Ch 28: Fireteam Osiris goes to War
The cloud cover finally broke. It was about dawn, just in time for fresh sunlight to shine down on the human colony. Agent Locke shielded his eyes and looked out over the scenery.
The UNSC airfield was located just outside the city New Topeka. Lush fields of green grass stretched out toward the horizon, broken up by the occasional hill and patch of woods. It was something straight out of a painting. Locke soaked up the sight while he could; his job being what it was, he didn't exactly have a lot of time to enjoy peaceful surroundings.
"Jamie? Holy shit, kid, is that you?" a familiar voice said from behind him.
No way.
Jameson Locke turned and saw Sgt. Murphy, his old Marine corps. squad leader, walking up to him. Locke stood at attention and saluted.
"Pretty sure ya don't have to do that anymore," Sgt. Murphy chuckled, returning the salute anyway.
"If you say so, sir," Agent Locke said. Sgt. Murphy had pulled Locke's ass out of the fire far too many times for him to ever not treat him as a superior, actual ranks be damned.
Sgt. Murphy shook his head and looked his former subordinate up and down. "Shit, look at you, all decked up in your new kit," he said, referring to Locke's ONI uniform. Locke had left the Marine Corps. to join the Office of Naval Intelligence several years prior. A recruiter had approached him with the offer of a transfer, saying that his skills would make him ideal for a job opening in the intelligence branch. Locke had hesitated, but Murphy had insisted that his brains could do more good in the black uniform of a spook than as a rank and file Marine. He had, of course, been proven correct.
Locke was currently on base to collect some relatively low level intel that could pan out to be important down the line. There was no need to be decked out in combat gear this time. The jet black ONI uniform tended to be more intimidating, anyway.
"Better than your beat-up rags," Locke quipped, referring to the sergeant's well used Marine armor. The man was probably still using the same gear he had been issued 2 decades prior. He seemed to hold it together with the same sheer willpower that he used to keep his own battered body functional.
"Oh, we an elitist now, Jamie?" Sgt. Murphy quipped right back. "Gotten too high and mighty for us lowly grunts?" He put his hand over his heart, a false look of heartbreak plastered on his scarred face.
"Ah, come off it, old man," Locke waved it off. "We both know you don't got a heart to break. Covies put too many holes through it." Locke decided to change the subject. "Anyway, what are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be kicking ass on the frontier?"
Sgt. Murphy snorted. "Had to have my annual check up. Pass half a century and all of a sudden the REMFs start thinking you're gonna croak any day now." Locke shook his head in disbelief. You'd need a tac nuke to bring down Sgt. Augustus Murphy.
An alert went out over the main comms. The dropship heading for the frigate in orbit was leaving in 10 minutes. It looked like Sgt. Murphy had to be on his way.
"Send me a comm later in the week," Murphy said, picking his duffel bag off of the ground. "I wanna hear how you've been making the Corps. proud, ya hear?" Locke responded in the affirmative and watched him rush off.
That had been a blast from the past. Locke hadn't really expected to ever see Murphy again. The Human-Covenant War had been going so badly at the time that Locke half expected the human race to be extinct within a matter of months. His assessment hadn't been far off.
Thank God for the Master Chief, Locke thought. If it hadn't been for him...
Locke shook his head, banishing the dark thoughts. Things had worked out. The Covenant had been defeated and humanity was relatively secure. Locke opened his compad and checked on the status of his package-
An explosion shattered the silence over the airfield.
A bloom of red flames rushed out from the center of the airfield. A wash of hot air impacted the right side of Locke's face. He drew his sidearm and turned toward the sound of the detonation. A lifetime of experience had taught him the subtle differences between various types of explosions. That was no malfunction.
Oh, no...
The Pelican dropship at the center of the airfield was a smoldering ruin. Locke pulled a headset out of his pocket, linked it to his neural implant, and accessed the UNSC comms. He pulled up the Friend or Foe tags of all Marines present. The base personnel were scrambling to respond to the threat. Locke cycled through the ID tags. Plasma fire started ringing out before he could find what he was looking for.
"For the glory of 'Mdama!" a guttural voice shouted in an alien tongue.
A number of sangheili had leaped out from a hiding place just behind some equipment crates. Their fire cut down a dozen service personnel before Locke could even rush to cover and get a bead on one of them.
The sidearm he carried proved surprisingly effective. These sangheili clearly did not have quality energy shields. A couple shots were all it took to down them. Locke took out one alien. Then, another. The hostiles quickly focused fire on his position. He was forced to retreat into cover.
He had done his job, though. The sangheili were so focused on him that they failed to notice the squad of Marines moving to flank them. The alien bastards were cut down in a matter of seconds.
