The Intergalactic War
By Chief Ratchet
(A.N: Sorry about the wait. The file was deleted when an angry computer hid my account, and then, it had to be restored. So sorry about that. For a little clearing up, in case I haven't mentioned it before, cut the Divine Blade's length by half, as well as the Super MAC's length. Keep pretty much everything else the same though.)
Reviews:
Ranger24: Yep, Naboo's definitely in a spot of trouble, and not just from Brutes. Everyone should have the Master Chief on speed dial. Too bad that right now, you'd probably get his voice mail….
Star wars 2136: That portion of the chapter was actually inspired by part of the British desert campaign from Call of Duty 2, which featured tanks and deserts, and bunkers, and also inspired by a bit of Command and Conquer 3. Now, if only I could find a way to bring Mammoth Tanks with railguns into this story…. My knowledge of the Star Wars universe is admittedly quite limited, with the whole thing being enormous, with so many things. So, I don't even know a B3 Ultra Battle Droid, but, again, wait and see. Who knows? Maybe a horde of Mammoth Tanks will come in and turn it into rubble.
Carlo707: Yes, sounds like Command and Conquer 3, doesn't it?
Anonymous review: Thanks for the tip. Damn. Can't believe I forgot that, and it was mentioned in Halo: The Flood as well. I'll try not to make that mistake again, thanks for pointing it out.
Chapter 13: Quarantine
The Brute Chieftain raised his Gravity Hammer, let out an angry roar and leapt off the platform. He landed, and bounded for the closest cluster of security guards, ignoring the blaster bolts that did little to his amour. In a few seconds, he was right in front of the group, and swung the hammer with a mighty blow into the chest of the closest guard.
The hammer, aided by the Brute's enormous strength and the gravity field, smashed the guard into and through a wall. The gravity field had the effect of knocking back the others as well. He swung again, and smashed another guard into the wall, before using the other end of the hammer and bringing it down on yet another guard's head. The guard collapsed, and the Chieftain swung once more, scattering the remaining guards. He looked down, and saw a guard still alive. With a snort, he raised his foot and brought it down, ending the guard's life.
He snarled as more blaster bolts pelted his armour, most of which failed to get through the shielding as well. Running to another group of guards, he swung again, and sent most of the guards flying into walls.
On the gravity lift, more lower-ranked Brutes were pouring out in numbers, along with Jackals and Grunts. A Hunter pair even descended, followed by a pair of Wraith tanks, with an escort of Ghosts and Choppers. Shade Turrets were used to turn any possible entrance into a chokepoint, with stationary shield generators used by the normal ground troops as barricades.
Before long, a massive army had been gathered at the base of the Assault Carrier. The Brute Chieftain was grunting orders to the various Brutes gathered, placing the Wraiths at the front of the column, with the other vehicles gathered behind. Jump pack equipped Brutes jetted out of the Assault Carrier's launch bays, armed with the lighter Plasma Rifles and Carbines, to launch raiding attacks against the defenders.
Once the appropriate forces had been assembled, in a show of Covenant might, the assault began in earnest.
Wraiths hurled meteoric plasma mortars into the sky. The tightly packed bundles of blue plasma traced parabolic lines in the sky as they arced towards their destination. Security troops ducked down instinctively as the blue orbs graceful came down. A thunderclap of an explosion rocked the ground, hurling pieces of debris, equipment and body parts into the air. Dust continued to rain down even as the tanks hurled more mortars, one after another, into the sky. The relentless barrage never ceased, until the two opposing sides caught sight of each other. With a battle cry that rivalled the Brutes savage fury, blaster bolts and superheated metal spikes filled the space between them.
The defenders had managed to muster up a trio of Gian landspeeders, whose laser cannons were proving their worth. Every time the cannons fired, another Brute body dropped to the ground. But there were many more to take their place, and each one as furious and unrelenting as the last.
"Hold your ground!" shouted the officer in charge.
