Shadows of Hope
Chapter 8: Rolling Thunder
Sangheili File
Location: Recently uncovered Forerunner relic
Mission: Investigate relic
Prero 'Cleraomee had never been in a relic of the gods before. And if all of their relics were like this, then not stepping foot in another one ever again was hardly going to be a loss.
Flexing his mandibles, the sangheili silently berated himself for such thought, not to mention letting his mind wander. The mind was a frail thing and if it strayed off the path, one could lose it forever. He had his role to play and if that meant searching abandoned relics, then so be it.
But still...
Loosening his grip on his plasma rifle as idle thought took over, the Major Domo reflected that sending a File into this artefact was unnecessary at best and a waste of time at worst. While far from him to question the words of a Prophet, Devotion's decision still remained an overreaction. It might have been justified in a sense, given the loss of the relic three years ago, not to mention the inability of his fellow warriors to hold the artefacts on the human world in the Procyon System not long after that. But that was then and this was now. While one of those worlds seemed to be a source of barbarian pride in their ability to hold and the other possessing many clusters of human dwellings, this barren world possessed a single heretic settlement and if the monsters could take any pride in this piece of rock...well, clearly they were more insane than even the Hierarchs made them out to be.
But insanity is subjective. And we're still here...
Suffice to say, Devotion wasn't insane. Because as frustrating as going through a ruin was in light of that settlement's imminent obliteration, it at least served some purpose. So while he wouldn't be partaking in the spoils of victory, 'Cleraomee retightened his grip on his weapon and continued to head into the structure.
"Form up," murmured the Major Domo, noticing that some of his file were breaking formation. "We entered as one, we shall exit as one and we shall explore as one."
"That makes a change," murmured a Minor. "It's more than kig-yar or unggoy could accomplish..."
That, 'Cleraomee didn't doubt. Usually files had but one sangheili leading lesser species, but unlike the formations that Andra 'Serafomee would no doubt be using against the filthy abode to the south, this one hadn't been put together for conventional means. And if it had been conventional, no doubt the results wouldn't be. Unggoy would be tripping over the rubble, kig-yar would be looking for artefacts to steal and the end result would be a mess. That was the price of sending lesser creations to do a sangheili's work.
"Strange, isn't it?" continued the Minor.
"What is?"
"This. This structure. This...ruin."
There was a fine line between stating the facts and stating an opinion, especially when one integrated the two. And while 'Cleraomee hadn't been in command long enough to have observed such a thing, he had a feeling that it had just occurred.
"Do you have something to add to our search?" the Major Domo asked, turning to face his subordinate.
"No, Major, merely observation," answered the Minor candidly. "Observation that unlike the relics encountered three years ago, this one is...is..."
"Is a legacy of the gods and will be treated as such, regardless of appearance," 'Cleraomee snapped, yet still feeling identical thoughts. "So what if it has succumbed to the elements more than other artefacts? Form does not always follow function."
"And what is that function?"
Snarling, the Major clicked his mandibles. Far be it from him to question why he'd been sent in here, especially since it was unlikely that even the Divine Crusader's Prophet knew. But now, thanks to some irritating questions, he'd become curious. Curious as to what this relic did, if anything and if so, how one got it to work. So curious, in fact, that he didn't even notice the figure on an upper level looking down on them.
"We are the sword, not the quill," 'Cleraomee stated, reciting an old proverb. "We are the blade, not the hand. We are the heart of the Covenant, not its mind, and-..."
The Major Domo trailed off. Curiosity was once again taking hold of him. Specifically a curiosity as to why his neck suddenly felt like it was on fire and why the ground was rushing up to meet him. Still, it was no matter. The curiosity left as soon as it arrived.
After all, even as your subordinates screamed and fired plasma to no effect, it was hard to be curious when you were dead.
Romeo Reconnaissance Team
Location: Plains north of Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")
Status: Engaged with Covenant type-26 ground support aircraft
I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die…
Shivering for reasons besides that of the pouring rain, Jack Hawkins didn't even hear Physon yelling at him to fire his weapon, nor even the symphony of gunfire that he had yet to add his own melody to. After all, what was the point? The sonata had reached its coda, firing wouldn't elevate the homophonic music to polyphonic status and all the marines out here would be dead before someone could yell for an encore. No…in the end, all that was left was to follow the monophonic music of the fact that he'd be dead within the next few minutes and there was nothing he could do to change that.
