away by the way she tapped a boot against the ground. "That said, you aren't wrong about the ammo situation. According to the map there should be an armory about three levels down, but odds are it's stripped bare. Everest, go through the rest of these alien chucklekfucks and round up anything useful."
"Sure. On it. Was already doing it anyway…"
"Hop to it." Palmer nodded her away, then motioned to Torrent. "Take a knee. Quick strategy talk."
Casting glances up and down the corridor, and with one eye glued to their motion trackers, the other four Spartans gathered around Palmer. "What's up, Commander?"
"Abbie resistance isn't stiffening as we head deeper. That last patrol was a little tougher, but not heavily reinforced like I'd expect after we've just murdered our way through a couple dozen just like it. Someone ought to have raised an alarm by now."
Torrent One shifted uncomfortably and said, "I noticed that too. We really haven't run into any big roadblocks, just groups of five or ten every other level. I chalked it up to the security forces putting up a good fight and depleting their numbers."
Torrent Three shook her head. "Doubt it. Latest intel estimate had the number of attackers at 25000. The security guys were good, but good enough to go over one for three? I don't think so."
Palmer nodded at Three. "Right. So Abbie's probably got their troops all bunched up at the bottom, probably toe-to-toe with whatever's left of the security. At the very least, that's made our lives that much harder when it comes to extracting the VIPs the sneaky way."
Four nodded glumly. "Active camo ain't perfect, we'd be rolling the dice a few hundred times."
"Also makes shooting our way in and out complicated. But that only answers the question of what Abbie are doing, not why they're doing it. Why aren't they throwing everything at us, trying to bag a team of Spartans and a… a shipgirl?" Dammit, but Palmer still couldn't say that without wincing. "We might have a situation like when Breaker and Dancer broke into the Abbie command ship with Forward Unto Dawn, when the Princess held its forces back until the end."
There was a collective, sharp breath. They'd had a chance to view the raw combat recordings from that engagement, before anyone else and before any analysis. Videos of a single, unassuming Abyssal freezing Spartans in place with pure fear, tossing them into the air with a flick of its hand, facetanking rockets and railgun rounds, and utterly wiping the floor with a literal walking armory silenced even the most talkative Spartans. "So there's probably something big waiting for us at the bottom. Probably something to do with those Brute-like noises we keep hearing?"
"You cotton on quick. I doubt it's a 'Princess', those seem to be tied to ships, but there's definitely something similar down there. We'll be facing it minus three Spartans and one combat-ready shipgirl. Feeling up for it?"
"Kiddin' me, Commander? I been looking for a decent challenge for a while now." Torrent Four punched her fist into her power-armored palm. "We're ten-one versus Breaker in Wargames, I think we can take some 'roided-out Abbie mook."
"Cool your heels, you're a Spartan, not some blood-crazied Brute. We'll plan more if and when we make contact." Palmer's thoughts went back to a few hours ago, when she was picking out her load out in the S Deck armory. She'd passed up the Spartan laser, thinking it'd slow her down. How she was regretting that decision now… Her suit's radio couldn't penetrate all the way to the surface, not with all the rock, armor, and EMP shielding in the way, otherwise she'd ask Infinity for an equipment drop. Lasky, the stubborn, beautiful bastard, would find some way to get anti-armor weapons down to their location, even if he had to hand-deliver them. "In the meantime, conserve your ammo and strength. How's Everest—"
"Oi, you lot!" The Spartans looked up and over at Everest, who waved at them from down the corridor, a small pile of Abyssal guns at her feet. "Found weapons and ammo, and I think I also found a working intercom, maybe?" She pointed at a metal panel set into the wall. "Abyssals must have overlooked this one. Haven't touched it, so don't blame me if it turns out broken."
"Let me see." As Torrent automatically took up security positions, Palmer stood and made her way over in a few short strides. She fist-pumped internally, though restricted her external expressions to a short nod. Even though, between UNSC defenders implementing the Cole Protocol and Abyssal attackers searching for intel, nearly every piece of comms equipment and data storage had been either evacuated, stolen, or destroyed in place, this intercom panel somehow escaped the attentions of both. "Had to get lucky at some point. Good eyes, Everest, now let me take a look at it."
"Your wish is my command, oh Commander Palmer."
Palmer quickly flipped through the intercom codes from the briefing, found the correct one, and punched it into the console. The connection indicator light turned green and she said, "This is Spartan Commander Sarah Palmer, verification code nine-eight-dash-one-five-seven-zero-dash-quebec-foxtrot. Repeat, this is Spartan Commander Sarah Palmer, verification code nine-eight-dash-one-five-seven-zero-dash-quebec-foxtrot. Does anyone receive me, over?"
It took a moment, but a response came through, crackly but clearly human and clearly relieved. "Fuck, it's good to hear a human voice. Spartan? Did you say you were a Spartan?"
"Yes. Identify yourself and state your verification code."
"Uh, hold on, lemme get an officer on the line. One moment…" There was a brief sound of boots against concrete, then silence. Palmer chanced a glance back at the others: Torrent were still in position, giving no indication they'd heard anything. Everest, was definitely smirking at Palmer's expense. Swearing silently that she'd figure out something small and petty to put over the shipgirl once they were all safe back on Infinity, Palmer returned her attention to the intercom as it crackled back to life.
"This is Major Raul Gonzalez, Bravo-6 Security Regiment, verification code five-one-dash-three-nine-five-dash-alpha-zulu." A man's voice came through, heavily tinged with fatigue but still clear and steady. Palmer's HUD flashed a green check mark upon receipt of the code, indicating that it was valid. "Commander Palmer, it's good to hear your voice."
"Likewise, Major. Glad someone's still giving Abbie hell." Palmer elected not to ask what happened to the colonel in command. From the tension underlying Gonzalez's even voice, the major wasn't much in the mood for pleasantries. Fair enough; Palmer was here on business. "Is the intercom secure?"
"We enacted the Cole Protocol whenever we fell back, but I can't say for certain that Bravo-6's internal comms haven't been compromised. Best avoid anything sensitive over this channel."
"Understood, sir. Are you currently engaged with the enemy?"
"Take a listen." The major must have stepped away, because Palmer could make out the faint sound of explosions, gunfire, and shouting. "We're holding for now, but only have a few fallback positions left. I have just over six hundred combat-ready troops, and I estimate we're facing around a little over a battalion of the enemy."
Damn. That's more Abbies than I expected. And less UNSC. "What happened to your other troops?"
"There's a lot of wounded here, not ready for combat. Several other units got cut off and either escaped the complex or were wiped out. In total, we've lost around 1200 KIA."
"Sounds like we've come just in time, then. I assume you've concentrated your forces in the central command center?"
"Correct. You'll be pleased to hear that we have some, er, critical personnel secured here. I assume that's who you're here for?"
"Glad we're on the same page, Major."
"We can give you cover for your extraction but lack the strength to mount a breakout attack. If you disrupted the enemy formation we could assist you. I suppose it's too much to hope for evacuation for the rest of my troops?"
Palmer grimaced. "If there's as many Abbies as you say, we may not be able to hold open an evacuation corridor long enough to get all the wounded out on foot, without vehicles. There is a relief force fighting towards you, but…"
"I understand. I will let my troops know about the reinforcements, we've been starved for good news." That might have been the end of it, but Palmer sensed there was something else Gonzalez wanted to say. "Be advised, ever since Sublevel-94, there's been some massive Abyssal… thing that's torn through every defensive line in its way. Seem's there's just one, but reports say it's stronger than a Hunter and twice as tough. Fast, too. You may have passed by its handiwork once or twice."
Palmer thought back to an especially grisly scene in a security gate on Sublevel-94, where she'd found the gate smashed off its tracks and the soldiers defending it literally smashed into the walls and floor, bodies broken and crushed as if hit by an angry freight train. One body in particular, wearing officer's insignia, was only identifiable by its name patch — its head was crushed like a watermelon. At the time, she'd dismissed it as the result of an unfortunately well-aimed series of anti-structure missiles, but now… "I might have, once or twice."
"I've concentrated all my heavy weapons at the front to ward it off, and it seems to be working, but we're suffering constant attrition. Whatever your plans are, you would do well to expedite them."