The troops ducked behind whatever cover they could find, popping out to return fire with the Brutes, who advanced behind the shield walls of the Jackals. Lasers were soaked up by the shields, often staggering the Jackal holding it. Blobs of green plasma splashed across the cover of the defenders. A Plasma Grenade was hurled from behind the glowing wall, and bounced off a wall, dropping to the ground. The explosive whined, increasing in inaudible volume through the whining of plasma weapons and sounds of blasters going off.
"Forward warriors! Slay these heathens, burn them to the ground!" roared the Brute Chieftain. The Brutes under his command roared in response, and as one, surged forward.
Jackals hastily flung themselves to the side as the Brutes charged at the defenders, caring not for the blaster bolts that struck them. Within seconds of charging, the first wave of Brutes had been slain, their bodies trampled under the feet of the Brutes behind. The second mass of Brutes had barely been slaughtered before they fell upon the defenders.
Maulers, Spikers and the blade of the Brute Shots were nothing less than lethal at the range they were fighting at. A Mauler barked, and ripped open the chest of one trooper. The Brute that had fired it was consumed by blaster bolts, but the group of troopers who had fired on the Brute were torn to shreds when a grenade from a Brute Shot detonated within their ranks, before Spiker fire killed who stood after. Brutes of all ranks and sizes fell, with the bodies of the security guards mingled within.
The view was visible from the Theed palace. The current queen of Naboo stood silently at the window, viewing what had become of the capital. Columns of smoke drifted up, and many buildings were destroyed. The blackened husks of a Wraith tank, and many lighter vehicles dotted the street. Bodies lay strewn throughout the entire city. The sound of blaster and plasma fire was still in the air, as the Brutes swept through all resistance, not caring if they had sustained massive losses.
"Your highness, we have to leave," the captain of the guard said as he and a small detachment of his most trusted troopers walked in.
The queen didn't move from the window.
"Your highness, I must insist," the captain said more forcefully.
A sad sigh escaped from the painted lips of the queen, as she turned to face the captain. Her mouth opened, but a scream replaced what she was going to say when the window shattered.
A Brute, wearing a jump pack and a frenzied grin, lifted the Plasma Rifle it clutched in its massive hands at the queen. Before it could fire, ten blaster bolts had hammered through its personal shields, armour and thick skull.
It dropped to the ground, dead.
The captain strode over, and helped the queen up to her feet. Her white face was even paler, if that was possible. She took a shaky breath.
"Very well captain. Lead the way," the queen said, straightening.
The delegation hurried out of the palace, and into the hangar. Four guards were scanning the corridor, and had their blasters raised when the captain, the queen and a small number of guards with a few handmaidens stepped out into their sight.
"Sir!" one of the guards called out. "Your highness, glad to see you got out."
"Skip the talks. Get onto the ship," the captain ordered.
The group ran into the hangar, where the royal starship and a pair of aging N-1 Starfighters sat, their pilots standing near their ships, gripping blaster pistols.
Within moments, the royal starship and her two escorts were flying out of the hangar. The Brutes, though seeing the escape, was powerless to do anything. The Assault Carrier's weapons weren't charged, and without a fleet in orbit, the trio of ships escaped into the realm of hyperspace.
The Arbiter strode through the clean halls of the Alliance's orbital headquarters. Many people, alien and human, most of which were of a shorter stature than the Arbiter, hurried out of his way. He turned the corner, and walked into the office of Admiral Pellaeon.
"Admiral," the Arbiter greeted as he stood.
Pellaeon sat in his chair, a troubled look on his face.
"What is so important here that you insist on a meeting in person?" the Arbiter questioned. "I have other matters to attend to."
"Of course. Which is why I have chosen to keep this meeting brief and to the point."
"Go on."
"I have received disturbing news. Only hours ago, a trio of ships exited out of hyperspace. They were carrying the queen of Naboo, one of planets contributing to the Alliance. The planet had fallen, under a few hours ago, by five ships. Covenant ships," Pellaeon stressed, looking at the Arbiter.
For his worth, the Arbiter didn't even blink. Of course, he didn't know if he even could.
