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Halo: Shadows of Hope
Chapter 9: Under the Stormy Sky
UNSC frigate Wild Endeavour
Status: En route to planet Hope, Chi Mu System
Repetition, repetition, repetition...
"Repetition..." there was that word again. A word that was often used identically to what it implied. It took repetition to get through the Pillars of Loki multiple times, reaching the other side without a scratch. It took repetition to get used to the physics of MJOLNIR armour, allowing one's movements to become refined. And even after seventeen years of handling the weapon, Green 3 knew that repeating the process of fieldstripping a MA5B ICWS was as worthwhile now as it was back when she couldn't even fire it without falling on her backside. And looking around at the rest of Green Team, effectively mimicking her actions for both assault rifles and pistols, it was clear that she was not alone.
Not that it would have mattered if she was of course.
"Magazine size, sixty rounds," Spartan-093 whispered, inserting said magazine into the rifle's stock. "Seven point two millimetre full metal jacket, gas operated rotating bolt..."
Green 3 trailed off. It was one thing to appreciate the worth of such an exercise, but it was another to actually enjoy it. And when compared to the intense intricacy of rigging an explosive, or to simply lie back and experience the tranquillity of Emerald Cove, fieldstripping an anachronism of an assault rifle didn't exactly rate highly. And getting to her feet, watching Green Leader walk by with an M90 shotgun in his hands, the possibility was raised that she wasn't the only one who felt this way.
"This is why we're not meant to fight in space," Spartan-029 murmured, pacing back and forth as his teammates went over what was effectively a ritual.
"Pardon?"
"The waiting," Green Leader intoned, shifting his polarized gaze to his fellow squad member. "Fighting in vacuum at the mercy of physics is bad enough. But to be doing nothing in it..."
"Got any better ideas?" Green 3 asked, nodding slightly to where Green 2 and 4 were in silent conversation, -039 lying against the wall of the armoury in solitude. "At least with nothing we have the ability to make something out of it and..."
The explosives expert trailed off. Rationalization wasn't her strong suit. Sure, acting rationally was, but that was something else altogether...
"I'm not complaining," murmured -029, remaining on his feet but following Green 5 and placing metal against metal. "It isn't the first time we've had to be cooped up in a floating coffin and unless something miraculous happens, it won't be the last."
Green 3 remained silent, years of mental as well as physical training preventing her from entertaining the idea of the war with the Covenant being over. Her role...the Spartan-IIs' role, if such a word could really be applied, was not to question the facts, but deal with them. And right now, the fact remained that they were a long way from the fourth planet of the Chi Mu System, but not nearly far enough away that it was worth going into cryo for. So right now, all Green Team could do was sit...or rather stand back and wait to rendezvous with destiny. Or fate. In a universe where life and death were often outside the grasp of an individual, what were once two sides of the same coin had become like the norm of human currency and merged into a single entity.
Heads or tails...even now, Green 3 wondered what would have happened if she'd chosen the wrong side...
Still, fixing her attentions on her M6D, the Spartan-II could at least take solace in that she defiantly was on the right side of the outdated copper. And while reciting everything from a twelve round clip to the principle of short recoil operation brought her considerably less solace, Green 3 knew that she was at least spending her time as effectively as possible. Because with Green Team in the dark as to what exactly they'd be facing on Hope, a darkness that extended to the entirety of the Wild Endeavour's crewas far as she could tell, it was difficult to gauge what was the optimal S.O.P. And with-...
"Attention crew, this is the commander speaking. We will be entering the Chi Mu System in about thirty minutes. All hands report to stations and await further orders."
Green 3 didn't blink, stop short or give any physical indication of surprise, but having suddenly ceased reciting the M6D's rate of fire, an observant individual might have noticed the closest thing a physically enhanced super soldier could feel. But with Green Leader suddenly stopping fiddling with his shotgun and the rest of the team members being broken out of lethargy, Green 3 was the least of their concerns.
"We're that close already?" -030 asked, her question both rhetorical and direct. "I thought we were still hours off."
Green Leader sighed. "Space...it's unpredictable. Still, if it's worked in our favour, we shouldn't complain."
Green 3 wanted to point out that no-one was complaining and given Green 5's sudden twist of his head to his commander, it was clear that he wanted to say something similar as well. Still, this wasn't the time to be questioning good fortune, though -093 couldn't help but wonder. Travelling through a realm of seven dimensions wasn't exactly...exact science, but for a jump as short as the one the frigate had to make, the chance of miscalculation were still pretty slim. And yet Wild Endeavour had travelled quickly...just about as quick as the slipspace package. And if a human ship could travel this fast, what was to stop more Covenant ships arriving at the system, their already incredible speed supplemented by...well, whatever was supplementing slipspace travel, if at all.
What if it's like Sargurine already? Green 3 wondered, sensing the seeds of doubt within her blossoming. What if Hope's already fallen? What if we're going to emerge into a slaughter. What if-..."
"Hey, you coming?"
Spartan-093 blinked. And although Green Leader couldn't have possibly seen her action, courtesy of her polarized visor, that did nothing to stop her embarrassment. Green Team wasn't part of the official crew of the Wild Endeavour, but Commander Ling had ordered all hands to their stations. And in the event of a planet being under attack by the Covenant, that meant the Spartan-IIs would be heading to the HEV rack and dropping feet first into Hell with their lesser armoured, but not less courageous, ODST brethren. A Hell that Green 3 was still far away from by letting her thoughts overcome her and temporarily strand her in the purgatory of the armoury.
"Coming," she murmured, following her four fellow Spartans. "Nothing to keep me here."
There was no response. After all, there was no need for one. After all, a starship wasn't Green Team's home...
...the battlefield was.
Chi Mu System, Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")
Planet Hope
Hell was apparently a realm of fire and brimstone. And if Hell really did exist, Ardo Turner wished he was in it.
In the unlikely event that the miner had expressed such a desire out loud, and the even unlikelier event that someone heard him do so, such comments might have come across as odd. For starters, it could have well been argued that he was in Hell now, crouched behind a barricade on the outskirts of Thunderville as bullets and plasma shot back and forth through the saturated air. And if one was inclined to believe that the place where naughty people who didn't believe in antiquated beliefs did indeed exist, then surely the material world, no matter how grim, was preferable. But then again, not only were such people often located on decrepit worlds such as Gilgamesh, but such people had no idea what it was like to be absolutely freezing.
So as bad as things were right now, Ardo wished he was in Hell. At least there it might have been warmer.
"Hey pal, you gonna shoot or what?" came a voice from the dark.
"Shoot what pal?" the miner murmured, finding the silhouette of a marine blazing away with his assault rifle and as far as he could tell, hitting nothing. "Sides, you gave me a shotgun so I can't really take your role of sharpshooter can I?"
No answer was forthcoming and even with the possibility that a green ball of plasma shooting overhead might have had something to do with it, Ardo didn't give it much thought. With rain coming from directly above, plasma coming from slightly above, albiet diagonally and everything but the kitchen sink being shot at where said plasma was coming from, the miner knew his place. Sit down, shut up and hope that he didn't have to use the firearm that he'd been entrusted with.