"We're Spartans, sir. We'll get it done. One last thing: the armory on Sublevel-108, is there anything left in it?"
"We took everything we could and destroyed what we couldn't, but we were forced to abandon a good amount of engineering explosives. Seemed like a waste at the time but now…heh. Your armor can override the lockouts on the remote detonators. I'm sure you can find a use for them."
"A pile of bombs? That's the best news I've had in days. We'll contact you once in position. Palmer, out."
Everest spoke up as soon as Palmer signed off, saying, "Just not even going to mention me, huh?"
"It'd take far too long to explain your metaphysical clusterfuck of an existence," the Spartan shot back. "Took me a private conversation with Admiral Lasky and more coffee than I care to remember to wrap my head around."
"Lasky? I thought ol' Audrey was Corps? Merde, she still kicking?"
"Audrey who—no, her son! Forget it." Palmer waved her index finger in a circle and flashed a 'regroup' signal over the squad net. "Torrent, did you follow that talk?" Four nods. "Any questions?"
"So there's a big ugly down below? Doesn't sound like a 'Princess', but it definitely sounds mean." Torrent Three shook her head. "What's the plan to take 'em out? We've got few grenades and fewer rockets, and I didn't put on my anti-telekinesis underwear this morning."
"If you're in possession of anti-telekinesis tech, it'd better be turned into the eggheads on the 'morrow, or your ass is grass for 40 laps around Infinity. Let me think for a sec." This Abyssal… whatever sounded a lot like a Hunter. Standard procedure was to call arty or air support on a pair of those or, if those weren't available, to attack them from multiple positions with antitank weapons. She had no heavy weapons, but it wasn't impossible to take a Hunter down with small arms. One just needed to be smart, fast, and have a distraction. But a Hunter, supported by a bunch of infantry, was a much tougher prospect to take down. And with so many Abbie eyes up and alert, even the Spartans' active camo was a dicey prospect. What could distract the Abbies long enough, cause enough disorganization, to let the Spartans exfiltrate a couple dozen VIPs…?
"I can tell you're looking at me," Everest said, closing her eyes in resignation. "Do I get a say in this, or am I about to get saddled with the dirty work?"
"Listen to the plan before jumping to conclusions, would you?" Palmer used her armor's command suite to project a hologram blueprint of the Bravo-6 HIGHCOM Central Command Center. A ten-story underground office building, it functioned as a central clearinghouse for data and intelligence constantly flowing to and from battlespaces throughout the length and breadth of the Orion Arm, and a place for personnel from multiple commands to confer, plan, and coordinate. It also served as secure storage for reams of sensitive intel, and a final fallback point, with an extensive armory, walls thick enough to withstand tank shells, and a layout designed to make an attacker's life hell.
"According to the Major, the defenders are holed up in here, and will hold for a little while. I'm guessing they've turned the entrance into a chokepoint, which means the Abbies are likely formed up just out here, and in the surrounding corridors." Palmer pointed to the large waiting area-cum-atrium just outside the bunker, a concession to habitability. "Abbie has around a thousand troops, I'd say at least a company in the atrium and the rest waiting in the wings. They can't easily bring their full forces to bear on the defense, which is good, but it also makes any attempt to sneak through with active camo real fucking chancy. Along with that… Hunter-like thing, and without room to maneuver worth shit, we can't count on shooting our way in, grabbing the VIPs, and then shooting our way back out. Either it takes too long and they step up their assault and kill everyone, or the VIPs get shot to pieces on the way out. We need to create a distraction, hopefully pull the Hunter away, and sow some chaos in their ranks."
"While they're confused, and without their muscle, we can sneak by with active camo and make contact with the defenders, then mount a mini-breakout to hold open a evac corridor."
"Right. Abbie's not going to take its eyes off the prize easy, though, we'll need a big fucking distraction to pull any significant numbers away. That's why Everest and I will be running interference while the rest of you fulfill the objective."
"Huh?" Four's opaque visor somehow communicated her incredulity. "I get using Abbie's hard-on for killing shipgirls against them, but you're going too, Commander?"
"That's right. Don't worry, I don't have death in my planner," Palmer said. "Torrent, you're all, I assume, big boys and girls. You know the mission. You don't need me around to hold your hand through a VIP extraction. Everest is going to need backup, and let's be frank, though you'll all miss me dearly, my sudden absence will disrupt unit cohesion the least."
"You're not wrong, Commander." Torrent One studied the hologram before pointing to one of the evacuation stairs. "While you've got them confused, we'll take advantage of their distraction with the heavy weapons in the command center to open up an escape corridor. Then we can carry the VIPs if need be. But what if the Abbies lose interest in you guys too early and head back while we're still stuck in?"
"There's a solution for that, and if it plays out correctly, I think we can take out the big ugly while we're at it. The major mentioned a bunch of explosives left in Sublevel-108 armory. If we place them here and light them off as we run past — boom." Palmer snapped her fingers. "No more Mister Abbie. As a bonus, if we time it right, we can collapse the corridor and trap the pursuing forces on the other side with us, away from you. Plan B, If the explosives don't finish it off, we make for this emergency exit here. It should let us pull it above ground in, let's see, North Ryde, where we can call artillery on its head."
"Sounds like a plan. We'll move quickly and give you a call once we're clear so you can break off."
"Good. Just one more question. Everest," Palmer said, causing the shipgirl to start and look up. "This plan involves you doing a bit of running. You feeling up to it?"
The shipgirl winced at the mention of her condition, putting a hand against her side where the biofoam held everything together. "I was, until you asked," she complained. "Ah, I think the biofoam might start to wear off soon…"
"Do you think you can pull this off? I could swap you out for one of Torrent, or run this solo."
"No, no, from the sound of it the bait will only be really convincing if I'm part of it. I'll be fine, just… if I pass out, get a real doctor to look at me, yeah? Least you could freaking do—oh, that's starting to hurt now that I'm paying attention to it…"
"Solid. We'll tweak the plan on the spot if need be, but time's a-wasting people." Palmer shut off the hologram and rose to her feet. "Let's move out!"
Armandez's HUD told her it was 1500 hours, but the smoke filling the air, both from the burning city and the numerous wrecks littering the Sydney Harbour bridge behind her, made it seem more like late afternoon. Sunlight, tinted orange from filtering through clouds of ash and other particulates, dappled the riverfront promenade, casting everything into a warm tone. Columns of Paladins and Hoplites, infantry riding desant on the former, and Warthogs, loaded down with crates of ammunition, trundled past in a never-ending stream. Every so often, there was a loud splash as combat engineers, working to restore normal traffic to the bridge, pushed wrecked vehicles off the edge and into the river. As she watched, an IFV, hit by a rocket and gutted by an ammunition fire, slowly tilted over the side until gravity took over and it tumbled into the water below.
"That's a hellluva fall." The lieutenant turned to see Laughley approaching her right, rifle on his back and gazing at the spot where the Hoplite had entered the water. The ripples were dying down, but an occasional bubble still rose to the surface from air pockets trapped inside the wreck. "People sometimes pay to see that kind of shit, did you know, sir?"
"Saw it on a show once, yeah. How's the platoon doing?"
Laughley shrugged, glancing over his shoulder over to where the platoon was sprawled out nearby on the paving stones. "Alright, sir. Morale's okay, generally. 3rd Squad's doing the worst, I think, that was a fucking terrible way for Morgan to go, but our injured people all got evacced, so that's not really weighing on them anymore. We've got time to eat and rest, and I think that's just what everyone needs. Also helped that you went around and talked to everyone a bit."
Armandez smiled and let some of the tension in her shoulders go. That last part hadn't been easy, but it was necessary, to let people relieve fear and express grief over lost comrades. It was no substitute for long term counseling, but it got them moving forward, able to focus on the mission long enough to make it to the counselor's office. "Happy to do my part. Welcome to the Hotel Second Line, sergeant. Enjoy your stay, 'cause it won't last long."
The sergeant snorted and rolled his eyes. "Always thinking about the next step, sir, can't you just let me enjoy the moment?"
"I'll have you know that not letting you have nice things is part of my job description."
