Earth Kenya
New Mombasa
City limits
Local clock: 0100
Aboard the HM-UH144 Falcon callsign " Dallas 4-4 ".
Nickname, " Gulf Coast Sheila "
" Double check all switches on...come back... "
" Double checking all switches, copy.. !"
With static crackling, the cabin crew of the gunship communicated with each other, across the shared channel..
As flight crews of the UNSC had done for over 200 years . They were outside the wire, so to speak, and so they had to operate as a single body, and as a single mind. That entailed, more than anything else, communicating. Communicating rapidly, clearly, and as quick as thought..
"...All switches green. Send again, all switches green . "
" Copy your last. All switches answering green...we're good to go. "
Leaning on the grips of the bulky and rock solid M247H Heavy Machine Gun, loaded to its brim with multipurpose armor-defeating/anti-personnel rounds, Dutch lent one ear to all the chatter filling the comms line, as his other was filled, just as much, with the whip, whip, whip of the dual rotor blades of the Falcon's twin engines, and the constant hreeeemmmmmm of the engines themselves, straining and pushing to kick out maximum power to propel the craft ahead at its full speed- all 184 mph of it.
It, and all its heavy-duty armor plating, guns, ammo...and the assembly of caffeine-addicted, adrenaline-drunk Marines and Soldiers that were riding this flying crate to dangerous waters. Speeding them through the thickened, humid air of Southeast Africa, at least 500 ft. off the deck, with the vibrations of the thousands of horsepower at their disposal coursing through the hardened metal plating, and through the waterproof padding of the seat coverings and handles of the guns...
Below, the urban landscape rolled out like a carpet- its strands made up of a mosaic of brightly burning fires and still-flickering street lamps and neon signs. The Covenant's assault had swept through with a vengeance , burning and smashing everything that was standing, but...the city wasn't yet dead. Power still flowed through the lines, and between the blazing ruins of what were once whole buildings, or buses, cars, and trucks, there was enough light to show that the city had a chance to come back.
But only if they stopped the Covenant.
Otherwise...
...It wouldn't matter.
Grinding his teeth against his lower lip, Dutch watched it all through his faceplate. Raindrops- the ones that'd stuck there from the overall torrent of the stuff that'd begun pelting the whole region- ran along its surface, like the ones on a car's front hood. His night-vision lenses, painting the whole of everything that he could view as an ominous, green, glowing hue. Flares of brightness burst here and there, as his gaze swept over a burning fire, or anything that was still lit.
A scene familiar as looking at his own face from a mirror. A scene that an ODST would've seen over, and over, and over again after 20+ years of fighting the Covenant, on world after world...after world.
Year after year...
He'd accepted he'd see it again.
But, on Earth ?
On...Earth ?!
The enormity of it still defied belief, even as he watched the distant purplish glimmer of Covenant aircraft flying around miles away from their current position...but, where they were headed towards anyway. And, given that it wasn't quite on the horizon, and their current speed...
They'd close the distance, and they'd close it rapidly. They'd be there soon...where the lights of what were definitely Phantoms ( Gunboats and transports both ) , Spirits ( again...both the Gunboats and the transports ) were clustered like a swarm of fireflies over a Washington State lake...except, unlike the actual bugs, these ones could and would kill you. Violently and viciously, that is, with a lot of plasma, lasers, and spikes shot through your face.
Or anywhere else on you they could hit. And, given how many of those lights that were visible, it was an educated ( such as...a collage degree that is actually useful, like one from the STEM fields ) guess that there'd be a lot of Covenant willing and able to do exactly that over there..
Waiting for them.
Such was life, though, the ODST knew. Such was their lot out of life..
" Maintain your heading, 4-4...", commanded the unit's Commanding Officer- a native of the Colony of Tribute with an Australian ( Austraalian ) accent, by the name of Westfield.
" Maintain your heading. You're getting kinda loose over there..."
" Copy that, 1-1. Tightening it up. "
Right on cue with the end of that sentence, the whole Falcon rocked over- slightly, and smoothly, though- over to one side, sliding over back toward where it was supposed to go. The " horizon " , which was basically just a squiggly line of lights and glowing fires, rocked along with them, before rocking just as smoothly back.
" Woah..."
A different voice than before- Canadian, and strongly as solid rock- now filled Dutch's earpieces . It was yet another one to contend with, sure...but, they weren't taking fire yet, so things were calm enough for it. Besides...
Kivek...
He was Dutch's squad, improved as such or otherwise. He was practically family. ODST's didn't find family outside their clan easily, but when they did, they listened and looked out for them.
All of them...even the Canadians.