Locke hovered off to the side, staying out of the way of the infantry as they secured the base. He went back to cycling through the FOF tags. His world seemed to fall out from under him as he found what he was looking for.
Murphy, A. Sgt.-KIA
This...this couldn't be right. The War was over. They had a truce with the sangheili! The sarge had survived the War!
Another, more distant explosion drew Locke's attention. Black smoke was rising out of the nearby city. Sirens and alarms echoed over the plains. It seemed that the strike on the base itself was just a distraction. Who were these hostiles, though?
It wasn't until nearly a month later that the new broke of a new faction within the sangheili society:
The Storm Covenant.
A radical band of those loyal to the old ways who were looking to get right back to where they were a few years ago: burning and slaughtering their way across the stars.
Locke had found out long before that, of course. Within hours of the terrorist strike on New Topeka, in fact. What had once been a splinter sect of radicals had grown into a national force capable of threatening the Arbiter and his faction. Humanity had a new, if familiar, enemy.
Less than a week after the news went public, Locke had been offered a place in the Spartan IV program.
This time, he didn't hesitate.
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The memories of the death of Sgt. Murphy, and of so many other fellow soldiers, floated in front of Locke's eyes. He blinked and forced himself back to the present.
This was bad. Very bad. ONI Command had determined that it was a near certainty that the Storm Covenant knew of the Guardian on Sanghelios and were seeking a means to control it. However, they had hoped that Osiris would be able to locate the damn thing first. The fact that 'Mdama was desperate enough to launch a raid on Conrad's Point suggested that the Guardian on Sanghelios was out of his reach.
Apparently, the situation had changed in the intervening months.
"I'm sorry, could you say that again?" Locke asked. Part of him couldn't help but hope that he had misheard.
"The Guardian is beneath Sunaion," the Arbiter replied. The sangheili head of state and the Spartan were currently in a briefing room, a few days after their first meeting in the throne room. Locke had been pleased when the Arbiter called a meeting. He had hoped that some early progress had been made.
Finding out that the Guardian was beneath the capital of the Storm Covenant was not what he had in mind.
"Jul 'Mdama knows about the Guardian, then," Locke stated.
"Lest you have a better explanation for why he would relocate his capital to a floating city far outside any strategic objective, yes, that is the conclusion," the Arbiter replied dryly.
Locke looked back at the hologram projected over the briefing room table. The City of Sunaion was actually a Forerunner installation. It consisted of a number of interlocking pieces, each the size and height of an average city block, which were held above the water line of a vast ocean by some kind of anti-gravity technology. It had long been held a sacred sight in the sangheili religion, which had been formed around the worship of the long-extinct Forerunners.
Recently, Jul 'Mdama, Supreme Leader of the Storm Covenant, had relocated to Sunaion. Following the wholly unexpected move, his forces had fortified every approach. The Swords of Sanghelios couldn't even get close to the place anymore. It was a last stand if Locke had ever seen one.
Or, at least, it would be unless 'Mdama succeeded in his quest to harness a Guardian.
"Do you think that the presence of the Guardian is the reason for the city's location?" Locke asked. Floating cities were not the norm, for obvious reasons.
"We now believe that to be the case," the Arbiter replied. "It has always been a mystery as to why it was there. Ancient legends tell of a mighty beast that slept beneath the waves, imprisoned by the divine will of the Forerunners. Nothing was ever found to link this beast to the Guardians, however."
"Is there any way we can infiltrate Sunaion? Solve the problem that way?" Locke asked. Blue Team would doubtless be moving to intercept whatever efforts the Storm was making; if he wanted to find them, that was where he had to go. Besides which, keeping the Storm Covenant from gaining control of a Guardian was of immense importance. They couldn't afford to wait for the Arbiter's armies to finally finish off the Storm.
"Even if you could, what purpose would it serve?" the Arbiter asked dismissively. "Are you going to secret the Guardian away under 'Mdama's nose?"
That pissed Locke off. He was careful not to let his annoyance show on his face, justified or not.
Besides, much as he hated to admit it, the split-lipped king was right. There was just no way to conclusively remove access to the Guardian from the Storm with a surgical strike. The Storm capital would have to be in friendly hands as soon as possible.
Meaning that if Locke wanted to complete his objective, he would have to help the Arbiter win his civil war. Fantastic.
"May I place a call to my superiors?" Locke asked. "I would like to...aid you in your efforts to defeat Jul 'Mdama and his forces." Locke tasted bile. Fighting alongside sangheili had been hard enough in the final days of the Human-Covenant War. Doing it again was not at all appealing.
