Chapter 34: Push to the Shore, part 2
The hallway had been quiet for several minutes. Nearly an hour, in fact. Mahkee had waited patiently, as she always did when she viewed the letter again.
The dataslate rested on her bunk, just in front of her sitting form. She had found it between her sheets long ago. Just after she had been officially inducted into the 9th Legion as a pilot. Scrawled upon the back of its casing was a series of markings which still threatened to drown the sangheili female in memories from another lifetime.
The markings were part of a code that she had invented as a child. She had always enjoyed playing war, even when she had been committed to eventually filling the 'proper' role of a housewife. She had delighted in communicating with her playmates in such a way that only they would be able to understand. She had executed a number of pranks with its help.
There were only ever a few people in the world who knew the code. Nearly all of them were now dead.
All except one.
It had taken several days for Mahkee to work up the courage to view the message. It pained her that she would be so cowardly; that a sangheili warrior, who had already faced mortal combat and lived, would be cowed by a mere dataslate. Still, her caution had been warranted. Mahkee had waited until she was sure—as sure as she could be—that she wouldn't be observed before she finally viewed it.
That had been years ago. Mahkee had viewed the letter several times since then. She was unsure why. Perhaps she was more sentimental than she cared to admit. She activated the dataslate once again.
A hologram appeared over the surface of the device. A male sangheili with familiar features stared back at her. It was a recorded message. Mahkee pressed play.
"Cherished Cousin," the recording began. It had been nearly a decade since Mahkee had seen her Aunt's son, Kitun 'Savan. The recording continued. "I pray this message finds you well. I only wish I could see you in person. I..." the male sangheili trailed off for a moment. Mahkee could see him compose himself, force himself not to be overcome by emotion. A sangheili warrior must show no weakness. "I had feared that I was the only one left. Words cannot express the joy I felt upon learning that you, my oldest friend, had survived the betrayal of the san shy'uum. Regardless of what happens, of where fate lands us, know that I will I will always love you, Makky."
Mahkee nearly teared up as she heard that damnable nickname again. How she had hated that intentional mispronunciation as a young child. She was amazed at how welcome it now sounded to her ear ridges. She struggled to keep herself composed. A sangheili warrior must show no weakness.
The message kept playing.
"Now I must ask that most difficult question: why?" the hologram asked. "Why have you sided with the false-Arbiter and his heretics? Do you not know that they discard the Old Ways? Do you not know how they make a mockery of all that our forefathers believed?" Kitun's face took on a sympathetic expression. "I know the doubt that you must feel, Cousin. I felt it myself after the Great Schism. I, too, saw the betrayal of the Prophets. Surely, though, you must know that the Old Ways preceded the Old Covenant? Much of what the Prophets taught was false, but the Didact's Hand has removed those teachings. The great 'Mdama guides us down the path our ancestors followed. Under him, the Storm Covenant is different. It upholds the traditions of Sanghelios from before the Covenant, before the Prophet's lies. The false-Arbiter would have use abandon all of it!" Kitun's expression took on an air of outraged exasperation. "By the gods, many do not even worship the Holy Forerunners! That grotesque joke of an 'Arbiter' actually tolerates atheism! How can you see that and not flee in revulsion? How, Cousin Mahkee?"
A bitter smile grew on Mahkee's face. How ignorant her relative was. The Old Ways? Under that system, she would be forbidden from carrying on her family legacy. Kitun was honorable, but he was not the child of her father. He was also a member of the Honor Guard—the most elite warriors in all of the Old Covenant. His oaths had stripped him of all connection to his family and forbidden him from ever siring heirs. If anyone was to redeem the name ''Chava', it would have to be her. The Storm Covenant would forever deny that to her. It would destroy her dreams. If only Kitun could see that.
If only he could also see the slavery, drug trafficking, and other evils that the Storm was willing to stoop to. Her cousin must be blind indeed not to see how utterly barbaric that faction truly was. Perhaps 'Mdama or the rest of the Storm leadership had warriors like him isolated from all of the truly vile aspects of their rule. Granted, the letter had been sent in the early days of the current conflict, back when the true evil of Jul 'Mdama had yet to fully show itself. Perhaps he had since seen the truth.