" Hey, Corporal ?! I think we're gonna be eating plasma bolts short of 5 minutes ! ", called the man from Ottawa, currently manning a second M247H the opposite side of the Falcon's bay . " Formation's getting tight..! "
Dutch grunted wordlessly at first, though, continuing to keep his focus aimed along the length of his gun as he scanned for targets. Any target
Still, though...he knew the Canadian was probably right. They may have still been a way out from actually hitting the perimeter ( if you could call the nebulous mass of lights and smoke columns rising high at the point of their destination a " perimeter "... ), but then again...Dutch was mostly facing out the side of the Falcon...and there could be outlying enemy patrols between the Falcon and the DZ. Patrols which could, most likely, only be first seen from the cockpit windows...
Obviously, though, if they had been seen, it'd have been called out. But, maybe it was just standard union cohesion- couldn't have a loose formation when they were headed headlong for an army of Covenant, after all. Stragglers got shredded first- that was just common sense, and procedure.
Could easily be the case here...or, perhaps it wasn't.
" Stay focused, Private...!", the ODST firmly advised. Kivec had already proven himself under fire, that much was true, but he was still a private. " Stay at your post, and stay alert. That's all you can do either way for now, understand ?! "
" ...Roger that, Corporal. Staying on the ball...! "
You'd better...
...Was what Dutch was tempted to say, and arguably should've, but he didn't.
It was even tempting, but...this close to a heavy clash with the Covenant ( which was just minutes away, at most ), he wasn't about to waste words. He was going to stick to what mattered, and what counted, and stick to running a tight ship ( figuratively speaking, anyway ) all the way till the end.
Any kind of end..
Better theirs than ours, he ruminated, as he moved his jaw around, curling and uncurling his fingers around the grips of the M247. Dutch continued to look along its barrel, dripping with more rainwater, but there wasn't anything on the streets, the alleys, and lots of the neighborhood they were racing by that was Covenant- or looked like it wasn't, but then proved otherwise by spitting some plasma..
" Woah ! Flight, flight...be advised ! "
And, just like that...
Just like that.....things escalated.
Dutch, for all his experience, was surprised...at how he was even surprised at all by it. He wasn't a Rookie !
But...some things just didn't change , which he should've already known.
Well, at least he did now.
" Be advised...I got movement ! I got movement ! Ground level...my 12:00 ! "
Speaking of what was normal and expected...the blast of power-pylon ( must construct additional ) level strength electricity that coursed through every vein and capillary. Always, whenever word reached him that the enemy had been sighted, and that they were close as well...well, that would be enough to get the volts going.
It had before, at Tribute...
At every battle before that, and after...
And, it was now, again. As strong as any of the others, and as vibrantly as ever.
"....Searching- wait, wait...yeah, I see it too, 1-1 ! 20+ foot mobiles...Oscar Mike across our flight path. That your sighting ? "
" Roger that, 2-1 ! All callsigns this net...all callsigns this net ! Be advised-the A0 is hot ! The AO is hot ! All gunners...safeties off ! Stand by to engage ! "
Even before the transmission was over , though...the battlefield was already coming alive.
Amid the glow of the streetlamps and ruins fires, the spark-bright bolts of plasma weaponry
" Everyone ! Heads up- we got action ! ", he promptly bellowed through the local comms channel linked to everyone around the bay. " Brace, brace, brace...! "
" Kivek ! Kivek, get your head online, boy ! "
The Canadian began to respond ( " Roger that, Lance ! All set over here ! " ), but an abrupt surge of noise smothered his words-an explosion, specifically.
A close explosion. Dutch didn't see it go off, but he did see a searingly bright green hue bloom just outside his field of view...along with a thunderous booom, and a set of punishing sound waves that reached his bones themselves, right through his armor...!
Fuel Rod Guns...!
Covies are going for the heavy artillery, ain't they...!
"...Fire ! Taking fire ! All callsigns- engage, engage, engage ! "
Driving the point home with all the force of a meteor falling from the sky, it was then that the city below practically exploded.
It was..like flicking on a light for a pitch-black room.
Just like that....a storm of energy weapons fire soared up from the ground below. So many of them , that it looked like a bunch of welding torches had been turned on down there and were just spewing their sparks up and out toward the wing of Falcons and Pelicans that was bearing down on what was now clearly a whole battalion's worth of Covenant !
They'd been waiting for this...the shady sons of guns...!
They were waiting...!
For Dutch, things morphed immediately to just raw reflex , and training. His subconscious mind yelled at him anyway, with flickers of thoughts piercing though to the front of his mind, but it didn't disrupt his focus.
He wouldn't allow it, was why. He couldn't.
Though, the noise wanted otherwise.
So much of it. So much noise- the rotors whirring full power, and the racheting-up of the Falcon's own M247's, as their gunners soon spotted targets of their own. Covenant soldiers were spilling out of the remaining buildings that existed, and they weren't wasting a second at turning their weapons skyward.