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"Pilot 'Chava. May we speak?" the red-armored Spartan, 'Vale', asked as she approached the sangheili warrior. Mahkee suppressed a sigh. She had been dreading this. Why had she ever agreed to this human's request for conversation?
"Certainly," Mahkee said, trying to be accommodating. Her job was to be a guide as well as a warden, after all.
That still didn't make the prospect of this conversation any more appealing.
"Wonderful," the Spartan pronounced. Mahkee found her demeanor a bit grating. The human continued, "Let's start over with the basics, shall we? My name is Olympia Vale. I am a Spartan of the UNSC." She pressed her fist to her chest in a salute. At least she knew how to show respect.
"I am Mahkee 'Chava. Pilot and warrior of the Swords of Sanghelios," Mahkee replied, saluting in turn. So far so good.
The conversation continued for some time. The Spartan made numerous attempts at idle conversation. Mahkee was careful not to allow any sensitive information to slip past her mandibles. She didn't think this human was attempting to get information out of her—she just seemed too...cheerful to be a spy—but it paid to be cautious.
It became harder and harder for Mahkee to hide her unease. Many sangheili viewed humanity as cowardly vermin who had no skill at warfare, having to rely upon tricks and traps rather than strength. Even the Spartans were regarded with hate rather than respect, in some circles. Mahkee did not share these views. She had learned better thanks to the Arbiter's teachings. However, she had grown up during the War. Back then, every source of knowledge had condemned the humans as barely sapient wretches worthy only of extermination. Even now it was hard for Mahkee to share company with one without her hand hovering near her weapons.
"I like your face paint," the human commented, apparently oblivious about how demeaning the ornamentation actually was. "I've often wished my own kind had similar customs." Mahkee suppressed a snort. Considering how knowledgeable this one was when it came to sangheili society, it was rather surprising how oblivious she was where it came to gender. Then again, considering the sources she must have studied, Mahkee supposed she couldn't blame the human for having little insight into sangheili females.
Unfortunately, while it may not have been the Spartan's fault, her blunder made Mahkee's annoyance with her raise dramatically.
On and on the human went, trying to draw Mahkee into a deeper conversation that the sangheili female had no interest in. The final straw came when the Spartan broached a topic that Mahkee had no patience for.
"May I ask about your surname?"
Mahkee froze. The Spartan seemed to interpret that as a sign to continue.
"Are you related in any way to Fal 'Chavamee, the legendary Arbiter?"
"Not to my knowledge," Mahkee lied, making every effort to keep her inner anxiety off of her features.
"Oh," the Spartan replied, seeming dejected. Mahkee hoped that the human would drop the subject. She didn't.
"Do you have any relatives that might know?"
That did it.
Mahkee whirled on the human and stared her straight in the eye. Finally, at long last, the human seemed to realize she was overstepping her bounds.
"I must attend to my duties. Excuse me," Mahkee said. She then pushed past the Spartan without waiting for a reply.
Memories haunted the female sangheili warrior as she marched off without a destination. Memories of family members she had lost.
And family members she prayed she would never see again.
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The Swords military base was buzzing with activity. Sangheili and unggoy infantry were organizing into squads. There were no Kig-Yar or Lekgolo. The former, being mercenaries who had sided with the san 'shyuum in The Great Schism, were not trusted. The latter had been decimated in the same war and the Arbiter had relegated them to purely defensive deployments until their numbers could be restored.
Zealots barked orders to the squad leaders, who went on to bark orders at the rank and file. Unggoy ground crew rushed back and forth, making sure everyone was equipped and every vehicle prepared for service. Their sangheili apprentices rushed to keep up. They kept careful note of how their diminutive colleagues operated in wartime conditions.
Numerous vehicles were gearing up. A blue glow was the only visible sign of the gravity drives that kept each of them aloft. The single-pilot Ghost scout vehicles levitated off of the ground. Shadow ground transport craft moved forward, their centers filled with boxy troop compartments or equipment crates or even smaller vehicles. Phantom dropships lifted off, ferrying troops and supplies to far off posts.
In the center of it all, Fireteam Osiris prepared for their part in the final campaign of the sangheili civil war.
"Is it just me, boss," Tanaka began, "or is this mission pretty far from the frontlines?"
Tanaka was, of course, correct. Osiris had been assigned to a relatively small force with the task of eliminating a Storm Covenant fortress. Said fortress was about as far from the main offensive as they could get while still, technically, being part of the war.
"It may not be directly involved in the final push," Locke argued, trying to downplay how demeaning this was. He had argued long and hard with the Arbiter about taking a more vital role in the campaign. Using Spartans for anything other than essential operations was a waste. Unfortunately, the sangheili head of state seemed reluctant to allow humanity to share credit for his nation's victory, and had assigned them to a secondary fight. Locke continued his pitch, "But it is an important role. The fortress we're going to take is essential for the Storm's ability to harass and strike into Swords territory. If we remove it, the Arbiter will be able to commit more forces to the final push rather than securing his other borders."