"Har, har." Laughley trailed off, staring up at the bridge. It looked sturdy, despite the fighting that had taken place on it not even three hours ago, but Armandez wondered how much damage the engineers would find once they had a chance to inspect it. Might even have to tear the whole thing down and replace it. "Say, sir, how many you reckon we lost retaking that thing?"
"Battlenet's still tallying the casualty figures, sergeant."
"Yeah, but unofficially?"
"From our platoon? Three dead, eight wounded." It hurt to say it aloud. The fight for the bridge had been an ordeal. First Squad alone was down three marines, two wounded and one KIA, caught by sniper fire or mortar shells or just a piece of shrapnel in the wrong place in the wrong time. In addition, those numbers didn't reflect the fact that everyone else also sported some kind of injury, too minor to warrant evacuation yet definitely enough to make its presence felt. Armandez herself possessed steadily spreading bruises across much of her right arm and leg, a product of being thrown into a lane divider by a mis-aimed antitank rocket. Said rocket was originally intended for a Paladin tank with its shields down; she shot the gunner in time to throw off its aim, but not in time to stop it from firing altogether. Shortly after, while still stunned from the impact, the Paladin tank that she had been trying to protect nearly ran her over while she struggled to come back to her senses. Only Laughley, screaming into the radio while running to drag her back to safety, had saved her from becoming an Armandez-flavored smear on the pavement. Unconsciously, she reached over to rub her sore limbs. "In total? At least thirty KIA from all units, probably over seventy WIA."
Laughley nodded, eyes downcast. "I figured as much." He unwrapped a stick of gum, broke it in half, and offered a piece to Armandez. She took it with a quiet 'thank you' and started to chew, her thoughts wandering back to her marines. First Squad had taken a beating, but the other three squads in her platoon weren't in much better shape. The Abbies caught 2nd Squad in a crossfire while they pushed through a gap in the Abbie lines, only the timely intervention of an orbiting strike drone saving them from a massacre. 3rd Squad lost a marine when an explosion blew him off the side of the bridge. 4th Squad spent several minutes as the plaything of an Abbie sniper who just wouldn't stay down, no matter how many times Command flattened its hiding hole with artillery.
Despite everything, the platoon pushed through alongside the armor and other infantry units, shooting, stabbing, and blasting the Abyssals back meter by meter. A liberal dose of artillery and bombing, along with naval missile fire and a battalion of Army Airborne, helped break the Abbie positions along the riverbank in conjunction with the marine assault grinding relentlessly over the bridge. The combined effort, after turfing the Abbies off their illegally occupied real estate, secured a bridgehead on the northern bank of the Parramatta into which Command now poured troops and supplies in conjunction with further offensives advancing from the west and north. Armandez estimated that, in the past hour, at least two regiments had crossed the river; the brass were eager to eradicate the Abyssal stain on Earth's surface, a sentiment with which Armandez agreed wholeheartedly.
"Win many more victories like that and we might just lose the war," Laughley mumbled. "Sir."
Armandez sighed and hung her head. "Just don't stay stuff like around the troops. It's bad for morale."
"Not like they don't know it already." Laughley spat his gum into the water and turned back the way he came. "Are you going to join us for lunch, sir?"
Her stomach growled. "I think I've lost my appetite. But thank you, sergeant."
"Sure." The lieutenant glanced over as he ambled off, back to where the platoon was sprawled out on the paving stones. This moment of relative safety afforded them an opportunity to clean their weapons, tend their injuries, and wolf down rations as fast as they could chew and swallow. Despite the occasional rocket or plasma shell that landed within the bridgehead, the vast majority of shelling and bombardment, both Abbie and UNSC, had moved up with the progress of the frontline. If Armandez closed her eyes to the devastation and tuned out the booming of artillery, in the early afternoon sun, with the river lapping quietly at its banks, it was almost peaceful. She could imagine herself taking a stroll along the river. Of course, that illusion vanished as soon as she opened her eyes and beheld the ruined state of the waterfront, but she could dream, couldn't she?
Of course, even if the platoon was now technically 'in reserve', she couldn't completely relax. The brass might decide, at any moment, that the meat grinder needed more meat and shove them back onto the line. So the lieutenant, even as she breathed in the ocean air and tried to avoid breathing in smoke, kept one ear glued to the battlenet even as she prayed that the brass would just give her platoon one more hour to rest.
She got thirty minutes. Thirty minutes which she used to have another chat with her marines, to cave to her stomach's demands and grab a bit to eat, to simply exist without needing to think about the war. It was nice, and therefore couldn't last. Even as she gulped down the last of her water, Armandez saw a group of Hoplites and Warthog break off from the main traffic stream, two of the former and three of the latter headed straight to where her platoon sat. At the same time, an alert flashed over the battlenet, informing her of a new set of priority orders. "…huh," Armandez said, gaze distant as she read the file. "Interesting."
Laughley glanced over at her and cocked an eyebrow. "Hm? What's up eltee?"
"New orders. Regroup your squad and get ready to mount up, I'll brief everyone later."
The sergeant's other eyebrow went up and he nodded. "Understood, sir."
"Good." Armandez raised her voice and said "Squad leaders, regroup your people and prepare for new orders!" She waited while people got up, stretched, and gathered around. "First Platoon, listen up. Break's over, Command's got work for us." A slight groan rose from the assembled marines, many of whom had just finished eating and were perfectly content to just lay in the sunlight. "I know, I know, we were all looking forward to a nice rest in the second line. However, recon's just determined there's a few hundred civilians holed up in, uh, North Ryde. Command's sending us to haul 'em out."
A marine coughed in disbelief. "Seriously? There's civvies still alive in the combat zone, sir?"
The lieutenant nodded, distributing the intel package to the platoon with a thought. "Yeah, they rode out the fight in one of the public bomb shelters."
Laughley frowned, popping a fresh piece of gum into his mouth. As he chewed, he said, "They've waited this long. What's the rush, sir? There can't be that many Abbies that Command needs to divert, what's this say, three companies?"
"Patience is a virtue, sergeant," said Armandez, a note of irritation entering her voice as she deliberately emphasized the man's rank. Continuing her explanation of the platoon's new assignment, she said into the platoon net, "The bulk of the Abbies are around Bravo-6, that's why we bypassed the harbor district—"
"Hard to believe anything's still alive in there," muttered that marine again. Armandez had to agree; between the Abyssals' and UNSC's best efforts to turn Sydney into an imitation of the Somme, it hardly seemed anything could survive in the moonscape of the North Shore. However, as very recent experience had proven, nothing short of an actually world-shattering bombardment could completely outmatch the ability of infantry, human, alien, or otherwise, to dig in like a tick on a dog.
"Yes, hard to believe. But Command's also identified a large pocket of Abbies, a few hundred, that have been cut off in the district by our advance, and who're getting uncomfortably close to stumbling over the civvies." Armandez paused as the Hoplite went over a ditch, then continued, "Command is worried that the bunker won't be able to stand up to much more punishment, so driving them off with more arty is right out. You can see where this is going."
Laughley nodded glumly. "Doesn't look good for the brass if they blow up the civvies while trying to save them, so it's up to us to be knights in shining armor. Hip hip, hurrah, for the poor fucking infantry."
Again, Armandez had to agree, though she didn't dare say so aloud. Just surveying the faces around her, she could tell that even with a few hours rest, the platoon was still exhausted. Nerves were frayed, bodies worn out, energy low, and Armandez would have liked nothing more than to give her marines more time to recover. "We're all tired. Believe me, I get it," Armandez said. "But at least this way we'll be away from the worst of the fighting around Bravo-6. You think you have it tough? Imagine what kind of hell the guys at the front are driving into." That got a round of nods. "Besides," she continued, as more details continued to flow down from the battlenet, "we won't be doing much fighting here either. Command's planning to drop a company of ODSTs into the district ahead of us. While they hold the Abbies' attention, 5th and 6th Companies smash into them from behind, while we grab the civvies and make a run for it. So we'll still be second-line, just a slightly more forward second line."
An appreciative murmur rose up at the mention of ODSTs. "Helljumpers?" Laughley whistled appreciatively. "Command's breaking out the good shite, huh? Better late than never. Couldn't be bothered to spare us a few Spartans, though?"