"If they were Covenant ships, then they were not under my command. None of my ships have gone any further than the battlefields that I have ordered them to."
"But they were Covenant ships, I cannot discount the fact that the might have come from your fleet."
"I assure you, no ship in my fleet has gone astray."
"How do you keep exact records of every ship? Your fleet is large- numbering hundreds of ships. How do you know that a few might not want to be under your command?"
The Arbiter clicked his mandibles in annoyance. "It must have been the Brutes. Some must have escaped from the early battles."
"How do you know?"
"If it makes you feel better, I shall send a cruiser to investigate. I cannot spare any more, not with the offensive you have planned."
"Very well then. I'll leave it up to you."
The Arbiter nodded, and stalked out of the office. "If you want proof that neither I nor my ships have had any hands in this, ask the survivors," the Arbiter said, before fully leaving.
The Phantom which the Arbiter had taken to the orbital headquarters docked in the Divine Blade's cavernous launch bays. All around, technicians of all races, from humans, to Elites, to Grunts and to the Engineers worked on the various fighters, preparing them for the battle that was soon to follow.
On the bridge, the Arbiter called up Spec Ops Commander Rtas Vadumee. He had dropped the 'ee' suffix when the war with the Brutes began, but had reattached it ever since the new Covenant was established.
"Arbiter," the Commander greeted.
"Rtas, I hope you are well," the Arbiter began.
"Not too bad, all things considered. Thank you for asking."
"I need you to assemble four teams of warriors like yourself. Take them and yourself to the CSS-battlecruiser Heaven's Tears. I need you to investigate a disturbance, which our friends want us to investigate."
"I'll have it done soon, Arbiter. Rtas out."
The screen shut off, and the Arbiter was left standing on the raised section of the control room, overlooking the other officer's work. He wondered if he should send the SPARTAN-III's under his command. Tapping a few keys on his console, he sent an order for three teams of four SPARTAN-III's to be assembled and sent to the Heaven's Tears.
The large holographic displays across the room, which not only bathed everything in the entire room with a soft blue hue showed the world of space around them. The Heaven's Tears, hardly distinguishable from the other gathering UCNC ships, turned away from the fleet and moved off, before jumping into Slipspace.
"What are the demons doing here?" hissed one black armoured Elite.
The bay of the Heaven's Tears was loaded with Phantoms, Seraphs, Banshees and more unusually, a trio of bulky Pelicans. Three teams of four slight SPARTAN-IIIs moved crates of weaponry, equipment and all necessary items required for an operation from the Pelicans. The SPI armour they wore continually faded from a dark purple to a gunmetal green as they moved from the Pelicans. Already a significant pile was accumulating. In another corner stood multiple Covenant weapon crates, where a group of Elites were arming themselves.
"They are not the demons," growled Rtas 'Vadumee as he walked into the bay. Years of experience had taught him the difference between the SPARTAN-IIs and the IIIs. "And they are here by the Arbiter's orders. And you will treat them like you would your team members."
One of the SPARTAN-IIIs walked up to 'Vadumee, and raised his hand in a salute. "Sir, the Arbiter has stated that we are to assist you in investigating the disturbance."
The black clad Elite who had spoken earlier huffed and turned away, walking over to a weapons crate that had been brought down.
"Then you shall assist us. What are your designations?" asked 'Vadumee.
"Fire Teams Sierra, Tango and Charlie."
"That is all. Continue," Rtas ordered.
The SPARTAN saluted once more, and walked back over to his cohorts, who were starting to open crates.
The thirty one black clad Elites around the bay were busying themselves, whether it was making a check of their armour or arming themselves. Many of the Elites were wearing the standard Combat helmet, coloured black to differentiate from the standard colours the normal Elites wore. A significant number, perhaps a third to a quarter of them were wearing the Assault helmet, also coloured black. They were arming themselves with Carbines or Plasma Rifles, clipping the weapons to their back or leg magnetic holsters. However, a single Elite gravitated towards the pile of human weapon containers, earning a look from the SPARTAN pulling the containers open.