"Makes sense to me," Buck said, nodding. Tanaka seemed to calm a bit at his words. It seemed she liked the former ODST a bit more than her squadleader.
At least they're bonding as a unit, Locke thought wryly. He turned their attention towards a holographic representation of the fortress itself.
Physically, it was more of a settlement than anything. There were no solid walls to speak of. The perimeter was marked off by poles driven into the ground with blinking emitters at the tops of them. The interior of the facility itself was a mess of ramshackle buildings and huts, looking more like the organic, chaotic evolution of an ancient city than a military position. The place was a maze. Apparently, it had originally been a smuggler's hideout before the Storm moved in.
Whatever it may lack in aesthetic beauty, it made up for in conventional defenses. The area was mountainous, which would limit any assault force to pick between 3 approaches. Only 1 of which was actually accessible. The other 2 were blocked off by plasma minefields. Naturally, the Storm had heavily fortified the only open approach with everything from Wraith tanks to plasma cannons.
Worse still were the anti-aircraft defenses. Massive Type-38 'Tyrant' Anti-aircraft Cannons defended all approaches. The 42.6m long, 45.6m high plasma gun emplacements fired guided spheres of superheated plasma that could knock out any aircraft with a single shot. They had even been used to destroy large starships in-orbit.
This was all in addition to the dozens of ground troops that surveillance had ID'd. This was the last foothold that the Storm had in Swords territory. With it gone, the only places left for the Arbiter's forces to strike would be comfortably within Storm territory. Every warrior there would fight to the death to defend it.
"So the choice is death by mine, death by gun emplacement, or death by anti-air fire," Buck summarized. "Which flavor of oblivion are we goin' with, sir?"
"By air," Locke replied. "A diversionary force of sangheili and unggoy will attack the primary approach to keep the Storm occupied. Meanwhile, the Swords are going to be firing shells of snow-blind particles all over the skies." Snow-blind was a type of charged particle that had the effect of confusing any known form of computer targeting. It was far from perfect, but a skilled pilot could make use of it to bypass conventional defenses. Hopefully. "The shells should confuse the Tyrant's targeting systems enough for Mahkee to fly us over for a hot drop. We bail out, use thruster packs to make landfall, neutralize the Tyrant guarding the east approach, and wait for the main assault force to join us. Once they do, we will move to these warehouse-like buildings in the fortress' center and secure whatever assets are inside. Questions?"
"Want me to try to land on one of the Tyrants, boss? With how heavy my damn armor weighs, I may be able to take it out with my landing alone. Kill 2 birds with 1 stone, right?" Tanaka quipped.
"Request denied," Locke replied, stone-faced. "Just survive the fall and regroup at these coordinates. We ship out in 10, people. Move like you've got a purpose."
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The darkened interior of the Phantom shook as a shockwave impacted its side. Locke breathed a little easier as Mahkee managed to keep control of the ship.
The explosion had been the destruction of the last of their fellow dropships. Locke could see it via his link to their Phantom's external sensors. Thankfully, only COs had access to the feeds, so the rest of Osiris wouldn't be demoralized. They would be the only friendly forces moving to take out the Tyrant. Assuming they got there in one piece, of course.
This plan was seeming more insane by the minute. Locke wondered if the Arbiter expected them to succeed at all. Maybe this was just a way to eliminate the troublesome Spartans without having to get his hands dirty. The possibility was distinctly uncomfortable.
The interior lighting of the Phantom's troop compartment turned from deep blue to scarlet. They were approaching the drop point.
"Move up, Osiris!" Locke barked. He and his squadmates moved toward the rear of the Phantom. They grabbed handholds and waited for their first glimpse of the open sky. The ventral grav lift would take far too long, so they would be bailing out of the seldom-used rear hatch. Locke quintuple-checked his external thruster pack. All green. His suit's internal thrusters could theoretically break his fall, but the strain of stopping a ton of supersoldier and MJOLNIR armor would strain the system to its breaking point. Attaching an external pack was the safer bet.
The Phantom's rear hatch opened. The wind whipped by at a deafening speed, eliminating the possibility of verbal communications. The skies were filled with bright, blue-white flashes as plasma shots that had fallen for the snow-blind's trick detonated in mid-air. The interior lighting turned from scarlet to yellow.
"Execute jump!" Locke shouted over the comms.