Or perhaps he was dead. Perhaps Mahkee was finally, truly, alone...
"I know the fire that dwells within you, Cherished Cousin," 'Kitun's message continued, oblivious to Mahkee's thoughts. "I remember the days we spent as younglings, hunting the vermin that grew upon our lands. I remember the time we sneaked onto the plains and hunted a true predator. We both proved ourselves to be steel that day. But Cousin," his eyes took on a pleading expression, "it is not the place of a female to wear steel. She should be steel, hidden behind silk. You should be wed and on you way to becoming a matriarch by now. You deserve all of the honor and respect that I know you can attain. Please. I beg you...abandon your foolish path. Come and join me in the new Covenant."
There was a pause. Perhaps he intended to give Mahkee a moment to think before continuing. Perhaps the emotion of the message was overwhelming him. There was no way to know.
The holographic image of her relative steeled its expression. "I pray you will heed my plea, Cousin Mahkee. Till that day...I wish you well."
The message ended. Mahkee continued to stare at Kitun's likeness. It was an effort to force back tears.
The sound of footsteps reached through the walls. Mahkee hurriedly stashed the dataslate in its hiding place and feigned sleep. There were still many hours until her duties recommenced.
Sleep, as always, proved elusive for the warrior.
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Mahkee's Phantom screamed close overhead, passing Locke's position as its pilot rushed to the relative security of the other side of the ravine. The Spartan couldn't blame her.
The Kraken was heading their way.
The enormous walking tank thundered its way toward the Swords position and there didn't seem to be any way to stop it. The Arbiter's ships in orbit wouldn't dare fire their starship-grade weapons at the sacred soil of Sanghelios. The mobile weaponry of the Swords forces on the ground wouldn't even make a dent in the Kraken's armor.
Damn it, there has to be a way to stop it, Locke thought to himself. If they allowed the Storm to recapture the ravine it would be nearly impossible to take it back again. There would be no repeat of the kig-yar defection. Not to mention the fire-support of the Kraken making another vehicular assault tantamount to mass suicide.
Occasional fuel rod shots from the Kraken itself flew by overhead or detonated on the ground before the Spartans' position. Locke and the rest of Fireteam Osiris took what cover they could behind the derelict Storm defenses. The bright flashes and thunderous detonations started growing more and more all-encompassing. Soon, the lumbering beast would get within effective weapons range. There were, at most, minutes before they would be forced to retreat or be glassed themselves.
The Spartan and ONI Agent forced himself to focus. Think logically. Not an easy feat considering the circumstances, but he had plenty of practice. He tuned out the world around him.
What did they need to accomplish?
For the moment, they needed to hold the ravine.
What was preventing them from doing that?
The big goddamn war machine heading their way.
How can they stop it?
Either destroy it or, failing that, drive it off.
How can they do that?
There was the question. Locke couldn't see any way of disabling the Kraken before it reached them. There were no visible weaknesses to target. Even the limbs were heavily armored (how the hell did a thing that heavy not sink into the ground?). There were no visible openings to board it. The energy barriers along its top seemed to block all potential entry points.
So, neutralizing it was probably out. How about driving it off?
They would either have to heavily damage it or convince its commander that it was too risky to pursue a direct attack. The damn thing had to be too expensive to risk letting it get crippled so early into its deployment. Problem was, Locke didn't know of any weapons in their possession that could pose such a threat to their encroaching doom.
"Osiris Lead to Legionmaster 'Heran. Please respond, over," Locke commed.
"I heed you, Osiris Lead. I take it you have another suggestion?" There was a bit more hope and respect in the sangheili's tone than there had been at the war council. Apparently, beating him up was the best way to ingratiate oneself with the sangheili general.
"Do you have any weaponry capable of harming the Kraken?" Locke asked, using the ad hoc name that the Swords forces had immediately coined for the thing.
