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Chapter 7
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Part 3
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3 AIF (After Imperial Founding)/
15.08.2552 UNSC Military Calendar/
hangar
UNSC Leviathan
low orbit above Reach
Epsilon Eridiani system
Milky Way Galaxy
Dozens of Pelicans landed, disgorging marines, ODST, and Spartans, turning the hangar bay into an unholy mess. Johnson jumped off the transport's ramp and looked around for directions. Behind him, a makeshift squad of marines and a pair of the crazies who enjoyed jumping from orbit stumbled out, gawking at the ongoing chaos.
A harried deckhand waved them through towards a nearby staging ground for marines.
"You'll get orders there, Sergeant Major!" The young man screamed to be heard over the roar of hundreds of engines.
"You heard him, marines! Stick to my ass, and don't get lost, because some flyboy will land on you!" Johnson shouted and marched through the madhouse of a hangar.
At the far end of the hangar, marines and ODST were sorting out in a semblance of units that could be deployed. At the same time, naval personnel fiddled with small mountains of data pads on tables near one of the elevator banks leading deeper into the ship. A few drones hovered above the gathering soldiers, scanning them. A handful of NCOs and junior officers were trying to sort out the new arrivals.
A Lieutenant Junior grade looked at a data pad, then at Johnson, and pointed at the tables.
"That way, Sergeant. The rest of you go over there!" The pale-skinned woman frantically waved in different directions before looking at the next arrivals.
Avery marched to the tables and looked at a crew member in uniform, designating him as an engineer fiddling with data pad after data pad.
"Get one of these, Sergeant. They have a translation program that should work in them. So far is input only. Write what you need and show it to our new allies. They should have the same capacity before you deploy," The engineer shoved a data pad in his hands and then grabbed another to test it presumably.
"What allies? The hell?" Johnson looked from the standard issue device to the engineer.
"Someone will explain soon. The Covenant managed to piss off someone else by being murderous bastards, I guess," The man shrugged and waved him away.
Johnson shook his head and looked around. A commotion got his attention. The doors to the flyboys and girls briefing room opened, and a few interesting figures marched out. First was a naval Commander, nothing to write home about there.
The other three figures wore bulky advanced-looking power armor. More new toys ONI and the like hoarded? The coloring and markings on the armor, not to mention what should be rank insignia, were unfamiliar to the Sergeant. More importantly, the weapons the two soldiers at the back of the small group carried were nothing he was familiar with. More experimental stuff? This was Reach. It made sense the brass got every secret project opened, and the fruits of them issued to kill Covenant bastards.
"Commander on deck!" A Sergeant screamed at the top of his lungs, yet Avery wasn't sure everyone around got the memo due to the constant roar of Pelicans.
"Pay attention! I will be brief and won't explain again!" The Commander with mild Asian features shouted. His voice was much less impressive than the Sergeant's. Less screaming for the brass, Avery decided. "The Covenant managed to bite more than they could chew this time. We have a crippled Covenant super carrier stranded on Reach. Thousands of allied soldiers have boarded it. We will be reinforcing them and will jointly capture the vessel! Due to a slipspace accident, we now have a portal on Reach leading to the capital world of a policy calling itself the Federated Empire. Yesterday, the Covenant ship in question ended up there, and in predictable Covenant fashion, engaged in indiscriminate slaughter. The Imperials didn't like that and sent the carrier packing, so it crashed on Reach after transitioning back through the portal. Your orders are to deploy to the carrier, offer support to allied forces fighting inside and neutralize all Covenant resistance. Be advised our new allies are a multi-species nation. Make sure you check your fire. There will be no green-on-green incidents!" The Commander barked.
In disbelief, Johnson stared at the man, then looked at the trio in unfamiliar armor. He had the nagging suspicion that they weren't wearing experimental equipment, or if they were, it wasn't UNSC-developed one.
"Unfortunately for everyone involved, we have a language barrier to deal with. We only managed to get a translation program running for written communication in the time available. Every squad leader will receive a data pad loaded with working translation software. When you need to communicate with our new allies, you will use said data pads. That is the best we can do for now. Get data pads and stand by for additional orders," The Commander finished. He nodded to the people who came out with him and led him through the gathered soldiers.
While Avery was still trying to process everything he heard, a Gunnery Sergeant came to him.