And, of course, hope that Tara would have enough sense to realize that her dinky pistol wasn't going to hit anything either.
With a rumble of thunder drowning out what sounded like a tank shell hitting its target(s), Ardo reflected on the events of the past hour. One second he'd been catching up on much needed sleep, dreaming of ways to get back at Riley for blaming him for events that were well out of his control. The next, he was lying in bed wide awake, listening to hammering on the door that was defiantly not due to rain. And having gone through the ordeal of getting up well before he cared for, his only reward was a pair of jarheads who had to be younger than he was telling him that he was effectively being drafted and had to report to "the front."
Out of spite and curiosity, Ardo had asked what happened if he refused. The answer wasn't one he'd enjoyed.
Next thing he knew, the miner turned soldier had been planted behind a hastily erected barricade near the well established entry/exit point that the UNSC's finest had set up three years ago. In the midst of hurried mobilization, the rumour mill had worked overtime, allowing Ardo to piece together what had happened. Apparently a single Warthog carrying the remaining members of a reconnaissance team had just rolled in with a group of Covenant fighters in hot pursuit. And while most of the flyers had been taken down, it hadn't taken long for the powers that be to realize that the flyers were just the tip of the iceberg. And while that iceberg had currently taken up position on the top of the slope north of Thunderville, there was no telling when it might melt and flood those who sought warmth. Preferably not of the plasma kind that made your skin boil.
"Get some! Come and get some!"
Ardo sighed. It had started again.
It was impossible to see through the darkness that had beset Thunderville and if the 31st had any night vision or thermal goggles, they weren't going to spare them on a lowly civilian like himself. Still, with all the gunfire being sent towards the aliens, some of which were tracer rounds, he was able to make out the silhouettes of the latest wave of Covenant attackers, surging down the hill towards the defenders. And with the advantage of height and distance lost to the aliens, not even the dark could save them from being torn to pieces by bullets and, courtesy of the company's three Scorpions, tank shells.
"They're still charging?" Tara whispered, crouching beside her brother at his measly piece of cover. "Man they're brave..."
Ardo grunted, agreeing with his sister entirely if one replaced the word "brave" with "savage" or "stupid." Bravery had many forms, but he doubted that repeating the same tactic over and over was one of them.
And you would know this how, exactly?
Ignoring his conscience and the sudden shameful realization that he hadn't even bothered to ask whether his sister was alright, the miner carried out a quick visual sweep of the slope in front of him and the two types of silhouette coming down it. From what he remembered from his conversations with Ellison, one of the types of aliens coming down were called "Grunts" and the other type "Jackals" or "Skirmishers," but he couldn't remember which was which. Still, the smaller ones were always the first to fall, their stubby bodies torn apart by gunfire, tank shells or at times, by the methane packs they bore. The taller, stockier ones were more resilient, their shields severely reducing the effectiveness of rounds being sent directly at them. However, these shields were less effective at stopping rounds coming from an angle and still useless against the might of the Scorpions. So while they were always the last ones standing, they too fell down into the saturated soil, dead or dying, never even within range for Ardo to use his shotgun effectively.
Despite the circumstances, despite the knowledge that his circumstances could change in an instant, Ardo cracked a smile. Maybe Hell wasn't on top of his travel list. After all, all he had to do was take cover, let the professionals do their work and-
"Hey, watch it!"
With the darkness as dense within Thunderville as it was without, Ardo didn't know what to watch, who to watch or where to watch. With that in mind, and some idiot tripping over him, to say that irritation coursed through him was an understatement. And as humorous as it was seeing the idiot's face smeared with proverbial egg and literal mud, that didn't stop the miner from expressing his mind.
"Watch it?" Ardo asked incredulously, watching as the kid tried to retrieve both the assault rifle he was carrying as well as his dignity. "You were the one running around!"
The jarhead (defiantly one, as his helmet was missing for some reason) opened his mouth to speak, but didn't get anything out. Or, if he did, it was all for nothing as a cloud of green missed appeared about ten meters in front of Thunderville's first and only line of defence.
"Eeek!" Tara let out a cry, diving for cover. Ardo felt inclined to join her.
"Banshees," the marine murmured, either to himself or what looked like a medic running up to him from the way he'd came from. "They've still got Banshees..."
Given the grim look on both the marines' faces, Ardo supposed that was a bad thing. And having gotten used to the suicidal tactics of the alien invaders so far, he wasn't that eager for things to change.
"It isn't that bad is it?" asked the miner cautiously. "I mean, the aliens seem content on letting us play shooting gallery but-..."
"Which we're not complaining about, but we still have to add to it," interrupted the medic, seemingly talking to both Ardo and her comrade. "Come on Hawkins, we've got to move. Now."
"Right..." said the one called Hawkins slowly, sweeping some saturated hair from his eyes as if in a daze. "Let's go."
Watching the two soldiers fade into the darkness as they headed to the front's western section, Ardo realized that Ellison was defiantly the exception rather than the rule when it came to UNSCMC conversational abilities. Then again, with the gunfire as loud as ever, only thunder drowning it out, he wasn't complaining any more than Hawkins and his war buddy had.
Putting one hand on Tara's shoulder and another on the weapon he hoped he wouldn't have to use, Ardo Turner could only hope that he wouldn't find a reason to complain either.
Phoenix-class colony ship Haven
Geo-stationary orbit around Planet Hope
Geez mum...and you said that table tops weren't worth it.
Sattler knew that now wasn't the time to be snarky, nor was it the time to think of family members that had been reduced to slag along with the rest of Biko. But looking at the holographic image of Thunderville and the green and purple blips around it, he couldn't help but be reminded of the war games he used to play as a kid. True, the holograms lacked the full range of functions he had right now, but they were responsive, not to mention outright superior to the physical figures that some oldies insisted on using. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, he felt that his childhood activities had been justified.
And in another part, he felt guilt. Because in war games, not only were your men directly under your control, but you could spend their lives without a second thought. Right now though...well, not only were his blips not under his control, but their lives were being spent without him having any control whatsoever. And while the UNSC forces were rolling D12s on a seemingly regular basis, the Covenant couldn't roll snake eyes forever.
"Latest sit-rep from Major Howard," came the voice of one of the captain's bridge officers. "Situation hasn't changed, xeno forces are continually charging his front lines and-..."
Sattler blocked the voice off, not needing a summary of what the purple blips were repeatedly doing. It was cold comfort at best that the aliens were seemingly content with taking on the role of turkeys-not only did they have the numbers to keep laying the proverbial eggs, but nine years of fighting the aliens had taught the CO that they were anything but stupid. And while Hope had had a good run so far, what with the battlecruiser being crippled and deciding to land, Sattler wasn't willing to let simple luck dictate his actions.
"Patched through to the Aeros sir. Harwood's on the line."
The captain let out a grunt, turning away from the holographic display table as he did so. Luck might not dictate his actions, but Ulysses and Harwood were another matter.
"Sattler," came the voice of the scientist, emanating from the flatscreen at the bridge's rear. "I would have thought you'd have other things to do."