There was a growl over the comms. "Though I am loathe to admit it, no, I do not. None had anticipated that...monstrosity," 'Heran bit out. "I ask again, do you have a solution?"
"Stand by," Locke said. He thought some more. There had to be a way.
The only weaponry with the kind of firepower they needed were the stationary guns the Storm had set up above the ravine. Unfortunately, they had all been destroyed to allow the Swords aircraft to join the fight. Locke examined each of the cannons as best he could from his position. Maybe one of them was salvageable.
Scrap...Slag...Trashed...
One by one Locke eliminated guns as possibilities. The demo charges had been too thorough. At last, he paused, his eyes zeroing in on one that looked mostly whole.
"Osiris, I'm going to go check out that Tyrant," he commed, sending a signal that would highlight the weapon on their HUDs. After receiving their acknowledgments, he leaped from his cover and sprinted toward the gun in question.
This particular Tyrant must have been disabled by one of the sangheili teams. Osiris would have never done such a sloppy job. Locke found an intact control surface and plugged his gauntlet into it. The advanced programs within his suit enabled him to interface with the alien computer systems. He ran a diagnostic.
Locke grimaced as he analyzed the data. The gun's ability to move had been heavily damaged. He estimated maybe a 45º cone of targeting. That was assuming they could repair the circuitry that had been damaged by what Locke guessed were faulty demo charges.
"Osiris Lead to Legionmaster 'Heran," Locke commed again, hoping the general wasn't too annoyed at having been place on hold for several minutes. "One of the Tyrants could be brought back online to partial functionality. Are there any engineering personnel within range?"
There was a delay before 'Heran responded. "None that I am willing to risk. You must find another way."
The steps of the Kraken were getting louder. Locke growled in frustration before replying.
"We don't have time for that!" he insisted. "If we don't get this gun back online, now, we will lose this position. We can't afford the cost in time and warriors to retake it, Legionmaster!"
Another delay. Locke imagined the proud officer fuming at the Spartan's insistence on viewing the reality of the situation. He only hoped that desire for victory would trump the general's pride.
"I heed you, Spartan," 'Heran replied, at last. "I am sending a huragok to you now. If the Tyrant can indeed be repaired, it should complete the task promptly."
"...Acknowledged, 'Legionmaster 'Heran," Locke said, surprised. The jellyfish-looking engineers had been in short supply ever since the final days of the Human-Covenant War. The Jiralhanae, more commonly known by their more accurate nickname 'Brutes', had decided it would be a good idea to deploy the huragok in battle. The floating engineers were equipped with shield-generators that reinforced the personal shields of any infantry within range...as well as a self-destruct charge that would blow the incredibly valuable technological asset to bits if damaged or captured. Thus, as with the lekgolo, the Arbiter had placed them in reserve until their numbers could be restored. Apparently, fear of what 'Mdama might unleash was leading the Swords leadership to be rather liberal with that restriction.
So. They had a plan. Now they just needed to survive long enough for it to work.
"Anything we can do in the meantime, boss?" Tanaka asked after he explained the situation to the rest of Osiris. Apparently, she didn't like waiting around and hoping someone else could solve her problems for her.
Locke experienced a rare moment of sympathy with one of his teammates. He felt the same way.
After taking a moment to reexamine the area, Locke pointed at a disabled fuel rod turret. "Try to salvage what you can from that turret. Everyone else, look for heavy weapons. We can't disable that thing but we might be able to slow it down.
Fireteam Osiris went to work. Tanaka proceeded to rip a relatively small fuel rod cannon off of the turret. With a bit of modification, she and Buck turned it into an improvised hand-held artillery piece. The rest of them scoured the battlefield for more traditional heavy weapons, coming up with a few infantry-grad fuel rod guns.
The huragok arrived as they worked. Apparently this particular engineer, named 'Reaches-Far-Quickly', was on loan from some kind of university expedition. What the hell the Arbiter was thinking dedicating valuable wartime assets to academic pursuits was something he would dwell on later. For the moment, he just allowed the twittering creature to get to work on the only hope they had of holding this position.