The Elite ignored the look, and helped pry a container open. The Elite pulled out a pair of SMG's, and glanced at them.
"What are you doing?" the SPARTAN questioned. It was female.
"Choosing my armaments," the Elite said.
"Sorry, no Covenant weapons here. Try over where you buddies are," the SPARTAN said.
"I prefer these. Do you have any of the sound reducing devices?"
"Silencers? Here," the SPARTAN said, pulling out a pair for the SMG's and handing them over.
"My thanks," the Elite said, pulling out a MA5C Assault Rifle. "Do you have any 'silencers' for this?"
The SPARTAN handed over another one, which the Elite managed to fit on. After fitting on all three, the SPARTAN grabbed a handful of magazines for the SMG's and another handful for the MA5C and gave them to the Elite.
"Here, you'll need these. Those weapons you're holding eat up the lead real fast."
"Thank you, SPARTAN."
"It's Rebecca."
The Elite looked surprise, his hand stopped halfway out of a crate with another bundle of magazines. Had one of the Demons told him her name?
"Thank you, Rebecca. My name is 'Yhanamee."
The SPARTAN, Rebecca, nodded and turned back to opening crates. 'Yhanamee walked to a Covenant weapons crate, and grabbed Plasma Grenades, clipping them to his belt.
Two hours passed without incident, and the members of the investigation team were sitting in the bay with little to do, having armed themselves and briefed already. A group of SPARTAN-III's were sitting in a group and playing a game with cards. Some of the Elites were talking in low voices, while others stood, leaned against the wall or sat, looking bored.
The door to the bay opened, and everyone in it glanced up. Rtas 'Vadumee entered, along with a group of Elites in red armour and a trio of human pilots. The ship seemed to shudder.
"We have exited Slipspace," Rtas announced. "We will be leaving in five units. Prepare yourselves."
The reaction was near instantaneous. Most of the SPARTAN-III's leapt to their feet and saluted, acknowledging 'Vadumee as their commanding officer, while the Elites bowed their head in respect. The warriors then filed onto the ships, followed by the pilots and 'Vadumee.
In space, many thousands of kilometres away from the planet of Naboo, a single CSS-Battlecruiser exited out of Slipspace. The ship powered up again, and rumbled towards the pristine planet. There was an ugly smear of black and red that was visible on the planet, however.
In the Control Room, the ship's commander, a golden Shipmaster stood alone, like most typical Covenant ships. He viewed the planet from the main display, and pressed a holographic button.
"Magnify that section of the planet," he ordered.
The report showed that the 'smear' was a five kilometre long swath of flames and blackened ground. Bits and pieces of a silvery metal were visible scattered around the blackened section. The report showed that the pieces were consistent with parts from an Assault Carrier.
"An Assault Carrier? What was one doing there?" he asked himself. "Move us towards the planet. Tell the teams to prepare for launch."
The cruiser steadily advanced closer, until it was only a few kilometres from orbit.
"Launch the Phantoms and Pelicans," the Shipmaster ordered.
The bay, which held the seven dropships, lit up as several alarms blared. All of the personnel near the bay hurried away as it slowly depressurised. The Phantoms and Pelicans, already holding their occupants and air locked, were unaffected by the lack of atmosphere.
The door then slid apart, revealing the blackness of space dotted with the face of Naboo. The Pelicans jets fired up, and joined each other to create a noiseless roar. The seven ships fired up, and flew out of the bay. The blast door slid shut behind them.
The ships descended through the atmosphere, their edges glowing red through the friction of re-entry. Inside all of the ships, their passengers were rocked as Phantoms and Pelicans broke through and steadied.
"Warriors, make sure your Active Camouflage is working," Rtas ordered. "We are to land in the capital of this world, and investigate what has gone wrong. Anything may be hostile, so be prepared."
"Excellency, we are one and a half units out," the voice of the pilot said.