Plasma was whipping up at them now, along with the ominously glowing globs of the Fuel Rod Cannon salvos mixed with the firefly-esque bolts of plasma rifle, turrets, and whatever else the Covenant had on hand. There was a freaking mountain of it, though...and it was all aimed at them.
All of it...
But...
It wasn't anywhere close to one sided.
As Dutch squeezed the triggers on his M247H, and a long string of 12.7mm, armor-shredding bullets came blasting out, every other gunner on the rest of all the Falcons did the same thing. All across his field of view, miniature suns bloomed as other M247's came alive, spraying down the Brutes, the Grunts, and the Shade turrets that were doing all that buzzsaw-spark-spewing with an answering hellstorm of bullets.
The effects ? Immediate...and chaotic regardless.
The sheets, and cones of plasma and energy fire wavered, and then scattered, as the Covies ran for cover. Some made it . Others didn't. Dutch saw plenty of that for himself, as his own machine gun rounds outright disintegrated a Grunt with a shower of blood, then blew several others to just scraps of flesh when a container of...something got hit as well, and went boom. As quick as it happened, though, more Covies entered his crosshairs- running toward him , as well as away, from out of alleyways, garages, and everywhere else they could think to find any cover from the deluge of bullets pelting them.
Decimating them. Annihilating them...even as they kept on spilling out the ruins to fight. Their whole ramshakle perimeter that they'd thrown around downtown , to bar access to the NMPD HQ was under attack, and they were doing their usual suicidal commitment routine to defend it !
Crackling blasted , then subsided though the comms- then, it suddenly blasted clear again, just as Dutch was swinging his sights onto a Brute that was pointing a Fuel Rod Cannon towards the Falcon. He ( the Brute ) was too slow, though; even as the blue-armored ape, mouth agape with a snarl of rage was steadying the weapon to fire, Dutch shot him. The alien's arm was soon lying on the sun-baked tarmac...still clutching the Cannon, and his head was soon missing 3/4 of its mass as well.
"Attention, all personnel ! ", called out the Falcon's pilot-a raw accented New Zealand Warrant Officer named Crosen.
" We've got a lance of Anti-Air Wraiths moving to block our path ! Brace yourselves...taking evasive action ! "
...Bloody hell...
AA Wraiths ?! Yeah, you'd better shift us, flyboy...! On the double...!
A flash of apprehension shot through the ODST- he all too well how hyper-lethal Fuel Rod Cannons could be if they actually found their mark, and especially so against something that wasn't known for its armor...like a Falcon. He'd seen what those things could do, first hand, against anything they hit, and he sure as heck didn't want to remain airborne if any of those things were anywhere close..
How close were they already, though ? The thought of them was all over his mind now, and as the Falcon rocked over, he held tight on the gun, and feverishly scanned the ruined cityscape below for the telltale glowing green of fuel rod cannon shots that'd already left the muzzle. It was still a muddled mosaic of blazingly bright lights of both plasma and gunfire alike, but though it...Dutch still didn't spot any bolts from the dreaded Fuel Rod Cannon Wraiths.
Every bolt of plasma, or whatever else kind of energy-stuff the Covies were slinging didn't match the profile...but
...But, then...
There..!
Right there...at the leftmost corner of his view: There was the enemy's heavy flak. The dulled purple of the actual hull plates of the Wraiths themselves were lost against the night's shadows, but as the racks of the Fuel Rod Cannons themselves spat that radioactive death skyward...the sparkling flashes they gave off stood out like a lighthouse. Waves of green light lit a loose row of the lumpy looking alien anti-air tanks, blazing away as the flock of Falcons jinked around to avoid the stream of death they were vomiting out..
Whbroomm...!
..One of which found its mark, though; A Falcon, just across from his, tanked a hit to its tail and was violently torqued around like a giant's hand had slapped it. Hunks of vaporized and liquefied metal were sent flying every which way, and the craft began to badly wobble, as a column of roiling smoke to trail out from its mangled fuselage.
" Jeez...! One of our birds just got bloody rocked...! ", yelled the gunner on Dutch's right- a South African Afrikaans man named Hausman.
" Look at that ! She's leakin' all over the place-! "
" Loose chatter, Private ! Lock it up ! ", Dutch barked. Even as he said it, though, a gaggle of Grunts wandered hurriedly out from behind a parked truck at a street corner- and was promptly shot to ribbons by the ODST's HMG, spewing blood everywhere. " Lock it up, and keep engaging those targets ! "
That was the most Hausman could do at that moment, Dutch knew. The most any of them could do...for themselves, and for the sake of that Falcon's crew. Their bird was still badly up a creek, as it wobbled and flailed around with fire and smoke wrapping more and more around it. There was a good chance...that it'd crash soon.
