Chapter Eight
1100 Hours, September 18
2547 (Military Calendar) /
Aboard UNSC Aircraft
Arcadia, location unknown
Spartan C026 clung to the handholds he made in the titanium-A armor of the pelican, as it spun widely out of control. The weapons and supply crates had broken free of their straps and were now careening about the inside of the aircraft, occasionally shooting out the small holes that had been burned into the hull.
Through the cracks, Axton could see the covenant banshees circling them, green and blue plasma lighting up the sky like fireworks. The pilot did her best to steer the damaged pelican away from the worst of the inferno, but some still managed to glaze the hull.
After entering the bumpy atmosphere, the seraphs had pulled away back into orbit, but the banshee's remained to ensure the UNSC craft was terminated. Axton wondered how long they'd be able to hold out before they were inevitably shot from the sky and fall careening into Arcadia's crust.
The marines clung to their seats with wide eyes and white knuckles, jerking back and forth from the constant thrashing of the pelican. Axton checked their biomonitors; they all glowed green on his HUD, although their heart rates were pounding like machine guns.
Something abruptly slammed into the side of the pelican, a massive schism rupturing in its hull, and a raging fire burned away at the enormous tear, smoking into the atmosphere. Another explosion and two marines lost their grip on the metal handles and went tumbling towards the gaping hole, grunting and thrashing for anything to hold on to. The Spartan lunged forward and snagged the back of their uniforms, planting his armored feet and straining against the wind. Axton back peddled to the opposite side of the pelican, shoving the two soldiers against the side until they regained their senses. Axton thought he heard their thanks but the voices were ripped away by the screaming air.
Sparks exploded from the controls, the thin glass from the windshield shattering and splintering inward. The co-pilots biomonitors flat lined.
"Engines are out! We-" the pilot shouted, before she was interrupted when the pelican lurched forward and dropped like a stone. Axton's stomach floated up into his throat at the same time his feet left the ground, his helmet scraping the top. The Spartan's training kicked in, and shoved himself off the ceiling and bent his knees as he landed to lower his center of gravity.
"S what's our status?" Axton shouted, hoping the AI could hear him.
"Total engine failure. Obviously the hull is breached and will continue to break apart. Two marines are dead. Banshees are making another run, brace for heavy fire." Saratoga said quietly, his presence bringing an eerie calm over Axton. Even though Axton was not the Spartan Saratoga had first chosen, the two pulled together and made it work.
The Spartan only had seconds before he noticed a green bolt of plasma arcing straight towards the open wound in the pelican's side. "Hit the deck!" he barked, tucking in his shoulder and rolling to the side. Axton saw an emerald haze pouring through the open gash, but the other marines barely had time to tear their hands away from the metal rungs. Axton realized another Spartan would have been able to move quickly enough, but the marines didn't have a prayer.
Plasma washed over the inside of the pelican like a tidal wave, bathing everything in green fire, then the ball of plasma slammed into the opposite side of the pelican, smashing through and through.
Axton's shields were hacked in half, the alarm whining in his ear. His skin broiled and burned, until the hydrostatic gel, a liquid-filled layer that regulates the temperature of the suit, adjusted to keep the heat at bearable levels. The open wounds on his leg and arm were burnt to a crisp, the biofoam fusing into his charred flesh.
The rest of the crew, however, did not fare as well. They were instantly vaporized, their cries burnt away. The blinking green lights on his heads-up-display disappeared.
The pelican shuddered, rivets popping and the frame groaning. Axton latched onto the starboard side, just as the pelican split in half. He tucked his legs beneath him, avoiding the hunks of razor sharp super-heated metal crunching and snapping around him. The ablaze back-end of the pelican tumbled backwards, then erupted in a torrent of red and blue flames. The front of the pelican bucked forward, its previous contents falling out the open back.
Axton knew exactly what was coming next. The banshees would make one more sweeping run, engulfing both pieces of falling metal with red-hot plasma, then scan for life-signs. The Spartan only had one option left.