Just like Collie…oh god, oh god…
Hawkins wasn't even aware of slowly getting to his feet, exposing himself to the wind, rain and fire of plasma. It wasn't until Physon grabbed his wrist and pulled him down to the element of earth that he was brought out of the realm of classical elements into that of the modern ones of…well, whatever chemicals were involved in Chambers's M6C.
"Bloody hell Hawkins!" yelled the lieutenant, going to ground even lower than the PFC. "You trying to get yourself killed?"
Hawkins didn't answer. He just faced the ground. Not the most interesting view in the world, but anything was better than watching the trio of Covenant flyers buzzing around like flies ready to feast on a farm animal's carcass. Only in this case, they would be the ones who created the carcass in the first place.
"We're gonna die, we're gonna-…"
Physon hit him. And it hurt.
"Hawkins, let's face facts," snapped the lieutenant, rising from the cover of Jefferson's destroyed Warthog to let off a few rounds at the flying Banshees. "First fact is that these Covies are rotten shots or, more likely, it's hard for them to see through the rain. So as long as we're here-…"
Physon stopped talking. Having a private hit him back tended to do that. Also stopped Chambers from firing for that matter.
"Lieutenant, they're playing with us…" the PFC whispered. "What, you think it hasn't occurred for them to loop around the other side of this Warthog and fry us? You think their fuel rod cannons suddenly malfunctioned so we can't evaporate in a cloud of green mist? No, they're just playing with us. They're gonna shoot us, they're gonna kill us, they're gonna-…"
Hawkins stopped talking, though not for the expected reason of Physon continuing the slapping contest. Because with Fry's body now soaking in the rain, cooling the formerly burning holes in his torso, one tended to shut up…at least in speech. Because while Hawkins remained silent, his mind was abuzz with how as awful a death that was, it was at least a better way to go than Collie had.
Collie…oh god, oh god…
Three years. Jack Hawkins had been here for three long, boring years after narrowly missing out the fighting on Harvest and now here he was, thrown into the deep end. He knew that there was probably some kind of saying to describe hubris leading to disaster, but right now, he couldn't think about that. All he could think about was the matter of his imminent demise, his…
"Hey L.T., I think you just lost a man…"
Despite his panic and misery, Hawkins scowled. While he was going to die, he could at least hope to die after the Helljumper, currently leaning against the broken Warthog in a daze, still woozy from the same kind of attack that he'd experienced before. It was his fault that RRT was out here, it was his fault that Collie and Fry were dead and it was only fair that he die in as much pain and misery as…
…well, at least more than Private Lawson, currently lying beside Fry with a burnt out eye socket.
Shit. We're going down fast. We're on a ship, and…and we're like rats, and…
Hawkins's mind began shutting down, though he could still appreciate the metaphor. The Covenant could kill them easily, but were instead toying with them, darting around in the air above them to give their enemies the illusion that they could down their Banshees with their rifles, letting them live and die that didn't involve attacking from another angle or simply reduce them to radioactive particles. Hell, they'd even left Romeo 3's Warthog untouched. A mere ten meters away, but the space in-between was a killing ground, not to mention the precious seconds it would take to get the jeep up and running.
"Sir, we can't stay here!" Chambers yelled, popping back into cover and shoving what seemed to be her last clip into her M6C. "We're sitting ducks and-…"
"Chambers, shut up!" Physon yelled, firing all the while before crouching down alongside her as yet more of the Warthog's frame was reduced to a viscous liquid. "I know we can't stay here! But if we move, we-…"
"We can make a break for it, get back to Thunderville!" Chambers yelled, panic in her eyes that seemed a lighter brown than usual, in contrast to brown hair gone dark due to accumulated moisture. "They can't get all of us! We reach the Warthog and-…"
"And they kill us!" Hawkins yelled, so caught up in despair and rage that he didn't even bother reflecting on the irony that he agreed with Physon. "We get in that Warthog and we're dead! We're all fucking dead!"
"Oh shut it Hawkins, you've never been in combat before!" Chambers yelled, sounding more like a banshee than the fliers above.
"And you? What do you do apart from playing nurse? You're firing your pistol as if you think you could actually-…"
"Guys…this isn't making my head any better."
