Earth
Kenya
New Mombasa, city limits
( CWO: Chief Warrant Officer )
" ***********..****, that burns ! "
" ******...dios, perdona mi lengua ( God, forgive my tongue...)...! Agghh...! AgghhaaaaHHHh...! "
For the life of him, Dutch couldn't tell if it was the Wraith mortar shot, or Warrant Officer's Suviena's raw, anguished screaming that had set his ears ringing. Probably both, actually. It'd only been a few seconds ago, and the thunderclaps ( crackling like a live wire, and echoing like genuine thunder ) of the exploding bolt of plasma that'd rained on them from the sky was still fading away.
From head to foot, soreness clung to Dutch like a sheet of rubber. So did a level of heat-wrapped around his whole body like he'd freshly jumped out of a high-powered sauna. Putting them together, and the heavy echoes of that mortar salvo that'd come just shy of vaporizing him like a raindrop falling onto a campfire...and yeah. Pretty much the perfect storm, he was reminded of ( yet again...more often than he could ever hope to remember ), as the ODST began to push himself off the pavement.
Don't even remember hitting the deck...
...Diving for it sure, but...
..Geez...what is this..!?
Yeah...yeah, it all sucked. But, he didn't have the luxury of a pity party right now ! Someone needed his help, and she needed it right now...!
" Ahhhhaaa...grhhh...! "
Get it together,Trooper...!
Embrace the suck !
She needs you..!
Between that, his diehard ODST ethos, and what was definitely ( or, so he thought and hoped ) God-sent resolve...Dutch got back on his feet, pushing all the way vertical. The surrounding double-story buildings of the neighborhood became visible once again- still gutted like fish, still pockmarked like the moon with plasma craters, and still spewing sparks and columns of choking dark, burning-crude-oil smoke like a busted diner's toaster...
But, he didn't pay attention to any of it- just noticed it, as his gaze swept around, searching for-
God...!
...Oh, God...there she is...!
Right there...not even a yard away !
" CWO...! Hey, CWO ! I got ya...! "
Lurching off his fixed spot, Dutch only need a second ( literally ) to cover the ground between them. But, even as he did-
"...Trooper ! "
" Hey...Trooper ! Need a hand ?! "
Kivec...
The ODST's mental voice-recognition software ( meatware ? ) activated by reflex, as the Canadian yelled out to him from some point behind and on the left. Memories ( recent ones, needless to say ) came online as well just as automatically, as Dutch recalled having sent him across the street as soon as the mortar rounds had been sighted. A palpable sense of relief quickly pulsed through him ( so quick, he nearly missed it ), now that he knew the Hockey-Land native was ok.
But...it was all exactly that: reflexive. He was still on autopilot, and still charging...
" CWO ! "
And now, he was here, skidding and dropping to a halt. Armored knees cracked the pavement beside the prone CWO, who was still writing around on her belly, visibly fighting to clamp down on the stream of anguished wailing that kept coming out of her mouth...and mostly failing.
" Librame...libramos...( deliver me...deliver us...) "..., she moaned, teeth clenched and anguish evident.
But, as Dutch's gaze was drawn by them to scan around to find where the damage might be, he quickly found it- and just as quickly realized she had all the reason anyone could ever need to wail, scream, and howl...
Good...Lord..!
Ok, that's bad...
...Seen it before, though
...Seen it over, and over, and over again before.
That...that right there- the amassed ( and forced ) experience with getting greeted by sights like this- did its job yet again, and kept him focused...
...as he now saw that Suviena wouldn't be rock-climbing any day soon.
Mostly because...you needed two legs for that.
" Trooper...!
" Trooper...hey ! I think the Covies are- Holy-! "
Dutch hadn't turned his head even a millimeter, but all that yelping just now gave away that Kivec had arrived- still somewhere both behind and left.
The ODST was still on pre-programmed mode-he couldn't afford to lose that now. Not for anything, or anyone. As any ODST worth his salt knew: When things got this mental, and when someone was this heavily mangled...you just had to let the training ( and all the thousands of days you'd amassed outside the wire ) take you over, do their job, and accept that now was when you couldn't dwell on what you were seeing...
You could tell it was piling at the back of your head, but you couldn't dwell on it now.
Speaking of auto-mode, Dutch was already reaching through his armor's pouches on the lower right-hand side for that canister of BioFoam that he knew was there...the one he'd grabbed from Major Sanders' FOB before the air convoy had left. Sure enough, it was there, and the ODST had it pulled free and uncapped after just a matter of seconds...