The stained white titanium alloy outer shell that encased his body was extremely resilient and could withstand high velocity impact, but falling at supersonic speed would crush his innards. Axton hoped it wouldn't come to that.
"Get jumping lugnut, no way to slow this bird down." Saratoga hissed quietly in his head, "the engines and reverse thrusters are shot,"
"Acknowledged." Axton shifted his grip so that his legs were dangling after the front of the falling pelican, flaming debris pinging against his already overwrought shields.
Axton released one hand from the side of the bent-in pelican, the wrecked hull beginning to break apart.
"Don't look down," Saratoga whispered, and Axton could tell the AI was nervous; if Axton was splattered across the surface of Arcadia, he would be too.
"Copy that." Axton released his other gauntleted hand, and careened into the open air.
Arcadia's untamed forests and enormous mountains spiraled across Axton's faceplate, forming into one green blur as the Spartan sped closer and closer to its surface. A mili-second more of unprofessional spinning and decades of training kicked in. He flattened his body out, spreading his arms and legs wide like a bird. The Spartan's wild descent stabilized, and the screaming wind muted to a mild wail. He only had a moments reprieve as a purple streak raced across his faceplate. Banshees. He boosted his motion sensor to maximum range, a series of red blips appearing. Axton twisted his head to look up at the separate pieces of UNSC aircraft that remained: the covenant fighters bathed them in green plasma, ensuring any survivors of their first volley were burned to less than a crisp. Amusement flickered in the Spartan's eye. Too late, he mused.
He had thought he'd escaped undiscovered, as the covenant aircraft appeared to be busy roasting the pieces of pelican, until a trio of banshees peeled off and raced towards him.
"Three banshees approaching your six approximately 7 seconds before they are in firing range. Adjust angle to negative thirty-six degrees to avoid being incinerated…within the 7 seconds anyway," a blue marker popped up at the base of an immense mound of dirt, surrounded by a sea of green. Axton tilted his shoulders slightly downward, his armored boots pointing towards the sky. His speed increased ten-fold, and he could now see the small streams and rivers that wound their way through the dense jungle.
"Over pressurize the hydrostic gel just before you hit, prepare yourself for possible nitrogen embolisms," Saratoga reminded him, "aim for the trees to slow you down, but steer clear of the rivers; they are shallow and filled with rocks."
"Noted," Axton replied, fully concentrated on avoiding the plasma bolts that whizzed past his head. His shields were taking a serious pounding as the plasma got closer and closer with every passing second. The alarms whined as a banshee swooped dangerously close.
"Prepare for impact."
Axton tucked in his legs, and gripped his knees tightly. The trees whacked away at his shields, chewing up the 17% of them that remained. He overrode the automated hydrostic gel settings, and over pressurized the liquid filled layer to maximum. Immense pain instantly seized his body, millions of needles stabbing into him. His skin burned, the energy sword wounds from the elite were searing hot mingled with an icy pang from the charred biofoam. He hadn't felt pain like this since he had the first augmentation injection back on Reach. Now though, he had no one to dip him in pain meds.
Axton pushed the thought to the back of his mind, just as he smacked into the hard surface of Arcadia at 130 meters per second. His vision swarmed with black splotches, his head whipping back against his helmet. The air was ripped from his lungs, crushing his ribs and tearing his right shoulder from its socket. Splinters exploded from the trees around him, the mushy ground rushing up like a tidal wave. Water trickled in the gaping crater the falling Spartan had created.
Axton tasted rusty copper in his mouth, the edges of his vision beginning to clear. The steady tingling began to fade, and only the throbbing from his broken ribs and shoulder remained. He laid there, completely vulnerable, life slowly refilling his punished body. The pain was good though, it helped Axton crawl out of his stupor and regain his senses.
"How bad…?" The Spartan coughed, his lungs burning.
