"I suddenly wish I hadn't gone exploring," Draken deadpanned, trying to calm down the crowd of panicking Unggoy. His presence had startled one of them, and an unlikely chain of events led to an entire vehicle bay either being set on fire or covered in parts of ships. Draken simply gave up, and Gutrot switched out with a roar, silencing the screaming.
"Would you all SHUT UP?!" he demanded. "You there, gather a team to put out the fires, and the rest of you clean up the scrap." He sighed in relief when they busied to do as he said. "That was the single most frustrating thing I've ever experienced aside from being locked in my own corpse." Draken switched back after Gutrot calmed down.
"I can tell. Thanks for the assist by the way," Draken said, turning to walk out after making sure that the Grunts could handle everything. "Has anyone else noticed that-"
"High Judicator, the Prophets demand your presence," his radio informed him, cutting him off.
"… well, I was going to say that things were getting slow, but never mind," he said, going into a jog. He reached their chamber shortly and kneeled before their dais. "What do you need of me, my Prophets?"
"You have a new mission, High Judicator," Regret answered. "You lack in combat experience, and so shall accompany Shipmaster T'Shlaa on a campaign as a commander of one of his platoons. Choose who you wish to command, and go with our blessing."
"T'Shlaa shall direct you as needed, but remember your place, and cut down any who defy the Great Journey," Truth said, heavily suggesting Draken's secret orders: if the shipmaster was a heretic, kill him. "That is all."
"Yes, my Prophets," Draken accepted, bowing his head. He returned to his quarters to equip himself with his personal weapons, then headed to where T'Shlaa's ship was docked. The shipmaster was found on the bridge of the Virtuous Retribution, preparing for departure, and met Draken with a salute. Draken mirrored him, showing a mutual respect. "Shipmaster, I've been ordered to accompany your campaign, and will take command of a platoon."
"So I've been informed, High Judicator. Choose whichever six you want, and head down to your temporary quarters before we depart. It's good to have you with us," T'Shlaa said, dismissing Draken. He was handed a roster of crewmembers and scanned through them as he walked.
"Let's see… Brutes and Elites don't mix, Grunts will get in the way, Skirmishers are decent, Bugs are only good in swarms, and Hunters are slow but powerful," he listed off to himself, trying to assemble an effective team. "I'll need mobility more than firepower, which drops Hunters and Grunts right off the bat. I wouldn't know the first thing about commanding bugs, so they're gone. Elites would be better suited to working with me, which rules out Brutes. That leaves Skirmishers and Elites." He took a breath after getting ground rules out of the way and focused on building his team. "I'll need snipers to sit back and provide cover fire, but I only really need two close combat specialists fighting next to me. So, let's see who we can find in here…"
After a brief search, he'd assembled his team. Four Skirmisher snipers and two Elite specialists stood before him in the training room. Draken looked them over individually, slowly pacing in front of the six soldiers. The snipers had only minor differences between them, all of them were equipped with a needle rifle and a plasma pistol sidearm. The Elites were easier to distinguish: one had scarred and burned armor, a plasma sword, and two plasma rifles strapped to his hips, while the other had one long scratch on his chest plate and carried a concussion rifle and two swords. It was easy to tell that they were experienced, their eyes were slightly wrinkled with age, and they held themselves like his position was nothing new while maintaining respect. The Skirmishers, on the other hand, were stiff as boards, almost looking too scared to even shift their feet.
"The prophets have guided me here, for the specific goal of obtaining victory and glory for the Covenant on this campaign," Draken said, standing in front of them and looking into their eyes. "I have handpicked all six of you with my fighting style in mind. I hit hard, I run fast, I don't slow down, and I won't hesitate to choose between the mission and any one of our lives. As of right now, you are to follow every order I give to the letter. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, High Judicator," they saluted, standing tall.
"Good. I've read your profiles, so I know what you're all capable of and where your specialties are best used." Draken held up a chip in his claws. "I have here a document that you will read, detailing tactics that I have designed for combat scenarios in different terrains and situations. Treat this as your bedtime story, and study it every night. As far as you are concerned, this document will dictate your lives, because it may very well mean the difference between life and death in the field. That is all, dismissed." They were each given a copy of the tactics to study and left, except for one of the snipers.
"High Judicat-"
"Address me as sir or Draken, my title is too long for conversation," Draken interrupted smoothly.
"… Sir, I was wondering if I might ask a question, concerning a part of your speech. When you said that you wouldn't hesitate between any of us and the mission, I didn't know what you meant to be honest."
"If it comes down to it, I would save everyone I could. If completing the mission would save your lives, I would do it. If a target has to escape for you to survive, I'll report the failure as my own. Not one of you is expendable in my eyes." The Skirmisher nodded and left the training room.
"Not bad for a lone wolf," Gutrot said, impressed. "I expected a bit more fumbling."
"I tried to sound like Carter," Draken answered truthfully. "It was hardly me, which was the point."
"Jeez, we really need to figure out a way to put us in your head next to Gutrot," Kat said, "as unpleasant as that sounds."
"It is a little annoying having to catch up," Jaune admitted. "Maybe we could put Gutrot in a chip?"
"I don't think you can stuff a soul in one of those things, Jaune. We'll figure out something later. For now, I need to sleep." Draken began walked to his room, acknowledging everyone he passed in the halls. He looked for anything that might listen in on him once he arrived and took off his armor only after he'd made sure there was nothing and locking the door. Jaune and Kat were set on a nightstand, and Draken talked with them for a while before he went to sleep.
"We still haven't found a way to contact the UNSC," Kat stated, quiet. "Sorry, Draken."