Locke leaped out first, leading the charge. He fell forward, angling his head downward with his arms flat at his sides to minimize wind resistance. He needed to get out of the sky as quickly as possible. A large readout occupied a significant part of his upper vision: the altitude sensor. The thruster pack would automatically deploy when it was time to begin slowing his descent, but he didn't want to take any chances.
Plasma shots continued to fly past or detonate in the air. One explosion was so close that the shockwave and wash of heat actually made Locke's shields flare up. He carefully used his thrusters to readjust his course. His heart pounded in his ears. That had been entirely too close.
Locke was unsure exactly where his squadmates were. He could faintly make out the blips on his visor that represented their current locations but he was far too focused on his own survival at the moment to pay them any real attention. This was normal for any such deployment; there just wasn't time to worry about anyone else with everything going on around you. In the middle of a drop, it was every man for himself.
At last, the altitude sensor hit its designated point and the thruster pack deployed. Locke's body pivoted until he was falling feet-first. Jets of white-hot air blasted out from nozzles attached to his back. His stomach lurched into his throat in protest over the sudden deceleration. At last, he hit the ground, rolled, and came up with his battle rifle drawn.
A group of unggoy stared at him in stunned disbelief. They seemed to have been in the process of transporting some kind of fuel cells when he landed. Clearly, the idea that a hostile would drop out of the sky hadn't occurred to them. Locke didn't give them a chance to recover from their shock. Half a magazine later, he was the only combatant in sight.
A quick check of his HUD told Locke that he was about 100m away from the rendezvous point. He moved out, keeping tabs on his motion tracker out of the corner of his eye.
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Fireteam Osiris linked up within the walls of the fortress and made their way toward the Tyrant AA battery. They stuck to cover where possible. The daylight made true stealth impossible, but their skill at covert operations and the chaos caused by the diversionary assault allowed them to avoid combat until their target was in sight. The enormous gun was mounted on a circular base. There was a small interior, blocked from view by solid walls of alien metal. Locke knew from past experience that the interior was a single cramped, circular room surrounding the inner workings of the cannon itself. There should only be a few technicians in there, at most.
The defenses around the Tyrant were relatively light: a few energy barriers and some Kig-Yar sharpshooters. Sloppy. Locke was surprised that the Storm still had the finances to pay the mercenaries.
Locke motioned his subordinates into position. Buck engaged his cloak and moved toward a vantage point close enough to make use of his submachinegun. Locke gave the order.
Fireteam Osiris opened fire. Utilizing precision targeting, the Spartans managed to eliminate all of the exterior guards within seconds. Even Tanaka managed to score a long-range kill by firing her SAW in bursts.
They all regrouped just outside the gun. Locke motioned Buck forward once again. The former ODST engaged his cloak and moved inside; a few silenced bursts later, he gave the all-clear.
"Tanaka, plant the demo charges," Locke ordered. "We'll cover you." Tanaka nodded and moved into the interior. Locke, Vale, and Buck all crouched behind the energy barriers. They were translucent, so they wouldn't work as concealment, but they would at least help them avoid a sniper shot. Tanaka emerged a moment later. A green light winked on Locke's HUD. Excellent. "Osiris, fall back."
Once safely behind cover, Locke sent the signal to the demo charges.
The ground shook as a blast of blue-white flames rushed out of the doorway to the Tyrant's interior. The defenses and the bodies of the dead defenders were instantly incinerated by the inferno. A ring of similar fire erupted around the pivot of the gun itself. The gun froze. As the fires faded, Locke could see the metal had melted. The ruptured plasma cells had effectively welded the weapon in place. The Tyrant was neutralized.
"Osiris Lead to Serpent Actual, Primary Target neutralized," Locke commed to the field commander in charge of the operation. "Repeat, Osiris Primary Target neutralized. Over."
"Affirmative, Osiris Lead. Move forward with next phase of operation."
"Copy, Serpent Actual. Osiris Lead, out," Locke commed. He motioned his squad to move out.
The journey toward the exterior perimeter was more arduous than the trip to the Tyrant had been. The destruction of one of their primary defensive measures had alerted the Storm forces that they had hostiles within the perimeter. The Spartan IVs eliminated all opposition with their trademark efficiency, but the delay cost time.
Eventually, though, they made their way to the outer defenses of one of the secondary approach vectors. After a quick assessment, they determined that any portable anti-air weapons would be stored in a small, shallow bunker just inside the line. Osiris took the bunker, hunkered down, and waited for the next phase of the plan.
Said next phase crested a hill: a pair of heavily modified Spirit dropships. The fork-shaped craft flew low over the ground in order to achieve their purpose.
There were several significant differences between the 2 classes of dropships utilized by the Swords, namely the Spirits and the Phantoms.