But...at least there were plenty of targets to choose from to get some vengeance if that happened. Or if it didn't.
After all...this Falcon was a target to them as well !Those Wraiths over there were still slinging fire, and while it'd take more than an HMG to kill one, Dutch could still dust the aliens scurrying around on foot.
Which he did, yet again- literally gutting some Jackals, and beheading a Brute as they ran around the corner of a shuttered convenience store. The other Falcon gunners did the same,continuing their answering barrage of tracers and more tracers raining down on the enemy. They kept it up...blasting away and unloading, as the air convoy sped along its adjusted route toward the downtown DZ that awaited them.
And...it actually seemed that it was paying off ! Or...at least as much as Dutch could tell from his current vantage point. God only knew how many Falcons had been hit...or even downed outright on the other side of the-
" Woah, woah woah...! Fuel Rod Gun ! Rooftop...engaging ! "
" ...Roger that, Yagen ! ". Dutch acknowledged the callout of the Alabama native manning the gun on the opposite side of the Falcon. " 86 'em ! "
" On it ! "
As the other M247H began to roar again, Dutch found more targets for his own. A Jackal, having stepped out from around the corner of a building , was raising a Beam Rifle toward the Falcon. The alien only got halfway, though, before the ODST bisected him with a long burst of fire.
Meanwhile, the whole air convoy had descended, swooping rapidly to just above rooftop level ( quick enough to give everyone that roller-coaster-adrenaline surge ), and skimming just over the canopy of smoking craters, mangled antennas, and crashed aerial craft of all kinds that littered the aforementioned rooftops. A wise move, Dutch at once noticed, as he got off one last burst toward a knot of Brutes that'd hunkered behind a flipped over SUV- killing one, at least. They were basically a buffet of moving targets the higher they flew...
...Mostly, for the enemy's own top air cover. Those distant purple lights that Dutch had spotted on the approach were closer now; Seraphs, Banshee space-fighters, and maybe even more of those Phantom Gunboats, were all up there- but, from the brightness of the lights that'd grown so much they couldn't be ignored even if you weren't looking for them...which Dutch had been, even as he was slaughtering the aliens on the ground. They were definitely still there..
And..
They were getting closer. By how much though...hard to figure out from down here, and with the night shadows and cloud cover complicating it even more. But, none of that could hide the enemy air force- they were there, and they were creeping nearer with every second...
Better that the Falcons hug the Earth, then-
"..Mayday ! Mayday, mayday, mayday ! This is Dallas 9-3, declaring emergency ! Tail assembly failing ! "
Laden with urgency ( Without panic, though ), and without any warning whatsoever, one of the pilots called out over the comms.
" Losing stability...gonna have to set down ! We're going for a hard landing ! "
What on God's Earth..?!
...Wait...what ?
Hearing the call, Dutch's mind got ahead of him yet again, processing everything automatically like a computer. " Hard Landing " stuck out like a sore thumb, and...it translated itself immediately, to what the phrase actually stood for:
Crashing...
Crashing.
That wounded Falcon !
Hit harder than it looks...can't stick with it..!
He hadn't forgotten about that one Falcon- but he'd been kind of preoccupied gunning down Covenant. Then again...a burning VTOL gunship wobbling around directly starboard of them wasn't exactly a ghost, either..
There they are...!
Right there, the ODST spotted. The damaged Falcon was still airborne , but only just. Now, it was pretty much a comet, with fires licking the after section of the tail boom, and creeping toward the center. It was close enough to Dutch's own that he could clearly trace the bulky, angular outline of the door gunner closest to him- crouched as low as possible behind the M247H, silhouetted by the burnt-orange glow of the fires.
"...This is Dallas 9-3 ! Going down...going down ! "
" Dallas 9-3..! "
Are they actually...?!
God, they are...
Stuck behind his own gun, on his own Falcon, Dutch could only watch, as the other Falcon wobbled yet again, dipped...and then began skidding downward and to one side, leaivng a trail of roiling smoke and searing fire behind it.
God, they actually are..! Actually down, and out !
The gunner of the doomed Falcon- Dutch couldn't tell if said gunner was male or female from the distance and shadows- doing a brief, feverish scramble to hold onto the gun to stop from falling out...but, then the Falcon shot past and beneath Dutch's, and he lost them altogether.
Preserve them !
A core of ice flash-formed at the center of his torso, and by sheer reflex, he leaned out ( keeping a viselike hold on the M247H witn one hand now ) to find out if he could track the-
Brrwoommm...!
- edge of the explosion as the Falcon hit the tarmac below.
Or, something below...it was all hidden...
Barely even a millisecond removed, and Dutch already had at least half of himself wanting to find out. It was a powerful, molten magma feeling that quickly replaced his blood, and had his fingers clenching fiercely around the remaining grip of the M247H. Those were his fellow Marines down there...along with soldiers and airmen !