"Three broken ribs, your right shoulder is out, and blood loss is reaching dangerous levels…you need to get moving Spartan. There is a UNSC base 7 clicks northwest of your current position." Axton didn't answer him, merely flexing his stiff fingers. A little blue marker blipped onto his visor.
Axton gritted his teeth as he pulled himself up and out of the two- meter-deep hole in the ground. He picked himself up, every fiber in his body protesting. The Spartan checked the remaining gear that was still clamped to his armor, and frowned at what he found. One assault rifle that was bent beyond repair, a knife lodged into its sheathe, an empty belt of grenades, and an ammo clip from his now missing shotgun. He discarded the assault rifle and yanked the knife from its sheathe. It slid out with a sharp slink, and sparkled as the sun's rays pierced through the thick canopy. For the first time since crashing into Arcadia's hard dirt, Axton looked to its atmosphere. He slowly slunk into the shadows of the lofty trees, vanishing entirely.
A fleet of monstrous covenant ships swarmed the air above something that seemed to be a smoking mountain of ash, the scent of burnt flesh wafting through the blackened sky. It was a square mile of wasteland, just another victim of the covenant assault. Axton tried not to think of all the lives lost, the innocent population slaughtered. He buried the thought, he had dealt with this for long enough to silence his pang of guilt.
Then the covenant fleet did something the Spartan had never thought possible. They turned around, and fled the planet. The Covenant was running away. Retreating. Axton was instantly suspicious; they were not done here. Over three quarters of the planet remained completely untouched. Axton kept his motion sensor charged to maximum range, which was still empty of any sign of other life.
"Snap out of it! Get moving." Saratoga hissed angrily, his nagging reminders poking at the Spartan's patience.
"Can it. I know exactly how much time I have." Axton snapped back, slowly creeping from the shadows. The AI remained silent, but Axton could sense his disdain. Ever since Saratoga's chosen Spartan, Raph, had been killed on Miridem in 2544, the AI had never been the same.
A long silence followed as the Spartan turned and trudged towards the little blue marker, moving silently through the dense underbrush despite his bulk. His wounds slowed him slightly, but he knew how to push his physical discomfort to the back of his mind, and quickly resumed his normal pace. The forest was absolutely void of sound, no birds chirped, no voles scuffling across the jungle floor. Streams carried bits of cinders and debris out to the ocean, no doubt turning it a dirty grey.
Axton was careful to stay clear of the gaps in the canopy to avoid detection from any covenant forces that may still be lurking nearby, searching for survivors. As he went, Axton tried to role his right shoulder, but it refused to move. He took a moment to shove it back into the socket with his good arm, ignoring the pain that streaked through his limb. The Spartan made his way towards the UNSC base, assuming of course that the base was still intact. Axton still couldn't understand why the covenant had left, especially if they hadn't glassed the UNSC forces on this planet. He decided they would be back to glass the planet at a later time, as Saratoga had already informed him the covenant had abandoned Arcadia's atmosphere.
Axton thudded over a fallen log, just as two yellow blips appeared on his visor. He froze, tightening his grip on the combat knife, and slowly lowered himself into a crouched position. The yellow dots didn't move, and Axton's friend-or-foe tag didn't appear above them.
"Careful. Contact 34 meters away, unknown persons. Tread lightly, leadfoot." Axton didn't respond, just shifting his weight so that only the balls of his feet squished against the mushy ground. He crept through the shadows of the forest, moving his way closer to the little yellow dots. Water leaked down the sides of his armor, clearing streaks of mud and blood from its exterior.
Axton knew the contact could easily be covenant snipers, or dual elite guards. He almost preferred an elite; the Jackals that normally manned the sniper position were sly and cowardly. He liked a challenge.
As soon as the yellow blips moved into the 20-meter mark, the Spartan flattened out on the wet ground, his ribs protesting as he laid his weight down. A dense row of underbrush towered above the Spartan, obscuring the scene before him. Axton tightened his grip on the slick knife, the blood pounding through his head. He could smell smoke hanging in the air, and assumed it was from the burning colony behind him.