"Keep working on it, they need to know what we do." The days blended together when they traveled through the emptiness of space. Thankfully there was no need for cryosleep in the Covenant ship, but Draken was sure the boredom was slowly killing him. At least, the complaints of two impatient companions were. Kat and Gutrot finally shut up when they arrived at the first human colony on their campaign. Their mission was simple: take out high-value targets and provide support to any ground troops in need. Getting boots on the ground was a major relief, even if it was for a cause that Draken didn't believe in.
"Find a working radio in the near future, you may be able to contact the UNSC with one, or I can at least copy the codes needed to do that," Jaune suggested, actively scanning for such a radio.
"It'll be good to call home after all of this, I'll keep that in mind," Draken said as the doors opened on the Phantom. To his platoon, he began giving orders. "Form up and move out! Check foliage for movement and fire on anything human!"
"Sir!" they chorused, jumping out and immediately checking for enemies in a sweep formation.
"Clear on all sides, sir," one of the snipers reported, standing up from a crouch.
"Copy that, proceed to the objective. Two-row form, keep it quiet, get moving." They moved through the trees like ghosts, leaving no trace and making no sound. Draken listened to his breathing in his helmet and watched for anything trying to attack them. His radio and the forest were both quiet, no reports, no birds, no gunfire. The calm before the storm.
"I have eyes on the human base, sir," an Elite informed him. "I count thirty men, more are likely in those buildings."
"You four stay hidden and provide covering fire on my command. Spread out, you'll be harder to find," Draken ordered, receiving nods from the Skirmishers as they ran around the perimeter of the base to find hiding spots. They all called in ready, and Draken moved in with the two Elites.
"On my mark, blow the gate and charge in," he instructed one, before turning to the other. "You will guard him. I'll enter over the fence on the other side of the compound." He stayed in cover as he got to his own position, watching for guards or patrols. He reached a part of the wall that was behind the command building and readied his plasma sword. "Ready. Three, two, one, now!" A boom followed his last word, and he slashed through the wall as the Skirmishers started firing. There was yelling and screaming from all of the UNSC in the base, trying to get organized under fire from every direction.
Draken cut his way through a few walls, trying to find the officers that ran the base. He found them and cut them down quick enough that none escaped, and made a note of where to find the radio. With their leadership dead, the humans couldn't get organized fast enough to counterattack, and soon they were all killed without anyone knowing they were gone.
"Well done, all of you," Draken congratulated his platoon after reporting their success. "Quick and clean, not so much as a scratch. Keep this up and we'll win the war." A phantom picked them up and sent them to their next insertion point. From there it was rinse and repeat: base, camp, settlement, they all fell quiet. Tactics changed according to the situation and a few close calls were had, but success was plentiful.
They were dropped on a tower in an actual city, assigned to provide cover and support for a stuck platoon, an Elite commanding Grunts and Skirmishers. Everything was going according to plan: the humans were distracted by sniper fire, Draken and the two Elites charged in to cut them down, and the platoon came in from the other side to squash them and seal the deal. They didn't know about the Spartan.
"Dammit! I need suppressing fire on that Spartan yesterday!" Draken shouted over comms, unable to risk moving and getting shot by the gauss cannon on the back of the warthog.
"Snipers are pinned down sir, we're spread too thin!" An Elite responded, caught in the same situation as Draken. Machinegun fire kept them pinned down, and though Draken could probably take it, the gauss would still drain his shields and leave him vulnerable.
"Regroup in the marked building, go now!" Draken commanded, breaking cover with a bound and drawing fire to give his team some time. They made it, but a gauss round slammed into his leg, and he went flying across the courtyard through a wall, the building he'd landed in on the opposite side as his team. He slowly sat up, head spinning, and put a hand to his comms on the side of his head. "… Draken here, I'm alright. Report your situation, over."
"Sir, running low on ammunition all around: no grenades or explosive rounds, plasma is down to quarters, and rifle rounds won't last another firefight. What's your condition, over?"
"Shields recharged, sword dead, low on plasma, empty on everything else," Draken panted. "Left leg got hit, didn't penetrate, possible concussion, over."
"One of the snipers was shot in the left arm, non-life-threatening, and I have three wounds in my right foot. What do we do, sir?"
"Is there anything left of that platoon we were sent to help?"
"No, sir, all dead." Draken cursed. They were stranded, and the enemy was ready for them.
"Okay, hunker down and wait for them to enter the building. See if you can set up a crossfire, I'll try to regroup and join you. Our only chance is a sudden attack, but they'll probably expect that, so we have to time it right. Draken out." He stood up from the rubble and began making his way to his platoon through the building around the square. He was two buildings away when he heard gunfire, and he cut through the open square to save time. He ran to the doorway behind the UNSC soldiers, and open fired on their backs with his pistol.
Three were down before they managed to turn around, and by then he was on top of them. He clawed and bit at their heads, flinging himself from one enemy to the next, but was again shot by the Spartan on the gauss cannon and flung through a wall. The Spartan approached his landing place, but Draken charged through an unbroken portion of the wall and tackled them with a yell, crashing through a pillar and slamming their back into the floor. He tore at their chest and helmet, slashing away titanium and glass with his claws until he finally knocked off their helmet. A royally pissed woman spat on his visor, and he tore out her throat with his teeth. They had achieved victory, pyrrhic though it was, and Draken called in a medevac for his troops and the dead Covenant outside. He affected a mournful silence and hung his head on the way back to the Virtuous Retribution, successfully staving off any questions as he held his head in one hand and his helmet in the other.
The real question was, why was some of this sorrow real?