" Falcon down ! We got a Falcon down !", he called over the comms, well aware that the squadron lead would already know. That didn't matter-over communicating had been a thing during the 1920's militaries, and it was a thing right now.
Some things just didn't change. Right or wrong...that's just how it was.
That, and-
"...Copy that , Trooper ! ", Westfield responded, right on the mark. He hadn't missed a step at all tonight, and didn't seem ready to begin soon.
At least something's encouraging...
But, they need it more...
" What's your 20 ?! "
" Hold on...Dallas 3-3, maintain position ! Trooper, do you have eyes on Mustang 3-4's crash site ?! "
" Copy your last, Flight Lead ! ", affirmed Dutch's Falcon jockey, as the ODST continued leaning himself as much out of the VTOL as he could without outright falling out.
He had to- the Falcon had been just seconds away from going past where the other one had gone, and outright leaving them behind. Hardly because they wanted to, though- they just didn't have any orders to stop.
Orders are orders
The voice of a certain ONI agent briefly echoed though Dutch's head-and he reflexively shook it out- last thing he wanted or needed right now was any reminder that Alpha-9 was pretty much only here because of...her.
ONI screwing us, yet again
He had to shake said head to drive it home, but finally got it. His mind was fully cleared, and he knew exactly what he needed to do.
" Copy that, Lead..! "
Now fully focused again, Dutch used this, scanning the burning wreck-
-just as bursts of muzzle flashes erupted from around its perimeter ! More than that, the sound of chattering M7 SMGs , and the razor-sharp clack of M6 handguns drifted out from below as well, reaching the Falcon above over the roar of its own engines, the rattle of their guns, and those of all the others.
Most of all, though...he could actually spot them ! Yes, there were ! Dimly lit, and mostly hidden by the night shadows and billowing smoke, but...he could spot , though it all, the telltale silhouettes of armored UNSC Marines and Soldiers, plus Airmen, moving around ( slightly ) among the tangled metal of the doomed Falcon..
Defending their position. Holding their ground...
His blood pulsing with a fresh surge of raw, unfiltered adrenaline, Dutch promptly jumped on the Comms again. " Lead, this is Trooper Miles. There's movement at the crash site ! I repeat, there's movement at the crash site-wait a sec ! "
Out of the blue right then ( or, more accurately, out of the shadows ), a pair of blue-armored Brutes appeared, both brandishing Spikers. Ahead of them, between them and the Falcon, a whole gaggle of grunts was aggressively waddling toward the trapped crew, plasma pistols spitting bolts of jade green. They were getting shot to ribbons and blown apart by bullets, but either because of their own zeal ( or more likely, because of the Brutes that were right on their heels growling orders ( and probably threats as well ) at them with vicious undercurrents.
Dutch didn't wait another millisecond.
Cht,cht,cht,cht, cht...!
His M247H roared again, carving a Z pattern through the enemy ranks. Grunts exploded and died, and the Brutes' body shields blazed brilliant white-gold as they tanked their own share of the shots. Sheer chaos was the result, with the short aliens stopping short and many of them falling to panic, and the big ones at the rear getting staggered badly, before pointing their Spikers skyward and spraying the air with death.
They couldn't do much from this range, but that didn't matter. What did, was that Dutch had their attention. They couldn't assault the crash with impunity anymore...and that created an opportunity.
An opportunity, that he couldn't miss. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to get the rappel line out, slide to the ground, and dash over there to get to them, but...there was one-just one- that was holding him back. Only one, but it was as strong as all of the others...
Discipline. Respect of the chain of command- the real Chain, without ONI around to ruin it with their shadow-games malarkey. This was how it was supposed to go: Following clear, rational orders from above...even if everything else about you demanded you act on your own.
Sometimes, though...you had to do exactly that, and Dutch found himself dangerously close to doing so. Even as he continued scything through the aliens just milliseconds later, the urge to just grab the bull by the horns and do something-
" ...Got heavy hostile presence moving on the crash site, Lead ! ", bellowed the ODST , ignoring the constant clinking of spent brass as it spewed all over the Falcon's floor. " They're pressuring pretty hard over there...! A couple of Grunt squads with Brute leaders ! "
There was a momentary crackle of Comms static, then:
" ..Copy that, Trooper ! Dallas 3-3, if you have a shot at evac'ing them, do it ! "
" 3-5 and 3-6 ! Cover 3-3 ! All callsigns, copy ! "
Bless you, Flight Lead...
Bless you.
A momentary thought, and juxtaposed against the raging wall of noise all around him, and the searing drive to get something done about it that burning beneath his armor plates, but Dutch had been raised by those of faith.