Sattler growled, even as a NCO exclaimed how the Covenant had started up another turkey shoot. He didn't know how much Harwood could see from her end, but it was safe to assume that her view was detailed enough to glimpse the tactical display. Technically speaking, it was a display that he was meant to keep his eye on. But with the battle lines being static, he felt he could spare a moment to vent his spleen.
"My men are dying down there," the captain began, letting three years of frustration compressed into less than a day come bubbling over. "They're dying because we're on a world that's hardly worth protecting and-..."
"Is this about the reinforcements query?" Harwood asked, maintaining her composure. "It's not my job to tell you how to do yours, but I'd say your primary quarrel should be with the Covenant, not with me."
Ouch.
Sattler could have made his own quip by pointing out that quarrelling with aliens who refused to even acknowledge you had a language wasn't really possible, but decided against it. Technically, Harwood had a point. Technically, while Major Howard had direct control of the 31st, that was hardly an excuse for him not to follow events with an eagle eye. But technically, Sattler was the second highest ranking individual in this star system which allowed him to bend the rules. So with the knowledge that yet another line of Covenant turkeys had joined the ones eaten four days ago, he felt he could afford to speak his mind.
"Technically speaking, I can't do much quarrelling," began the captain, starting to pace around like a poorly disciplined swabbie. "All my ground forces are planetside, our MAC's out of action and the Haven's hangars our empty. Taking it down to Hope itself is an option, but for now, it's best to stay up here in case more aliens show up. Aliens who could blow us out of the sky if they did. And-..."
"Stop right there."
Sattler did, which surprised him. And, considering that it was the ONI scientist who gave the order, frustrated him as well.
"I've already called for ships to evacuate the colony," said the doctor slowly. "What I haven't called for, are more military warships."
"And why the hell not?" Sattler yelled, despite already knowing the answer.
Harwood sighed. "Captain, I don't know what oxygen levels are like on the Haven, but you may have forgotten that what's left of the Outer Colonies are at risk, and the only reason they haven't been obliterated is because the Navy, your Navy, is fighting tooth and nail to protect them. So, with millions dead and billions more at risk, what moral precedent do you have to ask Admiral Cole to come and help out a single world that's actually holding its own? And even if you did, what makes you think they'd get here fast enough to make a difference?"
Sattler opened his mouth to speak...then closed it. On one hand, he had an answer. On the other, he didn't.
Even as more laughs came from the bridge crew, no doubt stemming from the tactical display, Sattler's mood was anything but jovial. He didn't know what galled him most-that Harwood was technically correct, or that she was also technically wrong. Yes, she was right about the Outer Colonies situation, right about Hope not being that relevant (both of them had learned how to run the numbers apparently). But what she wasn't correct about was the speed of the slipstream currents in the system and the speed at which they could bring additional ships.
But those readings were coupled from those taken from the Aeros...the captain reminded himself. So how does Harwood not know?
Was it possible that the scientist did know about the slipspace phenomena running rampant in the system and still chose to withhold his request for more warships? And if so, was it due to caution, or something else? After all, he hadn't discovered why a single HEV had been dispatched from the Aeros this morning, nor why Aeros soldiers had gone after it. Harwood was keeping secrets from him, he knew that much...but if there was a secret stemming behind withholding Naval forces, what on Earth was it?
Keeping his silence, Sattler realized he wasn't going to get an answer...for now at least.
"Anyway, it's not so bad," the scientist continued smugly, realizing that she'd won the debate. "Based on information I've recieved-..."
"You've recieved stuff?"
"...Your marines are holding their own. So on that note-..."
"Um, sir?" came the voice of Ulysses. "Bit of a sit-rep for you."
Murmuring something under his breath, Ulysses turned back to face the AI, only to see a hand of light pointing towards the tactical display. Specifically, towards what was once a Scorpion tank, the large green dot now reduced to a large brown dot.
"Well?" asked Harwood. "What is it?"
"A sign..." Sattler murmured, half listening to Ulysses as he explained that one of the three Scorpions had been reduced to slag by a plasma mortar."
"A sign of what?"
"A sign that we may not be holding our own much longer..."
Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")
Usually it was a case of his hands being cold and his body warm. Right now though, it was the other way round.
Jack Hawkins wasn't in the mood to be giving or listening to explanations, so he couldn't appreciate what some might call irony. Hope wasn't that much better than the frozen wasteland that was Harvest and while his fatigues could do a good job of keeping him warm, his hands were left exposed to the planet's relatively low temperatures, courtesy of a shrouded sky and fair distance from its sun. Right now however, with rain hitting him as hard as bullets and penetrating even further, most of his body was freezing. And as he opened fire with a M247 general purpose machine gun, only his hands remained warm. Not too warm, such as the hands of the previous gunner, but warm enough to keep his aim steady.
Like that even mattered.
It had come as a surprise to Hawkins to suddenly be subject to micro-management, to be sent to the western section of Thunderville's only line of defense. Maybe it was because RRT no longer existed and he and Chambers were effectively without a unit. Or maybe it was because the previous gunner's hands had become so hot that the skin was evaporating and the guy needed a medic to convince him that there were worse things than getting hit by a charged plasma pistol round. Regardless, Hawkins had found himself taking the man's place. And while he could barely see anything in this early night, something told him he didn't have to.
"Get some! Come and get some!"
Sighing, Hawkins wondered who could possibly be so jovial in such conditions, let alone how he could have heard the words over yet another roll of thunder. There was certainly no shortage of aliens to "get some," as the guy had put it, but that was cold comfort in more ways than one. Some alien had managed to get a hit on the previous user of this GP, so what was to stop him from sharing the same fate?
As his latest magazine ran dry, apparently reloads were a viable option.
"You alright Hawkins?" asked Chambers as the PFC ducked down behind this barricade, fumbling for another clip. "Anything I can do?"
"What about your other patient?" the marine responded, not even gazing in the medic's direction.
Chambers sighed. "Did what I could, but…"
She trailed off and Hawkins couldn't blame her. He actually hadn't seen someone get hit by a plasma pistol before and up until a few hours ago, hadn't seen anyone get hit by plasma whatsoever. But with three years of idleness catching up to him in an instant, he'd found himself without his closest friend and forced to do what he missed out on Harvest. And that included hoping that superheated gas didn't find its way to you.
Or, as some poor bloke nearby exploded in a cloud of purple mist, needler rounds.
"Back to work…" the PFC murmured, sending out a wave of .30 caliber rounds to the Grunt who had got lucky and ended its luck in a pool of teal blood. The advancing aliens weren't the biggest threat facing the 31st right now, but having seen his first deaths today, part of Hawkins wanted to return the favor as much as possible. True, the Banshees above were greater in number than he'd expected, but the Argent missiles were at least preventing them from getting too close was best suited for infantry. Besides, with RRT's LAAGs having not proved the most effective weapon in the world, he was skeptical of what a non-gauss weapon could achieve.
Or was that due to Jefferson?