"Put that on your Christmas list, 'cause it ain't happening," Armandez shot back. "In any case, unless the 5th and 6th make an absolute cock-up of this, we'll just be providing security for a bunch of scared civvies while they run for the rear."
"Riding herd on civilians?" Laughley said. "I'd almost rather be doing the fighting!"
The tension broke and a ripple of laughter ran through the platoon. Armandez smirked as well, though she quickly brought it under control. "Careful sergeant, remember whose taxes pay your salary. And what your mother is," she mock-seriously warned. "In any case, those transports over there are for us. Break into squads and mount up, ready to move in three. Understood? Good. Dismissed!"
"Sir!"
As squads broke off to do their own individual briefings, Armandez attached herself to First Squad like she usually did. While in command of the entire platoon, she didn't warrant an entire staff and vehicle for herself. Laughley and her had had a good working relationship while sergeant and corporal of First Squad, respectively, so when she was promoted to command of the platoon and he command of the squad, they'd stuck with it, and she thanked whoever designed the Hoplite for including an extra seat near the rear ramp. "Sergeant, a word, please."
"Yes, sir." Laughley motioned for his squad to go on ahead and then dropped back. "What's up, sir?"
"I'll be saying this to the other squad leaders too, but make sure nobody pushes themselves too hard, alright? And I know we're all tired, but make sure everyone keeps a level head, I don't want some poor civilian getting shot because an engine backfired and someone had a twitchy finger."
"Got it, eltee."
"Good." She glanced up as the sky, still swathed in smoke and criss-crossed by vapor trails from combat drones. "I don't know why, but I've got a funny feeling about this one. Seems a little too straightforward. Help me make sure nobody gets complacent, will you?"
"When do I not, sir? I'll have everyone covering their sectors, or God help them it'll be PT for the next three months."
"Good. Good." They reached their assigned IFV, its rear ramp open and the rest of First Squad already inside. Armandez made an exaggerated bow and gestured with her entire arm. "After you, mon bon sergent. Let's go save some people."
"Charges set, Commander," Torrent Two said over the radio, slightly garbled by the layers of concrete between him and Palmer.
"Good work, now get back here."
"That's 100 kilos of C12," Torrent Four remarked, palming one of the remote detonators. "If that don't bring down the roof, I don't know what will. Good thing Gonzalez had the sense to lock out the detonators, or Abbie might've blown a hole through his wall."
From his forward position, scouting out the Abyssal forces with active camo, Torrent One also radioed in. "To be honest, I'm not sure if it'll be enough. Take a look at who just came into the picture."
As Palmer tapped into One's camera feed, she for once didn't have a flippant response prepared. Major Gonzalez's vague description hadn't truly done justice to the hulking alien monstrosity that wandered into frame. Hunched over, yet still tall enough that its head scraped a ceiling that could comfortably accommodate an overgrown Sangheili, and large enough that it took up a good chunk of a corridor that could fit a Warthog, Palmer felt that her Hunter analogy was becoming more apt by the second. Even what flesh was exposed by gaps in its thick armor plating was rough and sinewy, much like the Lekgolo worms which came together to form a Hunter. The armor itself was irregularly shaped, not like the curving asymmetry of regular Abyssal designs but rather jagged and spiky like it was carved out of a rock. A full-face helmet enclosed what she presumed to be its head, and cables ran from the back of the helmet into ports connected to a large oxygen tank-like apparatus on its back. It carried no visible weapons, but with the size of its claws that scratched out gouges in the walls as it paced to and fro, Palmer guessed that it really didn't feel the need to. All in all, a big, beefy, walking tank of an alien that looked like it could pick up a Spartan in full MJOLNIR and rip them in half. Something to be respected? Sure, but not scary, not really, not after battling Hunters and Promethean Knights and Flood Juggernauts. Just another big, bulky alien, and yet…
Looking at its twisted yet vaguely humanoid form, Palmer felt a prickly chill run down her spine, and shivered despite her MJOLNIR's climate conditioning. This wasn't like the instinctive little thrill she got when facing a Hunter, before training and experience and calm analysis tamped it down. No, this was something different, as if the thing's mere presence bypassed all of that to reach out directly touch a very primal, instinctive part of her brain, the part that told her distant genetic ancestors to stay the hell away from that tiger. Even when she looked away from it, she could still feel that odd chill linger and pool in the spot where her brain met her spine. She recalled watching Fireteam Breaker's recently uploaded combat recordings, and the effect of the Abyssal 'Princess' on their mental states. Was this something similar? If so, she could only imagine what Torrent One was experiencing, being in much closer proximity to the source.
"Straighten out that spine, Spartan. It's not some magical monster, a big enough explosion will still kill it dead, and we've got a pretty big boom lined up," Palmer said, both to ease her team's nerves and her own. "Scout out the other approach corridors and then keep an eye on where that thing goes. It's our primary target for distraction, so we'll need to engage it first."
"Aye, Commander." Before One closed the channel, Palmer made out a burst of gunfire and alien shouts as the Abyssals mounted a renewed probing attack on the bunker entrance.
"Unfriendly reminder that I'm not patched into your feed," Everest said from where she sat on the floor, looking significantly more drawn and fatigued than half an hour ago. The bio foam was definitely wearing off now, and the delayed toll of her wounds was beginning to set in. "Mind giving me a preview about what's about to come after my ass?"
"Big son of a gun, think Hunter minus the cannon and plus a mean set of claws. Run fast and you'll be fine. Run slow and I'll assume you want a closed casket."
Everest paled a fraction more. "Aye, you don't sugarcoat it do you? Is it too late to ask for my MAC back?"
The sound of boots against concrete caused the assembled Spartans and shipgirl to look round as Torrent Two jogged up to the group. "All set, Commander. Explosives are rigged to collapse the floor above for forty meters in both directions."
"Good. One, status of the big guy?"
"Where I left him. Advise that Abbies moved some of their troops up, recommend moving our timetable up as well for maximum impact."
"Understood. We're coming to you now, stay out of sight and don't give us all away." Palmer jerked her head, sending the other Spartans, active camo on, towards One's position. She then reached a hand down to Everest. "Up you come."
The shipgirl glanced up, then clasped Palmer's outstretched hand and levered herself to her feet. She then swayed back and forth for a second, blinking as the blood rushed from her brain. "Whoa. One moment." She put a hand to her mouth and her throat flexed oddly, as if she was holding back from vomiting. "Alright, I'm good."
"Can you run? It's not too late to swap out, and I'd rather not have to explain to the brass how I found and lost a shipgirl in the space of a day."
"No, I'm good."
"Alright. Here, before we go, take this." Palmer fished around in her utility belt and procured a small radio earpiece, which she pressed into Everest's hand. "In case we get separated, so I can come and bail your ass out."
Everest rolled her eyes. "Yes, mother, I'll be fine."
So she said, but it was clear that Everest was slower than usual. By the time they reached One, Everest was breathing heavily from what was simply a light stroll for Palmer. Granted, a 'light stroll' for a Spartan was a brisk jog for most humans, but Everest was definitely not just a normal human. Signaling for Everest to stay back and out of view, Palmer activated her active camo and knelt down next to One, who was crouched in a doorway out of view of the Abyssals just 30 meters away. "Any updates?"
"Looks like they're gearing up for something. More of them have moved away, and the ones that are still here are looking more alert." One placed waypoints over a few Abyssals who appeared to be on rearguard duty. "Big guy's still here though, so it's not too late."
"Ah." The Abyssal Hunter seemed even bigger in person, and its fear-inducing aura much more potent. It still paced the corridor, but stopped at times to seemingly sniff the air and send glances over its shoulder, coming uncomfortably close to where the Spartans were concealed. Could it somehow sense them and Everest? Palmer could feel her heart rate speeding up, and a quick glance at her biometrics showed her pupils dilating. It was like a someone threw a lead blanket on top of her senses, muffling them so that the world shrank down to her and the Hunter. A quick, vigorous head shake brought her back to her senses. "You holding up alright, One?"
"Splendid." One's voice was slightly strained, but nothing too significant. "We're ready to go when you are."