" Trooper...her leg ! Its-! "
" Gawk later, kid: we got a situation on our hands here ! ", the ODST boomed, as he gave the canister a quick shake, then began to spray its sickly-green contents over the areas of damaged tissue on the CWO where the foam might actually do some good for her. " She won't last 5 minutes out here if we don't move her, with our without the Covies crawlin' over this neighborhood ! "
Still without even looking the Canadian's way, Dutch continued spraying down the last of B-Foam. It was caked thick ( not thicc ) now, wrapped tightly and clinging firmly on and around the damage it was now fighting against. Its anti-bacterial properties were already slaving away...as were its painkillers.
That last one might've explained why the CWO was suddenly a lot less loud...or it could've been that she'd just blacked out. She wasn't...she wasn't gone, though, so to speak; Dutch had a hand pressed down on her back, to keep her steady as he applied the foam, and...and she was still breathing, though !
Thank you..
Any blessing...any at all...
Well received..
Without a doubt. But...one tied his camel, then trusted God, after all, and...
" Uh.....Trooper !? This is Dallas 4-4 ! I've got a visual on a company-sized force closing on your position as we speak ! Are you Oscar-mike ?! "
"...And that's why we gotta go ! I'll take her- you're our security, Private ! Our Falcon's still waiting on us...we gotta hustle ! "
...They weren't done with the former yet. Nowhere close. Still downrange, with hostile forces headed their way, and with a badly wounded pilot to haul outta there. It was just a perfect storm ( God rest their souls ) of issues heaped on them, but...dealing with it was all they could do.
As always. From day one of dealing with the Covenant, that'd been the score. Hadn't changed.
0 reason to believe it would...not after 20+ years of fighting those creeps..
More mental background static continued, as the ODST moved to perform the tender act of lifting wounded personnel off the ground, before draping her over his shoulders Fireman-style , and pivoting toward where their Falcon still awaited them. They could not stay here, not for any longer than utterly necessary..
They had to move.
They had to get the heck out of here...
Dutch clenched tight down and around the legs and arms of the CWO he'd dragged out of harm's way, and yelled a quick " On me, Kivec ! " at the Canadian, before launching himself at as much of a full-tilt sprint as he could on a course back toward where the Falcon had dropped them off..
And, it was still there-still hovering, still maintaining position, with its rotors still spinning at full power beating the air, and its running lights still glowing cyan-
" Trooper...! "
Speak of the Devil...
" ..This is Dallas 4-4 ! Say status ! That hostile unit is less than a minute out ! "
"...30 seconds, Dallas ! 30 seconds ! ", responded the ODST, between gritted teeth, as he continued on his dead sprint- dead, weighed-down-with-a-tier-1-wounded sprint. " Keep the motor runnin' ! "
...They had to keep going. That's all they had to do...that was it. Just keep going, and just keep running. The Falcon was right there, and its doors were wide open, ready to receive them.
" ...hhhh..hhhh....Trooper... "
Through labored, strained, painkiller-drug altered breaths, the CWO currently getting a ride from him spoke.
"...Did...did you get him...did you get him out ? "
With all the racket going on, her weakened volume was barely enough- but Dutch caught it anyway...and just about immediately sensed an especially strong stab of resentment, aimed at the Covenant. They'd killed him, after all. He...he was gone. Slagged. Melted. Atomized. Just like millions of others who'd crossed paths with these aliens. The only...well, pretty much the only thing to cling to keep from total rage-envelopment, was that...
..That same thing that applied to every lost fellow UNSC he'd watched get taken out. All of them...
To live long and well is one thing. To live briefly, but well, is another. Maybe you only get the latter, and if that's so, then be grateful to have lived at all.
...True now, as it'd ever been. But, Dutch could tell Suviena was deeply caring soul ( even more so than anyone else who'd spent years fighting alongside someone enough to give them all your trust...which was just salting the wound here ), and the loss was still raw.
He wished he didn't have to say...what he had to.
But...he did. Lying wasn't his way..
" ...It was quick, CWO. He didn't suffer. I promise you that. "
The choked gasp of anger of pain that followed that from the CWO said, right then and there, everything the ODST needed to know.
He exhaled, behind the privacy of his visor, and rode out another wave of anger. The Covenant had taken so many of them...
...and now , another.
They'll answer for him..
They'll answer for them all. I know this is a test of my faith, Lord...
...but I trust you. Still...they will answer for this..
All of them...
Yet, as that safety drew closer, the true dark side of Dutch's subconscious mind now reared its ugly self: it sent a fleeting thought of a Wraith mortar shot catching them now, here, at the 11th hour , and frying them all like ants under a magnifying glass shooting though the front of his head. It just was a nanosecond, at best, but it was still enough to replace his veins' contents with icewater for just one, shuddering moment..
...Along with memories of...
...Tribute...
But...then it was gone, and over, and they were at the side of the Falcon. Its rotors continued whp, whp, whp-ing, spewing a breeze and dust particles all over the place, as the ODST ( having banished his ghosts from Tribute yet again, though he knew he'd have to again, and again going forward ), led his ( highly ) mixed followers to a stumbling halt..