The Phantom was half-dropship and half-gunship. Emphasis was therefore upon maneuverability and firepower. It had multiple exterior guns as well as a 2 manned anti-infantry plasma cannons that could be deployed from small hatches to port and starboard.
The Spirit, by contrast, was pure dropship. It had only 1 exterior gun mount below the cockpit, located at the junction between the 2 'prongs' wherein the actual troops were transported, whose sole purpose was to provide cover for the dismounting warriors. Emphasis was, therefore, upon durability over all else. The energy shield of a Spirit dwarfed that of a Phantom. The vessel itself was composed of higher density materials, necessitating a more substantial reactor to power the thing. It was a myth amongst the UNSC that Spirits were effectively impossible to destroy. The Tyrant guns were, naturally, the exception to that rule.
These were the reasons it made sense to use modified Spirits for the task of clearing the minefield. The troop compartments had been removed, most of the armor plating stripped off, and the energy shield disabled. The gravity field which normally kept the prongs from pulling or being forced apart, as well as kept the vehicle itself aloft, had been angled downward. The reactor, free of its normal burdens, was able to push enough energy into the gravity generator to force a solid half-meter of topsoil to be lifted into the air.
Thereby setting off the mines.
The Spirits' gravity fields arced back and forth over the minefield as they went, setting off every buried explosive in their path. For several minutes an entire portion of the horizon was consumed by blinding flashes and geysers of now-molten soil. When the Spirits were finished, the way had been cleared for the infantry assault.
A legion of Ghosts and Shadows moved forward. Their gravity drives allowed them to hover over the ground, which had been turned into a mess of molten silicate particles and disturbed soil thanks to the Spirits' efforts. Dozens of sangheili and unggoy dismounted and pushed into the interior of the fortress. The sounds of battle quickly broke out.
Fireteam Osiris followed a small portion of the assault force into the fortress. They moved toward the large, warehouse-like building they had seen in the recon footage. The field commander had expressed great interest in securing the resources within as quickly and efficiently as possible.
The assault force ran into a fortified position about a kilometer into the fortress/city. Portable energy barriers had been deployed. Multiple sangheili were firing from behind the cover, keeping everyone pinned. Locke's first thought was to fall back and find another way around, but the sangheili low officer, 'Fulsa, said that they couldn't spare the time. It was essential that they reach the warehouse as soon as possible. 'Fulsa ordered a group of unggoy to head down an alley and move around to flank the position.
The unggoy were ambushed as soon as they entered the alley. Sangheili fired away from the rooftops and from the other end of the alley itself. To Locke's surprise, they didn't employ the usual unggoy small-unit tactic of immediately breaking and fearfully running for cover.
Instead, they bellowed a war cry and charged ahead into enemy fire.
"Osiris, help 'em out!" Locke commed. His fireteam began firing on the sangheili on the rooftops. They couldn't hit the hostiles on the other end of the alley for fear of hitting the unggoy with friendly fire.
Tanaka's SAW forced several sangheili to dive to cover while Locke battle rifle and Vale's assault rifle did the same. The energy shields, frustratingly, bought the enemy enough time to avoid death.
Plasma fire from the entrenched position began wearing away at the Spartans' cover. The members of Osiris were forced to abandon the attack in favor of moving to fresh obstructions. Tanaka's SAW made an admirable effort to keep the hostiles suppressed in turn.
Unfortunately, it was not enough. Most of the Swords forces they had accompanied had already been downed by the enemy fire. Mounted plasma cannons were blasting massive chunks out of the street and whatever cover the Spartans could find. Soon, there were only the Spartans and a few sangheili warriors left.
They were down to the last bit of cover. Enemy fire was beginning to punch through. The Spartans' energy shields flared up as the occasional shot hit them. A tactical retreat was looking in order.
Suddenly, the fortified position came under fire from the rear. The survivors of the unggoy flanking charge rained fire upon the enemy with their plasma pistols and scaled-down plasma rifles. Osiris and the surviving sangheili renewed their assault.
Locke downed targets with precision fire. Tanaka kept several suppressed, keeping them from seeking new cover; the unggoy cut them down without mercy. Vale and Buck fired short, controlled bursts, serving primarily to down enemy energy shields for the marksmen to finish off.
The survivors regrouped once the Storm forces had been eliminated. After that, it was a relatively uneventful journey toward the objective. The scatterings of resistance fell quickly to the vetted warriors.
They finally reached the warehouse. Low Officer 'Fulsa motioned Locke forward. He chafed at being ordered around by a sangheili, but they were better equipped for this than this particular group of Swords warriors. Locke ordered Vale to hack the door lock. She did so. Lock opened the door a crack and snaked a fiberoptic probe through.
