1200 Hours UTC, 22 September 2552 (Military Calendar)/
Sol System, Earth, UNSC Science Outpost 01A-77
Rooftop, Parking Garage
Reinforcements And More Reinforcements
"I've got plenty of MREs here and in the larger tent downstairs, but I say to hell with that. Send your troops below decks to get some real food. Outpost owes it to us, I figure." Rion stepped to the other side of the tent and powered down the spectrum analyzer, its screen fading to black. He was tired of seeing it, the mockery of his failures.
"Sounds good to me." Hickman replied. "Lead the way when you're ready." The SFC peered through a slit in the outer lining of the tent and shot up, hurrying outside. A pilot could be seen sitting in the open canopy of one of the Falcons, waving the NCOIC onward. Fontaine stayed behind and tidied up the floor of the tent, shoving some of the transit cases up against the walls. He left the outer lining open hoping to air out the interior and strolled out.
It was high-noon and the perfect time to break for lunch. Since then, the Army unit set up an impressive perimeter in accordance with their NCOIC's strategy. Even more camouflage tarps were raised and held taught by parachute cord, the mesh obscuring their presence even more. Everyone appreciated the extra sunshade it produced, no doubt. A four-point formation of soldiers manned each of the walls serving as lookouts, though with no action and not much to do, they each hunkered down and sat on the rooftop behind the cover of their respective parapets. They'd completed as much as could be asked of a soldier at present. Gear and weapons were checked and safed, all items inventoried, all on-site procedures memorized. They were left to their own devices.
Rion glanced onward to Hickman, the Senior NCO listening in on a radio relay transmission from one of the Falcon's blade antennas.
"Alright, everyone, it's official!" Hickman hollered, marching to the center of the expanse near the LASER. "Force Protection Condition Delta, INFOCON Delta. This is now a no-salute zone. You know the drill!"
Immediately, all the members of the topside security detail left their current areas and sprang into motion, all hands fabricating a defensive fighting position made mostly of indigenous brick and concrete tile and leftover construction materials. The cannibalization of all the loose items impressed the Chief as he watched them assemble it all together. Rion would join the improvisational effort himself if not for their speed and attention to detail. The more he observed them, the more he was afraid he'd only get in their way.
The newly-erected barricade at the mouth of the only access ramp and the six men now holding it would either cripple or utterly destroy anything that thought it could enter this camp uninvited, as a trio of pod-mounted heavy machine guns now bore down in that direction. Arranged in a horseshoe fashion, the multi-vector firepower would decimate nearly anything attempting to breach that sector. Two of the guns emplaced forty-five degrees from the apex were AIE-486H variants, able to dispense thirty caliber, polymer-tipped projectiles at an overwhelming rate of fire, essentially encapsulating any non-friendly vehicle in a two-sided death trap. The gun recessed slightly further away at the apex was the standard belt-fed M247H Turret taken from one of the Falcons, with an even higher rate of fire and a much larger .50 cal hollow-point round, ideally suited to mow down enemy walkers.
The Chief noted the impressive kill box with a high brow as he quickened his step to reach Hickman. These Army guys weren't playing around.
"So much for lunch." Fontaine mumbled.
"Let's get you a weapon." Hickman said, smiling at the Chief. "Then, we'll eat."
1230 Hours UTC
Rooftop
"So does anyone have any intel on Covenant fleet positioning? Are they en route?"
"If anyone knows something, we haven't heard it. My squad, that is. We're just the advance team, but it doesn't matter. The Nine-Oh-Sixth is inbound-imminent."
"You mean the whole Brigade?"
"Basically."
"Holy…I didn't think that many reinforcements were coming. They must be expecting something to happen here. Wow, I get it now. That's why I'm here and why the VIPs downstairs need this LASER link up and running. I wasn't prepared for this at all. None of us were."
"Nah, relax, Chief. Don't read too much into it. We've exercised this scenario a few times before. This ain't our first rodeo."
"Real glad you Seventh folks are here. I doubt any colony had things as rehearsed as you all do."
"Whenever the Earth's defense forces get placed on high alert, we send an advance team here—us—and provide ingress security and logistics support for the mother ship."
"Mattis and the herd?"
"Like I said, he'll be here real soon. Try not to get too excited when you see it happen. Mattis expects the highest competence from everyone. He's been known to take charge of neighboring units as well. Just don't let him get under your skin, you know what I mean?"
"Try not to let him run me over, okay? I've got my mission. I can't leave my post for just about any reason."
"I was only half kidding there. He's not going to bat one eyelash when he sees you, trust me. You'll be left alone."
"I guess they'll be hunkering down inside this structure, then, which is totally fine by me. There's loads of room."
Hickman glanced around, saying, "Not much choice in the matter. I doubt you'll protest the extra protection, though."
"Where do you think the Colonel will be staying? Where's your money on?"
"I'm not a bettin' man, but I'd guess he'd want to be one level below."
"Any reason?"
"One level down is close enough to the rooftop, but not directly exposed to enemy fire either."