" Ok...ok...set security ! Give me 1 minute...! 1 minute ! "
" Roger that, Trooper ! ", came an overlapping chorus of responses to Dutch's roared orders.
So...
They were here....they'd arrived...!
Just had to...see it all the way through...
"...Alright...got one for ya ! Be gentle with this one, alright ?! " , he grunted, as he twisted to one side, while lifting Suviena off of him as quickly-but carefully- as he could.
" Take good care of her ! "
" Roger that ! ", acknowledged one of the Air Force personnel assigned to crew the Falcon- a scar-chinned Korean who's name Dutch hadn't found out. " You did good, Trooper ! We got things from here...! "
You'd better...
...You're God's servants on this, as are we all. Don't fail him.
Don't fail your patient, either. She's yours now..
As per normal, his mental monologue was exactly just that- mental. No room on the clock now to stand around and chat about it...or for anything else at all , for that matter.
Just to stand back, gesture vigorously for the others to do the same...as the Falcon's side door closed, and the VTOL did as its name said: It vertically took off, and after another few seconds, was off, and away. The sky was still choked with columns of smoke and sparks, but the Falcon just carved right through them, arcing on a climbing turn that would take it on a course back to the FOB...and where Suviena could get that help that would keep her alive..
Unto your hands, Lord...
Keep her safe..
...Yes. That as well. Actually...that should've been first. Trust God above all. Also tie your camel, though, but trust God as well.
For another, lighting-quick, nanosecond, Dutch allowed himself to realize something, as the VTOL fled the scene. Something he already knew, but couldn't focus on...till things had settled even a tad, and even for just a moment: If nothing else went right today, then...at least this had.
At least...at least she still had a chance.
20 minutes later...
...There...!
Only one building around town has an Eagle that big on the front of it...! That's the NMPD HQ !
Even though the rain from earlier had now come back, and even though it was coming down on them even harder than it had before, with sheets of the stuff now lashing the city like a gargantuan showerhead from the sky...no amount of it could hide the giant, glowing cyan-tinged symbol of an Eagle with wings outstretched that was affixed to the front of the looming skyscraper ahead.
We're close...we're so close-
" Trooper ! Trooper Miles, this is Captain Westfield ! Respond if you are able ! ", thundered an Aussie voice, as it burst over the Comms.
It...and an absolute cacophony of gunfire, energy weapons discharges, and explosions that came spilling over the line with it. It was jackhammer-levels of loud, and if it hadn't been for the automatic dampeners that came standard with all ODST helmets, Dutch knew he'd be bleeding out of both ears by now. Probably would still happen, given his job, but that was for later him to worry about.
For now...
" Trooper ! ", the Captain shouted again, just as a long burst from an M739 SAW erupted from somewhere nearby. Its screeching, rattling song nearly drowned that one spoken word..
Dutch caught it, however, and was quick to answer. " Reading you loud and clear, Sir ! Send it ! "
" We got a Scarab here ! A Scarab, Trooper ! You'd better have stocked on ordinance back the FOB..! "
Though it was true that a real ODST didn't fear anyone ( aside from God himself )...there were things you either would have a healthy respect for, or you'd just die. A Scarab...that definitely counted as one of them. Actually, it was right at the top.
Mt. Everest levels of top. A Scarab...!
By sheer reflex, Dutch raised his line of sight, half-expecting to see that signature jade-green, cobalt colored beam of scalding energy that always came shooting out of the front of the Scarab's flashlight-head streaking out through the night sky somewhere...but, there was nothing. Nothing of that kind at all...just more sheets of rain, more jumbled masses of clouds ( only visible because of the glow kicked off from all the fires all over town ), and the random hue of the running lights of Covenant aircraft still patrolling from high altitude.
Hardly mattered, though, because...
Scarab.
Scarab. That one word was a legacy on its own. And a grave warning, without a doubt.
"...One sec, sir...setting post..!"
Turning to face the mixed bag of Air Force/Army/Marines personnel he had following him like a Collage Dean leading a student tour group on campus, the ODST snapped off a quick command for them: " Squad ! Hold. Here ! "
He couldn't take the chance. With all the chaos he'd heard over the Comms, he couldn't tell how near all the action-with a Scarab attending the party, no less
He punctuated the words with a swift knife hand slash, and altogether, it got the job done beautifully. Every man of the unit caught it, and they all stopped where they stood on the rain-drenched pavement and tarmac, dropping to an at-the-ready-knee stance with guns out.