"Good—wait." Palmer narrowed her eyes, then cursed. "Son of a bitch, I think the Abbies are finally moving the big bastard up." A few Abyssal soldiers, of higher rank judging by the colored stripes on their helmet, were speaking to the Hunter in their rough, growling language. The Hunter rumbled a reply, still shooting glances back at where the Spartans crouched, invisible. One Abyssal officer followed its glance, saw nothing, barked an irritated order and yanked on a cable attached to a thick collar around the Hunter's neck. The Hunter rumbled a louder reply, took one last look, and then turned to follow the officer. In the distance, the staccato bursts of UNSC firearms, accompanied by the booms of heavier weapons, picked up in pace.
"Picking up increased UNSC gunfire," Three said. "I think they're pushing strongly at the defense; this might be their big push."
"It's move it or lose it. Everest!" From her position, Everest shot a thumbs up and hefted her weapon. Some color and alertness were back in her eyes, likely adrenaline flooding her system and dulling the effects of her wounds. Good, she'd need it. "Engage the infantry, leave the big one alone for now. With me, on three! One, two, three!"
With remarkable coordination, considering they'd only worked together for a few hours, Everest and Palmer swung out into the open, the Spartan dropping her active camo, and opened fire. 12.7 mm SAPHE rounds from Palmer's pistols blew chunks out of Abyssal armor while crystal rounds from Everest's Abyssal rifle sent two aliens spinning to the ground within a second of opening fire. The rounds that struck the Hunter, both lead and crystal, simply bounced off its thick armor. The buzzsaw sound of the Abyssal weapon, combined with the rapid fire bangs of Palmer's guns, was almost deafening in the confines of the corridor.
The Abyssal reaction was immediate, as soldiers not caught in the opening fusillade dove and scrambled for cover. One of the officers popped up out of cover, and Palmer swore she could see its eyes widen through its helmet visor as it beheld a Spartan and a shipgirl, out in the open, ripe for the picking. It ducked down before she could pop its dome, yelling something into its comms. The specifics were lost on Palmer, but she got the general gist: they're here, we've got them, send reinforcements! It was probably signaling for other alien units to circle around, surround the humans and engage from the rear, but before Palmer could give Everest the signal to begin falling back, the Hunter, free from its handlers, made its move.
The Hunter slowly turned to face the Spartan and the shipgirl, eerily silent despite the shouting and shooting going on all around it. It tilted its head to the side for a second, seeming to ponder the situation, before something clicked and it leaned back to let out a deafening, earthshaking bellow. Palmer's helmet immediately muted its external audio feeds to protect her eardrums, though it didn't help much when the ground itself transmitted the vibrations into her armor and shook her bones. A wave of utter terror swept through her, and it was only with a great mental push that Palmer stopped herself from being rooted to the spot in fear. Without her armor, Palmer was sure she'd have gone deaf; she spared a glance over at Everest, who was still firing away, teeth bared in an excited snarl as she swept her weapon back and forth. One return shot hit her square in the left bicep, but the shipgirl didn't flinch, blocking out any and all outside sensations in her mission to pump as much lead downrange as quickly as possible. "Everest!" When the first shout didn't get the shipgirl's attention, she stopped firing to run over and grab her shoulder. "Everest!"
"Huh?"
"We're going. Now! Keep up, 'cause I ain't stopping for you!" As the Hunter fell to all fours, slamming its claws against the ground with enough force to shake dust from the ceiling, Palmer gave the shipgirl a rough shove in the right direction. Everest stumbled from the force, but recovered quickly, grabbed up her weapon, and took off at a dead sprint. "Torrent, it's you from here! Don't cock this up!" Barely stopping to notice the green acknowledgement light in the corner of her HUD, Palmer followed the shipgirl, taking shots with her pistols to keep the Abbies interested. The waypoint was already set; 100 kilos of C12 awaited the Abbies, ready to blow and drop tons of concrete on top of their heads.
She just hoped it would be enough.
Pausing in the middle of hefting a loaded stretcher into the back of a Pelican, Armandez glanced at the dirt below her feet. "What in the world was that…?" she mumbled to no one in particular.
"Everything okay, eltee?" Laughley called, over from where he was helping to keep the line of civilian evacuees orderly. She waved him off, turning back to carry the stretcher further into the dropship's passenger bay and set it on the deck. As the marine carrying the other side squeezed past her on his way out of the Pelican, Armandez knelt down next to the stretcher's occupant, a young girl with a broken arm.
"Just rest now," the lieutenant said to the girl, "we're going to get you to a medic. Everything'll be alright." Her response was somewhat garbled, thanks to a combination of exhaustion, pain, and sedatives, but she managed a clear nod and a weak smile in spite of her injury. Armandez gave her a comforting smile then stood up and walked down the ramp, out to where the girl's family was waiting their turn to board. "Since your daughter is being taken to a field hospital, you can ride in the Pelican with her. She's going to be just fine."
The family thanked her profusely as they clambered into the dropship alongside the girl. Feeling somewhat awkward, Armandez shook their hands, helped a few more people into the Pelican, and then waved as the dropship took off for the UNSC rear areas. The next Pelican wasted no time in flaring its wings for touchdown, dropping its ramp as soon as it touched the ground.
Gunfire rang in the distance as 5th and 6th Companies engaged the Abbie forces encircled in the district. The sounds of combat caused some frightened murmuring to break out among the civilians, and a few shuffled out of line, trying to jockey for position on the evacuation dropships. Marines guided and cajoled them back into line, doing their best to maintain order among the frightened, exhausted crowd despite their own tiredness and anxiety. Other marines manned Warthog-mounted chainguns, providing a heavier form of security for the area. Armandez shook her head at the sight; bad enough to be in a warzone, but out in the open like this, forced to stay in one place, with civilians to worry about? It could fray the toughest nerves, and there were already precious few intact ones around here.
All in all, however, the operation was going well. So why couldn't Armandez shake the feeling that something was coming?
"Sunuvabitch! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Everest cursed many things as she ran: God, out of tradition; Palmer, for making her do this; whatever force brought her back to life, because it sure as hell wasn't God; and herself, for getting shot and slowing herself down. She dropped her gun a few minutes ago, she wasn't using it and it was just dead weight. The roars of the giant Abyssal echoed behind her, louder every second as it continued to close the distance despite her putting every ounce of strength she had into running.
"Don't stop!" Palmer shouted, easily keeping up with Everest's pace thanks to her MJOLNIR. She didn't even sound like she was breathing hard, the absolute nerve of her. "Push through!"
"I don't remember hiring as my fucking coach!" Everest said, gasping between words. "What happened to 'I ain't stopping for you'?"
"Oh, shut the hell up and save your breath!" To punctuate Palmer's point, a crystal shard flew by not inches from Everest's ear and shattered against the wall, sending concrete and crystal dust raining down on her. There were about forty Abyssal soldiers, two platoons, also in pursuit of the Spartan and shipgirl, taking potshots whenever the Hunter shifted enough in its mindless pursuit to give a clear sighting picture. Honestly, they were only a minor nuisance, and in the grand scheme of things only served to put a tidy little caboose on the entire clown train that was this chase.
Everest grabbed an empty supply closet as they ran past and pulled it until it toppled into the corridor. She did the same with a broken security gate, tearing it off its remaining hinges and throwing it into the Abyssal's path to hopefully slow it down. They didn't, not really, but the gesture was nice. "How—much—further—to—the—place?!"
"Only a bit longer now, don't give up! There!" Palmer pointed at an upcoming intersection. "Turn left there!"
Unfortunately for Everest, the strain on her body of keeping up a 100-meter dash pace for over 400 meters, combined with the slowly degrading analgesics in her system, finally put its foot down. As Everest made the turn, a spike of pain shot up her side, sharp and hot enough to make her vision white out. Her right leg, not quite fully healed despite her body's accelerated healing rate, gave out from under her. She tripped over herself and crumpled to the ground, and would have stayed there to be torn apart by the Abyssals if Palmer hadn't reached down, hauled her into a fireman's carry — nearly popping her shoulder out of its socket in the process — and continued on. Now without the shipgirl slowing her down, though with her constant stream of complaints right next to her ear, the Spartan upped her speed, footfalls punching divots into the floor as she ran. Not far behind, with the shouts of its infantry companions falling further behind, the Hunter rounded the corner, its bulk shaking the ground as it continued its mindless pursuit, bashing aside an innocuous little metal crate labeled "HAZARD: EXPLOSIVES. STORE IN SECURE AREA".
