A/N: Wow. Feels good to be back. Not sure just how good this chapter is, but it's like diarrhea: you can only hold it in for so long. ;-) The next few are sure to be action-packed, which is always great for a writer at my current stage of mental block.
On that note, my private message reciever (i.e., e-mail) done busted, so apologies to those of you who have tried to get into contact with me during these last few months. So if you want to contact me, then shoot me an e-mail at the following address: david at bronsonfamily dot org, of course, removing the 'at' and 'dot' and replacing them with the appropriate symbols. Ha.
While I'm currently spouting off at the head, I will inform you that I redid chapter 12, and you're going to want to read that so that you can understand this next chapter here; I changed a few things. In addition, I'll be adding scenes to earlier chapters that might also affect your understanding of the story, so read these headers periodically for updates.
By the way, to the anonymous 'reviewer,' your note about 'Ntho 'Sraom is duly noted, and duly ignored for one simple reason: people have these complex things called 'motivations.' 'Sraom may be a human sympethizer, as you've so gleefully shouted, but I wrote his character to be one who somewhat values his own life over that of someone else, which is why he killed the pilot: to guarantee himself a spot in the limited seating of the Warthog. Go back and read it. I promise it'll make sense this time.
(Yes. It's true. I've become a low-tolerance jerk while I was gone.) ;-)
Oh! And High Praise goes to IVIaedhros for being pretty much the coolest person on the planet.
Chapter 13: De Sparta, Avec l'Amour
If there was one thing he hated, it was HEV pods. Jack had only used them once before, but once was enough. The clattering shriek and the intense heat that made his optics flicker and sizzle, the jarring crash of the entry chute…
…and, of course, the tooth-grinding landing.
The bolts on his pod fired, door slammed open, and he lunged out, needlers leveled. Drop zone was clear. All around him, more HEV pods plummeted through the trees to smash into the dirt -
he was staggering, falling face first in the mud as huge chunks of metal peppered him and the shockwave of an explosion knocked him aside.
"What the hell was that?" came a furious shout over TEAMCOM.
Jack opened his eyes. His HUD took a minute to reorient, quickly degaussing. It flickered back to life, hummed, suddenly clear again. A pained, terrified scream suddenly pierced his ears, a pleading cry: "Oh, God, God, kill me! Kill me! Some… somebody! Please!"
The Spartan turned - a horrible sight met his eyes. The unfortunate ODST who had been riding in the exploding pod had been thrown nearly fifteen yards from the explosion and had his back to a thick-boled tree. This was not the problem.
The problem was the red-hot, serrated length of metal that was pinning him through the stomach, sizzling where it pierced his flesh. He looked as if he'd been stuck in a flash-frier, so much of him was nothing but a raw mass of suppurating wounds. The torn steel that was embedded in his stomach was utterly implacable and unmerciful.
Unable to stand the cries, Jack's pistol found his hand and saw its way clear to put a single M5C round into the dying man's forehead.
Turning away from the sight, he tapped his jaw sensor and forced away nausea: "First Squad -- assessment."
The com crackled with static for a moment, then: "Lost two pods on entry to what look like proximity mines." A pause, then: "OK, we are now green. We've got nine on the ground, awaiting orders, sir."
"Check for more proximity mines," Jack ordered. "That goes for all squads. Check the immediate area around your dropzone for mines, then move to your respective LOFT points."
Suddenly, a cacophony of gunfire shredded the air, a few bullets finding his shields, reflecting away with a dissipating hiss. All around him, ODSTs dove for cover, tried to return fire on an invisible enemy.
Screaming radio noise brought hell to Jack's ears, filling his TEAMCOM channel with cries. "Somebody get a fix on that!" he ordered loudly.
"Taking heavy fire from what sounds like a pair of ARs! Incoming from southwest, sir!"
Jack spun behind one of the pods, and took a moment to consider that as the ODSTs attempted to return fire. Two ARs at a southwest position. Why not more? There had been eight total in John's little cadre, and of those, seven could carry assault rifles.