With his men taken care of for the moment, he switched back to the Comms. " Ok...send it ! "
A banshee-creepy, piercingly loud roar-unique to the Scarab, and all the confirmation Dutch could ever have needed that one of those ugly monsters was roaming around- burst from somewhere close over the Comms line, as the Captain got right back where he'd left off without missing a beat: " We've engaged a Covenant force...directly outside the NMPQ HQ building...complete with that Scarab ! Orientated northward-due NORTH! What's your 20 !? "
" ..Another second sir-checking maps ! "
How often had he done that over the years ? More than he could hope to count-and so it was taken care of yet again here after barely 3 seconds-
"...Ok....'bout 3 streets due south of you ! 3 streets due south...! "
...Geez...
No wonder that devilish giant sounds like its right next door...!
...Might as well be
" Copy that, Trooper-!"
EEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHH !
As if on cue, the Scarab thrashing around like a maddened bison running through a jewelry store emitted that awful Banshee-wail again...followed by a long, thunderous volley of plasma globs from its ( literal ) head cannon: Choom, chooom, choom !
It smothered- drowned, actually- absolutely all other sources of noise anywhere remotely close to it, and the sheer force of the soundwaves sent Dutch's whole head vibrating like a guitar string that'd been pulled tight and then let go. It only lasted a nanosecond, but it brought him as close to cussing out loud as anything the Covenant had thrown at him had done.
Lord have mercy...aghhh !
..Agh...ok...! That's crossing a line, Covenant...!
As he automatically shook said head to clear it, something else became glaring clear as well:
That ghastly Scarab-scream had killed the Comms as well. There was sword-sharp clck, followed by a leafy crackl as the line went dead on the other end...and then there was just the pattering of the millions of chilled raindrops hitting the sun-baked streets, sidewalks, and abandoned cars..
tapp, tapp, tapp, tapp, tapp, tapp, tapp....
Getting lit by what few neon signs and lamps that were still online as they fell...
Like it was just the orchestra of another normal night here around town. For a few lighting fast moments...Dutch was nearly actually tempted to fool himself to think it was actually that kind of night...
Then he remembered the song of the Scarab, and it all went away.
..."...Trooper ?! Hey, Trooper ! What's the situation over there ?! "
Kivec. The Ottawa man had stuck close by the ODST all the way, and he still was now. Which was pretty convenient, given that he was still Dutch's impromptu right hand..
Literally, actually. He was right here, on the right of the ODST, with his MA5D looking like it'd been through a water pistol fight with all the sheets of rain running off of it.
" ..The guys...they know we got a Scarab out there, by the way. We all heard the screaming..."
" ...Correct, Private ".
Setting his jaw, and exhaling against the lining of his faceplate ( which was doing a good impression of looking itself like it'd been used for target practice by a middle school class armed with super soakers ) , Dutch did, finally then, allow himself a private-thought moment longer than a flash- but only to use it to offer a quick prayer on behalf of those fellow Marines and soldiers...
Those brothers under arms of his...who were facing a Scarab !
A Scarab...
...And soon enough..
They'd be facing it as well...so for just the quickest of moments, as the rain fell and fell..
He asked for help.
..Preserve them, our Creator
Preserve them, until we can reach them
And then please...preserve them again.
...Divine assistance. They were going to need it.
...You won't find atheists and foxholes together , reminded his subconscious, as if other other side of his mind had summoned it to give some support.
...You aren't, needless to say...and by now ? They aren't, either.
A sentiment that'd been proven true by over a million these past 20+ years, and as Dutch turned his attention back to the squad, he saw it was one that was reflected on the faces of everyone else of the unit. More or less for each man, but it was there regardless.
Concern ? Probably. Apprehension ? Likely. Uncertainty ? Good chance of that as well. It was at least two of them for everyone here ( and pretty much everyone else Dutch had ever witnessed realizing they'd have to square off against a Scarab..) ...if not all 3. That was all he could be certain of, though...but it was enough.
Short of outright, runaway panic...he could handle this. Actually, even panic, maybe, but they didn't have the luxury of how long that'd take to crush that. Thankfully...it wasn't around.
Yet.
Thank the Lord for any favors at this point...
" Ok, men..."
Briefly creasing his lips together , the ODST rose to his full height, beneath the rain, with his his weapon still held tight with both hands.
It was still hammering them, and the Scarab- the city killer that each of them was- was still out there. They were about to fight it, as well...and as anyone who ever had done that ( and come back, more importantly ) could say easily...there just weren't enough words to express what that was like.
Beside...this moment called for action, rather than words. This wasn't the moment for some kind of dramatic, morale-enhancing speech, though. This wasn't some action flick, after all, or some popcorn tv show...as they already knew.
Just action. Just press forward, reach the DZ...
...and face down that Scarab.
Come what may.