"Just a bit more… come on… now!"
Steadying Everest with one hand, Palmer pressed the detonator with the other, and 100 kilograms of C12 demolition explosive blew up as one. Even in her armor, the Spartan had to stop and brace herself against the pressure wave, channeled and focused by the confined corridor into a gale-force wind. She also turned around to place herself and her armor between the blast and Everest, who had to snap her jaw shut lest she bite her tongue off from the impact of the shockwave. It also stopped her complaining, so that was a plus, even as debris bounced off Palmer's shields and heat singed her armor's paint.
In an even more satisfying sight, the Hunter's form was swallowed up by explosions and its roars were lost amid the thunder of falling concrete, shattering glass, and breaking steel. Right before dust clouds completely hid it from view, Palmer saw it staggering as C 12 detonations, designed to punch holes straight through bunker walls, hammered it from all sides. Shattered chunks of reinforced concrete, some half a meter thick, rained down on and around it, and the Abyssals behind it cried out before also being buried by the falling rubble. It took over a minute for the rumbling to die down, a minute that Palmer took to sling Everest off her back like a sack of potatoes and stand her upright. As soon as her feet touched the ground the shipgirl shrugged off Palmer's helping hand, stumbling away and leaning heavily against the wall as she tried to massage some feeling back into her leg. She did send Palmer a grateful nod, though, so the Spartan didn't hold it against her. They watched together, in silence, as the debris settled and the rubble stopped falling.
"… that might've done it." Everest sucked down air like each breath would be the last she took, filling her lungs completely for the first time since she started running. "Easy. Piece of cake. No trouble at all."
"Yeah, no thanks to you." Palmer turned on Everest, trying to convey a stern look through her body language alone. "If I hadn't grabbed you, where would you be right now? Inside that thing's gullet, probably."
"Some people… are into that… but thanks." The shipgirl flashed the Spartan a grin before letting out a groan and sliding down the wall.
Palmer let out an exasperated sigh and shook her head, then kneeled down to offer Everest her hand. "Alright, up you come. Let's get you somewhere you won't get in the way, I'll get a medic to you once we—" She stopped as a piece of rubble shifted and slid off the pile, followed by another, and then a hundred more small chunks just like it, accompanied by an avalanche of dust as a single claw burst out of the broken concrete and bent rebar. A low, bass growl emanated from deep within the destruction, reverberating in Palmer's chest and once again striking her with that primal, unblockable fear. It was such that she almost didn't notice Everest, seemingly unaffected, get back to her feet with a resigned expression.
"Plan B?" the shipgirl asked, one eyebrow raised. Palmer pushed the fear down, sighed again, and nodded.
"Plan B. Hope you like stairs, 'cause we're going for a climb."
Armandez looked around in alarm as a faint, very faint, but definitely real tremble ran through the ground. "Shit, no, I definitely felt something that time."
"Same here, eltee." Laughley flicked the safety of his rifle from 'safe' to 'auto'. "There's sewers running under the streets, you think Abbie could be using 'em to ambush us?"
"Maybe… but why would they give themselves away by setting a bomb off?" The civilians didn't seem to have noticed anything yet, but Armandez now saw them as less an objective to protect and more of a liability in a combat situation. "Let's speed this evac up, I want all the civvies loaded and us bugging out in twenty minutes."
"Will do, sir."
"Also, get a squad up on that roof. And another one over there, in that shop. Full overwatch and coverage of the LZ, you hear me?"
"Yes, sir."
"How the hell is it doing that?!"
"If you got time to think, you have time to climb! Keep moving!"
It was the run all over again, only with three times the burning in Everest's legs and the knowledge that if she tripped, it was a long, long way to the bottom. The benefit of building a giant underground base is that it's hard to kill; for all intents and purposes, Bravo-6 was nuke-proof. The downside of building a giant underground base is that, well, it's a fucking giant underground base, and in an emergency, it's hard as balls to get out of. Though there were plenty of emergency stairs to accommodate an evacuation, each of those stairs ascended something like 100 floors from bottom to top. There were secure rest areas provided every twenty floors, fireproof shelters with independent air supplies for people to rest in, but Palmer and Everest had no time to indulge. It was straight bottom to top for them, do not pass GO, do not collect 200 credits. For the Spartan, that was nothing. For Everest, whose physiology didn't quite make the jump between 'peak fitness' and 'superhuman', it was nothing short of torture. But the pain she now felt was nothing compared to what she knew awaited her if she fell behind.
"It's just climbing up the goddamn wall—how in the fuck is it gaining on us?!"
"What did I just say? Shut up so you don't bite your tongue off!"
Fortunately for the humans, the Abyssal Hunter hadn't lost interest in them, and still pursued them even as they climbed floor after floor towards the surface. Whatever else happened, Torrent wouldn't need to worry about it as they extracted the VIPs. Unfortunately for the humans, the Hunter seemed to regard the stairs as more of a polite suggestion — in fact, it ignored them entirely, in favor of simply scaling the side of the stairwell, sinking its claws into concrete as if it was clay, scuttling up after them like some kind of overgrown, demented lizard. The few times Everest dared to look down at it, it looked so absurd, like some kind of mutated crab climbing up a tree, that she almost laughed in spite of herself. The only reason she didn't was a combination of the deep, deep gouges that the thing's claws left in the concrete of the stairwell — what would they do to her? Such things didn't bear thinking about — and the pure hate that she could feel emanating off of its body.
Everest hadn't felt such visceral loathing even back when her body was made of titanium instead of carbon, and she propelled herself on fusion torches rather than muscles. Not even Covenant ships, even as they spat star-hot death at her from millions of kilometers away, held this level of hate. Oh, it was there, certainly, it could hardly not be what with all the grandiose hot air about heresy and holy war, but it was more detached, like the hate a man might have for a mosquito sucking his blood. Though faint, there was also a certain level of professional respect there. This, though… "Did I fuck your ugly-ass daughter in a past life or something? 'Cause if so, that makes two of us mad," Everest said under her breath.
"What was that?"
"Not you, never mind!"
Sublevel-34… Sublevel-33… with every floor sign that flew past, Everest could feel herself slowing, and the Hunter getting closer. Her lungs burned like fire, not helped by the renewed bleeding coming from her untreated chest wounds. She could feel its breath on her back, its claws practically scraping her heels. Sublevel-12, Sublevel-11, just a little more strength…!
One of the stairs suddenly gave way under Palmer's 400-kilogram weight, nearly sending her tumbling back into the stairwell had Everest not reached out and grabbed her wrist. Like a cruiser diverting reactor power from weapons to engines, a surge of energy filled Everest's body, dulling the pain and giving her the burst of energy she needed, in conjunction with Palmer's armor thrusters, to pull the Spartan back up. Strength also flowed into her legs, and her sudden burst of speed took Palmer by surprise, though the Spartan easily adjusted to match. Together they reached the final landing, kicked open the door, and burst out into what seemed to be the basement of some sort of store. As the sound of crumbling concrete and angered roars continued to echo up behind them, growing louder by the second, they chose not to stand and stare, and instead made a break for the exit on the far side of the room, stumbling out and upwards into crumbling ruins, bright sunlight, and… surprised shouting?
"Contact! Movement in the clothing store! Two contacts!"
"Shit!" Of course, something had to happen. Armandez ran towards the marines taking up positions in front of the bombed out storefront, simultaneously gesturing for the Pelican currently on the LZ to take off and waving off the next dropship. "3rd Squad, get the civilians to cover! 2nd, 4th, take overwatch! 1st, skirmish line!" As marines ran about, she slid down behind a low wall, rifle up and aimed, just in time to see two figures appear from the store, stumbling and covered in dirt.