The ground started to shake from the sheer force of the Kraken's footsteps. Pebbles and loose soil started to roll down the sides of the ravine.
The echo of its stride was rapidly ceasing to be an echo. Time was running out. The only bright side was the fact that it had ceased firing its vehicle-grade fuel rod cannons; its commander probably didn't want to risk the thing losing its footing on damaged ground. Even a minor stumble would shatter a vehicle that heavy from the sheer weight of its impact.
A light went off in the Spartan's head. Locke commed his subordinates. "Osiris, target the ground that the Kraken is about to step on. If we can make it proceed more carefully, we can buy the huragok more time." Acknowledgments answered him.
Tanaka hefted the fuel rod cannon at waist height. The damn thing weighed too much for even her to shoulder. She used her augmented senses and the sophisticated software in her helmet to arc her shots with as much precision as possible.
The first several shots still missed before the Spartan got used to it. It was expected with such a cobbled-together piece of equipment. That didn't stop Locke from having a voice screaming in the back of his head to hurry the fuck up and hit the target before they were all glassed. Locke and Buck both hefted their own appropriated fuel rod weapons.
At last, Fireteam Osiris coordinated their fire like the supersoldiers they were supposed to be. Using their augmented reflexes, they aimed their shots to impact the precise patch of ground that the Kraken's foot landed on mere fractions of a second before impact.
The Kraken's pace slowed significantly. Any legged vehicle had to have sensors in the 'feet' to detect when it had tread upon unstable ground. It was a necessary and universal safety feature to prevent getting stuck or damaged. Locke could imagine the control center of the behemoth blaring with warnings and demanding action lest the war machine stumble.
"Status on the Tyrant!" Locke shouted into the comms.
"We are nearly ready, Spartan," the Swords officer directly overseeing the huragok replied.
Locke ground his teeth in frustration. "Tell that thing to hurry up or we're all going to be glass!"
The Kraken stopped moving.
Silence descended across the battlefield. The sight of the walker completely still was somehow more terrifying than when it had been moving toward them. His current strategy neutralized, Locke lowered his weapon and glanced back at the Tyrant.
The huragok was clutching a heavy piece of hardware in 2 of its tentacles. It then used its other appendages to climb the exterior of the gun until it reached the hardware's destination. Locke had always wondered how creatures that moved by floating could handle engineering tasks without their tools pulling them to the ground. Apparently, a huragok's musculature was tough as carbon nanotubes.
Several shots arced off of the Kraken. "Take cover!" Locke shouted.
Titanic explosions surrounded the defenders. Entire sections of cliff were vaporized instantaneously. Sections of the defenses collapsed into the ravine and the plains beyond. One of the derelict defensive turrets was struck.
The disabled turret exploded with the force of a hurricane.
Those not within cover were knocked off of their feet. Rocks and debris flew through the air like bullets, leaving pockmarks in whatever cover was left. Locke's helmet automatically cut off all exterior audio to keep him from being deafened.
The ground shook. This time, though, it was...different. It almost felt more like a hum than the explosion of an impact. Locke risked a peak over his cover.
A glowing blue-white ball of plasma was flying directly at the Kraken. Locke's heart soared. The floating gas bag had done it!
The shot impacted directly on the energy barriers surrounding the Kraken's upper section. A blinding blue-white flash obscured Locke's vision before fading away.
Revealing the Kraken, completely unharmed.
The only evidence the shot had landed at all was the visible brightening of the energy barriers themselves, indicating they had been drained significantly by the shot. Just not enough to down them.
Green lights started appearing again. This time, so many activated that the Kraken seemed to be covered in a green aura. Locke opened his comms to order Osiris to retreat-
The green lights started winking out. The fuel rod turrets were deactivating. Abruptly, the Kraken reversed course and headed back toward the seaport. Some of the turrets took a few seconds to power down, as if reluctant to abandon the attack, but eventually they, too, fell dormant.
"That's the problem with secret weapons," Buck commented, sagging to the ground in relief. "They cost so damn much you feel like you can't risk 'em. Gotta pull back if it starts to look hairy."