Ducking down as a green ball of light shot overhead, the jarhead (possibly a misnomer, as his scalp was covered in saturated hair) wondered what had become of the Helljumper. He knew that the ODST had been barely conscious once they arrived back at Thunderville, but with the Covenant force arriving soon after them, he'd generally gone with the flow and not bothered looking at what was on the proverbial floodplain. Because certainly he was as wet and cold as if he were in a river and Jefferson could well have been said to be lying around on its banks, recovering from an experience that men in his line of work should have been able to take easily.
Jackass…
Scowling, the marine downed a careless Jackal, along with the Grunt who attempted to pick up its defense gauntlet. War was never fair, but even so, his experience with the ODST rankled him. Collie, Fry, even Physon…Jefferson might have had his feet in Hell, but he'd rather shove him all the way down and retrieve one of his friends in exchange any day. And while he and the only other survivor of Romeo Reconnaissance Team were out here freezing, Jefferson was no doubt lazing around doing absolutely nothing.
"Hope Jefferson's okay…" Chambers murmured, firing with a MA5B as she did so.
Hawkins sighed, and not only because of her poor aim. The only two survivors of RRT and he and Chambers were as different as chalk was to cheese.
"Don't you have patients to treat?" Hawkins asked, his eyes still fixed on the invading aliens.
"Not right now. Why?"
"Oh…no particular reason."
Hawkins wasn't sure how good of a liar he was, but as he fumbled around for yet another magazine, he could take solace that he wouldn't have to face his fellow marine directly. There was no need for lies right now, especially when an honest answer was what he wanted in regards to the nature of this attack. Having observed it down a gun barrel for quite some time, the PFC had noticed something strange about the alien advance. And while going with the flow originally, now he was willing to take his mind out of the river and enter the realm of questioning that the floodplain provided.
For starters, why were the Covenant attacking the settlement's defenders head on? Thunderville had an extensive perimeter and while the marines and civilians could defend it, they'd be well spread out. Clearly the Covenant had the numbers to make this the case, but as far as he could tell, they were simply sending its warriors to the slaughter. And what of the warriors themselves? Up until now it had been nothing but Grunts and Jackals, with no sign of the larger and infinitely deadlier species the homogeny featured. Why not use some of that alien muscle and actually make a dent in the 31st's lines?
Finally finding a clip, Hawkins realized he didn't know. The floodplain had given way to bedrock, one that his questions couldn't meander through. There simply wasn't any explanation for the Covenant's method of attack.
Still, rupturing a Grunt's methane tank with his first burst, the PFC realized that he didn't really care either.
Zulu Base
"Well Robins? How's it going?"
"You want a harsh truth or a good lie?"
Looking down at the frantic work being conducted on Goliath, Ellison didn't bother answering. Indeed, he didn't need Robins to say anything. That the vehicle still had some bugs to iron out was clear. And if it wasn't for the battle being fought on the surface, he would have been willing to accept that fact and work at the same pace at which he'd done so for the last three years.
"We have to work faster," murmured the engineer, stating the obvious. "We have to get this thing working."
"No shit Sherlock," said Robins snidely, his gaze having followed the marine's to the vehicle. "It's what we've been trying to do for the past-…"
"Robins, even if Goliath wasn't needed on the surface, we probably won't have any more time to work on it anyway," Ellison interrupted. "The Covenant's found us and if we're very lucky, we'll be able to load our basic possessions on the transport ships."
Sighing, the engineer turned away from the window looking down over the hangar, allowing himself composure in the brilliant scent of recycled air. He knew that he might have been morally obliged to make some argument at this point, to make some sweeping gesture that the tank had to be used to help the brave souls on top, but somehow, he couldn't be bothered. It was a war. People died all the time. All that was left was to deal with the facts.
"You know, I'm surprised," the engineer heard Robins say.
"Oh really?"
"Yes. I thought you didn't care about your vehicle too good to warrant an animal name, but it appears I was wrong."
Ellison snorted. "Who said I cared? You know, if I actually cared about the bloody thing, I'd be able to name it after something it looks like."
"Such as?"
The engineer shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe I can use the Warthog for inspiration. Or the Mongoose. Or maybe-…"
A sudden boom kept Ellison within the animal kingdom and the plant he was talking to as well. A "boom" that thankfully came from outside the base, rather than in it. Still, even protected from the weather, it was still cold, and not from comfort.
"Thunder?" Robins asked. "Or-…"
"Plasma," Ellison grunted. "And not from lightning."
Technically it could have been lightning-why the Covenant would actually use it as a weapon was beyond the marine, but right now, he was willing to believe anything. Science could be good interesting, such as the removal of cancer, interesting, such as the discovery of the Ross-Ziegler Blip or bad interesting, such as when an AI went rampant in an attempt to prove that some science fiction memes never died. But when you removed the interest all together, when you were stuck with a tank whose designer had disappeared along with everyone else on the Spirit of Fire…well, you could only last so long. And hearing not one but two booms strike the surface above Zulu Base, Ellison went past his expiration date.
"That's it," the marine declared. "I'm going in."
"Going in?" Robins asked, following the engineer down the stairs that led to the hangar. "What do you mean by-…"
"Going in," Ellison repeated, reaching the bottom floor. "You know, going into Goliath, going up to the surface and sending the Covies out of this world.
"…want to add a fourth dimension to that?"
"What, time?" the marine asked, resting a hand on the vehicle's cool metal, adding to the chills already running up and down his spine. "We ran out of that long ago."
To Ellison's surprise, as he climbed over the vehicle's treads to its cockpit, none of the techs made any move to stop him. He didn't think he could make that good of an impression of rolling thunder chasing away the proverbial lightning. Or maybe they understood the situation the way he did. Or at least, the white suits did apart from Robins, gazing at the marine with concern of all things.
Oh gag me…
"Alan, I know that three years of this work hasn't diluted your espirit de corps," began the scientist. "But even assuming that the tank could-…"
"Doc, it works, if only for a short time," Ellison interrupted, adjusting the controls with one hand while signaling the ammunition loading process to begin with his other. "And I lost that feeling years ago, so don't think you can apply the opposite of gusto."
"Right," Robins laughed. "I guess it's true what they say. Next to hydrogen, stupidity is the most common thing in the universe.
Focusing on the start-up process, Ellison didn't answer. He knew that he had plenty of both, with one element fueling the tank and the other fueling his body. Which one expired first was unknown, but he could only hope that a second Big Bang didn't end what the first had begun.
"Well, guess there's no stopping you," said Robins, stepping away from the vehicle. "And I guess the other tank driver will be glad to see you."
Ellison glanced his way. "Tank? Don't you mean tanks?"
Robins shook his head, looking pensive. "Howard just sent an update to my chatter. Another Scorpion's just been destroyed.
"…great."
Closing the hatch above his head, Ellison felt his supply of stupidity running out. However, even as the hydrogen coursed through the vehicle and its ammunition loaded, he kept his cool.
Alive or dead, Tara was up there…
…and while not a knight, he was at least encapsulated in shining armor.
J'ma Legion
Frontline of Battle
And to think that I thought defending the ship was the best course of action.