"Sergeant Major Johnson? Sergeant Davis, I've got a job for you. You are a veteran with a good head on your shoulders. Our new friends, for some reason, didn't deploy to Reach with enough transport craft. Rumor has it that they left them back home deploying troops to blunt the initial Covenant advance. We will be loaning them Pelicans to stabilize the logistics situations of their boarding parties. Your job is to liaise with them and facilitate the smooth loading and transport of supplies to the crippled Covenant ship and the loading of wounded back to one of the Imperial cruisers. I'll attach a bunch of greenhorns, fresh out of basic, to you. They will be of more use hauling supplies instead of getting themselves killed by the first Covenant split-jaw they see."
"Play babysitter, and ensure we've got enough bullets to kill all alien bastards we have to? Yeah, I can do that, Gunny," Johnson nodded.
A hush came over the area, leaving only the constant drone of the engines. Avery looked around and saw the largest group of Spartans in full armor marching toward the staging ground.
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The lightly loaded Pelican shook as it descended through the atmosphere. Johnson was in the cockpit, poking his head between the pilots to see all the excitement. There was ash and smoke for as far as the eye could see. Here and there, fires glowed in the distance. The Pelican flight had to fly using instruments, following an oddly shaped alien shuttle. Whatever hell the Covenant and Imperials unleashed fucked up this whole region by the numbers, Avery thought.
"Interference isn't clearing up. We've got the power emissions of the slipspace portal as a beacon and little else," One of the pilots grumbled.
"Just follow that shuttle," The other one grumbled.
Their guide slowed down a bit and banked right. A massive form suddenly emerged from the choked sky. A bunch of massive, faintly glowing engines came into view before the shuttle flew below them, and under the belly of the ship. The Pelican followed, and they soon passed under extensive secondary weapon arrays and heavier guns in twin turrets. The alien shuttle decelerated more and gently glided up into a hangar built into the belly of the beast. The Pelicans followed suit, passing through a faintly glowing shield. They found themselves in a large compartment. Personnel in brightly colored armor waved glowing sticks to guide the Pelicans toward designated landing spots near stacks of crates. Small groups of people, not all of them human, milled around in anticipation.
Farther in the hangar, Johnson could see a large number of parked tanks and other assorted vehicles, including walkers of all things. He spent another moment looking around before moving back into the troop compartment.
"Listen, marines! I want you on your best behavior! We won't shame the Marine Corps or the UNSC! Am I clear?! If you fuck up, I will feed your guts to the next hungry Covenant bastard I meet before shooting it in the head!"
"Sir, yes, Sir!" The greenhorns roared back.
"Follow me and do what you're told!" Johnson grumbled and headed for the rear ramp. As soon as he heard the familiar clang of the dropship landing, and a green light lit up, he pressed the big button on the right. The compartment depressurized with a quiet hiss, and the ramp smoothly came down.
By the time the marines descended, a bunch of the crew was already bringing crates, either picking them up or using what looked like anti-gravity-equipped lifting vehicles. An NCO or officer came towards Johnson, carrying a bulky, gray data pad. He had typed something on it and showed it to Avery's face.
"I am Lieutenant Cota. Will accompany you to the landing zone," it read.
Johnson sighed, pulled out his own data pad from his harness, and began typing.
"Sergeant Major Johnson, UNSC Marines," he tapped his chest plate and then showed the screen to the human.
The same couldn't be said for the rest of the ships' crew, who were busy loading crates, leaving them for the marines to secure. There was another human with brown skin and black hair. The rest of them were aliens of different stripes – a blue-skinned one with golden eyes, something that vaguely resembled a Brute, or well, what a Brute might want to be when it grew up. It was taller and broader, though no less furry. At least from the waist up, where the alien was bare, revealing impressive fur and what had to be even more remarkable muscles below it. It roared something, making one of the other aliens shook their head and shouted back something. That one had no hair but a pair of giant tentacles coming from the top of her head, which she used as a scarf. That couldn't be comfortable, Avery decided.
Johnson shook himself and looked back at the alien human Lieutenant, then typed a question he should have asked instead of gawking.
"How will you guide us?"
Cota waved a hand, then tapped his data pad and the helmet hanging from a utility belt. After that, he pointed at the
shuttle that brought them here and the Pelicans.
"That will guide us to the target?" Avery typed.
