HALO: HELLJUMPER
By M. Cartwright
CHAPTER IX: A NEW STRATEGY
Time: Mid-Day
Location: Aboard CSS-Battlecruiser Vengeful Judicor
The Sangheili Field Marshal marched confidently down the purple corridors of the Vengeful Judicor, on his way to the bridge. Just hours ago the vermin that were the humans had managed to cripple his forces that had been attempting to seize their mountain base. The price for such a failure had been great; he had suffered reprimand from the ship master and warned that a continuance to fail in carrying out his orders would be seen as heresy.
Heresy. He said that word with a great deal of malice. In the near-dozen campaigns he had fought valiantly in, he had never been so humiliated by the sting of defeat. These humans had been determined to keep their base upon the mountain theirs. They did not go down easily—something he was not accustomed to. But, it didn't matter. The supreme logic of the Sangheili dictated that humans were a fickle race. Their determination would wane and falter… and his men would be standing over their bloodied corpses when it did.
The door before him chimed at his presence and the doors parted, allowing him to step across the threshold into the bridge. It bristled with activity as his brethren and a handful of the lesser races moved to and fro. Standing atop the raised pedestal at the center of the bridge stood Salum 'Zukamee, the honored commander of the Vengeful Judicor. The commander approached the pedestal, his armored hooves pounding against the deck, and he halted at the edge of the ramp. Ship Master 'Zukamai faced about and gazed down upon his silver armored brother with curiosity. "Field Marshal 'Kasamee, do you have something for me?"
Krael 'Kasamee bowed before the Ship Master as he approached him. "Yes, Ship Master," he affirmed, raising his head to stare up at his superior. "I believe I have devised a strategy to seize the base of our enemy."
Ship Master 'Zukamai's face contorted into what could loosely be described as a smile. He gestured with his hands for Field Marshal 'Kasamee to stand, and he smartly obeyed, rising to his feet and standing perfectly erect. It was then that 'Kasamee realized just how much taller he was compared to his golden armored superior; standing roughly eight inches taller than the Sangheili standing before him. The thought almost made him chuckle.
Almost.
"Tell me of this strategy that you speak of," 'Zukamai demanded, turning around to march back up to the center of the pedestal. He liked to watch over the crew of the bridge to ensure things were going smoothly. His watchful eye had improved the performance of ship in battle many times in the past. He preferred to let the tradition to continue until he found himself promoted to master of the fleet. Then, one of his subordinates' could take his place upon his pedestal.
"Their defenses are strong and their forces determined," 'Kasamee began, eager to hear his superior's thoughts on his plan. "But we inflicted heavy losses upon their troops. I propose we send in another wave and establish a forward outpost within a few kilometers of the mountain. If you would allow me to supplement our forces with the necessary support vehicles, I can have their base overrun within a day."
'Kasamee couldn't read the elder Sangheili's expression as his back was turned to him. He was anxious to hear his opinion. Zukamai considered the merits of the strategy but inevitably shook his head in disagreement. "You tried to overwhelm them through sheer force before and failed. What makes you so certain that you will succeed this time?"
The Field Marshal felt his blood begin to boil. The Ship Master dared to question his ingenuity? He dared to assume that the plan would fail again? He saw no flaw in his plan—the size of his forces would be greater and mightier than before and he would ensure that his men were fiercely determined to eradicate the humans from the likes of that wretched mountain. But, as he began to calm down, he realized that no answer would satisfy his superior without amending his original strategy.
So, he quickly made amendments to his original plan. "While the vermin are distracted by the overwhelming assault from my forces, I will personally command a few Special Operations teams that will infiltrate their base. Before they realize what is happening, they will be corpses for us to burn."
'Zukamai stood in silence again for several moments. The suspense that was building was becoming insufferable for 'Kasamee. He impatiently waited for his commander's approval. Surely his alterations to the plan were satisfactory. Did he question the abilities of the Special Operations units? Did he not believe them capable of sneaking into their walls? Why was he keeping him waiting? What was there to think about?!
"Very well," the Ship Master finally answered. "Assemble your forces and depart for the human world."
"Yes, Ship Master. Thank you!" he replied excitedly. His thirst to spill the blood of the filth festering miles below them would soon be quenched.
"Oh, and 'Kasamee?"
"Yes, Ship Master?" he inquired, stopping at the exit to the bridge in mid-stride.
"Do not fail again."
Field Marshal 'Kasamee stood at the helm of the troop compartment of one of many of the Spirit troopships that were preparing to disembark the Vengeful Judicor down to the human world Kris-tal. He scowled at the name; it was a name unfitting of a human world. His eyes scanned the crowd of Sangheili, Kig-yar, and Unggoy before him. The majority of them stood erect and in silence. The only movement coming from a few Unggoy who fidgeted where they stood.
He growled at them and they squeaked in fear of him. Yet, it did not seem to get the point across that he wished them to stand still. "If you control yourselves I will slice your puny necks!" All movement immediately ceased from that point forward. Satisfied, he turned around and stepped into the cockpit. A pair of Kig-yar—the pilots of the craft—argued about something frivolous, completely unaware of his presence. He contorted his mandibles into a grin and leaned back slightly, content to watch the scene until he was noticed.