Hawkins blinked. Chambers blinked. And although Physon was an exception to the norm of physical motion to express surprise, his quiet murmurings nonetheless conveyed it. Because in the realm of heated debate in the context of imminent death by plasma, the last thing someone ever expected was an ODST complaining of a headache.
Well, we didn't expect a Helljumper to be without a pod or balls of steel, so what else is new? Hawkins wondered, his sense of frustration remaining unchanged, just shifting to someone else. Someone who seemed to have regained his bearing enough to shift further into cover as opposed to lying down where Physon had dropped him after the initial mad dash to take cover from the Banshees.
"The medic's right, we've got to get back to Thunderville…" said Jefferson slowly, his words coming out slightly slurred. "Clearly staying here isn't an option."
Hawkins scowled. Was the guy so out of it that he couldn't see that making a dash for the-…
"On the other hand, the private is right also," continued the sergeant. "The Warthog's a death trap. We make a dash for it, all the Banshees will have to do is wait for us to get in before firing."
...ok, so he wasn't a complete idiot. But he was certainly ignorant. Because Physon preferred solutions to problems than reiterations of them and Hawkins could see that he was about to make that abundantly clear.
"I see NCOs still like stating the obvious," Physon grunted, briefly popping up to remind the Banshees that their prey was still alive and capable of firing fruitlessly. "But what do you want us to do? All we've got are pistols and rifles and even if the weather was better, they're not enough to take down the Banshees. And even if we chip away at the boulder, they can put an end to it before we get past the first few grains."
The ODST nodded. "True. Luckily, the Covenant know this."
"Luckily?" Hawkins blurted out. "How in the name of Bloody Elisa is that-…"
"The Covies have been playing with us. Playing with us because they know that all we've got are pistols and rifles and therefore no means of harming them, let alone escaping. As such, we've given them a sense of security that, if I use this baby correctly, I might be able to shock them in more ways than one."
To his surprise, Hawkins could tell that Physon and Chambers weren't…surprised. He hadn't noticed the rectangular object the Helljumper had with him. Physon however, was another story.
"The EC-55?" the lieutenant asked. "It can down the Banshees?"
"Doubt it. Still, they won't be expecting a stream of electricity coming their way, so at the least, it might persuade them to back off a little. And in that time, if we're lucky, we can get to the Warthog and back to Thunderville."
Hawkins didn't know what he disliked the most-the mention of electricity which seemed all too similar to the flash of lightning that illuminated the remaining marines, or the key words of "if" and "lucky." Still, with a sudden dislike of dying popping into his mind, he was willing to push these dislikes to the back of his mind and follow Jefferson's lead.
Or Physon's. Even now, in this last ditch attempt, he was going to run the show.
"Alright sergeant, I'll let you work your magic," the lieutenant said, crouching down and checking his MA5B's ammunition counter as he did so. "You let off your weapon at will, though preferably when a Banshee's closest. When that happens, the rest of you follow my lead and sprint to the Warthog. However, hold your fire. We don't want the Banshees to notice us."
"And Jefferson sir?" Chambers asked hesitantly. "How does he join us?"
Hawkins winced. If the jarheads were in a room, that was the elephant in it, and not of the M312 HRV kind. He didn't have much love for the Helljumper, but that didn't stop basic human instinct taking over and prompting him to look out for his own kind.
"We come round to this wreck in the Warthog and if the sergeant's lucky, he can jump in and find some room. Any questions?"
Hawkins actually had a few, though he'd worked with Physon long enough to know that this was a situation where it was best to keep his mouth shut. Still, he was nonetheless tempted to go against common sense, especially since Jefferson was remaining silent. Did he even care that he was playing Peter Rabbit while the marines were taking on the roles of Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail? Or had some inner virtue come shining through at the last moment?
Following Physon's lead and edging to what used to be the wrecked Warthog's bumper, Hawkins didn't have time to think. Because the wails, the screams of the Banshees were coming closer and that meant the Jefferson's time to shine was nearing. And as a crackling sound ripped through the air, Physon yelling to move and slapping him on the shoulder immediately afterwards, the shining had begun.
Well, time to run the meat grinder…
Running through the sheets of water that plummeted down from the heavens, Hawkins kept his eyes firmly on the ground. Not only did this keep water out of them, but he could not, would not dare to look up at the air, to see whether the sergeant's gamble had paid off or whether he was running into a shooting gallery. As such, all that was left to do was keep-…
"Help…me…"
…running?