"SPARTANS, LZ is three minutes. Get ready for drop," the Pelican pilot reported.
Throughout the Pelicans, a series of resounding clacks echoed, as the SPARTAN-III's readied their weapons.
The dropships buzzed over the city of Theed. Curiously, no kind of response greeted them. Before long, all seven were gathered above an empty plaza. The Pelicans fired their belly jets, and descended slowly, whilst the Phantoms remained in the air.
"SPARTANS, go go go!" shouted one SPARTAN, and was drowned out by the feet of SPARTANS storming down the ramps, some jumping off the end.
The Elites descended through the Phantom's miniaturised gravity lift. Touching down, they pulled out Carbines, Plasma Rifles or Particle Beam Rifles, and held them ready. Rtas 'Vadumee came down, and the Pelicans and Phantoms flew off in formation.
Their LZ was empty, devoid of life, despite being designed for people to enjoy it.
"What is this?" growled one Elite holding a Carbine.
"Whatever it is, we shall root it out. Warriors, engage Active Camouflage!" shouted 'Vadumee.
In response, all thirty-two Elites, 'Vadumee included, faded from view. The SPARTAN-III's, with their SPI Armour, blended in with the environment surrounding them. The SPI Armour faded into the background, a drab yellow.
Silently, the force moved, slowly parting into seven groups. Seven groups of ghosts, quiet as the wind, slinked around buildings, sliding down alleys, climbed ladders, and peeked around corners, never more visible than a slight flicker. The new photo-reactive plates of the latest version of the SPI Armour mimicked the surrounding environment much more efficiently and effectively than the last version.
The groups met up at an intersection. The blackened, broken roads as well as bodies and remains of vehicles gave the first indication of a battle.
"Brutes," whispered one Elite over the comm.
"So, it looks like we weren't responsible after all," another Elite said.
"Quiet!" forcibly whispered 'Vadumee. "We need to check for any more Brutes. Advance to that structure there; reports say that it is a palace for the ruling party of this planet. There may be more Brutes inside. Move."
As silent as they were before, the SPARTANS and Elites moved off again. Once more, they became ghosts, sliding among ruined streets as well as the intact ones. It took them over half an hour to reach the entrance to the palace, which were locked down.
"Place the charges," 'Vadumee ordered. "The rest of you, cover them."
He could see the outlines of Fire Team Sierra moving towards the doors and pulling explosives out of their pouches. The rest of the force took cover behind various pieces of debris, propping up weapons or readying them.
"Sir, charges are set," whispered one SPARTAN.
"Everyone, move away!"
Four detonators were pressed. Four fingers touched the red button which sent a signal to the charges. Four explosions consumed the door, throwing them inward and deeper into the structure.
The teams recovered, and were slowly making their way up to the building.
Once inside, and having secured the immediate area, seven teams of SPARTAN-III's and Elites faded into view. 'Vadumee stood in the centre.
"Fan out, secure the building. Find the rest of the hairy beasts, and slaughter them," 'Vadumee ordered. "Engage Active Camouflage."
Once more, they disappeared from view, and slid away, in seven different directions.
Rtas' team descended down a carved staircase, taking them lower into the bowels of the structure. The Spec Ops Commander had a Carbine in his hands, and a pair of Plasma Rifles as well as the hilt of an Energy Sword attached to his leg holsters.
The sound of clicking feet instantly put the group alert. They methodically spread out around the room they had entered. Ever since entering, they had met no resistance. A Grunt rounded the corner, hurrying forward and bumped into the invisible leg of one of the Elites.
The Grunt squealed in horror as it was fell back, and a black clad Spec Ops Elite appeared. The Elite raised its Plasma Rifle, ready to bring it down on the cowering Grunt's head when a voice boomed, "Stay your hand, warrior!"
The Elite stopped, seconds from clubbing the Grunt. It peeked out from under its hands, which were covering its eyes.
Rtas faded into visibility, and walked over, grabbing the Grunt and lifting it to its feet. "Who are you with?"