Locke looked at the retreating Kraken. He also looked at the seaport that it was walking directly toward.
"They have nothing to gain by risking it here," Locke added. "All they have to do is stall for time."
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"That monstrosity is absurd," Legionmaster 'Heran said. Locke looked at the holographic representation of the Storm war machine. The sangheili general, also represented by a hologram for the purposes of the mid-mission conference call, shook his head in contempt. "It must have cost a thousand fortunes to manufacture. They could have produced a horde of Wraith tanks for the cost of this unit alone. Not to mention the utter impossibility of transporting it to another theater of battle. I confess I admire physical might to a point, but this...thing takes it too far."
This was not the reaction Locke would have expected from 'Heran. This particular sangheili general struck him as the sort of soldier who would get wood just thinking about something like the Kraken. Although, the Spartan would swear he detected a bit of envy in the alien's tone.
Maybe he was just jealous because the Swords didn't have one of their own for him to command.
"It hardly matters, Legionmaster," Locke replied with a sigh, setting aside his psychological critique of his ally of convenience. "'Mdama is nearing his endgame. All he needs to do is seize control of the Guardian and the war will be won. If the Kraken can stall us for long enough for him to accomplish his goal, the cost won't matter."
The sangheili growled in frustration. Locke was fairly certain the expression wasn't directed at him but he still felt a tingle of unease. For the majority of his life those kinds of noises had been accompanied by the deaths of millions of innocents. He tried not to let the past drag him down again.
A notification announced the 'arrival' of another caller. A new holographic image, that of an unggoy engineer, appeared around the central image of the Kraken. "Greetings, sirs," the diminutive alien said. "We believe we have found the origin of the device you have encountered. The Kraken, like the venerable Scarab before it, appears to have been based on designs of mining equipment." Yet another holographic image appeared next to the representation of the Kraken, the war machine seeming to shrink to half-size to accommodate it. The new image resembled a stripped down variant of the Kraken. The unggoy explained, "This is the Le'tuc IV Excavation Unit. It is a mining platform designed to harvest valuable materials from low-gravity planetary bodies."
"That explains the size, then," Locke interrupted. It made sense that such a colossal vehicle would never have been intended for use on a planet with Earth-comparable gravity. "Any idea how 'Mdama managed to get it working in higher gravity?"
"We do, indeed, milord," the diminutive alien replied deferentially. He was probably afraid of inviting the wrath of the whip if he displeased the military officers. Locke suppressed a smile as the alien engineer continued. "Judging by the readings your glorious warriors have sent us, we have determined that a powerful gravity drive has been installed within the machine's torso-section. "
Locke had to suppress a whistle. 'Mdama was pulling out all the stops to throw obstacles in their way.
A thought occurred to him. A potential weakness that, if Locke was guessing right, could potentially lead to a solution. "The Kraken's powerplant is capable of supporting that?" he asked.
"Just barely, milord," the unggoy replied. "The power core must be pushed to its very limit to sustain the additional armor, defensive barriers, and weaponry we have identified."
"Meaning any additional strain could lead to the failure of one or several of those systems," Locke pressed, smelling blood.
The engineer took a moment to think. "I believe you are correct, milord. It would have to be a significant strain to have any noticeable effect, of course, but the power core could only take so much."
Locke stared at the holographic image of the Kraken, searching for inspiration. The jury-rigged Tyrant would be of no help. Even if they could somehow keep the walker still long enough to land several direct hits, the huragok had only been able to restore the gun to partial functionality. The plasma shots it produced were significantly weaker than that of a fully operational Tyrant. There had to be another way.
The crackle of blue light at the base of the Kraken's torso drew Locke's eye. That must be the gravity drive. It was clear from the way the limbs moved that the drive was only handling part of the weight, likely just enough to compensate for the gravity levels being higher than was ever intended for the original design. If they could somehow shift the titanic weight of the war machine further onto the gravity drive, it could force the Kraken to dedicate so much power to the drive that its barriers would be unable to withstand sustained fire.