Skidding to a halt, Hawkins lost to the effects of low friction and toppled over, landing face first in soil that seemed to be well on its way to becoming mud. Not even bothering to remove the smears from his face, trusting in Mother Nature to do that for him, the PFC quickly began to rise to his feet. The voice he'd heard…he couldn't have really heard it, and all he could hear right now was the wailing of-…
"Help…me…"
Hawkins blinked. There was no mistaking what he heard. And as his gaze slowly shifted to the burning wreckage of Romeo 1, there was no mistaking what he saw either.
"Collie…"
When the Warthog Collie had been in had been consumed in a green explosion of radiation, Hawkins and his fellow marines had instantly sprinted for cover, all assuming, and with good reason, that the corporal had died in the blast. But despite crawling out from the wreckage with legs that didn't seem to work, despite steam emanating from his body as the rain evaporated from sizzling skin wrecked by heat, Ryan Collie was somehow still alive. And despite his horrific injuries, despite barely being able to move or even talk, the marine wanted to stay that way.
"Help me…please…help…"
Bam!
Hawkins jumped. And seeing Physon with a smoking assault rifle in one hand, Jefferson's now weaponless arm in the other (clearly the lieutenant had had a change of heart) and Collie's limp body with blood steadily streaming out from a hole in his forehead, he didn't jump a second time.
"El-Tee…?" Hawkins whispered, a chill running down his spine that replaced the one that had formerly applied to his whole body. "Did you…did you just…?"
"Perform a mercy killing?" Physon grunted. "Yeah, I did. Fight the Covies as long as I have and you get used to it."
Hawkins didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. As such, Physon was left to do the talking and dragging of both the enlisted soldiers, getting them over to the Warthog.
"Now, let's get moving before ah!"
Hawkins dived back into the dirt alongside Jefferson as Physon's body started dancing, riddled with a volley of plasma fire... Dived so hard in fact that his helmet rolled off his head. Still, that was more movement that Physon would be doing, his limp body lying in the dirt beside the running vehicle... And upon seeing such a sight, Hawkins felt his body go just as limp.
Gonna die, gonna…
"Come on Hawkins, move!"
Hawkins was barely aware of Chambers coming round from the side of the Warthog and shoving him into the driver's seat anymore than he was of Jefferson woozily manning the LAAG. And even when he did become aware, he still had trouble comprehending it. Because clearly Chambers, currently riding shotgun, had more faith in him than she should.
Regardless, he put his foot down on the accelerator.
Settlement 01 ("Thunderville"), Zulu Base (exterior)
Planet Hope, Chi Mu System
Somewhere, over the rainbow, someday…something something…
After three years of working in the most isolated part of the most isolated planet in the galaxy, Alan Ellison had found that idle thought and cancer sticks went hand in hand. Rain however, was something that was rarely present in the gathering of fingers and was certainly never in the mood to intertwine with them. So as the rain poured down, Ellison was content to let water be the sore thumb of the group and let himself be the fourth finger-good for nothing but decoration.
Guess a rainbow could cure that…
Or not. Because with the wind howling and the heavens crying, the chance of enough sunlight penetrating through the dark clouds to form a rainbow were somewhere between slim and nil. Which were at least better than his chances of getting Goliath online, but that was another story.
Another story? the engineer wondered, watching as some fellow jarheads sprinted for cover, only for one of them to fall into what was seemingly set to become mud. Yeah right, it's all part of the same story. A poorly written, monotonous story, but the same story nonetheless.
Well, not entirely. At the least, the plot device of the Covenant had been thrown into Hope's mix, but as the same plot device had been recycled throughout human space over the last nine years, he couldn't say he was too fazed. Only a few scenarios existed as of this point in time, ranging from cracking alien technology and turning the tide of the war to being reduced to his constituent atoms. Either way, it was all out of his league.
Just like Goliath…damnit, if I'm going to die, is it too much to ask that I get to-…
"Hey Alan!"
…use it?
It didn't take long for the marine to bring his train of thought to stop and disembark at platform reality. Because as unpleasant an experience as this usually was, it was Robins who made it unpleasant. The girl running through the rain to the shelter he was currently seated at was another matter.
"Tara?" Ellison asked, flicking his cigarette into the rain as he did so. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," the girl responded, seemingly ignorant of the curious stares from the marines around her. "I thought you were working on Goliath."