Even in the howling wind of this barren world, Field Master Andra 'Serafomee's spirits remained high. Or, at least as high as he was, standing on top of the hill that overlooked the cluster of dwellings the humans dared call home. Not as high as the sky or stars, not as high as the few remaining Banshees flying overhead, but certainly higher than that of the defenders and the cannon fodder sent to test them. A middle of the full spectrum of happiness, but higher than anyone who really counted.
A formality really. Happiness was irrelevant right now. All that mattered was that he get the job done.
Observing the battle from his vantage point, standing firm even as unggoy shivered around him in both cold and fear, 'Serafomee could tell that the battle was swinging in his favor. He'd anticipated breaking the backs of the vermin by now, or at least their lines, but still they were holding strong, the bodies of unggoy and kig-yar having formed several rows of the dead. Still, those rows were getting ever closer towards the front. Sooner or later, the two lines would meet and then it would be time to send in his fellow brethren, the sangheili. Warriors whose lives were too important to spend probing human defenses and would tear them apart in a single wave. A wave that-…
Pow!
"Run away!" screamed an unggoy, his fear proving as contagious to his fellow arthropods as…well, whatever disease was common in the creatures. The field master however, couldn't care less. Any disease might well be a blessing in disguise given the creature's ability to multiply like bacteria and what had sent them running was a lucky shot that had struck their superior. Some rogue kinetic projectile that had somehow packed enough punch to test his shields, however briefly.
Are they actually aiming at me? 'Serafomee wondered, quickly glancing to make sure that he was not too exposed in his position. Are they really that desperate?
If they were, he wouldn't have been surprised. Animals tended to be irrational when faced with their own demise.
"Field master, I'm sorry about the unggoy's cowardice," came the voice of Phylo 'Waromee, a major domo. "What would you have me do with their leader?"
'Serafomee didn't think the cowards that had fled actually had a leader, but clearly the sangheili had chosen one anyway, hauling one of the lesser species across the ground. Taking the whimpering creature and promptly breaking its neck, the field master solved the problem quickly.
"Don't waste your time on those unfit to be in our legion," 'Serafomee said, turning his attention back to the battle. "Save your energy for when you carry our light down to the heretics."
"Which is when, exactly?"
"When I say so 'Waromee, and not before," the field master snapped, not liking his subordinate's tone. "Now rejoin your lance."
"…of course, field master."
Sighing, 'Serafomee knew that the major had a point. His original plan was to simply fight a holding action, to draw all the human defenders to the frontline to engage his force, while the other two components of his legion swept around to attack the settlement's flanks in what was to be a three-pronged assault. It was a plan that he had carried on for too long and upon realizing that he had undertaken a frontal assault longer than he should have, had been left with no choice but to surge ahead.
What in the name of Sangheilios happened though? the field master wondered, watching some retreating unggoy barge into some kig-yar, the two groups deciding that the humans were no longer their enemy. Where could they be?
'Serafomee had divided his force over an area that was outside visual contact in this weather, but still well within radio contact. Or so he thought, considering that the other two components of his legion were silent on the frequencies. It was unlikely the humans could have taken them out, even if they had surprise on their side, but what other explanation was there? Either way, 'Serafomee knew that he couldn't afford to retreat now and what was initially a simple probing exercise had taken on a more tactical component. While the settlement's defenders had only three tanks, it was enough to wreck havoc on the charging unggoy and kig-yar. In response, the field master had directed the fire of his Wraiths and Banshees towards them, wanting to take out the metal-clad behemoths before making his surge forward. A deviation from the norm in a plan where 'Serafomee hadn't wanted any deviations at all, but as there was only one human tank still operating now, it was a deviation that seemed to have paid off.
Or not…
Watching the last human tank disappear in a blue cloud of oblivion, Andra 'Serafomee's deviation hadn't seemed to have paid off. It had paid off.
And contacting all his fellow sangheili via his radio, he sent his brethren forward to reap the benefits.
Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")
"Incoming!"
Bit late for that, don't you think?
It was perhaps a bit much, making jokes when he'd narrowly escaped death. Still, as he rose from the ground that had now become mud, Ardo would have maintained that he was joking because he escaped death. There was probably some psychological reason floating around a communication network, but right now, all Ardo cared about was that it was the Scorpion, not he, that had been reduced to a pool of liquid slag.
Poor bastards…
Over the course of battle, Ardo had seen exactly what plasma could do, especially so since the aliens (Grunts, Jackals, whatever) had been getting closer with each attack and thus more likely to hit their targets. Apparently the Wraiths had been getting closer too, what with marines yelling out "incoming" after a plasma mortar struck its target.
Guess the razors caused some brain fluid to leak…the miner thought, reflecting on the same joke that Ellison had once shared with him and briefly wondering what the engineer was doing now. Or the neural implants did…did…
Whatever neural implants did, it would do nothing to solve this situation.
Ardo wasn't sure what gave him the first clue exactly that something was wrong-that a new breed of alien was now rushing down towards Thunderville's first and only line of defense or that marines who were previously hanging back were now rushing to the barricades and joining the thin brown line. Then again, maybe he should have taken the hint earlier. It was now clear that "incoming" hadn't been about the plasma mortar. It had been about the latest wave of Covenant attackers. A wave that might well be the last one the human defenders faced.
Shit shit shit!
Ardo could tell that the humanoid reptiles leading the charge were Elites instantly. Not that he'd ever seen one before, but while Jackals and Grunts could be mixed up in his recollection of the tales that Ellison had shared, there was no mistaking the cream of the crop of the Covenant infantry. Nor did any other defender mistake them for what they were, shouts of what were once bravado turning into ones of desperation. Bullets flew, grenades were thrown and while the odd saurian succumbed to the barrage, most of them let their shields take the punishment and surged forward even faster. And towering above the lesser Covies and leading them, it was hard to thin out the numbers of Grunts or Jackals. Not that instinct was inclined to choose the lesser threat, but even if every Elite was killed before reaching the frontline, their buddies would probably be in a position to finish the job anyway.
"Fire! Fire!"
"Go to hell you spit jaw!"
Ardo ducked down-both to avoid some plasma fire and as to not see the pair of marines disappear in a cloud of blue mist. And in a rare surge of brotherly love, he was glad that Tara was looking in the opposite direction when it happened.
"Ardo!" she cried, ducking down by a barricade with him, holding her dinky pistol in such a manner that betrayed the fact that she knew it was dinky. "Ardo, I-…"
The miner didn't answer, briefly rising out of cover and ducking back down as a plasma mortar hit the surface about ten meters in front of him. Seeing some jarheads do the same from some Banshee fire, it was clear that the Covenant weren't about the let their main soldiers be exposed to more harm than necessary. It was unlikely to be coincidence that the Elites hadn't shown up until the last Scorpion was destroyed, or that no further energy mortars were coming down. Keep the humans occupied long enough to the point where it was too late and the split-chins would do the rest. A moment that, as Ardo rose to see the playing field, was becoming increasingly near.
Homina homina homina…
Once, the miner had found himself low on targets within a reasonable range for his shotgun to be effective. Now, there was no shortage of them and he pumped away shell after shell in response, the gunpowder irritating his eyes as much as the sheets of rain, not to mention the feel of plasma nearly hitting him. Bullets, grenades…every defender blazed away at the horde. But it was like throwing pebbles into a river in an attempt to dam it. And once the river reached the defenders, it was guaranteed that they'd drown.