Something wasn't right.
Maximus swore mightily in his own tongue as he fumbled with the little human weapons. Damned things were too small; he was firing two at a time, one in either hand.
He finally managed to slam home a clip in one of the guns while sporadic gunfire rattled off of the huge overturned boulder that served as his cover. He was looking slightly downhill on his targets' position through a scattering of trees that did very little to hide the hundred-meter distant steel of HEV pods.
He ducked instinctively as a series of bullets came all too close, then reminded himself that as the Covenant had learned so quickly in engagements with the humans, if you heard it pass, you were already safe. It was the one you didn't hear that would kill you.
The Demon and Ulee 'Dakol had taken up positions at angles behind him with more human weapons, ones designed for longer-range engagements. His job was to lure the ODSTs in closer so that John and Ulee could lay down wounding fire. Specifically wounding, the Demon had said.
"It takes three marines to get one wounded off the field: two to carry him and one to provide security. The more we can put out of commission, the better chance we have."
Wise advice, Demon, Maximus thought as he finally got the second clip into his other AR. Then, with a roar purely intended for his own benefit, he raised both weapons once again to open fire.
"What's going on over there, sir?" second squad demanded. Jack could barely hear over the bullets that were ringing off of his cover.
"Taking fire from an unknown number of hostiles!" he shouted in reply.
"You going to need back-up, Agent Bauer?"
Jack peeped out, internally reminding himself that his shields meant that he could take some punishment. For a moment, he cursed himself for not getting familiar with the suit and its capabilities sooner. Then: "Not sure yet, captain. Coordinate with third and fourth squad. Get organized ASAP and keep your eyes up. Forget about the beacons right now; that's a set-up. I repeat, stay away from the beacons!"
The affirmation came and Jack quickly got down to work: "First squad, where's our point man?" he asked, eyes searching amongst the ODSTs huddled behind heavy brush, trying to return fire uphill.
"Green, sir!" came a reply. A distant, black-clad figure pressed up against a large tree gave a half-salute in his direction. The distant gunfire was beginning to wind down, evidently silenced by the outgoing lead from the ODST position.
"Get your team together," Jack ordered, falling into old command patterns. "Let's figure out what's going on here."
The Master Chief still had the awkward acronym running through his mind: OODA. Orient. Observe. Decide. Act.
He knew that at this moment, Jack had oriented to the situation, and the incoming fire on Maximus meant that his foe was attempting to observe. There was an opportunity here - one that John was not going to avoid. He would act again, before Jack could. That would put him two whole cycles ahead of his opponent - and even better, this meant that the ex-Spartan's previous cycle was already useless, because he would be responding to a situation that no longer existed.
Maximus wasn't there anymore.
John opened up the three-man encrypted channel that Cortana had set for them before leaving, sending the words directly from his helmet into the cochlear implant rattling in Maximus' skull: "Pull back up the hill and to your right. Ulee will meet you at rally point Beta."
"Of course," was the response.
The Chief tele-hailed his macrobinoculars and checked. The brute was already carefully shuffling through the brush toward the indicated rally point. John had already given Ulee his orders, so the elite would meet the brute there.
The trap was set, and all that remained was for Jack to step in it.
The ODSTs went on the offensive, moving with quick, well-trained speed through the forest. Jack stood at the center of the line, watching his motion tracker carefully.
To his right, half of the unit was firing uphill to suppress incoming fire. Meanwhile, the left flank was swinging up the hill like a door, intending to catch the enemy on the flank.
Corporal Liam Trueson was on point for the left flank. He noted the gully that cut the hill in half, leaving two bulging heights far above at the top of the ridge. The gully split around a long boulder, then descended into the valley that he and his team had just left.
The boulder. That was where the fire had been coming from.
Signaling back to his string, he held them back and sidestepped behind a screen of trees, keeping his MA5B at the ready.