"You think it'll come to that here?"
"Doubt it." Hickman said, scanning the horizon with squinted eyes. He wheeled around to face due East, paying particular attention to the twin cities of Mombasa. He peered into a pair of binoculars. Through the haze, it was just clear enough to see the demarcation point between Old and New Mombasa, where the faceted, seaside metropolis just about overshadowed the worn, adobe ghettos further inland. If he stared hard enough and tweaked the collimation and focus of the optics, Hickman could probably make out the spars of the 105 E Bridge connecting the two landmasses together. The monolithic Alpha Site could easily be seen with its distinctive silhouette, and there was no missing the New Mombasa Uplift, the orbital tether that towered to heights unseen and beyond. "There's nothing for miles in every direction from this rooftop, but there's a lot of eye candy in that place over there." Hickman said, still staring into the lively port-city. "That's the first thing the Covenant is going to want to fire upon if they make it to East Africa. I'd bet upon it."
"Thought you said you weren't a bettin' man." Rion smirked.
"No, I meant what I said. I only gamble with my life, not my money."
1315 Hours UTC
Rooftop
Chief Warrant Officer Fontaine clasped the claws of the web belt shut and pulled an adjustment strap, cinching it over his waist. Firmly attached to it was the holstered M6C sidearm to the right flank and an extra pair of clips to the left.
"Alright, troops!" Hickman hollered, standing on top of a waist-high transit case. "Job's over and it's lunch time. You all kicked ass today. Let's get downstairs and eat."
The NCOIC waved Fontaine on to lead the way down, proudly marching toward the far elevator, and was then halted by the sight of a small flight of drones cresting over a ledge adjacent to the lift. A resonant hum filled the air as they neared. Cradled beneath them were clear Tupperware containers.
"Nevermind," Hickman said over his shoulder, "we've got room service." The NCOIC smiled and awaited the civilian drop to commence.
The drones formed up in a staggered line and descended to the floor near the soldiers, their retention claws releasing the containerized meals onto the surface before them. The quadracopters gyrated and sped off, stowing their thin crane arms in mid-flight and descending out of view once they cleared the farthest ledge.
One of the units stayed behind and emitted a pre-recorded message. Rion recognized the speaker as the Doctor he'd hardly seen since he first arrived.
"Greetings, everyone. Expect a daily delivery at this time, courtesy of the IRIS Site. Buon Appetito."
The last drone sped off past the farthest parapet and sank back from where it came.
1345 Hours UTC
Level-Twelve, Parking Garage
"Now that hit the spot." Hickman grunted, inspecting his outer garments for loose crumbs.
"Yeah, they really do have some of the best food here." Rion said, nodding. "Hey, look at that. Dirtcake."
The Chief clawed at the wrapping and broke the desert pastry in two, handing the other half to the brawny Sergeant.
Savoring the flavor, the two carried on in silence, all personnel crowded in the center of the rooftop between the Chief's tent and the LASER terminal, all sitting beneath the shade of the camouflage canopy.
"Do we just leave these containers up here?" Staff Sergeant Buckley asked, standing up. "Or do we walk them down to the…ground floor or something?"
"Not sure," Rion said, "this is my first time ordering in."
A minute after the junior NCO asked the question, the same drones as before once again crested the rooftop ledge and sped toward the troops' location, hovering at first, then slowly coming to rest on the rooftop surface. Their thin, rigid extrusions splayed outward. One by one, all personnel moseyed to a drone of their choosing and placed the sealed Tupperware boxes on top of the extended appendages, and one by one the copters flew away.
"I could get used to this." Rion said grinning.
"Hear that?" Hickman said. He turned around to face East again, cupping one ear.
Far off in the distance, Pelican gunships could be heard.
The sunlight shone down upon a large, fuzzy spec in the distance.
"You weren't kidding." Fontaine blurted out, jogging to the Eastern parapet. He buttressed his weight against the ledge, scanning that horizon with squinted eyes. From this vantage, the inbound brigade appeared as a massive, cohesive dust cloud that vectored straightly toward the site on its own accord.
"Everything finalized?" Hickman asked one of his staff sergeants.
"Yes, Sergeant."
"Alright, then we can finally get this thing into gear." Hickman turned to face Fontaine. "And you can get the latest intel, too."
1350 Hours UTC
Rooftop
The true cavalry, both armored and airborne, had arrived.
The mass of aircraft maintained a hover directly over the mechanized brigade as it just about reached the foot of the parking garage towering above. Once in the immediate vicinity, the flying formation broke off from the ground forces and strafed counter-clockwise about the establishment one rotation, blotting out the sun as they veered completely around the parking garage. Warthogs could be heard filing into the levels below by the twos, ascending the innards at breakneck speeds.
Rion smiled.
After another moment, the flock of aircraft descended vertically into the desert plain in a pattern that encircled the structure, a tsunami of dirt impacting the high walls and shooting straight up, nearly reaching as high as the parapets. A single Warthog then crested the final ramp and drove slowly to the only empty space remaining on the rooftop. Hickman immediately turned toward the new arrivals and once the driver and passenger dismounted, the Sergeant First Class gaited closer.