The interior of the warehouse was filled with crates stacked almost to the ceiling. There were no hostiles that he could see. Still, it wasn't in the habit of any Spartan to take chances. He removed the probe and motioned Buck to the other side of the door.
Locke threw a flashbang into the interior. It went off. Buck engaged his cloak and rushed in. The rest of Osiris followed. Tanaka, with her strong shields and armor, took the lead once again.
No hostiles.
This was making Locke uneasy. The Spartans moved into the warehouse with the sangheili in tow. The stacks of crates ended about half-way into the building. It was here that they met their first hostiles.
It was a pair of sangheili. They were unarmored and their arms were full of some sort of sacks. They froze upon seeing the intruders.
Rather than drop their burdens and reach for weapons, the sangheili gripped their packages tighter and turned to run. They made it less than a meter before they were gunned down by the Spartans. One of the sacks broke open when its owner fell. A material resembling blue sand spilled onto the floor.
The sensors in Locke's armor didn't register as any kind of valuable material that was on file. He looked to 'Fulsa and gestured to the stuff questioningly.
"Silver serpent venom," the low officer said with obvious contempt. "It is a powerful narcotic. Many sought comfort in it in the early days of turmoil following the Great Schism. The Arbiter was forced to outlaw the substance to restore order. The Storm has condemned it as sinful and confiscates it whenever they can. Naturally," he said with a snort, "this does not stop them from trafficking the poison themselves."
"Are you telling me we took time out of an assault for a drug raid?" Locke asked incredulously.
"Of course we did not!" the low officer retorted. "The treasure we seek must lie deeper within. Let us continue."
Another storage area greeted them. On the other side, they found that the second half of the warehouse was walled off.
A small object arced toward the party.
"Take cover!" Locke ordered.
The object hit the ground and exploded, unleashing a wave of burning liquid. The napalm-like substance burned hot enough to reduce the crates it hit to puddles of molten slag.
Incendiary grenades.
Plasma fire soon followed the deployment of the grenade. A small force of sangheili, all of whom wore respirators, had emerged from a small utility room to the side.
The battle was brief, but tense. The party fired at hostiles, the hostiles fired back. It was abruptly ended when a stray shot, probably from one of the Swords plasma rifles, managed to detonate another incendiary grenade still attached to its owner's belt. The remaining hostiles screamed in agony as the liquid burned through their shields, armor, and flesh. Gunning them down was more of a mercy than anything, at that point.
Moving to secure the utility room the hostiles had emerged from, they discovered multiple crates of incendiary grenades as well as a fair amount of flammable materials. Apparently, the Storm forces had orders to employ a scorched earth strategy when it came to whatever was in the second half of the warehouse. Low Officer 'Fulsa's impatience suddenly made a lot more sense.
A locked door blocked the way to the last portion of the building they had to secure. Once again, Vale proved her hacking skills by swiftly overriding the controls. Locke snaked another probe through.
The interior was pitch dark. Locke activated the enhanced light mode of the probe. He saw multiple cages. What made him pause at first was the composition of the cages themselves: solid metal. Nearly all alien forces that had once been part of the Covenant utilized energy barriers. Solid metal cages would be viewed as pathetically barbaric by any self-respecting sangheili. Then Locke noticed what was in the cages themselves.
"What the hell is going on here?" Locke asked, whirling on Low Officer 'Fulsa.
The sangheili pressed forward with great interest. "What is it?" he asked. "What did you see?"
"Cages," Locke bit out. Before he could continue, 'Fulsa had shoved past Locke and pushed into the room.
The sangheili pushed deeper into the room. Locke, reluctantly, followed, ordering the rest of Osiris to keep a sharp watch out for hostiles. They quickly cleared the rest of the room.
They were surrounded by cages. Within those cages...were sangheili. Female sangheili.
"Qeta!" 'Fulsa shouted. "Qeta 'Fulsa! Is Qeta 'Fulsa here?!"
A soft, squeaky voice answered from down the row. "Papa...? Papa, is that you?"
'Fulsa rushed toward the noise. He dropped to his knees and reached through the bars, embracing the other sangheili as best he could through the bars. Locke saw that they other was a sangheili adolescent. Probably their equivalent of a teenager, if he was judging the size correctly.
The low officer assured the girl, apparently his daughter, that he would get her out as quickly as possible. "Papa's here," he whispered.
Low Officer 'Fulsa removed a device from a compartment on his belt and raised it to his mouth. It amplified his voice much like a loudspeaker. "Attention. The Arbiter's forces have arrived. Soon you will all be free. You must wait but a short while, as battle still rages outside. Food and medical supplies will soon be delivered. Rest easy, sisters. The Arbiter has you in his embrace once again."