"...Get your heads screwed on tight. Safeties off, and let's move out. We have a rendezvous to keep . "
Another 10 minutes later:
Eaaaahhhhhhhhh !
Dutch had long ago stopped counting the wailing of the Scarab...it'd become a Cuckoo clock now. A giant, homicidal, stomping Cuckoo clock that was built of alien metal...and one that was ( judging from how loud the wail was, and that was saying something )...what ?
Just one street over ? Just on the other side of this building they were approaching ?
Whatever this place was, that is. He couldn't be sure- they'd come from behind, and all they'd gotten a good look at through the driving rain and the lack of light from any nearby signs or lamps ( the whole grid they'd arrived at seemed to have gotten beaten over the head with a total power outage ) was that it was built from bricks- actual, honest to God bricks ! Metropolises across the colonies and Earth had been using Duracrete and metal for over 100 years...so finding anything that used bricks was a show-stopper, for sure. Even if they weren't the original design of bricks- they were still build of the latest materials, needless to say- but there was only so much you could improve something ancient before it became else entirely new.
Here it was, though: a brick facade, facing them here. Some recycling and trash bins- jade green for the former, and tomato red for the later- sat braced against it, each emblazoned with the logo
Maybe...maybe it was. The monster was close-extremely close- but that's all they could be sure of. Past that point ( the technically way to express it, obviously, was exactly that : " really close " ), there wasn't much more to add.
More than enough, though. " Really close " to a Scarab wasn't a place where 9 out 10 sane folks wanted to go. That wasn't a problem, though.
..Mostly because they'd either be ok, or all dead and a pile of ashes so quick they wouldn't even get a chance to feel it.
" ...Anyone hearing our guys' guns...? ", asked one of the Army soldiers, speaking with a New Jersey accent as if he'd been a Cap during a past life. " ' Cause it seems that tin spider's all by itself...! "
" ...Ha ! Sure- ' all by itself '- like its less dangerous that way ", lightly scoffed another soldier, with an Arkansas drawl.
Ignoring the back-and-forth, Dutch kept himself zeroed on the task at hand-getting them through the door of the " brick place ", for lack of an actual name. He reached a hand out, and gave the handle a shake...
It opened.
...Shouldn't it have been locked ? Probably...but the owners had likely bolted like terrified rabbits right out the front door the millisecond the emergency sirens of the city had begun going off, and/or when they'd spotted the first Covie ships appearing through the clouds. Either way...yeah, Dutch had seen enough terrified Civvies before to have a handle on how their behavior trended . It was completely plausible that they'd just run for it, and so quick they'd forgotten about locking this.
Where were they now ? What'd happened to them ? God alone knew...and if things had gone south, it was a mercy for his creation that only he knew.
Another reflexive prayer ran through the ODST's head, as he turned to speak to his men-
"...Trooper...! "
"..Trooper, are you there ? Respond, Corporal..."
...Captain ?!
" Hey, look ! Door's clear...! ", exclaimed one of the Marines from the down Falcon-also with that Arkansas accent. " Who wants point- "
Without a word, Dutch simply raised a clenched fist, and kept it still.
It silenced the lot of them, like snuffing out a candle with one huff ( minus some cutoff exclamations ), just as the Captain spoke again- still with that low, razor-urgent, but still professionally controlled tone:
" Trooper Miles , are you still on this frequency ? "
" Respond, Trooper..."
"... Roger that. ", responded the ODST, as he pulled the door all the way open, revealing a heavily shadow-smothered hallway covered by a plushy-looking carpet ( a red one threaded with a series of white diamonds, evidently...) . " Reached the grid coordinates as we speak, and we're entering a structure that should give us a vantage point on the HQ grounds..."
" What's your status , sir ? "
"...Combat capable. Barely.", came the answer.
Staggeringly contrasted to the sheer volume of all the violence that'd comprised the background from earlier...now, there was the exact opposite. There was silence back there, or , at a minimum, not enough noise to matter.
...So, it hasn't found you...?
Otherwise, I don't think we'd be talking at all.
Without stopping, or even turning his head, Dutch gestured sharply for the rest of the squad to come through the doors and keep pace with him. He powered on himself, multitasking now as he-
" ...We had to scatter and displace- couldn't stand against that thing. ", the officer continued, as Dutch did finally send a glance over one shoulder to check on the others- and sure enough, there they were. Moving quick, staying tight, and following him close...
They, at least, were ok for now...
But, as for the others...
" It jumped you at the LZ, sir ? ", asked the ODST, slightly shocked, as he sent another look back where he'd gone, watching the rest of the men filing through the door. The last one though- an Army guy, with the Dark Horse Head symbol of the 1st SpaceBorne Cavalry Division on his right shoulder- reached out with one hand, and yanked the door tightly closed.
Smart...
Didn't even need to call you out for not doing it...