This is it…thought the miner grimly as he saw one of the aliens activate some kind of curved energy blade in definite anticipation of using it. This is-…
Boom!
Yelling in pain as he and Tara dived for cover, Ardo dropped his shotgun and pressed both hands to his ears, his ear drums ringing faster than Frere Jacques's alternate doppelganger. Something had just passed over him and every other defender within at least ten meters of him, considering that civilian and marine alike were clutching their ears in pain. Something that might have been related to seeing the energy sword go flying through the air with an alien arm still attached.
What the hell just-
Boom!
…happened!
The second "boom" was even louder than the first one. And watching Grunts, Jackals and even Elites fly through the air, somehow even more effective. And daring to peak at the epicenter of the "boom," also noticing how half of the aliens along their line of attack were now looking at the newly formed crater, it was clear they had realized this as well.
What the…Ardo wondered, his ears still ringing. What in the world just-…
"Ardo, move!"
At first, the miner didn't know why Tara was pulling him aside, any more than everyone else within at least six meters was scattering. Still, seeing the largest tank he'd ever seen chugging towards the frontline, not stopping for anything, he could understand why. Two turrets, one machine gun and the word GOLIATH painted on its hulltended to demand shock and awe as well as inflict it.
"Goliath?" Ardo exclaimed. "That's what Ellison was working on! What in the-…"
"Wow, a Grizzly!" a marine exclaimed, daring to approach the armor clad behemoth that was now pouring gunfire into the aliens up ahead, along with the occasional shell from its cannons. "Haven't seen one of those since Harvest!"
"Yeah, that's right you mothers!" yelled another soldier, watching the aliens buckle under the vehicle's raw firepower. "Get some!"
"Um, I don't think they'll be doing that…" Tara murmured.
"Um, what?" Ardo murmured, his gaze switching from the tank to its alien victims like clockwork.
"The aliens," his sister whispered. "I don't think they'll be…getting some…"
Ardo barely heard her, his gaze still sweeping the scene. It was like watching a maglev train wreck. You just couldn't look away.
The Covenant could though. And as Ardo's gaze switched back to them, a great number of them were facing the other way.
"They're retreating?" Ardo asked, watching Elites struggled to keep their brethren in line. "I thought they never-…"
"They weren't expecting a Grizzly!" a marine declared, making his own statement but still answering Ardo's query. "Things go wrong, time to split."
Ardo fought the urge to roll his eyes-he appreciated the pun, however bad it was. What he appreciated even more was that not only was the Grizzly rolling forward, but he heard a voice emanate from inside it.
"A and A," the pilot said. "Good to see you guys."
"Alan?" Tara exclaimed. "You're driving this thing?"
"Pretty much."
Ardo found himself sinking to the ground. This was all too much. Much to his displeasure, he was soon hauled back to them, to see a sight that was just as hard to believe as…well, everything else over the past few minutes. Someone either idiotic or brilliant had ordered that Thunderville's defenders engage in pursuit. And like sheep following the shepherd, the defenders had obliged, climbing over the barricades and giving chase to the aliens in flight or were attempting to stand their ground. Either way, the Covies were dying in droves and somehow the horde of humans eager for payback was inflicting an either higher death toll than they would have inflicted if standing still.
Maybe I should just stay here…Ardo thought to himself. I've done my part, maybe I should-…
"Move it pal."
Ardo didn't know who was pushing him over the barricade, but as Tara was already running forward like a child on a sugar high (maybe she was), it was clear it wasn't her. Which meant that talking himself out of this wouldn't be a sure thing.
"Listen pal, I don't-…"
"You've got shotgun. Use it."
…jackass.
Then again, maybe engaging in pursuit wasn't so bad.
For as he watched Ellison lead the charge in his treads of death, Ardo reflected that he might actually enjoy this.
J'ma Legion
Frontline of Battle
'Serafomee couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Maintaining his composure externally, the field master felt composure of the internal variety get vented in the same way a ship might vent radiation. One moment his fellow battle brothers were on the cusp of victory, ready to sweep away all those that stood before them and remove this world of infection. The next, with the sudden emergence of another human artillery piece, and his forces were in disarray.
"Field master?" he heard 'Waromee ask. "What are your orders?"
The sangheili couldn't bring himself to respond. Taken off guard by the giant piece of metal firing at them and the sudden surge in the enemy's morale, the unggoy and kig-yar of his force were given flight. And while his fellow sons of Sanghelios were without fear, they were not without confusion. Some tried to bring the lesser species back in line, some continued charging towards the humans and others were torn between the two. And while each sangheili could be an army in himself, they were still effectively isolated. The wave of the Covenant had never hit the human dam and now that dam had become a wave in itself, picking off his brethren's islands one by one as they surged uphill.
"Field master?" 'Waromee repeated, his voice far more tense than before. "Your orders?"
The commanding sangheili clicked his mandibles, regaining a modicum of control. "Yes, orders. Of course…"
Glancing back at the major domo and all his fellow sangheili, 'Serafomee realized what was once a flaw in his plan had become an asset. He'd intended to send a single, all-conquering wave of soldiers to engulf the settlement's defenders, but with his lances spread out across his position, that wave had effectively become disjointed, separated into two by virtue of starting position. But now, as his first wave lost momentum, he had a second force to send down into battle.
"The humans bring the fight to us…" 'Serafomee murmured, watching the gap steadily close and yet more of his forces' bodies fly through the sky. "So we shall bring the fight to them…"
"What?" 'Waromee blurted out. "Field master, surely it is best to hold our position here, to let the Wraiths obliterate the tank while we-…"
"No! They have spilt our blood and sullied our honor! And they shall pay the price!"
'Waromee looked at his superior as if to say that it was only 'Serafomee's honor being spilt. Still, the field master cared little. Losing contact with his other two forces, watching a fourth human tank emerge…they were mistakes, but ones that were outside his control. While he would accept whatever blame was attributed to him after the battle was won, he would make sure it would end on his own terms.
Come to us…'Serafomee thought, activating his energy sword and holding it high as his fellow sangheili moved to the front, ready to charge on his order. Meet us in battle…
With the wind at his back, the rain on his armor and his foe before him, the field master waited. And waited. And waited some more. Waiting for the right moment. And just as the last unworthy unggoy breathed his last, just as the last cowardly kig-yar departed on the Great Journey, just as the battlefield was set for the warriors of Sanghelios to make their mark. Alone. For the honor and glory to be all theirs…
…and eventually it came.
"Forward!"
UNSC Haven
Status: Maintaining geo-stationary orbit around planet Hope, Chi Mu System
"To gain control you have to lose control."
Staring at the holographic map that displayed the battlefield Hope's surface had become, Captain Justin Sattler couldn't remember who had told him such a thing, or when. It was probably sometime when he made the transition from starfighter to capital ship, but even that was nebulous. Still, regardless of when, where or who, the message remained same. Control in the upper levels of command was all about surrendering it. To control your forces from a distance, yet sacrifice any semblance of control on the individual level. Which, as he stared at the tactical display, was exactly what he was doing.