The engineer shifted a not so polished boot awkwardly, and not only because the cancer stick he'd tossed aside was somehow still burning. Ardo and Tara had known about Goliath for quite some time and the breach had yet to bite him in the balls, but Ellison knew that there were plenty of other body parts R&D could hit him.
But you mentioned it clearly to Ardo this morning…came the voice of the engineer's conscience. Why so squeamish around Tara?
All in all, Ellison didn't know. Just like he didn't know why he'd been feeling more…strange around his best friend's sister over the last few months, ever since she turned eighteen. For someone in his late twenties, it wasn't the most comfortable thought.
Christ…I need another cigarette. Maybe if I…oh, better answer her first.
"I…am working," said the engineer awkwardly, answering the girl's earlier question.
"Uh-uh…" said Tara slowly, not believing a word of it and putting her hands on her hips to prove it. "'Course you are."
"It's my break, alright?" the marine snapped, beginning to wish he was still underground, Robins aside. "I notice that you're not doing anything right now."
"Course I am. I'm talking to you."
"And that's work?"
Tara didn't answer and for some reason, that bothered the engineer more than he knew it should have. Still, he had to admit, there was something pleasant about being defeated in wits by a friend. At the least, it took his mind off genocidal aliens and arrogant scientists.
"So where's Ardo?" the marine asked suddenly, knowing and not caring that it was a blatant attempt to change the subject.
"Sleeping," said Tara simply. "We both had a rough night and Riley took it out on him."
"Something happen?"
Now it was the girl's turn to look uneasy, shifting her foot in the same way the engineer had done with his own. "Nothing special. Just…a rough night."
After three years of working in the dark, both metaphorically and literally, Ellison could tell when he was being lied to. And while he was practically obliged to tell lies of his own, hearing them was another matter.
Oh come on. People lie all the time. What's so bad about Tara telling you one?
The marine didn't know. Maybe it was because he had no idea what the truth was. Maybe it was because he should have asked if something had happened this morning, back when he'd seen Ardo. Maybe it was because too many questions had been raised already, such as the Covenant landing on the planet and ODSTs deploying long before the aliens had even arrived. Or maybe it was time to exit the realm of maybe and instead focus on the realm of the here and now.
"So is this where you usually hang out?" Tara asked, looking around the cluster of pre-fab buildings surrounding them and the jarheads under their arches. "You know, where you do your cloak and dagger stuff?"
Ellison winced. Back in the realm of the here and now, and Tara had dragged him all the way. Truth be told, she was exactly right-this was indeed what amounted to the exterior of Zulu Base. While the existence of the base itself was no great secret (you couldn't just carve an underground hanger out of the earth and have no one notice), the entrance to it was another matter. Three years ago, someone like Tara wouldn't have been let within fifty feet of this area. But with security having become lax over the years and the reality of there being no secrets worth keeping, it wasn't all that difficult for a civilian to make it this far. And while the engineer suspected that Major Howard would seek to rectify that in the near future, the issue of new arrivals would have to be dealt with first…provided the people of Hope survived that long.
"Well…if I was doing cloak and dagger stuff, I'm afraid I wouldn't be at liberty to divulge where the two are kept," said the marine slowly, wanting to change the subject again, but this time not make his desire so obvious. "Secrets and all that."
"Ah, right," Tara grinned. "Bet you love that. Bet that's why you even became an engineer in the first place."
"What?"
It was clear that the girl realized that she'd crossed some previously invisible line. Or rather, a line that until five seconds ago, hadn't even existed. But regardless of how clear or murky the situation was, Ellison appreciated none of it. All he appreciated was what Tara had said, and how utterly wrong it was.
"You think I like this?" asked the marine slowly. "You think I wanted to spend three years of my life on this dirt hole? You think I enjoy working on something that'll never work? This isn't important Tara! I'm only doing this because apart from three Scorpion tanks, there isn't a single piece of heavy armor on this planet and there's nothing else to develop! Oh yes, being an engineer of course means that I want to do this!"
Ellison knew that Tara could take the route of grief or the route of anger in regards to responding to his outburst. And with fire in her eyes that he hadn't seen before, it was clear that the former option had been chosen.
"You didn't want this?" the teen whispered. "What, after three years of being friends, there's nothing here you want?"