The two squawked angrily at one another for a few minutes before the one in the co-pilot's seat happened to look towards the door. It shrieked in surprise and sat rigid and its companion shifted its gaze over to him. The pilot jumped back in surprise and hit the accelerator by accident. The Spirit ripped out of its tethers and sped towards the hangar doors. Fortunately, the shields had been lifted just a second prior to this, so all that happened was the Spirit began to drift harmlessly through space.
Angered by what could have been a deadly mistake, he took two steps deeper into the cockpit and leaned forward so close that his mandibles were almost to its beak.
"You fool! I should kill you for that!"
The Kig-yar recoiled and turned around to face the forward holographic display. He heard the call over the BattleNet for the second wave to launch and ordered the pilots to take them down to the planet. Then, he pivoted on his heel and exited the cockpit. The troop compartment fell silent again as he stepped inside and he chuckled. Their discipline and obedience fueled his ego. If he issued a command they would follow it to their dying breath. He enjoyed wielding that kind of power.
Inspecting his troops one last time before deciding that a speech was necessary, he placed his hands behind his back and stood rigid. The expression upon his face was that of smug confidence. He had no doubt in his mind that the strategy he had painstakingly devised in light of his previous failure would work. He would succeed in achieving the objectives his superiors had given him. They wanted that mountain under sovereign Covenant control. Not only did it contain valuable secrets that the humans would rather them not acquire, but their base held something far more valuable. Something worth committing an entire battalion of his best troops and three Special Operations lances under his command.
He would not fail the Ship Master this time. The Prophet of Exultation himself had issued the order that the mountain be cleansed of the human infestation. And cleanse it he would. By the will of the Prophets and the grace of the gods, he would slaughter every last wretched human until that mountain was theirs. And perhaps such an act would grant him the recognition that he deserved. Maybe the Prophet himself would reward him for his deeds.
He could only hope.
"When we joined the Covenant, we took an oath!" he bellowed, his voice booming in the small confines of the compartment.
His brethren who stood by their troops stood proudly. "According to our station; all without exception!"
"On the blood of our fathers… on the blood of our sons; we swore to uphold the Covenant!"
"Even to our dying breath!"
"Those who would break this oath are heretics," he paused, his eyes scanning the crowd of soldiers, letting his words sink in. "They're worthy of neither pity nor mercy!"
His subordinates remained silent for some time as they pondered over his words. Wishing to make his words be more impactful, 'Kasamee added, "The humans, by the very definition, are heretics. They wish our Covenant destroyed and they desecrate the holy relics of the gods! They laugh at the idea of our Lords!" This caused a fervent uproar among the Sangheili, who growled viciously, and even a handful of the Kig-yar seemed to be angered by such a proclamation.
"We shall grind them into dust!" they exclaimed in unison, the anger and bloodlust wholly apparent in their voices.
"Upon their extermination we can finally be allowed to continue our march to glorious salvation!"
A thunderous uproar greeted his final words and 'Kasamee grinned evilly. His men, his brothers, would fight with great conviction in the fight for the mountain. Not a single one of them would willingly accept defeat by the human's hands. The battle for that mountain would be won, even if it required the shedding of Sangheili blood. Defeat was simply not an option here. And it was then he knew that he would not fail this time.
This time, that mountain would be his.
The dull luminescence of the compartment suddenly was replaced by scarlet illumination. The Spirit was preparing to land. Adrenaline surged through his veins and he unclipped the Plasma Rifle from his belt, gripping it firmly. When the ramps finally lowered, the Field Marshal was the first one to exit the craft. His feet made contact with the grassy landscape, a dull thud echoing in his ears. As he took a step forward, he noticed that the ground had left an impression of his hooves.
He gathered his men around him and issued orders to them. Dozens of other troopships arrived and offloaded their troops and cargo before ascending back up towards the heavens. The sun shined brightly across the landscape and his armor reflected its light. He was certain that the humans had seen his forces arrive and would likely be mounting some form of assault upon them. He planned for any such assault on their positions to fail.
'Kasamee ordered several lances into the nearby woods to set up defensive positions in case the humans did indeed send their forces to attempt to repel them. Then, he ordered all squads to have the lesser beings begin unpacking their supplies and start setting up their camp. He then issued orders to the Wraiths to move to the edge of the tree line and disperse themselves along it at even intervals. Finally, he sent an order for the Ghosts to patrol along the perimeter of the encampment and report anything out of the ordinary. The Field Marshal was determined not to be caught off guard.
Once their outpost was established, he would begin the preparations for the assault on the human-controlled mountaintop. The first order of business on his list was to get in contact with the Banshee squadrons operating nearby. His men would require air support to soften up the enemy's lines and to act as further distraction while the Special Operations commandos infiltrated the mountain base.
The planned on the humans coordinating all their efforts to repelling his forces. While, truthfully, their role was merely fodder to by time for the infiltration teams, in the end the outcome would be well worth the sacrifice. He would be sure to be there to see the humans' reaction when the realization that their time has come hits them.
And he planned to squash those few remaining humans like insects under his boot.