Good. They were all here...
Dutch waved them forward yet again, leading them deeper through the corridor...
...as his CO completed outlining the fiasco that had gone down here: " Scarab hit us barely a minute after we touched down at the LZ, along with a full supporting company. We lost nearly a quarter of the unit before I ordered a fallback, and as long as its still maintaining position...we're stuck here ".
" Where is ' here ', sir ? "
Climbing a flight of stairs at the end of the corridor- the carpet ended by then, leaving a set of hardwood surfaces to replace them-, before reaching a second story that had a short wooden table equipped with several shelves at the top with a vase sitting on it, and a window just above. It even had...curtains.
Dutch, however, only observed it. He didn't dwell, because his mind was occupied with things that mattered more...
...Scarab decimated them.
..At least...it was quick, for the ones who didn't get out. Cold comfort, but that's Human nature: always looking for something to cling to.
...Anything, at all.
A spike of molten magma manifested at his core- those dead would be avenged, sooner or later. If he couldn't save them, as preferable as that would be...then they were owed that much from him at least.
...That, and accomplish the objective they'd died for. All of it...the same refrain that played itself out just about every week for the past 20 years. It was par for the course now, but for the first 1 or 2 of those years...well, it'd nearly driven him mad.
Didn't have that luxury these days, though..
" ..Shopping mall. Due southwest of the HQ's entrance. But, other elements took cover at different locations around the square...and none of us can move with that thing operational. "
...Fully, you mean..
Fully operational- and yeah, it sure as heck is !
...Yeah, it was pretty easy to figure that out- because at this point, Dutch had begun crossing past a long, partially-curtained window that was letting the outside light ( and by " outside light ", that was still just the glow of burning buildings and a scattering of flickering neon signs ) pour through. It wasn't enough to negate the need for Dutch's HUD's NV mode, but it was better than nothing.
And, needless to say...something the size of a Scarab didn't exactly need a bank of floodlights trained on it to get noticed.
Which...it had been now.
There it was. Right there...!
Holy-!
" Squad ! Hunker ! Hunker ! "
Pure reflex. Didn't have to spend a millisecond thinking about it, whatsoever. If you were gifted the chance to spot a Scarab before it spotted you...the only option was to play it smart. It might be tempting, if you were some greenhorn/rawhide, to just rush the thing, but that was how you quickly got yourself vaporized, like turning a blowtorch on a ball of lint.
Just sheer stupidity. Scarabs were lethal enough without you helping them like that..
" Get low...", Dutch ordered again tersely, gesturing palm down as he also dropped to a crouch before the window. " Everyone, get low ".
Checking on them a moment later, he found that, yes, they'd all done as he'd told them. Half the guys had gone all the way prone, even, with Kivec opting for a half-crouch, rifle braced.
The officer on the other end of the line, meanwhile, had been keenly paying attention: " Trooper ?! You have a visual ?! "
Switching channels again...!
Doing exactly that once more, Dutch confined that he had, yes, secured a good view of the mechanical monster . " Roger that, Captain. I see 'im. "
" Give me a sec...gotta get the bearings. "
As raindrops trickled down the windowpane, the ODST visually scanned through it, absorbing the scene.
Ok...
What do we have here...?
Aside from, obviously...the massive mechanical arachnid death-machine hogging all the space at the middle of the entire field. That was a Scarab for you, though: their sheer size and towering stance always stood out like a tomato on a field of snow.
It was a wide, sprawling one, and speckled with the usual assortment of glinting alien running and armor lights as usual. That, specifically, was courtesy of the dozen of Grunt patrols that were waddling around , with their hulk-ish Brute handlers lumbering along just behind them. Other Grunts were clumped together here and there randomly across the sprawling, wide , ring-shaped plaza that sat directly before the HQ building's gleaming white granite entry steps-asleep, mostly, or fiddling with their plasma pistols by the glimmering burnt orange hue of those emery-core-lamp things the Covies liked lugging around.
Great...
Brutes. Grunts are enough of a problem, especially when there's a horde, but...Brutes just needlessly complicate taking 'em out..
Still...manageable. Pretty manageable
Except for that Scarab. Elephant of the room, and all that.
Giant, metal, plasma spewing elephant...
" Geeez, man...we're gonna need a MAC strike from orbit to kill that ***** ", muttered one of the men.
" Just...just look at it ! Missing chunks off the legs , but...that tin can's still kicking. "
It was real tempting to call him out on that , with a sardonic " Quit stating the obvious "...but, somehow, Dutch resisted. The man who'd spoken was right, though- the Scarab was definitely not dead, with how it was lumbering around following a rough patrol pattern that loosely followed the edge of the plaza. Earthquake-like tremors rumbled through the ground with every one of its steps, causing the glass of the window to shake and vibrate as if a literal thunderclap had gone off.