Digging a trap, maybe? The Kraken only had 3 limbs. If one were to become disabled, such as by falling into a carefully dug pit, the gravity drive would have to be used to get the thing upright. Locke dismissed that notion. They would be unable to prepare such a trap without being seen on the enemy's side of the ravine. Any machinery that allowed them to dig one from the friendly side would produce power readings that a blind unggoy could pick up.
"Is there any way to dig a trap?" 'Heran asked. Locke suppressed a groan. No technology, human or alien, could perform such a feat.
A light went off in Locke's head. "There might be, actually," he said to the sangheili general. If he had been willing to utilize a huragok, perhaps... "Do you have access to any lekgolo?"
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The Kraken continued its patrol. It had been walking, back and forth, between the ravine and the seaport for several hours. It had not varied its path in any significant way. Eventually, it would probably dig a trench just with its thunderous footsteps. It made sense that its commander wouldn't feel the need to make the vehicle's path more unpredictable. After all, there was little the Swords could do to affect it.
Locke was counting on that overconfidence. He continued watching the Kraken, waiting for the trap to finally spring. The war machine moved one of its 3 legs forward, utilizing the controlled falling that all 2- or 3-legged organisms require to stay mobile. The enormous 'foot' touched the ground-
The foot sunk into the ground. Unexpectedly—for the Storm, at least—almost the entire weight of the vehicle slammed down onto that one limb. Even across the multi-kilometer distance Locke could hear joint shatter and metal sheer from the insane weight of the thing.
"Fire Tyrant!" Locke shouted into the comms.
A few seconds later the partially functional anti-air cannon complied, launching a ball of super-heated plasma arcing toward the temporarily stationary armored fortress. Locke held his breath as the shot made its brief journey; the Tyrant would not be able to fire again without extensive repairs. The shot landed directly on the Kraken's damaged knee. Locke would have to thank that huragok for the repair job it did on the gun's targeting systems.
Unable to withstand the weight and the weapon damage, the Kraken's leg snapped in two. The previously dim blue glow surrounding the base of the machine's torso jumped in brightness as the gravity drive struggled to keep it upright.
Most importantly of all, the energy barriers surrounding the top of the Kraken's body dimmed significantly.
"All ships, launch assault!" Legionmaster 'Heran shouted over the comms. "Send that abomination back to the hells that spawned it!"
Entire wings of single-pilot banshee gunships and Phantom dropships took off and soared over the ravine. Locke felt his stomach lurch as Mahkee gunned the acceleration. He and the rest of Osiris would be on the front lines. It was one of the conditions for authorizing the use of the lekgolo.
More commonly known as 'hunter worms', the lekgolo were a species of 1.4 meter long air-breathing worms that were capable of neurally interfacing with each other so long as there was physical contact between them. Their ability to digest a variety of organic materials and their capability to display high levels of intelligence, up to and including sapience, made them useful to the old Covenant. Their ability to reach otherwise inaccessible parts of Forerunner ruins made them invaluable.
Here, though, they were used for a far more low-tech purpose. They had dug a very narrow tunnel between the ravine and the Kraken's patrol route. Once there, they had dug a deep trench for the war machine's unwary foot to fall into. The fact that the lekgolo were organic and gave off no power signatures, as well as the incredibly small tunnel necessary for reaching their objective, allowed the Arbiter's forces to prepare and execute their trap in a matter of hours.
It had been an absolute hell to convince Swords Command to authorize the use of the now-endangered species for this operation. Ultimately, only the continued threat of 'Mdama activating and controlling the Guardian was sufficient to scare them into action.
Not quite sure it was worth it anymore, Locke thought as Mahkee's Phantom once again jerked to one side to dodge enemy fire. The Kraken may have been immobilized, but its fuel rod turrets were still operational.
Banshees and other Phantoms exploded in the air all around them. There were several times when Locke was convinced that they were about to be hit when Mahkee pulled another impossible maneuver that somehow allowed them to escape death. He wasn't sure why the Arbiter had assigned an ace pilot to be the Spartans' babysitter but he sure wasn't complaining now.