As the Spartan pulled the thick brush back, and peered into the small clearing before him, a bloodied ODST stared back. The man had a plasma wound in his thigh that went to the bone, and an RPG lying at his side, still smoking. A massive crater was carved in the center of the clearing, and a strange smoldering hunk of flesh sat in the very center. A burnt-to-a-crisp covenant elite. He then saw the other contact. A wounded Elite crawled towards the man, its energy sword dragging on the ground behind it. The alien wore silver plated armor, the mark of a field minor. With its wheezing breath, the creature whipped the sword forward, just as Axton sprang from cover and sprinted towards the alien. He smashed his armored boot down on its paw, and thrust his combat knife through the back of the elite's neck. He held it down with one knee, as the distorted figure gargled and squirmed. A moment later, and the corpse was still. Axton turned towards the ODST, just as the falling sword slid home. It penetrated the man's stomach, the dead elites grip finally slackening on the weapon. The Spartan quickly knelt and took hold of the end of the sword, careful not to cause more damage than there already was. The ODST grunted as the knife slithered from his abdomen, but said nothing. Axton reached for his medical kit that held the biofoam, but came up empty. It had been lost in the fall from the pelican.
"Sent for a hog' half hour ago, be here any minute sir." The ODST coughed, his breathing ragged. Axton nodded, and yanked a clump of moss from the ground and packed it into the wounds, attempting to staunch the blood. If the soldier kept bleeding in this manor, he'd be dead within a couple of minutes. Luckily, the moss began to turn a sickly brown-red color, and the blood began to dry. The ODST lifted his steely blue eyes to gaze at Axton.
"Who are you...sir," the helljumper ventured, nodding towards the absence of a gold insignia.
"Spartan Axton." He replied, in a tone that clearly said 'none of your business.'
He gently lifted the major onto his feet, and slung the man's arm over his shoulder, crouching to match his height. The ODST's right leg with the plasma wound hung limp, completely useless. He clutched the knife wound at his stomach, holding the moss in place.
In the distance, the Spartan could hear the muffled roar of a warthog approaching, racing through the jungle towards their location. The roaring grew louder, until a standardized UNSC warthog with a gunner at the back popped into view and skidded to a stop in front of them. There were only two marines, one driving the vehicle and the other manning the machine gun in the back. They're eyes widened at seeing him, then both stumbled into a clumsy salute.
Axton ignored them, as he easily lifted the major into the back seat.
"I drive." Axton grumbled, turning to stomp back around to the driver's side. The marine nodded, and hurriedly jumped out the front seat and scrambled around the back to clamber into the passenger side.
The Spartan swung into the armored vehicle, engine still growling softly, gunned the warthog and spun it towards Bravo Base 070. The vehicle bounced across the narrow path, vegetation whipping against its sides. They traveled in this manor for another four clicks, before the blue marker on Axton's visor once again came into view. They rounded a tree-filled corner, and the UNSC base appeared from beyond the brush.
The base was small and rudimentary, but still held a landing bay on the second story. It had one main complex, with three smaller outer buildings connected by long halls. Base personnel were posted outside of all the structures, guarding the entrances. Most of them stared at the armored giant trudging towards the larger complex, along with the two marines carrying the wounded ODST major between them.
The soldiers guarding the steel door shakily saluted and stepped out of the way, swinging the door wide open for him. Axton thudded down the gray hallway, bringing up the bases schematics that Saratoga silently offered on his visor, and made his way to the control room. Whoever was running this place would be there.
"You should be heading to the medical bay first." Saratoga snipped, indicating the location on the base with a little blue dot.
"No time." Axton swung the door to the control room open, ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the door frame. The entire control turned to gape at the Spartan, as he approached the brigadier general that stood glaring at a small monitor. Axton laid his right hand across his helmet in salute, and said: "Spartan C026 reporting for duty."