The rain was still coming down hard, though. But, that just highlighted how bright the Scarab's ( literal ) Head cannon was, as it swiveled toward him. Just one shot from that...
Just...one...
Ignoring the thoughts of getting melted like a butter stick on a breakfast buffet restaurant's hot plate by it, the ODST proceeded to consult his HUD's map, double-checking the exact position of himself and the squad related to where the Scarab and the HQ was. If there was any chance, even remotely, of pulling this crazy stunt off...
...He had to cross every T and dot every i. Pin down the exact positioning of everyone who'd be doing this, because if anything was off at all...
Melting. Melting and vaporization, for them all.
...Right...
..That's the X, then. Got it.
Ok...better raise the CO, then...
" Sir ? Sir, this is Trooper Miles. Squad and I are posted...second story of a building due south of the HQ. Due south. "
" Confirm..."
There was a momentary pause, and then-
" Confirmed, Trooper. We're still entrenched at the mall...but be advised: We only have one ARC-920 , and 4 more Jackhammers available. Two of those Jacks are down to one missile each, and the ARC is at 5 shells. Expended most of hitting that thing, for all the good it did "
"...Kinda paltry sir, not gonna lie to ya. "
Pessimist ?
...Realist, I'd call it. Fought these jerks before, after all...
"..Still, it only takes one shot. Scarab looks pretty beaten around..."
Evidently, the Captain had a similar mentality, judging from his response. " Roger that, Trooper. That's what I expect from an ODST. By the way...your band of ruffians needs an official name. Temporarily, you are Xiphos squad going on official unit channels, confirm ? "
Feels like a promotion...
Pah...who needs those ?
" Copy that, sir ! "
" We'll be counting on you, Xiphos. Keep a handle on 'em. "
...Well, shucks..., sir
0 pressure when you put it like that...
" Ok...ears open: We're going to secure objective: neutralizing that monstrosity, and we're doing it now. ", he stated, a notable edge of confidence entering his tone. " The longer we wait, the the greater the risk of Covenant reinforcements arriving. If that happens...we are royally screwed. "
Truly, it was a conundrum when you could only either state the obvious ( eg...getting caught between a Scarab, and a fresh battalion of thirsty-for-human-flesh alien soldiers getting dropped all over them like a homicidal sporting event crowd ( well, more so than they usually are..), or just leave it hanging because it was so obvious.
Then again...as the ancient military adage went: Over-communicate. Always over-communicate...better safe than sorry, as some might say.
Dutch didn't care about safe, though. He only was concerned about getting things done...and for the moments, the only " thing " was turning that Scarab to scrap as quickly as they could. For their own sake, and for that of whoever was trapped beneath the HQ..
How deep does it go, anyway ?
...Guess we'll find out soon enough, God willing..
" Well...soon as you say when, sir, I'll get the ball rolling on my end. "
" Solid copy, Trooper. But, one last thing: "
" ..Sir ? "
" I'll send you some support, Trooper, that's what. Maintain position, and wait for their arrival. It's gonna take them a while to reach you, because they're gonna have to skirt the square and hug its perimeter. Confirm that you're set due south of the HQ Building, second story ? "
"...Copy that , sir. Still set. "
" Then stay that way. Their ETA is roughly 10 mikes. Out. "
With that , the Comms on the other end clicked off...and the ODST was left with just the pattering of the raindrops of the glass just millimeters away.
That, and the Covenant soldiers sleeping/patrolling/ running weapons checks, and so on...all just a stone's toss away from just boiling anyone or anything they spotted going past them. Automatically, Dutch's headspace went to analytical mode- and assessment mode as well, glancing over at the rest of the men lining the low wall beneath the window. Quick as it was, it still proved things hadn't changed for them- for the worse, anyway. They all looked as ready, and locked-on as earlier...despite obvious tension from the slight problem of having a city-block-destroying Scarab staring them down. One of them- an Army Trooper, judging from that Horse head crest on his shoulder pauldron- actually seemed to have his head bowed..
As if offering a prayer of some kind. A man of faith or otherwise, Dutch could sympathize with that.
Understand it, as well.
They- every last one of them here- and whoever else was currently taking a shot at navigating their way past all of that...and then, the whole bunch of them would have to square off against a Scarab.
A Scarab...
Yes.
They would definitely need some help from above.
10 minutes later...
" Wilson ? Check the door. I'll cover you. Everyone else...set security. "
At the tersely spoken set of orders, the members of the squad moved quickly ( and quietly ) to comply. The Marine named Wilson ( Who sported a crimson handprint on his helmet ) stepped over to the knob of the metal-reinforced door set against the brick wall, while the other began to fan out, keeping their weapons pointed outwards..