"Th-the B-Brutes," squeaked the Grunt. "They make me work for them- fight as well. Me no like Brutes."
"Where are they?" demanded 'Vadumee.
"Dead!" the Grunt said. "The parasite caused it!"
The Grunt's statement caused a ripple of murmuring to begin among the Elites.
"The Parasite?" asked 'Vadumee.
"Around corner!"
Rtas walked over, and looked around, sniffing the air. He didn't smell the stench that had come to associate with the Flood. But he rounded the corner, and stopped dead.
Hanging like a foul mist, the air further down the corridor was permeated with the thick, porous sickly yellow-green mist that followed the Flood. The stench was there. And a squishing echo sounded.
He whipped around, and ran back to the room where the rest of his team was gathered.
"Excellency?" asked one of the Elites. Two of them had Plasma Rifles aimed at the Grunt.
"The Parasite is here! We must get out, now!" he ordered. "Take the Grunt with us."
The Elites stiffened, and nodded. One grabbed the Grunt as they hurriedly rushed back to the staircase. Behind them, the echoing noises were growing in volume.
"All teams, fall back! We must evacuate from this building! The Flood is present!" 'Vadumee ordered, even as he ran with the others.
Soon, all seven teams were gathered at the entrance.
"We must alert the Heaven's Tears," 'Vadumee said.
They all nodded, and ran out of the building, blocking the entrance as best they could.
"Heaven's Tears, do you read?" 'Vadumee asked.
"This is the Heaven's Tears. What is it, Commander 'Vadumee?"
"Alert the Arbiter. The Flood have a presence here!"
There was silence on the other end. "We are contacting the Arbiter now. Prepare to leave the planet. The Phantoms are waiting."
They were about to move, when something behind them crashed. The Grunt squealed in terror, as a series of horribly misshapen monsters jumped out of the building.
"Destroy them!" 'Vadumee shouted.
A tidal wave of metal and plasma washed over the forms to get out. Many were simply vaporised as the bullets and plasma ripped them to pieces.
"Move!" shouted 'Vadumee, even as more combat forms leapt out, followed by infection forms skittering on the ground.
A battle broke out, and the investigation team was forced to run as more and more Flood broke through. Bodies piled up as they ran, but more took their places. Every time a burst of bullets ripped apart one combat form, two more leapt in. Every time a plasma shot washed over a group of infection forms, a hundred more took their place.
The group ran, stopped, turned to fire a few bursts, and ran again. Combat forms were trampled under more combat forms, before infection forms began to squabble over the body, returning new life to it.
"Hold here!" shouted 'Vadumee, as they ducked behind fallen slabs of duracrete. "Wait for the Phantoms to arrive!"
They answered with a barrage of bullets and plasma.
All of the SPARTANs were emptying clip after clip of ammunition at the oncoming horde. Fire Team Sierra fired in short bursts. Every burst they fired cut down another Flood form, or shredded a group of Infection forms. Plasma fire lashed out, and burned Flood bodies.
Rebecca, indistinguishable from the other SPARTAN-III's in their armour, fired a full clip at full automatic into the crowd. The Flood wilted under the bullets, some of them missing body parts. Next to her, Collins fired a Battle Rifle as fast as he could pull the trigger and aim. A burst of three bullets sliced through the air, and buried into a Flood form, dropping it as three Carbine shots struck the one standing next to it.
"Holy flare!" shouted one of the Elites, priming a Plasma Grenade and throwing it.
The explosive glowed and hissed as it flew over the lines of tracer fire and plasma, adhering to a group of Carrier forms. The device glowed menacingly as the Carrier form advanced without care of the device attached to it, into a group of Combat forms.
A bright blue explosion consumed the Carrier in a strikingly beautiful but dangerous cloud, detonating it and all the other Carriers around it. A sequence of pops and bangs tore apart the Flood rear ranks, hurling the bodies of fallen Combat forms high over, splattering to the ground in front of the Elites and SPARTANs.