Ellison sighed. He wasn't used to giving outbursts. Certainly not to Tara at least.
"Tara, I won't deny that I miss my home," said the engineer slowly. "I miss Reach. I miss the mountains, its valleys, the way Turul and Csodaszarvas cast their light…"
"Sounds...nice," said the girl slowly, her tone betraying her jealousy.
"But I don't miss the life I had there," finished the engineer. "I spent one year involved in a…program. Saw a few things and next thing I know, I'm an engineer in an organization I had no interest with previously."
Tara blinked. "You were…conscripted?"
Ellison shrugged. "Headhunted, is the correct term. I wouldn't say I had no choice, but with that…program fighting aliens instead of Innies, there was a lot of potential dirt I could spread in regards to its original purpose-a purpose that I'll admit probably isn't all that glamorous what with the need for unity in these times. But yeah. Ever wondered why I got on with you and Ardo so well?"
Tara remained silent for awhile, leaving only the song of rain and wind. And even as she hugged him, that song continued.
"No…" the girl whispered. "I didn't wonder."
It took one second for Alan Ellison to realize that was a good thing. It took him another to hear his radio crackle. And one second after that, Robins's voice broke the perfection more efficiently than even the Covenant could.
Goliath beckoned.
Romeo Reconnaissance Team
Location: Plains north of Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")
Status: Engaged with Covenant type-26 ground support aircraft
"Major Howard, do you read? Howard? Howard!"
There was probably some kind of formality that directed enlisted soldiers to address COs by rank rather than by name, a formality that Rachel Chambers knew that she was breeching. However, being pursued by a flight of Banshees tended to put formality on the backburner…supposedly. Because while the medic had never been pursued by the Covenant's standard ground assault aircraft before, and knew there was a strong chance she never would be again, she'd been in this bandwagon of death long enough to guess what kind of norms existed in this kind of situation.
"Major Howard, do you read? Major? Major, do you ah!"
Apparently Hawkins driving into potholes was a norm as well.
"Well Chambers?" asked the marine. "Got Howard on the line yet?"
Biting back a retort, the medic decided not to answer that question. Even if she had, it might have been for nothing. Couple the sound of the engines of human and alien vehicles, howling wind and the sound of plasma, fuel rod and LAAG fire, it was fair to say that conversation wasn't at an optimum.
In a sense, that was a good thing. It gave Chambers time to think. Or rather, reflect…
Collie…Fry…Lawson…Physon…four marines killed in a manner of minutes. Four men dead and she hadn't been able to do a damn thing to save them. Plasma cannons, fuel rod cannons, even SAP rounds…what good was 26th century medical expertise to all that? What was even the point of fleeing? It was impossible to tell how far it was to Thunderville, or even whether they were headed in the right direction, but chances were that she, Hawkins and the Helljumper would meet the same fate of their comrades long before they made it. And as a cloud of green mist sprung up from the saturated soil, vaporizing both earth and water, it appeared that the first bell had been struck.
Gonna die, gonna die, gonna…
"Damnit Chambers, get Howard on will ya?" shouted Hawkins, both sounding and looking like a madman. He was clearly just as stressed as her, only the source of beratement had been alternated. Chances were there wouldn't be another swap.
Gonna die, gonna die, gonna…
"Turn the lights off!"
…what?
"What? What you on about?"
As catatonic as she'd become, Chambers could still appreciate that she and Hawkins had asked the same thing, only the PFC had said it out loud. And it was just as well too, considering that it was Jefferson that had said it.
"Turn the lights off," the ODST repeated. "Shut them down, I'll stop firing and-…"
"Stop firing! Are you out of your-…"
"The LAAG won't keep us alive and it can only prolong the inevitable for so long!" the ODST snapped, his head facing one way and LAAG rounds heading in the other. "Turn off the lights, I'll cut out the muzzle flashes and the only way the Covenant will be able to follow us is through sound!"
"…that'll work?"
No answer was forthcoming from the NCO and Chambers couldn't blame him. Not only was the plan desperate, but looking at his hagged features, visible even through the sheets of rain, Chambers could tell that he'd seen better days. And while Hawkins decided to follow his advice and make night even further from day, that was still no guarantee they'd get to see the real thing.