"And I will point at our landing spot. Different transport different staging grounds," Cota typed back.
This was going to be awkward, Johnson decided. Not that he was eager to try and coordinate this mess without the data pad and the translation programs, but even with them, he didn't need to be a fortune teller to predict the chaos that awaited them.
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Part 4
=RF=
3 AIF (After Imperial Founding)/
15.08.2552 UNSC Military Calendar/
CSO Long Night of Solace
Reach
Epsilon Eridiani system
Milky Way Galaxy
John could feel Cortana practically bounce in his head. The communications systems of his armor were operating at a hundred percent capacity while she was burning through Covenant cyber defenses and trying to poke at Imperial networks, despite promising not to. Well, at least she promised not to get caught.
At least now, they knew the nature of the Latchkey event, which was surprising. John didn't know what to think about these Imperials or the fact that they had humans among them. Insurrectionists, who had fled to their territory? A lost colony? That would have been plausible but didn't explain how a human was allegedly their Emperor.
It was a case of not looking a gift horse in the mouth, as the old saying went, the Master Chief guessed. Small movements gave away how on edge his team was as they did a final check on their equipment during their final approach to the Covenant ship. Instead of an all-out assault, they were going to land at an Imperial Forward Command center. Having access to a basic translation matrix she could refine in action would help liaise with the foreign soldiers who were already on board. The preliminary plan was for her to breach the Covenant Network, gain access to the ships' systems and schematics, then share it with the Imperials. They couldn't do it directly, which was why the Spartans brought crates with communications and C&C equipment. So they could show the captured maps to the Imperials, who should be able to update theirs the hard way.
No one had to tell the Spartans, and presumably the marines who were deploying en mass, that this was going to be one ugly operation. The language barrier was going to be painful for anyone not with John. The UNSC has never worked with foreign troops, much less friendly aliens. One of the Spartans' standing orders was to put down any UNSC troops acting up as hard as they had to. Jeopardizing the understanding and future alliance with the Imperials would be catastrophic.
That was something John could understand. It didn't matter if the Spartans and other assorted UNSC forces could win on the ground. The Covenant consistently achieved orbital supremacy and, through it, won the campaigns they fought. Without the Imperials, they couldn't hold Reach. The equation was simple.
"I'm in!" Cortana chirped happily. "The Covenant Network is a mess. Some of their units are broadcasting in the open to push through interference and get around damaged sections where internal communications are down," Her voice became downcast then. "I can find but not breach the Imperial networks. I can only poke their hardware, and their encryption is nothing I've ever seen before!"
"Do not mess with the Imperial networks, Cortana. Focus on the Covenant and the translation matrix if you are feeling bored," John spoke in a long, suffered voice. Getting accustomed to the quirky AI wasn't an easy thing to do. Still, for some reason, she was growing up on him.
"Trouble in paradise?" Joshua asked.
"We are in paradise? I haven't noticed," Cortana sassed.
"Do I want to know?" The other Spartan II asked.
"Cortana is useful?" Kelly tries, though she intentionally didn't sound entirely convinced.
"Hey, I am very useful!" Cortana rose to the bait. "I am the best AI in the whole UNSC!"
"One thing is certain, Halsey made her," Fred shot back.
"What is this, pick on the AI hour?" Cortana grumbled. "I have a rough map of Imperial incursion in the carrier as far as the Covenant are aware of. Internal sensors are down across much of the ship," she added.
That wasn't a surprise. The thing had gotten its engine section shot out from under it when it tried to go for slipspace escape by the Imperials, who weren't particularly happy with the Covenant. After that, the carrier crashed, barely avoiding the nearby mountain range. The resulting impact devastated what was left somewhat intact of the region's real estate and the massive ship's lower decks.
As a bonus, many of the Covenant crew didn't fare well during the impact. Unfortunately, the same was true for many Imperials, especially those who had boarded the lower decks.
They finally arrived, landing in a medium-sized Covenant hangar. Other people obviously repurposed the place. A few Covenant vehicles were pushed into a corner, clearing more space. In their places were stacks of munition crates, discarded used-up medical equipment, and what looked like empty magazines. Piles of what vaguely resembled small cryo pods were under heavy guard to the left, near a triage center. Assault shuttles and curiously shaped transport craft came in, deploying small groups of troops in unfamiliar armor or brought supplies. Before they could leave, medics and walking wounded loaded them for medical evacuation or brought as many of the pods as would fit in.