'Yhanamee crouched behind cover, the twin silenced SMG's in his hand coughing as they spat silent death at the Flood. Around him, his comrades fired Carbines, the radioactive green trails filling the air with the glowing red-orange of bullets. The rounds buried themselves with thuds against the Flood bodies, as three grenades detonated with a roar in the Flood ranks.
A wave of plasma fire flew over their shoulders suddenly, as four Phantoms hovered over them, their triple Plasma Cannons spewing fire. Behind them, the trio of Pelicans sat on the ground, their engines idling and ramps open.
"Get aboard!" the pilots shouted.
The SPARTAN-III's needed no more encouragement, let alone 'Vadumee shouting at them to go. They thundered up the ramps of the Pelicans, as the Elites were whisked up by the Phantom's gravity lifts, firing and throwing grenades as they did so. The Phantoms burned down the next line of Flood forms as the Pelicans unleased a barrage of missiles from their wing-mounted missile pods. A series of red, yellow and orange explosions blossomed, and ripped the Flood ranks to pieces, hurling giblets of flesh and tentacles against the ships.
The seven ships rose up as one, flying up through the atmosphere to reach the safety of the Heaven's Tears launch bays.
Once more, the Arbiter found himself striding through the Alliance's orbital headquarters. This time, he was headed for the meeting room. He clutched a data crystal in his clawed hands. Reaching the room, the door slid open to reveal Admiral Pellaeon, General Wedge Antilles, Admiral Ontinvere and two other generals.
"What is the purpose of this, Arbiter?" asked Pellaeon.
"Thank you all for coming on such a short notice," the Arbiter began. "Less than three hours ago, the CCS-Battlecruiser Heaven's Tears, which I had sent to investigate the events surrounding the loss of one of your planets. I had sent four teams of my Special Operations warriors along with the Special Operations Commander. In addition to that, three fireteams of SPARTAN-III's were sent as well. I had just got word from the teams; Brute ships had destroyed the fleet surrounding the planet."
"So it wasn't your ships?"
"No. But upon descending into the palace, they encountered something- a parasitic life form called the Flood."
"The Flood?" asked Wedge.
"This is some of the combat footage taken from one of the soldier's personal unit," the Arbiter said, placing the crystal into a slot.
The display lit up.
The footage showed a Spec Ops Elite about to club the Grunt, until Rtas ordered the Elite to stop. The video showed the group stay where they were, until Rtas came back, and ordered all of them to get out. It showed their run back to the surface, and the first shots fired as the Flood broke out of the palace. Most of the occupants in the room had a disgusted look on their face as they watched the harrowing escape from the planet.
The Arbiter paused and turned off the display.
"The Flood are a virulent, parasitic life form that thrives on the bodies of the living. Here in this data crystal is a database of all known Flood forms. The Flood take on many forms, and can only be stopped by nothing less than total annihilation."
He ran through the basics of the Flood- the pod-like Infection form with its tentacles. The combat form- both Human, Elite and Brute, with its ability to use weapons and whip-like appendages. The bloated Carrier Form, a walking explosive filled with Infection forms. And the Pure Forms; the Stalker form, the Tank form, and the Ranged form.
"These parasites must be destroyed at all costs. Should a single Carrier form, or even an Infection Form escape from the planet, they might become nigh unstoppable. I understand that this is your galaxy. But I ask that I take care of this- not only do our soldiers have a greater understanding of the danger, but we have no way to assess your weapons effectiveness. I must pull at the very least a hundred ships away from the offensive- a quarantine zone must be established."
"Hey, wait a minute. If these 'Flood' can be stopped by simply killing all of them, why not just land some soldiers, and wipe them out?"
"Such an assault is a very costly and time consuming one. We would lose hundreds, thousands even, of soldiers trying to wipe them out," the Arbiter answered.
"Is there another way?" asked another general, a Twi'lek.
"Yes there is."
"Then inform us," Pellaeon said.
"The only way of stopping the Flood outright would be at the minimum a half hour orbital bombardment with plasma torpedos," the Arbiter said.