"Contact front! Wait, cease fire! Cease fire! Friendly contacts!" As a green IFF marker appeared in her HUD, Armandez blinked, then stood up to get a better look. One of the two figures stumbled and fell to their knees as soon as they emerged from the store, chest heaving for breath and coughing uncontrollably. The second figure looked much better off, clad in white armor and dual-wielding pistols, looking back the way they came with a body posture that radiated tension. "A Spartan?"
"A Spartan? Here?"
"I didn't think any were operating here."
"Hell yeah! We got a Spartan with us now!"
The Spartan — whose IFF Armandez's HUD identified as Commander Sarah Palmer — held their position, pistols steady and aimed, ignoring the excited chatter of the marines. "Lieutenant, are you in command here?" Palmer spoke without turning around, so it took Armandez a couple of seconds to figure out who she was talking to.
"Huh? Yeah, that's me. What's going on, sir?"
"There is a very large, very angry Abyssal coming up out of that store after us. I need you to get this woman—" Palmer tilted her helmet at her companion, now flat on her back and gasping for air, "—to safety, and your ass out of the AO. I'm going to try and draw this thing away from this location so I can call some ordnance on its head. Got it?"
"Uh, yeah, whatthehellisgoingon." Armandez was hopelessly confused, but she wasn't about to disobey an order from a Spartan. Barking at her marines to fall back and protect the civilians, she vaulted her cover and ran to the side of the fallen woman. Pulling the woman's arm over her shoulder — God, but she weighed more than she looked! — Armandez began the process of dragging her away from the store, from which she could now hear some extremely frightening noises emanating. "1st Squad, fall back and prepare to engage, uh, something big!" To the woman: "Come on—ugh! We'll get you out of here yet. Laughley, get over here and help me out! What's your name, by the way?"
"Everest," the woman coughed out, and Armandez blinked because there was no way she'd heard right. "That's my name. Everest, CA-7. You might've heard of me—"
"Wait, wait. You mean Everest as in, like, UNSC Everest?" Armandez said as Laughley arrived and got Everest's other arm over his shoulders. "Like, Admiral Cole's ship?"
"Ah, Cole, that crazy bastard." A smile flitted across Everest's lips, before another coughing fit broke it. "Fucking dust in my goddamn — cough! — lungs. Yeah, that's me. Bask in my glory. Ow, watch the fucking leg, I'm a wounded woman!"
Laughley stared at Armandez as they set Everest down behind an opened medical supply crate. "Did we just — did we just pick up another bleedin' shipgirl?"
Before she could answer that, the interior of the store erupted in a geyser of splintered floorboards, broken piping, and shattered tiles as something tore its way out of the basement and up through the floor itself. Much later, over drinks, Laughley would mercilessly tease the lieutenant for pissing herself at that moment. He always shut up, though, when Armandez brought up the fact that there was a very peculiar smell emanating from the back of his pants the entire ride back to base. Whatever the case, Armandez found herself suddenly rooted to the ground, unable to so much as order her troops to fall back, as a feeling of cloying, oppressive dread washed away all other thoughts. Emanating from the hulking, roaring Abyssal now hunched over in the ruins of the store, a leaden aura wormed its way into her senses, blanketing everything with a sense of utter futility and hopelessness. It was similar to the instinctual sense of wrongness she got whenever she fought the Abyssals, but magnified by a thousand times, like she was a small child who could do nothing but hide from the things that went bump in the night.
Next to her, Laughley fell to his knees, and then to all fours. Behind her, she could hear plastic and metal clattering against dirt as her marines let their weapons fall from numb, paralyzed hands. Armandez somehow remained standing, albeit only by propping herself up on a concrete pillar, and it took all her strength and focus just to keep on breathing. Why… why was she fighting? For a people who didn't care? For a galaxy that didn't care? Better just to give up and give in… let the side that did care, that felt her pain and anger win… From a far-off place, she heard Palmer shouting and firing in rapid sequence to try and draw the Abyssal off towards her; it wasn't working. She also heard Everest yelling, between coughs, at her to get up and move, that thing is going to flatten you, what the hell are you doing just standing there, you goddamn idiot, do I have to do everything myself around here—
A heavy object struck Armandez in the side, flinging her through the air for at least two meters. Her head hit the ground with a whack, that, despite her helmet, caused her vision to go dark for a second and for stars to burst in her vision. A moment later, Laughley landed on top of her with a heavy whoof of air leaving lungs. Though she probably had a concussion now, the knock to her head dispelled the terror-inducing atmosphere enough for Armandez to wrest back control of her body. She shoved the groaning sergeant off of her and sat up just in time to see that Abyssal monster lunge at Everest with razor-sharp claws the size of a small child. The shipgirl, winded from pushing Armandez and Laughley out of the line of danger, could not move aside in time.
Everest's eyes bulged, her face contorting into a mask of agony, and her mouth dropped open in a silent scream as the alien impaled her on the end of its talons. The marines watched in horror as, with a sickening crunch of breaking ribs and squelch of tearing organs, the Abyssal lifted her into the air like a cheap plastic trophy, roaring in triumph as blood and gore dripped down its arm. With a single movement, it tossed the mortally wounded shipgirl off to the side with no more care than a dog would a worn-out chew toy.
That was horrifying, but even more concerning was the hateful gaze it turned against the other humans, civilian and marine, as her body hit the ground with a wet thud. Civilians screamed and scattered as marines scrambled for cover; as her rifle was several meters away from her, Armandez unholstered her pistol and began to futilely plink away at the beast, her rounds doing nothing but bouncing off as it charged down a terrified private and bashed them aside with a single swipe of its claws. The marine was dead of a broken neck before they even hit the dirt. It then turned against another marine, looming high over him as his rifle rocked on full-automatic to no avail, and would have smashed him as flat as a pancake had a series of well-aimed pistol shots not struck it in a minuscule patch of unarmored skin.
"Hey! Overgrown tree-crab!" Palmer, momentarily forgotten amid the carnage, advanced with both pistols blazing. "Too scared to take on a Spartan, you big, ugly, son of a—" Her armor thrusters flared in conjunction with her leap backwards as the Abyssal, howling with rage, launched itself into the air at her. Its landing punched craters into hard asphalt, shaking the ground so that Armandez stopped firing to catch her balance. "That's more like it, come at me! Lieutenant!"
"S-sir!"
"Get your ass in gear and lay some fire on this thing! Yesterday!"
Everest, whatever was left of her, would have to wait. "Yes sir! Machine guns, lay down harassing fire! Missiles, fire at will! Come on, sergeant, let's move!" Laughley didn't protest as Armandez pulled him to his feet. Together, the two of them dashed for cover, the sergeant already talking into his radio, coordinating his squad's SAW gunners in laying down a field of fire. The Hoplites which had brought Armandez's platoon here refrained from firing for fear of hitting the Spartan, who was currently ducking and weaving under the Abyssal's wide but swift swings, but a few marines hopped onto Warthog turrets and began spitting .50 cal. Anti-tank missiles spiraled downrange, HEAT warheads blowing apart large chunks of armor streaming with rivulets of purple-green blood.
The Abyssal staggered from the impacts, but if anything only seemed to become more enraged, attacking with greater frequency, bounding after Palmer whenever she retreated, never allowing her to open up the distance. The Spartan, with no opportunity to use her weapons, was forced to continually come up with new and innovative ways of dodging, especially after a single glancing blow caused her shields to fail in a storm of bright yellow sparks. The deadly dance continued down the street, Palmer getting in a few hits of her own here and there. At one point she plunged her knife into an unarmored portion and left it there, at another she deflected a vicious cross-swing with her forearm and turned the Abyssal's momentum against itself, sending it crashing headfirst into a jackknifed truck. However, even with all that, and the marines doing what they could to keep a constant stream of ordnance flowing into the Abyssal's backside, little about the situation changed until Palmer managed to lure the alien into a small alleyway.