"It's not all bad sir," piped up Ulysses, as if reading the CO's mind. "There is one thing you could do?"
"Really? What's that?"
"Well, if the worst comes to worst, you could crash the ship into the planet, eradicating-…"
"I'll take that under advisement," Sattler lied. "Now shut up."
It was a sign of how frustrating the situation was that Sattler was letting his bridge crew watch the war games on the map rather than getting on with their duties. Even three years ago, the dynamic would have been much different. Even in the event that the Navy got some breathing space above Harvest, the Haven would still be busy coordinating everything from supplies to Shortswords on the ground below, maybe even more extreme measures. But with the Haven deprived of any meaningful forces or starfighters and with its MAC offline, there was nothing its crew could do but stand and wait. Oh, and watch how what was initially a rout of the Covenant forces become what was fated to be a melee.
"Howard," Sattler murmured into his comm. link, suspecting that the major was in the same position that he was. "I assume you're aware that your forces have become the cavalry rather than waiting for it."
"Yes sir, I know sir," came the tired voice from the other end. Clearly he'd been exerting more control than the captain had thought. Or at least trying to.
"And you didn't order your troops to surge forward?"
"No sir. Goliath just showed up sir and…well…"
Sattler sighed. He didn't know what was worse-losing control after having it, or never having control in the first place. If there were any humans left alive in the Chi Mu System in the next few hours, maybe he and the major could have a discussion as to which was least desirable.
Watching purple blips steadily close in on green blips, Sattler could appreciate that had the marines have the numbers to spare, surging forward on morale and heavy armor would have been a good idea. Certainly the arrival of the Grizzly had turned the first tide on its collective alien arses and if that had been the only one, the battle would have been one. Now though, as the last fight was about to take place, Sattler recognized that the fight could go either way. Most of the Banshees had been shot down and if the Grizzly remained in the fight long enough, the Covenant infantry would likely be defeated. Should it be destroyed however, such as by the remaining Wraiths, then every marine and civilian down there might as well kiss Hope's dirt goodbye and be glad that the Covenant didn't take prisoners.
It's all down to this…Sattler reminded himself, glancing at the assembled lieutenants whose anxious gazes told him that they knew the same thing. All down to a final-…
"Captain, incoming slipspace rupture!"
"What?" Sattler exclaimed, turning to face Ulysses and subsequently a star map of the Chi Mu System. "Where?"
Ulysses didn't answer. With a blip representing the rupture appearing within range of the representations of the Haven and Aeros, he didn't have to.
"One ship…" Sattler heard an ensign murmur. "What does that mean?"
Sattler sighed. "What it means is that if it's a human ship, the people on Hope might have a chance."
"And if it's a Covenant one?"
Sattler didn't answer. He didn't want to.
No-one would have enjoyed hearing it anyway.
Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")
Aliens were screaming, humans were screaming and it was impossible to distinguish the two groups of sound. And coupled with howling wind, sheets of rain and terrain that had turned into a mud pit, the pedantics of the situation were the least of Ardo's concerns. His body was on autopilot, staying close to Goliath and unloading a shell at any alien who came too close to him. Not that many did of course-treads of death tended to prompt enemies to keep their distance, even when someone who didn't know what he was doing was staying as close as possible. And with the entire battlefield in chaos, not even an Elite would be willing to go on a heroic charge to engage him.
They came close of course. Watching an energy sword sever a marine in half, the alien growling ready to
…be set alight by a Hellbringer's flamethrower.
Jackals, shields cast aside, their beaks tearing into an unfortunate sod's beak…
…only to be torn apart in a hail of gunfire, biting the dust rather than biting flesh.
Blue energy from a plasma grenade…
…a pool of teal blood.
A Grunt's body rolling down the hill…
…coming to rest by a pile of human ones.
Ardo couldn't tell how long it went on for, how either side could possibly have enough soldiers left to sustain the battle as it was, with bodies hitting the floor left, right and center. He didn't know why he could still hear the screams of the living and dying, as close as he was to the Grizzly. Ellison hadn't had many chances to use his cannons, given how close the two forces were, but every time he did and the miner saw Covenant body parts flying through the air, it was clear that the engineer was making his shots count. And even then his coaxial machine gun blazed away, cutting down any alien stupid enough to expose himself to the behemoth.
Tara would love this…Ardo thought, watching how an Elite's shields gave way under the barrage of gunfire the tank was pouring into it, falling down in a last defiant roar immediately afterwards. Especially since…wait, where is she?
Lighting raced across the sky, but for all the illumination it provided, it didn't give Ardo any sense of where his sister was. Somehow in the rush up the hill he'd lost her. And while he'd gravitated to the safety of the tank, she hadn't…
…or couldn't.
Feeling panic well up in him for the first time since the melee began, Ardo started heading away from the tank, wanting to get a clearer view of the battlefield. A marine ripping a Grunt's facemask off, a Jackal reflecting gunfire back into its aggressors, just as an Elite did this, as one did that…the tall aliens were in the majority, the lesser Covies having mostly been depleted in early assaults. And seeing one send a trio of marines flying with a sweep of its arm while another poured plasma into its foes, quality was even more terrifying than quantity.
Tara…Tara?
Ardo didn't shout. Somehow, he couldn't shout. And even if he did, even if he'd let loose his voice as the energy mortars came down, it wouldn't have mattered. As the barrage hit the Grizzly, nothing did.
Boom!
"Shit!" Ardo exclaimed, diving down into what was once mud and was now…well, something even muddier if that made sense. Like the battle itself, it wasn't something that he intended to study. Because turning back to the blazing wreckage of the Grizzly, watching its metal buckle under the intense heat the plasma had cast over it, little else mattered right now.
"Ellison?" Ardo asked the smoking wreck. "Ellison?"
Nothing answered. No screams in the fire, no secondary detonation…nothing. Just a funeral pyre to one of the miner's few friends and given the death rate over the last few hours, perhaps the death of his only remaining one. Sinking to his knees, letting the rain wash away his tears, Ardo let that fact sink in. Alan Ellison was dead. Gone. For all he knew, Tara could be the same. And somehow, out in the middle of the battlefield, Ardo Turner was practically unharmed.
"Damnit…" the native of Hope murmured, facing the mud and seeing his reflection. "Damnit!"
Somehow, his voice wasn't drowned out by the wind. Nor was the "wort wort wort!" sound he heard either. And just for the hell of it, he tried to find the source.
He didn't have to look far.
Up ahead, say twenty, twenty-five feet, was an Elite. A gold armored Elite. An Elite whose energy sword was currently skewing some unfortunate marine, his limp body sliding down the blade until it reached the hilt. Snarling, the alien cast the body aside, looking for his next victim.
Seeing Ardo and yelling something incomprehensible, it didn't take long for the Covie to find one.
J'ma Legion
Frontline of Battle
This…was what battle was all about.