The Spartans quickly disembarked, and John looked around, searching for the command center. It was in the far-right corner of the hangar, with only one heavily guarded door nearby. He marched that way, followed by his Spartans. A few of the Imperial soldiers glanced their way, paying them far less attention than the Master Chief was accustomed to. He felt an odd sense of relief at that. It wasn't exactly fun to be stared at all the time when he wasn't around only Spartans.
"I am Cortana, and this barbarian is the Master Chief!" Cortana pipped up as they approached the fire team acting as security for the command center. As Cortana spoke, she repeated her words in English for the Spartans' benefit using their dedicated network.
"The Colonel is expecting you," One of the soldiers answered. While the language was unfamiliar, she did sound like a human. John noted that her armor concealed her gender better than some of the Mjolnir variants. Then again, the Spartans' armors were custom-made for each of them. That might not be the case for the Imperials.
A tall armored figure, almost as tall as an 'average' spartan, stood in front of a holographic projector, showing a map of the ship's corridors. A few armored soldiers sat nearby, working at portable terminals and speaking rapidly in alien languages. Battle coordination and control, John guessed.
"I am Colonel Green, CO, Twenty-Fourth Shock Trooper Regiment," The alien Commander introduced himself.
"Spartan Sierra-117, rank Master Chief, sir, reporting for duty. We are bringing communications and presentation equipment. Cortana has access to the Covenant combat network," John reported as instructed.
"That's good. We have been unable to interface with their system. We haven't had the opportunity to learn their language anyway," The Colonel grumbled. "We'll appreciate any assistance in that regard. Any word on when we can get proper translation packages distributed?"
"Mine is a work in progress. I am not sure about yours," Cortana admitted. John decided that the dual voices sounding in his helmet would need some time to get used to.
"Fred, get the equipment ready to be set up. Colonel Green, where will be most convenient to set up our communications equipment?" John inquired.
It took a bit of shuffling around, but they managed to cram everything into the perimeter of the Imperial command center. Cortana got a map up on display, then zoomed out and began pointing to critical locations on the ship they needed to seize. It soon became apparent that only a few of the Imperial boarding parties were anywhere near what they sorely needed to capture. This only underscored the sheer size of the ship they were on board of.
Considering the sheer volume of space the Imperials had captured, they would have secured a more reasonably sized vessel. On the CSO, they were barely scratching the surface, so to speak.
"Redeploying closer to critical objectives might be an option," John suggested. "Or we can fight our way to that main transit tunnel and use it for rapid movement of troops," He tapped a particular section of the ship containing a main transit lane that went on for over ten kilometers. At its end, elevators linked it up with a second and third transit lane, leading through the lower and upper decks. They didn't need to worry about the lower decks. Most of them were a mangled mess after the ship crashed.
"We should insert special forces to go after critical areas while pushing to gain control of the transit area. The enemy will have to dedicate forces to keep it under control. Otherwise, our access to the ship will grow exponentially," Colonel Green suggested. "I have Knight-led strike teams that can both redeploy and move in to assault the area once they're resupplied."
"Joshua, you are on point. Get your team and take that transit corridor. We will redeploy to secure the reactors first. With Cortana's aid, we should be able to ensure the Covenant can't blow them up and us," John offered. "When that is done, we can proceed to capture high-value personnel. Cortana will do her best to secure Covenant databases while we fight our way to the reactors."
"This sounds like a workable plan, or as good as we are going to get under the circumstances. Leave someone behind able to maintain contact with you, Master Chief. Right now, your friend is the only way for us to communicate properly. We will need her to resolve any issues. Ideally, I would want you to stay behind, but I understand she might need to get to the reactors in person, so to speak,"
"I am here, you know. And I might have to interface with the reactor spaces' physical controls to be safe," Cortana grumbled.
"That's what we'll do. I'll inform Command of what we know now and distribute the ship's schematics to our people. Have your men follow one of the resupply parties to the front and link up with General Secura. Then they'll figure out how to best assault that transit corridor," the Colonel offered.
"Then it's decided," John nodded and headed back to the Pelican.
"Uploading a flight path to the nearest Imperial-controlled zone to the reactors. Redirecting Spartan teams to link up with us," Cortana pipped up.