"Fire now!" she yelled, ducking beneath an attack that caved in a brick wall and sent crumbling masonry raining down on her. A proximity warning indicator appeared in Armandez's HUD and a thin whine started up in her ear. The lieutenant looked up to see a drone, flying lazily high above the battlefield, suddenly peel off into a steep climb as two thin black shapes detached from its belly. Two air-to-surface missiles, each packing enough explosive mass to burst a tank like a watermelon and designed to penetrate hardened bunker surfaces, ignited their motors and streaked down towards their Abyssal target. Trapped without room to maneuver in the alley, the alien swung wildly as Palmer scrambled out of the blast zone, bellowing as she escaped unscathed. It then attempted to turn around, but found itself pinned in place by the piles of debris created when it smashed down the walls around itself. Finally, with the missiles not half a second away, it swung one long, sharp claw upwards, and managed to swat one of the missiles aside with unbelievably precise timing. Armandez's jaw dropped open at the sight of the superhuman strength, speed, and reflexes needed to do such a thing, but even as the missile spiraled off to detonate among the wreckage the other one struck home.
As the dust clouds began to settle, Armandez motioned for 1st Squad to follow her as she, slowly, cautiously, advanced towards the Abyssal's last seen position. Palmer, pistols out and warily watching for any sign of her opponent's continued life, glanced over and motioned for the marines to keep their distance, but otherwise gave no new orders. Seconds ticked by, and then a minute, with nothing but the far off sound of gunfire to break the silence.
"No sign of hostile activity," Palmer said. A wave of relief, like water rushing through a broken dam, swept through the marines. "Lieutenant, what happened to Everest?"
Armandez winced before speaking. "She… I know her type can recover from a lot, but it didn't look like she had her rigging equipped, and… well, getting impaled on the end of a four-foot claw is a bit different from getting shot. I think she's gone, sir." After saving me to boot. Fuck.
"I see. Damn." The Spartan holstered her pistols and placed her hands on her hips. "In any case, thanks for the support, even if it didn't end up doing too much. Prepare Everest's body for transport, eggheads probably want to take a crack and see what makes her tick."
"Uh… thanks, sir? I'll have my people get on tha—"
"RAAAAAAAGH!"
Palmer and Armandez whirled around as the Abyssal exploded from its rubble prison with a pain-filled scream. Almost half of its upper body was missing, blown away by the missile, and the remaining half dripped black blood from the open wound that was its entire left side. "No way," Armandez whispered because there was absolutely no way that thing should have still been standing. By rights, even by the laws of physics, it ought to have been so unbalanced that it toppled over instantly, but something kept it standing, kept it staring at the frozen humans with a newly-exposed, blood red, hate-filled eye, hate that practically oozed from what remained of its body as if it was a physical substance. Its aura, which felt like it had doubled in strength, almost choked Armandez with its intensity, causing her to stagger in place even as that same hate drove the Abyssal to lunge forward, one remaining claw reaching out to tear the humans that had caused it so much pain in half. Palmer reacted instantly, armor thrusters throwing her to the side as she fired off seven shots within the space of a second. Armandez made to move as well as a primal survival instinct overpowered everything else, but her unaugmented, un-power-armored muscles, combined with those crucial few seconds of hesitation, just couldn't move fast enough. She squeezed her eyes shut even as she dove to the side, knowing it wouldn't be enough, bracing for those claws to rip through her armor and eviscerate her body.
Though it happened behind her, the burst of light was still bright enough to be seen through Armandez's eyelids. It was also bright enough to blind the Abyssal, who missed Armandez by a fraction of a hair, close enough that the lieutenant could feel its breath on her neck. As the lieutenant hit the ground and scrambled for more distance, she heard the shocked cries of civilians and marines alike, combined with a low growl of disbelief from the Abyssal, all topped off by a high-pitched electrical whine and the smell of ozone permeating the air. Still blinking spots out of her vision, Armandez heard heavy stomping and turned to see the Abyssal charging at her once more, its body language now reeking more of desperation than anything else, as if this attack would be its last. Before she could dodge, though, and before the Abyssal could come within claw-distance of her, two enormous thunderclaps sounded out, so loud that Armandez's ears still rang a couple of days later, so loud that it seemed Zeus himself had chosen that moment to smite some poor mortal soul with a lightning bolt. Too fast to see, a pair of supersonic metal slugs, each weighing half a tonne despite their small size, smashed into the Abyssal. The alien simply ceased to exist, body annihilated in a spectacular release of heat, light, and kinetic energy. The pressure wave of the impact blew Armandez back several feet and tossed her ass over head, but she didn't mind. It was a hell of a lot better than being ripped a new asshole from her head to her toes.
"Everest!" Armandez heard Palmer shout in shock and no small amount of joy. "That's some timing you've got, you bastard!" The lieutenant rolled over to see the shipgirl shakily climb out of a pile of wreckage, her hair, face, and the front of her body caked in dried blood, one arm bent at a weird angle, and clothes ripped in several places but otherwise no worse for the wear. Her suit had been replaced by a naval officer's service uniform, over which she wore a set of midnight-black ODST armor with white highlights. Additional heavy armor plating covered her arms and legs, accompanied by the miniature fusion reactor she carried on her back and the cluster of exhaust nozzles that surrounded her ankles, linked to her reactor via bundles of energy cables that seemed to be glued to her leg plates. Miniature versions of naval weapons emplacements, tiny point defense guns, railgun turrets, and missile silos also dotted her arms and legs, but most prominent were the two, fuck-off huge coilguns mounted on her shoulders, two coilguns currently steaming from recently fired shots and aimed at the pulped remnants of the Abyssal. Everest stared at the alien's remains for a moment longer, making sure it really was dead this time, before nodding at Palmer, catching Armandez's eye, giving her a thumbs-up, and keeling over face-first.
"Everest!" Armandez and several other marines rushed to the shipgirl's side. In the commotion, she noticed the flash of a civilian's camera going off, but paid it no mind as she knelt down next to the shipgirl. "Hey, talk to me. Can you hear me?"
"… yeah, I got you." The lieutenant breathed a sigh of relief as Everest's voice, though muffled by the ground, came through in response. "Who knew… all you had to do to get superpowers… was to get stabbed? You can thank me later…"
"No one asked you to get stabbed, you know. I swear, first Dawn, now you, do all you girls have a thing for getting run through?"
"I was trying to save you, you know… you could show some more gratitude instead of… sour grapes…" Everest's voice trailed off into nothingness, much to the marines' alarm.
"Hey. Hey! Quit playing around, are you—"
"She's fine." The marines looked up to see Palmer approaching. "Getting steady bio signs off her. I've called in an evac bird, you'd best make yourself useful and get her prepped for orbital extraction."
"Oh… wait, but—" Too late. The Spartan was already walking away without so much as a fare-thee-well, presumably off to do Spartan things. Armandez shook her head; in her humble opinion, ever since becoming their own independent branch, the super soldiers had gotten a little too freewheeling for her taste, but was she about to tell four hundred kilograms of power-armored muscle that outranked her to stop? Nah. Besides, there were better things to do. Laughley wordlessly crouched down next to her, along with a couple of other marines, as she slid her hands under Everest's body, attempting to log roll her from a facedown into a face-up position.
"Hurk—!" Despite the straining of four marines, the shipgirl didn't budge. "This stuff's got to weigh a ton! You, over there, get me that Hog's tow cable." As her orders were carried out, Armandez pressed two fingers to Everest's neck and was relieved to find a strong, steady pulse. A quick listen also revealed deep, regular breathing, though the shipgirl remained unresponsive even when the two cable was attached to her reactor pack and the Warthog began to flip her over.
Armandez sat back on her heels and hung her head with exhaustion as the vehicle did its work. Somehow, incredibly, everything had turned out okay. Though there was still a whole mess of Abbies squatting on Sydney, and it would take days, if not weeks to root every last alien out from every nook and cranny above and below ground, she felt, in her bones, that with this the battle for Earth was over. Laughley evidently felt the same, like he could finally relax, because instead of pulling out a piece of gum he flipped open a packet of cigarettes. Taking one in his mouth and clicking on a lighter with his other hand, he glanced over at Armandez and offered her a smoke. The lieutenant automatically went to refuse, but then, after reconsidering, took one of the cancer sticks for herself and accepted a light. As the two marines puffed their smokes and curious civilians gathered around for a look, an Army Pelican swooped in over the rooftops, thrusters kicking up more dust that obscured the Sun's warm glow as it slowly set over the Sydney skyline.