All the others looked shocked.
"Orbital bombardment? With your kind of weapons?"
"It is the only way to ensure no Flood spore survives and to ensure that we don't sustain any casualties."
"An orbital bombardment is out of the question! We can't just go around bombing planets with plasma!"
"Then we'll have to send a great deal of ships and manpower to establish a quarantine zone. By now, the Flood most certainly would have taken the entire city. If you want to save as many people as you can, you cannot let any ships evacuate from the planet. You have to keep the population contained to small camps."
"You're talking about confining the planet's population to the planet while a biological threat is on?" asked another general with disbelief.
"If you want to keep the Flood from spreading, then I would. If you want to risk the Flood escaping and assimilating billions for some million people, then evacuate them. But I highly advise against it. I have fought the Flood before. They do not care for anything except expanding their numbers. Overnight, their numbers can swell. I told you already, orbital bombardment is the most painless way to end this threat. But since you seem to avoid doing that, then I'll have to send large numbers of soldiers to establish camps and bases."
"I'll see what ships I can spare to assist you," put in Wedge.
"Same here. Though most of my fleet is spread thin, and I am not sure what I can actually send."
"Thank you," the Arbiter said. "I need to go and assemble my fleet."
With that, the Arbiter left the room, leaving Pellaeon and the other admirals and generals in the room.
"Now that that's been taken care of, we need to begin planning for an offensive to retake Thyferra. We need those bacta supplies, plus we've been on the defensive for too damned long. The UCNC should hopefully provide assistance…."
Over Coruscant, ninety four UCNC ships, a combination of Covenant and Human design, turned and made the jump to Slipspace. The Arbiter watched the cohesive jump from the Control Room of the Divine Blade.
"Hey Arbiter. What's up," came a grizzled voice from behind him.
The Arbiter turned, to see Sgt. Johnson walking up. The black Sergeant was fully clad in armour, with an M6G Pistol in his thigh holster.
"Johnson," the Arbiter greeted.
"Nice set up you've got here, with the decorations and everything. I like."
"Thank you."
"I hear that you've got yourselves into the deep again. What's happenin'?"
"We're fighting against an enemy who is using robotic droids as their main soldiers. But they send the droids in huge numbers, sweeping through defences with numbers."
"Sounds fun."
"You'll rethink that when you get deployed."
"Can't wait," Johnson said, turning to leave as Cortana appeared on her pedestal.
"Johnson."
"Cortana. Aren't you normally with the Chief?"
"He can handle himself. He's a big boy now."
"Where is the big guy anyway?"
"He's been deployed," the Arbiter answered.
"Glad to hear he's still kicking ass. Besides, he'll need the head start once Sergeant A.J. Johnson joins the party!"
Johnson's light laugh echoed throughout the halls of the Divine Blade as he walked off.
A.N: I wonder how many of you are wondering where the heck was I? Well, all I can say was that I'm pretty busy now, with Year 11 and all. Chemistry, Math Studies, Specialist Math, Physics and Economics along with a whole range of other subjects does not bode well for my fanfic writing time.
I had this chapter ready for a while, but I couldn't get the words down on paper (Word, to be more exact). But then, after I watched a little Battlestar Galactica on Youtube, guess what, inspiration struck me with a sledgehammer.
So now the Flood is in the fray. I had more for this chapter planned, but I ended up deciding that it'll go into the next chapter, whenever that is. I hope you're still reading this by the time I get the next chapter up. Which will admittedly take quite a while, but I plan for a longer chapter. Not exceptionally long, just quite a bit longer than the last couple.
I'll admit it as well. Command and Conquer 3 had really gotten hold of my attention a lot, and even six months later I still play against the comp, and still enjoy it. Nothing quite like watching Mammoth Tanks steamroll a Nod base into smithereens.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and remember, every time you press that button that gives me a review, I get inspired to write faster for you guys. Also, I've decided that it's too time-consuming to answer your reviews in the story. Next time you review, I'll be answering them with the reply function rather than in the chapter.