At last, the surviving Swords aircraft came within effective weapons range of the Kraken. The Phantoms rained fire from their plasma guns. The banshees raked the energy barriers with fire from their plasma cannons and fuel rod guns. Focus was divided between neutralizing the Kraken's turrets and breaking through the barriers to strike at the Storm vehicle's more sensitive innards.
The Phantom shook as a fuel rod shot grazed its underside. Warning lights blazed blue in the interior of the troop compartment.
"Pilot Mahkee! Report!" Locke shouted.
"Still operational. Stand by," came the response. It had the distinct air of someone who was desperately focused on something and couldn't care less about conversation at the moment. The sangheili pilot ended the comm immediately after her reply.
Blue flashes and lines of green lit the sky. The battle became a chaotic, incomprehensible mass of blindingly bright death.
Finally, blessedly, the Kraken's energy barriers collapsed from the strain. The way was aircraft that were still in one piece focused their fire on the new weakpoint. Plasma and fuel rod shots rained into the gaps.
Nothing happened.
It seemed that the interior, at least this part of it, was armored, as well. It would take time to punch through.
Unfortunately, attrition was working against them. The Kraken's fuel rod cannons were taking their toll on the Swords fleet. Tens of Phantoms and Scores of Banshees had been shot out of the sky. They may not even be able to disable the war machine before the sheer losses forced them into a retreat. Locke ground his teeth in frustration.
When it looked like they wouldn't be killed by a single distraction, Locke opened up another comm to their pilot. "Pilot Mahkee, is there any way you can get us onboard that thing?"
Silence.
Mahkee chuckled into the comms. "I may start to like you after all, human. I can land my mount inside the opening if you can ensure we are not shot down by our fellow warriors."
Locke did just that. It was getting easier to convince the Swords leadership to go along with his plans. Doubtless, he was developing a reputation as some sort of mad savant.
Whatever their reasons, the Swords pilots promptly coordinated their fire to suppress as many of the fuel rod turrets as possible on Mahkee's angle of approach. Blue and green weapons fire flew back and forth for several seconds before the Spartans' Phantom got too close to risk friendly fire.
The Kraken's defenders soon realized what was happening. Tens of fuel rod turrets fired at the approaching dropship. Mahkee ducked and evaded, weaving her way through enemy fire with a grace Locke had never seen before.
The exterior video feed turned green. The fuel rod rounds were so numerous they eclipsed the entire world; it seemed like they had entered a tunnel a glowing death. It was one of those rare moments of beauty that Locke occasionally experienced in battle.
His appreciation was cut short when Mahkee slammed on the brakes and Locke was wrenched against his restraints with force of a speeding truck. The bottom of the Phantom slammed into the partially-molten interior deck of the Kraken and scraped along the surface for a few meters before stopping. Augmentations or not, Locke had to take a moment to steady himself before leaping out of his seat.
"Osiris, move out!" he shouted before opening one of the side hatches.
They found a slightly melted doorway a short distance from their 'landing' site. Tanaka applied some plasma breaching charges to the warped door and created an opening. Small arms fire poured out of the hole.
Lacking time for finesse, Tanaka activated her energy barrier and marched through the smoking hole, firing her SAW around her mobile protection. The rest of Osiris followed her in, careful to remain behind their walking piece of cover.
Unfortunately, they were unable to get a clear shot from their relatively safe position.
"Fire on the enemy! Use ricochets!" Locke shouted. They aimed their rifles at the walls and, utilizing their augmented senses and brainpower, bounced their bullets off of the walls and ceiling to land shots that would make any professional billiards player jealous. Naturally, the ammo lost a good deal of kinetic energy from the impact, but there was still enough power to take out several targets and weaken the enemy's defensive line.
Fireteam Osiris broke through the defenses and wasted little time in taking down the enemy. The close quarters meant that there were quite a few shots that hit the Spartans, but their energy shields held up to the punishment. The less-advanced Storm equipment was not so sturdy.