"Come, little one," Ulee Dakol murmured to himself. "A few steps further…"
Corporal Trueson hesitated. He couldn't see anything below the boulder; the brush was too thick. He took two careful steps forward to get a better angle, craned his head up to peer over the --
Dakol lovingly squeezed the trigger on his carbine.
"Dammit, I'm hit!" came Trueson's anguished voice over TEAMCOM. Jack swore. "Move in, go, go, go!" he ordered. "Get him out of there; put on some pressure!" He needed to seize control of this situation, press the attack before John could get him trapped in a series of reactions rather than making his own choices on what to do.
Further up the hill, Trueson was screaming bloody murder and fitfully clutching his shattered knee. A clean hole had been blown through both major tendons, completely severing them.
"Shit!" yelled the unit medic, immediately recognizing the situation for the trap that it was. "This is a damn setup, sir," he growled into TEAMCOM. "The Corporal's just bait!"
But at this point, it was far too late. At that moment, second squad came running up over the edge of the ravine, and a battle rifle rang out twice. Two ODSTs went down with immobilizing wounds to their legs.
And thus, the chaos was complete. The Chief gave a sharp nod of approval as he watched the ODSTs from afar. They were now trapped in the equivalent of a sniper alley - pinned down in the middle and unable to quickly fan out to the flanks because of the sheer walls of the gully on either side.
"We're through here," he whispered into his team's private channel. "Let's regroup at…" - he took a moment to check the topographical map that Mendicant Bias had left him - "…Point Gamma."
"By your word," replied Ulee Dakol.
At the bottom of the hill, Jack quietly watched as his ODSTs were efficiently trapped, confused, and pinned down. Three shots fired, three wounded men, and suddenly, his entire unit was out of the battle.
Of the seven men he had put on the ground, three were down with debilitating wounds. The other four were hunkered down behind cover, eyes up on the ridge, waiting for more fire from their invisible enemy, each afraid to peep up lest he get a round between the eyes.
It was remarkable the way a perfect plan could immobilize the finest war machine in the galaxy. The ex-Spartan grunted his disapproval. He was going to have to entirely rethink this battle.
"No, you don't understand, sir. Just because we've been out of touch with command for a few weeks, now all of a sudden, we're taking orders from someone in the goddamn Navy? The Master Chief, yeah, but he's just a grunt, like us."
"Watch it, Briggs," Kramer replied weakly. But the implicit threat in his words was nowhere near the equal of the weariness and fear in his voice. "Despite the situation, I am still your commanding officer."
Briggs sighed, ran his hands through his hair. He checked once more to see that Corporal Hook and Dari were still asleep; in his peripheral, he caught a glimpse of Mendicant Bias once again patrolling the perimeter.
Briggs could spot a situation that was FUBAR six miles away. And this one was definitely headed in that direction, if not there already. "Sir… I know you respect the Chief; I do too. But he's not our commanding officer. High command itself sent Agent Bauer. And he's ordered us to hand over the AI."
"But I'm not totally sure…" Kramer began.
"That's why we've got a god damn chain of command, sir. So you don't have to be sure."
Kramer lit yet another cigarette and passed the private a sardonic grin. "Since when have you ever been concerned about protocol, Briggs?" he asked.
Briggs' eyes were as hard as stone. "When it's the difference between living and dying."
Kramer sighed. Indecision churned in his gut. He took a long drag and let the smoke billow into the night air. "For a drunk, you talk pretty," he growled under his breath, talking just to cover his self doubt. For a moment, his mind went back to that ONI operation from so very long ago, and he remembered his one great mistake.
He wondered if he was doing it again: leading men he cared about into death. He wondered if Briggs was right. And he wondered… no, he was fairly certain that he was going to go batshit insane if something didn't clear up - fast.
Briggs seemed hungry all of a sudden - hungry like the wolf. The private saw Cortana as his ticket off of the Ark, his ticket to safety. And Kramer had a feeling that the private was going to try to talk his ear off until the sergeant gave in.
That, of course, lead Kramer to wonder why in the hell he had so blindly followed the Chief's orders. Why he so blindly believed that Cortana wasn't a threat. Why he was so certain that Mendicant Bias was on their side.