He couldn't completely shake it. Even here. Even now...
" On my way, Lead ! Preparing to dismount...", Dutch advised, as he let off one last long, shredding burst from the M247H, before finally letting it go..
But, the present was still calling, and there was still much to get done. There was a downed Falcon right here, and they needed him- anyone, really, and yesterday. They could be seriously hurting down there, even without the aliens dousing them with scalding plasma. Which they were, though...so he had to hurry.
Get on the ball, and yesterday...!
Come on , come on, come on...!
" Kivec ! Hey, Private ! "
Twisting around , he turned toward the bay of the Falcon. By now, it was mostly lit by the glow of the close-by burning Falcon, and with his NVGs still on, that glow came off as a searing bright white...which would've been great , but it was still too much. A few quick blinks took care of that, though, and a millisecond later, it was all stable once again.
As the shuddering vibrations from the twin rotors pulsed through him, and the whp, whp, whp noise they were raising filled his ears even though his helmet , he called the Canadian's name..
" Corporal ? ", the Private responded, pivoting around to face him. Without the NVGs to light him, his beardless, boyish face was shrouded by shadows, but Dutch could could still spot that he was determined, and committed.
He'd need them both, and plenty of. This was the Covenant, after all, and coming at them full force. They demanded as much. It was required.
It was law. One that every single last UNSC Soldier/Marine/Sailor/Airman who had ever lived over the past 30 years had learned they had to obey, sooner, or later...
Dutch had seen enough of Kivec already to know that the Canadian had, yes, learned to obey that law, or else get melted by Covenant plasma
" Get your ropes on, kid ! You're comin' with me ! "
thmp, thmp...!
With a pair of heavy thuds, the ODST's armored soles hit the tarmac of New Mombasa again.
Wait...this was their first. Before, it'd been the sands and tall grass of the Preserve, on the outskirts of town. It'd been all natural soil and stuff till now...but, it wasn't anymore.
Rock solid, pebbly-topped tarmac, littered here and there with all kinds of miscellaneous debris and bits of detritus. The dim glow of nearby burning buildings, and what few street lamps/building lights ( what few buildings weren't piles of rock by now, that is ), was barely enough to illuminate them, or anything anywhere around here, honestly speaking. It truly did look like a dead, gutted, carcass of a town...
Then...the nanosecond of reflection was over, and the all the noise that reminded anyone that this was definitely still a hotzone came rushing back: the receding roar of all the other Falcons as they raced onwards toward the LZ, with more of it coming from the VTOL right overhead...
And the piercing clacking, rattle, bang, and whine of firearms and energy guns, mixed with extremely ( chilling, almost ) alien chattering and growling coming from down the road. The Covenant were still here, and they were still coming for that doomed Falcon.
On my watch, you alien monsters...?!
I don't think so...
Teeth of the ODST clamped over his lower lip, as he raised his M7S, gripping its front grip, and planting both feet...ready to sprint. The clock was running out for that Falcon, and every second that went past was one more that they desperately needed- but couldn't get back.
He- they- had to move, and yesterday.
" Let's roll, Private ! ", he bellowed. " Stay tight on me...we're Oscar Mike ! "
" Yes, Trooper ! ". The Canadian's broad accent didn't hide his own determination, and it carried easily over the din of the crackling fires and searing gunfire. " Following your lead ! "
That was all Dutch needed to hear. Kivec was still on the ball, and that was it.
That was it, and so he set off. At a dead run, head down, pushing off with his heels. His field of view bounced and shook as he covered ground so quickly, with chunks and fragments of glass, metal, and whatnot crunching underfoot. Lights formed streaks as he charged ahead, and some of it formed some surprising striking flurries of dots- sparks and embers, from the burning wrecks, buildings and rubble all around.
Dutch was aware of all of it, but he didn't focus on it. He couldn't afford to. His real objective was too close...
Actually- there it was !
Right there. Avaka had landed them pretty close, actually. He couldn't have placed them right on top, as that would risk their own Falcon, but was barely a stone's throw away on foot. They were here now, already, just yards away from the tangled mass of what had been, till just minutes ago, a fully operational Falcon VTOL..
Wrecked and crashed though it might've been, though, it wasn't completely dead. As he led the Canadian Private to the edge of the site, Dutch got a much better view of what he's already gotten a ( distant ) look of from the sky. The Falcon had landed mostly on one side( the left ), which sent a stab of concern through the ODST as he immediately thought of the Gunners.
But, a millisecond later...
Finally visible amid the roiling smoke and sparks, the muzzles of several M7 SMGs, and a few MA37 ARs could be spotted moving around. Every other second, red-orange fire blasted out from them, opening one Covenant body like an Amazon package ( if he was remembering the name of that ancient company right...) after another, despite all the scalding plasma bolts coming right back at them.