"Sir, what's the word?"
The officer riding shotgun immediately surveyed the area from where he stood. "Operation Valkyrie is a go."
"Yes, sir, understood. Everything seems to be in good shape for us up here. We're ready." Hickman glanced back and waved Fontaine onward. "When was the last time you were out this way, Captain?"
He smiled beneath a helmet. "…Seems like too long ago."
Once the Warrant Officer came within a few paces of the two, he rendered his respects to the Army Captain with a nod. "Sir, Chief Fontaine, Office of Naval Intelligence."
"Captain Stern, Shield Company. Some pretty impressive stuff you got up here."
"Some of it anyways." Rion shrugged. "Whenever it's working."
"Well, Chief, it seems like our missions will be overlapping. We appreciate you sharing this space with us."
"To all our benefit, Captain. Glad you're all here."
"I'm told that we have something for you, some kind of SATCOM hardware."
"Oh, great."
"I'll have a Hog fetch it soon. Where would you like it?"
"We'll swap it out where the old one is over by my ops tent."
Stern looked around again, the hard lines of his face meeting his new environment. After a brief gander, he addressed all present with as loud a voice as he could muster. "Alright, the Colonel should be here real soon. Everyone standby. Sergeant Hickman, do you have a sit-rep prepared?"
1400 Hours UTC
Rooftop
Rion could hear another resonant hum in the distance.
"Hey, Warrant," the Captain said, addressing Fontaine, "can I use your tent for a minute?"
"Go for it." Rion said absentmindedly while strolling up the Eastern parapet once again. Peering outward, he could see a massive armored vehicle on approach. A tall, rectangular shape. It could only be a UNSC Elephant.
"That's the Command Post."
Rion glanced to his side and found a young Lieutenant there, the gold bar sewn to his fatigues looking new and not discolored as so many others' rank insignias were among the 906th.
"Calvin Reed," he said, extending a hand, "Shield Company, First Platoon."
"Rion Fontaine."
The Chief shook the man's hand.
"Colonel Mattis likes to stay mobile whenever he can."
"I hear his reputation precedes him."
"If the world was about to come to an end," the young Lieutenant said, nodding, "I'd follow him anywhere in it. He taught us everything we know."
Rion looked outward again. The massive column of dirt particulate was doubly large as before, slowly but steadily approaching. Through that widening, dusty tail was Mombasa.
"Man," the Chief shook his head, "there must be something really important going on down below."
"Why do you say that?" Reed asked. "What's down below?"
Rion scratched at his chin. "Truthfully, I wish I knew. All I know is that I'm their link out to the outside world right now. But you'd think a force this size wouldn't neglect a whole city as big as Mombasa, especially when there's so many strategic assets all clustered there."
"We're not." Reed scoffed. "This is just a fraction of the Nine-Oh-Sixth." The Lieutenant pointed out toward the twin cities. "The rest stays out there, where all the shit's gonna happen."
"So, what, this parking garage is now the headquarters?"
"Yes, Chief."
"So are all of you staying here for the time being?"
"Hopefully." The LT glanced rearward at Stern conversing with Hickman as they stepped inside Fontaine's ops tent. "But something tells me Stern's gonna throw us into the deep water and see if we can swim, like always."
"Your OIC over there?"
"Gung-ho mofo if there ever was one. The other butter-bars are going to try and dissuade him from being so…bloodthirsty…but we've got a good feeling he's gonna volunteer to rush in as soon as something kicks off. That's how it always happens with him. He sticks to the script at first, but then something takes a hold and makes him want to just send in the whole company guns-blazing." He pivoted to face the Chief. "You ever know any officers like that?"
"Can't say that I have." Rion smirked at the Lieutenant. "You prior enlisted?"
"Yeah. What gave it away?"
"The way you talk about other officers. You don't exactly come off as some polished-up CAMS grad."
Reed smirked back. "Good. Because if Earth really is all that's left, we're gonna need people like you more than anyone else. People with some Goddamn experience. I almost can't believe I have to speak about another officer this way, but I can't help myself. It's true. He's after brownie points or something, we just want to survive and win."
The Chief turned toward the interior of the rooftop, slowly withdrawing from the ledge. More troops enacted their pre-established battle plans, now disseminating anti-material sniper rifles to one another in an assembly line fashion and ferrying them to the ledges.
"Excuse me, sirs." one of them said.
Fontaine shuffled out of the soldier's way as two ammo cans filled with fully-loaded box magazines were set down by his feet. Next, one of the high-power rifles was gently lowered by the junior NCO's two hands, the butt stock of it now resting on the ground and the muzzle brake leaning up against the top of the parapet.
Before Rion could take more stock of his surroundings, another soldier stole his view.
"Chief, Staff Sergeant Lake. Your new equipment is here."
"Excellent. Thank you. Who wants to make some morale calls?"