Deciding to let it go until light, he turned away from Briggs and lay down. Sanity slowly continued to spool out of his mind, until he finally slipped into a deep sleep.
A horned alien creature crouched low over the ground, its flanks sweating, soft brown fur shining under the light of artificial night. Its big brown eyes rolled in its head as it squalled in agony - it was giving birth. New life was nearly at the brink of emerging into the world.
But not far away from the pregnant doe, another kind of new life had just given birth, and it was drawing near. She knew it by the smell of death on the wind, by the natural instinct built into all of her kind.
It wallowed across the clearing, a Flood carrier pod, just one part of a vast wave of death that was sweeping across the face of what had once been the only safe haven, and was now the very deepest circle of hell.
The pod was lame, limping along, unable to work with the tiny, shattered broken stumps that had once been a grunt's legs. It stumbled fell, and the vast, swollen sac, full of its fetid offspring, burst open.
The doe couldn't move as dozens of infection forms swarmed toward her, caught at the moment of birth by a creature who in the very act of birth, continued to take life.
Her eyes rolled in her head as a many-tentacled spore raced up her leg and buried its beak in her spine. Within seconds, she too became part of the fast-growing Flood monstrosity, and the child in her womb was equally doomed.
No distinction was made between mother and child. No mercy was offered. The Flood does not have morals. It does not take prisoners. It does not have agreements with foreign governments to act humanely in times of war.
The Flood doesn't even think about it.
All it can think about, right now, is where its next meal is coming from.
West… whispers the grimy voice of primitive instinct. A Gravemind once mighty in his horror has been reduced to guttural utterances of the most basic sort… but with each corpse consumed, each mind added to the amalgam… he begins to slowly remember.
The UNSC Montana was a flurry of activity for the hours leading up to artificial night. The Prowler vessel's fleet of Pelicans and Albatrosses went back and forth from the ship to the surface, carrying men and materiel ordered by Special Agent Bauer.
Jack spent almost an hour with his officers quickly sketching out a plan to capture the Chief and his allies, one that took into account a few things that he had forgotten when he first encountered his ex-commanding officer in battle.
AV-14 Attack VTOLs - Hornets - were already spreading out from what they were beginning to call Ground Zero. A few units consisting of two Warthogs and a Mongoose each were gearing up and hitting the ground in all directions, armed with weapons and instruments.
Jack watched them go, arms folded across his armored chest. Already, he had a great appreciation for the Mjolnir Mark VI, despite his lack of experience with it.
He turned away as the last Warthog disappeared into the night. They would stay in radio contact with his second-in-command, Lieutenant Jeremiah Allen. In the meantime, Jack decided to get some coffee and spend some time thinking about a philosopher that had often been neglected in wars past… the over-quoted yet oft-neglected Sun Tzu.
Water running downhill. Back to basics.
It was dark before they finally stopped, twelve miles of hard travel west of where they had ambushed Jack's spearhead attack. Ulee 'Dakol had found an indention in the backside of a hill, and there, they made a makeshift camp.
Maximus volunteered to take the first watch, leaving Roe, 'Dakol, and the Master Chief to take a few moments of rest before continuing on.
John heaved himself to the ground, feeling a mixture of cold satisfaction and unrest. Jack had been delayed by their ambush, but he had the Montana's entire arsenal at his disposal. It would be a matter of time before they were caught again.
And Cortana… was now miles out of his reach, in the care of a Corporal he didn't really know, led by a foreign construct he didn't really trust, commanded by a man whose confidence was seriously lacking…
For a moment, he longed for Sergeant Johnson to be there at his elbow, probably trading stories with Eugene Roe, messing with Ulee Dakol's head, always chomping on that stub of a cigar, but always seemed to know what he was doing. Always knew that they'd win, always knew that the Covenant bastards were going down in flames.
Well, the Covenant bastards had gone down in flames, but the Chief didn't feel like they had won. He felt more like he had lost. And that more defeats were on their way.