There were survivors...and they were returning fire !
God be praised...!
We freaking made it..!
A flash of victory- brief, but palpably strong- shot through him, as he rounded the corner of the Falcon's cockpit area, skirting a field of burning fuel-
"...H-Hey ! Over here ! "
Like lighting, a call sounded from just off Dutch's right, as he led Kivec around the front end of the VTOL. Female, with a strong...Colombian ( Or...some kind of Hispanic ) accent, and laced with a strong, attention-grabbing dose of urgency- as if the accent didn't do that on its own, which it did.
100 percent, and then some..
" Trooper ! Over here ! This thing's gonna cook me ! "
..What the-?!
Ok...that absolutely sealed the deal at stopping him cold. Dutch did so, and so quickly that he nearly tripped over his own feet ! The ODST stopped himself with a moment to spare, though, and then twisted around( reflexively dropping the muzzle of his SMG as he did ), searching for where the shout had come from...
And then, he found it.
Just a handful of yards away-directly across through the rest of that burning patch of fuel that was roaring hotter and hotter ( or so it seemed )...a flight-suited, helmeted, and MA5K rifle wielding-figure gestured and called at him vigorously. She's spotted him, and now, he'd spotted her as well.
Only problem was...all that hazards between them. The ones that were going to kill her soon, if the ODST on the scene didn't do anything.
With all the burning fuel around...it'd be suicide, though. Or, so it might've seemed.
For most, though. For an ODST ? Less o...
" ....Are you mobile ?! ", Dutch called back, as he gestured vigorously with one hand for Kivec to get on the left flank There was still murderous fire coming their way, and if this pilot couldn't get out, the ODST wouldn't chance a rescue without someone covering his back.
" Are you wounded ?! ", he called out to her, over the roar of gunfire nearby, and the whine and crash of plasma rounds coming back just as hard.
"...Yeah...my left leg ! Can't really feel it ! Stupid thing's toast, and my co-pilot's unresponsive ! ", the Falcon jockey replied , voice still laced with a lot of " The clock is running out, and we gotta hurry ! "-esque vibes, which was totally understandable. " My chalk is pinned down back there, and they can't get to me ! Come on, Trooper- we're gonna get BBQ'd here ! "
" S'alright, its okay ! Cavalry's here ! ", shouted back the ODST via the most automatic of reflexes. He couldn't help it- it was just his way to want to protect and help, anywhere and everywhere he could...
Ok...
Things were clear enough now. Dutch's pulse was surging again, heightening and focusing his senses. Everything was happening at NASCAR speeds, and if he slipped behind for a second...someone was gonna die.
And that someone could be him...
" Trooper ! Corporal Miles ! I need a SITREP...! ", called the Squadron commander, just as the ODST was signaling Kivec to hit the deck on the left flank. It was abrupt, for sure, but between years on the job, ruthless ODST training, and God-sent situational awareness, Dutch didn't lose his focus.
Just all multi-tasking over here...Good Lord...
Keep it together...
" ...Sir ! We've reached the crash site- personnel are still alive and kickin' ! ", Dutch reported. He had to keep things concise, but detailed.
" Pilot's trapped, and her crew's pinned ! Doin' what we can to get them out ! Stand by, sir-...! "
Choom, choom, choom...!
Without even the slightest hint of a warning, a lowest-gear-possible, gravelly boom rolled out over the rooftops of the neighborhood. Dutch didn't even need to attempt to guess what'd caused that:
It was the symphony of a Wraith, going postal on everything downrange.
The heck..?!
...Mus've done something bad during a past life to earn this..!
" Corporal ! We got enemy heavies rolling on our position ! ". Evidently, the Canadian had figured it out as well...
" Keep your cabeza down, Private ! ", Dutch ordered. " Pull security, and give the crew a hand , got it ?! "
"...Roger that, Corporal, but they're getting closer...! "
" That's why we gotta get this done yesterday, kid ! Get to it ! "
Talk about arriving exactly when it was wanted least, though, that Wraith. On to of that...just as he was about to poise himself to begin wading through the sea of burning kerosene , to reach the trapped Flygirl, and as he was forming the words to order Kivec to get a firing angle of the Covenant. His multitasking abilities were really getting put through the wringer here...but that was just what came with the territory.
Only thing left...was dealing with it.
Buckle down, and get going...
Which is exactly what he did.
Using the same mentality of " Its just burning fuel, and you're wearing ODST armor !" that every Shock Trooper had ever relied on, he just launched off, and ran through the flames. The heat still reached him, though, and fiercely- like holding a high powered space heater a millimeter away from yourself. A searing burst of signals flooded his nervous system, and the whole world seemed to crackle with electricity...