Daylight…it almost seemed like a dream…
Ignoring the shivers running through her body, Chambers risked another glance back across the plains between Thunderville and the Covenant ship, well aware that she was about as far away as possible from a dream as it was possible to be. Still, even as blue and green light illuminated the landscape, not to mention taking a few chunks out of it, she had to admit that the nightmare she and her comrades were in was at least being mitigated. With the Warthog providing no illumination whatsoever, the Banshees were essentially firing blind.
Maybe we won't die, maybe we won't die, maybe we…
"Romeo…team…that you…respond…"
Chambers blinked. Still clutching the wheel like a bat out of Hell (well, if bats could drive that was), Hawkins wasn't the source of the faint, static filled words. And since it sure as hell wasn't Jefferson, that only left one option…
"Major Howard?" the medic asked, fiddling with the radio's frequency. "Major Howard is that you?"
"Romeo…Team…please respond…over…"
"Damnit Howard, pick up the fucking chatter!"
At that point in time, Chambers didn't care that she'd essentially given a superior lip or that she'd defied common knowledge that no-one on this rock actually possessed a chatter. All the marine cared about right now was that dying was no longer a guarantee and getting in touch with the commander of what amounted to an armored human force seemed like the best way to ensure that she didn't go the same way as those she failed to save. So while her hands were more suited to organic problems than technical ones, she somehow managed to cut through the static and get in contact with Thunderville.
"Romeo Team, is that you?" the major asked. "What's your status?"
"FUBAR sir," murmured Chambers, bending down towards the radio as a stream of plasma came overhead. "The lieutenant's dead, we've only got one Warthog and there's a flight of Banshees on our tail. We're currently heading back to Thunderville."
"What? You're leading the Covenant here? What the hell are you-…"
"Sir, the Covenant knew we were here as soon as that battlecruiser passed overhead! They're gonna attack sooner or later and the only choice you have to make is whether you'll be short a few marines and a Warthog when they do!"
The wind howled, the rain poured and the primary line of thought in the medic's mind was that if she was on a highway to Hell, at least Hell would be a lot warmer. Because with no response on Howard's end, thinking about the possibility they were going to be left high and dry (definitely a literal possibility in the current meteorological conditions) wasn't something she wanted to think about. Her comrades…her friends had died horribly and Chambers was in no mood to follow suit, especially since-…
"Alright Romeo, keep pumping the hydrogen," crackled the major's voice. "I'll have a surprise ready by the time you arrive."
"…right sir," murmured the medic. "Thank you."
Letting out a yelp as another cloud of green mist appeared near the Warthog, Chambers briefly pondered how moronic it was to call prepping a response a "surprise."
Of course, questioning good fortune would be even more so.
The wind howled. The Banshees screamed. And yet still the prey eluded both.
It was indicative of the entire war really-the humans had already lost. And yet still they continued to defy the inevitable. Still they continued to flee in the vain hope of finding sanctuary. Still they sought to alter the status quo.
No matter. They had failed to do so. And the fate of the frightened animals below them would be no different. All that was left was to determine how far the road they'd travelled down was.
With the prey fleeing down a hill to a squalid settlement, it suddenly became apparent to the hunters that they'd travelled much further than they thought. So far, in fact, that they'd entered the belly of the beast. A belly that immediately began the process of digestion, a swarm of missiles acting as enzymes.
Screaming and howling at the treachery and cowardice of these base creatures, the trio of fliers sought to evade the projectiles, their exhaust polluting the air as much as the ones who fired them desecrated the earth. They'd seen these projectiles, these "Argents" used before, simply part of a wide arsenal that proved ineffective, especially when mounted on custom made launchers as opposed to the usual vehicles involved. However, while ineffective against the greater whole, the individual was another matter. So while the Covenant at whole was in no danger from the vermin's belly, the crumbs of that greater whole were another matter.
In an instant of fire and rage, two of the three crumbs were incinerated.
Avoiding both the projectiles and its fellow morsels that had been consumed by them, the last flyer began heading up the proverbial esophagus. The pilot knew that he and his brethren had paid a heavy price for their pride, knew that they should have eradicated all the monsters when they had the chance instead of toying with them. Both lives and honor had been lost and the sangheili knew that neither could be recovered. Still, he would return. And that brought him some comfort.
In an instant, the belly of humanity had devoured the entrée.
Whether it could handle the approaching main course, one composed of most of the Divine Crusader's forces, was another matter…