"Care to offer an explanation?" Locke asked, the sangheili's announcement apparently complete. He had been assuming that the 'resources' he was acquiring would be something like plasma cells or other supplies. He didn't like being left out of the loop like this.
"The Storm enjoy taking female prisoners on their raids," 'Fulsa said. He had crouched back down and was rubbing his daughter's back comfortingly. "They view those of the Arbiter's nation to be infidels. Thus, they claim, the members of the Storm are free to enslave their females and...use them for their own ends." He gripped his daughter slightly tighter through the bars.
It made a twisted kind of sense. Ideologically, it reinforced the idea of the Storm's enemies being sub-human. Or sub-sangheili, whatever. Strategically, it was probably meant to weaken the resolve of the Swords populace. Locke silently snorted in contempt. Historically, such efforts had only ever galvanized populations to fight ever harder. Campaigns of terror rarely worked in the long run.
For some reason, that fact bothered Locke more than it should have. More than it would have, a month or two ago. He looked around the room.
Something about the sangheili captives was bothering Locke. There was something almost...familiar about them. Many of them were malnourished and had clearly suffered signs of physical abuse. In many of them their scales had turned from gray to a sickly dirty yellow. His helmet's sensors were picking up the scents of waste, filth, and fecal matter. These sangheili were suffering. Badly.
It was something about their eyes, though. Something about the way that fear and desperation were waging their own inner war within the hearts of all those present. Some had clearly already lost said war. Others were still fiercely fighting it.
The room started spinning. Impossibly, Locke was starting to feel claustrophobic. He needed space. Needed fresh air.
"Stay here, Osiris," Locke ordered. He was careful to keep his anxiety out of his voice. "I'm getting some interference in here. I'm gonna go outside, try to contact command."
The other members of Osiris looked at each other in confusion. "Sir?" Vale asked, confused.
"Just stay here," Locke bit out. He turned and strode out of the room. He moved as quickly as he could without looking like he was running away.
Once he got outside, Locke moved around to the alley on the side of the warehouse. He leaned his left arm against the building.
What the hell was going on? What was wrong with him?
His self-examination was interrupted by a plasma grenade landing at his feet.
Locke lunged away, using his thrusters to amplify his speed. It wasn't quite enough to avoid the blast, but it was enough to avoid being incinerated. He heard alarms beeping in his helmet. His shields were down. Locke drew his rifle and desperately scanned his surroundings.
A beam rifle shot him through the chest.
Locke couldn't breathe. He felt his chest sear with pain and then grown numb as his armor automatically injected him with biofoam. He collapsed to one knee. Another beam rifle shot passed overhead. Locke scrambled forward, trying to reach the side-alley half-way toward the end of the alley he was in.
Osiris, mayday mayday. I am under sniper fire.
He had to send a typed message utilizing his neural implant. His punctured lung made it impossible to speak.
Locke felt weak. He could barely stand up. That shot must have hit something else. Something vital. He couldn't quite read the alert displayed on the inside of his visor that was trying to tell him of his exact injury. Nor could he read what he prayed was a response from his fireteam, desperately rushing to his rescue.
Another shot grazed Locke's shoulder as he stumbled around the corner. The high-intensity energy shot burned a molten trench through his armor. Locke collapsed to the ground. He had lost his battle rifle somewhere. He tried to stand, but couldn't. He crawled forward.
Locke came to a dead end.
He was trapped.
His vision was going fuzzy.
Locke turned around, lying on his back, and faced the entrance to the dead end. He tried to draw his sidearm. His hand couldn't quite grasp the weapon. He was helpless.
A figure entered the side-alley. It was tall. At least, Locke thought it was tall. He couldn't quite make his attacker out. Then, as it drew closer, into focus, Locke recognized him.
The Master Chief.
The legendary Spartan II depolarized his visor. Locke saw his face. Saw his eyes. Saw the pain...the grief...the agonized fury burning in those orbs. Burning toward him.
The Master Chief raised his assault rifle. He aimed it at Locke's head.
Note: The 'snow-blind' stuff was stolen from the fanfic 'Mass Effect: Human Revolution', a crossover of the Mass Effect and Deus Ex series. I have no idea if it was inspired by anything else.
Note: The drug and sex slave thing was based on the real life behavior of ISIS in the Middle East.
George R. R. Martin once said something to the effect of "no matter what a writer comes up with, there were times in human history where real people have done something worse." Yeah.
Note: I have such an ambivalent relationship with cliffhangers. I hate and rage at them when I encounter them in other people's work, yet I get a perverse pleasure out of using them myself. I guess I'm just kind of sick that way :)
Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
Slipspace Anomaly