" Hfff...! "
Teeth clenched, Dutch drew air tightly through them, as he pushed on through the heat, toward the pilot. She was right there- right there-, with her eyes flicking between him gunning for her, and the crackling flames licking their way closer and closer to her. Exactly what was going on through her head, though...God alone knew. Dutch could just guess.
He was pretty sure, though, that " Don't let me get fried extra crispy like a strip of bacon ! " was the gist of what her expression was practically screaming at him-and it only spiked now, as the ODST finally closed the distance..
" Ok...ok, you ready to get the heck outta here !? "
It was the most rhetorical of rhetorical questions, but...when adrenaline was this high, that kind of thing tended to happen. Couldn't be helped, and anyway, the pilot didn't seem to care.
And why should she ? Dutch was literally beginning to extract her, slinging his ( safed ) M7S over one shoulder, and leaning over the side of the cockpit while bracing one foot on its rim. Out of the corner of his field of view, he just barely caught the name and rank of said pilot stenciled with bold white letters:
CWO SUVIENA
Couldn't dwell on it now...but he'd remember it anyway.
" ..Yeah..I'd say so ! ", came the reply, as Dutch leaned over, already reaching around to get a firm hold on and around her so he could lift her free of what was about to become a burning prison. " Let's go, let's go, let's go ! No- get Kormal first ! "
Urgency, and a gripping tone of command suddenly spiked from her. "Get him first, Trooper..! My co-pilot..! "
" Get him...! ", she cried, waving toward the rear cockpit.
Dutch had already glimpsed- and then looked closer- at it on his way over. It didn't look good, frankly. The entire left side of that section of the Falcon's front was caved , and the shadows of the compartment barely showed a completely comatose-looking someone slumped back there. If that other flight jockey was still alive...and it sure didn't look like it...
...as much as Dutch absolutely planned to save him- if he was still alive at all, that is- he couldn't ignore who was clearly alive and still kicking. At least...that's how he saw things.
Some whisper at the back of his head objected, for just a millisecond. But , it wasn't loud enough to stop him.
He didn't change his course.
"..All due respect, CWO...that ain't your call ! ", grunted the ODST, as he pushed on, completely ignoring her.
" Ain't your call ! Gonna get you both, though ! "
" Trooper-! "
CWO Suviena yelled at him again, but Dutch just got on with it- it was all he could do, right then there. He wasn't going to leave her, and even if she'd been an ONI agent, he still wouldn't have.
Probably...would've done this even more.
" No...no, get him ! ", the pilot protested, as the ODST finally and bodily hauled her like a sack of grain out and clear of the cockpit. Her legs- warm and practically giving off steam from the heat of the nearby fires that'd nearly engulfed the cockpit- hung down Dutch's chest as he turned away toward the street where the battle still raged...
..just soon enough...to-
...***** !
Forgive my French, Lord, but..!
He didn't freeze- Heaven forbid- or even slow, but the mere sight of what he'd just seen sparked some kind of of...automation, from him, and he didn't even have to think about it, at all...!
" Oh...**** ! Trooper ! Trooper ! Wraith fire's gonna land on us ! "
Private Kivec called out- voice like a over-tuned Violin string, and loud as a chainsaw...clearly digging deep. 0 complaints about that from Dutch, though...
Wraith plasma was headed right at them, after all.
Wraith plasma...! Even the Covenant army slamming this position had gotten clear-Dutch had noticed that as well. They were pulling back...because..
All that plasma...! It was gonna smother this whole area ! They had to get clear..!
Right now...
" Get outta there, all of you ! Get clear, get clear..! ", Dutch bellowed, as he charged back through the flames, still carrying the still-protesting Suviana over his shoulder like a rolled rug.
" Go, go , go...! "
Just across from him, just ahead...Kivec was already moving. He was sprinting like an Olympian from where he'd been- behind the back corner of a parked SUV- for the yawing entrance doors of the hotel across the street. Off on the right-just a stone's throw- he saw a bunch of armored figures bursting from the troop bay of the Falcon like popcorn kernels out of a bag that you'd opened too quickly...
All of them, some shouting, others silent...were bolting as well. Rifles and other weapons held tight, they were running. The enemy had pulled back, giving them some desperate breathing room...and they knew what was coming.
They knew what they had to do...
Dutch barrelled through the last of the fire, beelining for the nearest cover: a ditched NMPTA ( New Mombasa Public Transport Authority ) city bus. " Go...! "
Down the plasma came, closer, and closer...
Closer. Those searingly bright globs of white-hot plasma, coming down like some kind of medieval catapult flaming tarball...
Seconds away from hitting...as Duch ran, and ran, and ran. Head down, legs pumping, straining to reach-
...And, it was then...
That the already short clock...
BWAAAAMM !
BWAAMM !
BWAMMM !
BWAAAMMM !
..Ran out.