Watching the human soldier slide down his blade, waiting for the light to finally leave his eyes, Andra 'Serafomee fully understood why sangheili commanders preferred to lead from the front. Planning battles and directing them had their own flair to be sure. But to be involved in conflict like this, to have your survival dictated by your own actions and nothing else…it was glorious. And even if none of his adversaries had provided him with a challenge, even if more animals had fallen to his blade than he could count, it was still exhilarating. The human tank had proven to be a challenge, but with his Wraiths having taken it out, all that remained was to clear up the detritus.
Casting the human's body aside, 'Serafomee gazed around the battlefield, how while many of his battle brothers had fallen, many still fought on, bringing shield and sword to their enemies while their shields absorbed the worst of what the heretics could throw at them. At this point in time, it was only a matter of time before this world was purged of its infection.
This isn't war…'Serafomee thought, watching blood be spilt as his own rushed through him. This is sport!
Setting his sights on his newest prey, some unarmored heretic kneeling towards the ground as was proper, 'Serafomee let out a yell and charged. His latest prey was awaiting slaughter.
Hearing and seeing the harbinger of his doom, the human opened fire with his weapon, 'Serafomee's shields flickering with each strike. He knew the weapon by form if not by name, how it was essentially the human equivalent of a jiralhanae Mauler-good stopping power, but very limited range. Against a minor or major this may have been a problem, but 'Serafomee knew that he would reach the human long before his shields gave way.
The moment had come. The final reach, the final shot, the final swing of his sword and-…
…the human dodged it.
Blinking in surprise, 'Serafomee knew that the human was still alive, but "dodged" was too generous a term. The human had tried to duck under his horizontal swing, but had ended up falling down in the muddy terrain and rolled further down the slope. And like any animal fighting for its life, it was still trying to survive, still firing its weapon as he lay in the mud. Letting out a roar as his shield continued to flicker, 'Serafomee jumped towards him, ready to cleave him in…
…two?
This time, the human dodged. This time, he rolled to one side, the sangheili's sword cleaving only the soil of this world. And as 'Serafomee turned to face him, turned to this time impale him and not allow any more slipups, the unthinkable happened…
…his shields gave way.
What? The field master wondered, feeling the rain and wind strike his now exposed skin. What in the name of Sanghelios just-…
Boom!
…happened?
Feeling as cold inside as he did outside and dropping his sword as his right hand lost all feeling, 'Serafomee extended his left hand to his stomach, or rather what was left of it. Blood was pouring out and his interior was a bloody mess. At such close range, his armor had buckled under the human's shell and done nothing to protect him.
Impossible…this can't…be right…'Serafomee thought, watching the human rise to his feet with a murderous glint in his eyes. Animals…can't…win…
After that line of thought, the human let loose another round.
And after that, Andra 'Serafomee thought of nothing.
Settlement 01 ("Thunderville")
"I'm alive…" he whispered. "I'm still alive…"
Ardo knew he was stating the obvious, but looking at the alien who most decidedly wasn't alive, it wasn't clear whether he was actually in the realm of the living. Certainly Hope had become hellish enough, and the miner was under no delusions as to the possibility of flying among angels in the afterlife.
Hope there's a special place in Hell for you, you son-of-a-bitch, the human thought bitterly, slowly rising to his feet as he continued to stare at the Elite's body. He had no love for genocidal aliens, but couple their existence with Ellison's death, and how Ardo might have met a similar fate…well, now the hatred was personal. And coupled with a sense of elation of defeating the Covenant's finest being converted to yet even more hatred…well, the miner was ready for more.
Click
Spinning around to the source of the noise, Ardo cursed under his breath. He might have been ready for "more," whatever that was, but he wasn't ready for this.
Grunts. Specifically six Grunts, all of which were holding a dinky little pistol with a green light at the end. Still, as dinky as they were, Ardo had no doubt that they were intending to use it on him.
This is insulting…the human thought bitterly. I take out an Elite and he's going to be avenged by these gas suckers?
All in all, "avenge" might have been too strong a word, considering that not even the read armored alien (seemingly the leader) spared their superior a second glance. Indeed, if it wasn't for their breathers, Ardo could swear that the arthropods were smiling, as if the Elite's death was something of a benefit. Of course, they were about to frag another resident of Hope, so that was presumably another good thing for them.
This is it…Ardo thought to himself despondently, watching the Grunts take aim. This is-…
Boom!
…it?
No angels, no devils, so Ardo was able to assume that he was on the mortal plane still. That, and it was still freezing, still raining and the Grunts were still in front of him. Or rather three of them. The others had been crushed by this…thing…that had fallen from the sky. A big black thing almost nine feet tall. A thing like many other…things that were falling down left, right and center. A thing whose doors suddenly blew open, sending the miner diving for cover and the remaining three trembling Grunts flying along with it. A thing that revealed an even stranger…thing inside it.
Ardo cursed…or was it a praise? He didn't know anymore.
Rising from the mud, the gunfire of human weapons rumbling in his ears, the miner knew that the thing was actually some kind of drop pod, a type used by the same ODSTs that were currently sending the remaining Covenant forces into chaos and raising the spirits of the remaining human defenders. What he didn't know was who, or what, this pod's occupant was. Seven feet tall, olive armor that covered his whole body, a golden visor that revealed nothing…in his way, the human (assuming he was human) was even more alien than the Covenant. Indeed, if he hadn't quickly fallen in line with the ODSTs and begun tearing into the genuine aliens, Ardo might have assumed he was on their side.
So…Ardo wondered, watching yet more pods drop from the sky. Have we won?
Somehow, after all that had occurred, after all that had been lost, the answer was yes.
The being was satisfied.
The Monitor had shown its worth. Both the humans and Covenant had shown their worth, being at each other's necks long enough for him to do his work. This artifact had shown its worth as well, allowing the strangling to continue.
Now, at last, the Monitor's worth was nearing its end…
A/N
I'll spare a lecture on how this was the longest chapter (which it is), that it took forever to write (which it did) and that I dislike writing battle scenes (which I do) which made this a kind of 'checkpoint chapter,' giving me the sense that I could actually finish this story (which is true). Lies about not giving lectures aside, I feel that some explanation is owed for the Goliath.
My homepage goes into greater detail, but as mentioned, this fic stems back to 2006 and was a weird mesh of ideas from StarCraft and Metal Gear. Goliath was, in its first conception, basically the name of the walker from the former media and the form of Metal Gear REX from the latter media. Now, at this point in my time, I would like to ask my younger self a simple, reasonable question...
What the hell were you thinking?
While a matter of opinion, I'm reluctant to create for the sake of creating in sci-fi medias, that if there's some device/vehicle/weapon, etc. that can convey an effect I want, I'd rather use a pre-existing, canon example rather than make one up for the sake of making it up. And if I do use an original creation, it should have some level of technological precedent. A walker like that doesn't for the UEG and given the reaction some fans had to the Cyclops, might wish me said walker crushed me before getting lynched. Regardless, I thought it best to not go down the "big mech of doom" route. Still, for the sake of plot and the characters around said plot, I needed a replacement, hence settling on the Grizzly. Not quite the same, but still very hard to stop as Halo Wars demonstrated.
And yes, I realize I've made the longest chapter in this fic even longer. Go figure.
(2011-08-05)
Corrected spelling and grammar errors.