The rest of their time within the Kraken was spent in a running firefight as the Spartans rushed to find a weakpoint. The corridors shook as the fuel rod turrets continued to fire upon the Swords aircraft. Time was still running out. Locke used his hacking programs to access a schematic of the thing and locate the power core. Jackpot.
The toughest warriors were, naturally, guarding their target. The Storm Honor Guard were no pushovers, but Fireteam Osiris proved the superior warriors. As Locke knew they would.
Moments later, the core room was breached. Osiris entered. A glowing blue sphere hovered in the center of the behemoth. Rings of alien metal spun in synchronicity around the ethereal source of power. The entire room was awash in its light. This was a device that, mere decades before, UNSC scientists would have sold their souls to examine. It was a wonder of engineering that exceeded even the wildest imaginings of the pre-First Contact scientific community. It was a marvel.
Locke shot it a bunch. The sphere cracked.
The cracks began to spread. Blue-white plasma started leaking out of the device, signaling its growing instability. "Fall back to the dropship!" Locke commed.
The fight back was less intense but no less desperate. More than once they simply rushed past an enemy without fully engaging them, trusting their energy shields to take the damage. The hall lights started to flicker and alternately dim and brighten as they went on. The power core was becoming increasingly unstable. They had no time to waste.
They reached the surface and found the Phantom under attack by a small group of Swords warriors apparently as intent on living as Osiris was. Mahkee and her copilot were manning one of the side-mounted plasma cannons to keep the enemy off of them. The Spartans opened fire, cutting down the hostiles in a matter of moments.
The Kraken shook, swaying from side to side as some kind of internal detonation wracked its interior. Conduits burning out. Weapons systems overloading.
"The power core's been destabilized!" Locke shouted. "We need to leave! Go go go!"
The Phantom took off as soon as the hatch was shut. The Spartans had to grasp hold of whatever was available as the Mahkee pushed the dropship to maximum acceleration within seconds. Bracing himself, feeling his teeth being sucked out of his skull, Locke opened a line to the rear video feed.
The Kraken was trembling on its two remaining legs. The weapon turrets were all offline. The glow of the gravity drive was flickering, sending occasional arcs of blue lightning into the ground. Suddenly, all at once, the drive winked out, and the Kraken fell.
A wave of rock and soil was hurled into the air as the titanic war machine slammed into the earth. The shape of the walker's torso deformed as the weight of the impact crushed its internal structures. Any troops still inside were killed as the hallways were crushed like empty beer cans. For a fraction of a second, the thing just lay there.
The Kraken transformed into a brilliant ball of blue-white fire.
The shockwave rocked the Phantom, nearly making the Spartans lose their grips before Mahkee managed to stabilize their flight. The spherical fire of the walker's destruction rose into the air, shifting into a black mushroom cloud that lingered before being blown away by the wind. The ground for a quarter of a kilometer was transformed into glass by the heat of the Kraken's demise. Molten debris rained down, breaking the glass and sending cracking sounds echoing over the terrain.
Locke sagged into his seat as their damaged Phantom limped back behind friendly lines. The reinforcements sent by the Arbiter pushed forward to capture the seaport, their way now clear.
By the end of the day, they would be a single step away from Sunaion. A single step away from from victory.
A single step from Locke's answers.
Even as the combat stims wore off and the adrenaline started to fade, Locke knew there was no way in hell he'd be able to sleep that night.
Apologies for the late update. Work, procrastination, etc.
Note: The speech Mahkee's cousin gives is inspired by the 'Silk Hiding Steel' page on . From what I've heard it's a popular archetype in traditional Japanese stories. It's another bit intended to characterize sangheili culture as Japan IN SPACE!
Note: The way I dealt with the Kraken is inspired by the book How to Survive a Robot Uprising by Dr. Daniel H. Wilson. It's written by a robotics expert and I highly recommend it for its humor and layman-friendly descriptions of how real life robotics works.
Note: We are now entering the final stretch of this story. The next part will be a brief Calm Before the Storm section for some last minute characterization and plot development. After that, it's the Battle of Sunaion and the climax of this chapter of the Spartans' lives.
Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
Slipspace Anomaly