Lt. Rahman closed on the door as well, standing on its right side- giving her a perfect view of the corridor between the edge of this building, and the one across from it. At the end of said corridor...
..Loomed that wretched Scarab. Still there, it was, needless to say. God alone knew why, but if Rahman was going to guess, she'd go for " Holding down this real estate till even more of my friends arrive ". As if having a Scarab running loose wasn't enough of a problem ( and it was )...
A trembling wave rolled through Rahman's rain-drenched hands, clutching her BR55HB, as Wilson called out that the door was locked ( electronically, as it was one of those kinds of doors ), and that he was going to spoof it's security. She hated herself for it, hard enough to fill the core of her legs with molten magma...but the memory of that machine's energy beam getting shot right at her, and only missing her by so narrow a margin that it'd actually set her partially on fire was still as fresh as Krispe Kreme donuts (according to the ancient archives...that was the name of that old company )...as was the shock.
She hid it, though. She had to , even from Westfield, and Wilson...and everyone. Her unit needed her right now. Self care would have to wait.
Wasn't a luxury she could afford right now... so she'd have to make do.
Stay still...
Stay freaking still...!
Hissing a burst of frustration between clenched teeth, the Lt. steadied the BR, as a low-volume chreeep sounded from somewhere on her right, accompanied by a matching lowly spoken exclamation of "...And...presto ! "
" Hey, Lt. ? Door's open. Permission to run point ? "
...Duty calls.
Blessing and a burden, all at once..
Mentally crushing it down and back, like stepping on a soda can ( it would spring back, she knew...eventually. Nothing she could do about it now, though ), she shook her head. " Negative, Sergeant..."
" I will. Slot the squad behind me, and let's move out. "
Though she'd deliberately summoned all the confidence she had left, a flicker of doubt crossed the NCO she was talking to's face. Clearly, a reminder that her concealment of what was going on though her own headspace hadn't gone hidden from everyone...
Heck, maybe Westfield had actually noticed. But, then again...if Rahman knew that there wasn't anything that could get done about it, and even if there was, they still needed every field commander of any competence that they could get their hands, then Westfield did as well.
...Gonna either get roasted and railroaded, shunt this baggage where it can't bother me...or I'll crack and someone else will have to run the show
...One of 'em , and soon, the officer reflected, as the NCO sternly commanded the others to get organized, then promptly notified her that : " NVGs are on, ma'am. Ready to move on your go. "
Nodding mutely, the officer just checked once more that her BR's safety was off. It was...so there was only one thing left to do:
" Ok, Squad..."
" On. Me. "
On that ( semi ) professional note, the Lt. reached out, grabbed the handle, and pulled the door wide open, before setting off at a power stride. A quick press on the side frame of her combat goggles activated their NVG setting, casting everything with that sickly green hue as the lot of them rolled through
thmp, thmp, thmp, thmp...
Well-worn combat boots- worn by Rahman, by Wilson, and by everyone else-beat out the ancient rhythm that' d been played by millions of UNSC soldiers and Marines over the past few centuries from climbing a flight of hard surface stairs. It wasn't loud, just audible.
Audible, and extremely familiar.
Just about...comforting, actually. More or less. A feeling like it ( whether it was exactly the same didn't matter...at least not now ) began to slowly wrap itself around Rahman...like pulling on a sweater freshly out of the drying machine.
She did her best not to get distracted by it...too much. Some, but not too much.
Besides, there wasn't long to do either one, because by now, they'd reached the top of the stairs, which had brought them to a long, narrow, and badly-lit hallway. If it hadn't been for the NVGs, the whole thing would've looked like a gamer's apartment.
" Squad...halt ! "
The rhythm stopped. Pulling out her TACPAD, the LT. tapped its screen a few times, confirming that the force-tracker marker she'd been given by Westfield was still where she thought it was...
...And, yep. They were still on course. According to the muted-green glowing screen, the unit was literally just outside the room where the ODST had led that mixed bag of Soldiers and Marines to. Less than 20 yards away, actually. Right through a door that was...roughly halfway down the length of this hall, according to what the map layout of this building had to say.
...Thank God for the Superintendent's diligent programming, with all these schematics for the city..
Wouldn't it suck to have to live on some backwater colony world without something like this.
...Assuming there are any left. Probably aren't .
More dark thoughts, eager to distract her. Again , she pushed them aside, and again, called on her training and discipline. If it hadn't been for them, she'd probably have collapsed by now...
Out loud, she called out , " Alright, let's move out...", and stepped forward again, leading them onwards down the hall. Only a few seconds later, they'd reacted the door marked on the map, and on calling another halt, Rahman slowly reached a gloved hand towards it, formed a fist, and knocked hard.
"...Trooper ! "
Yelling was harder for women than guy, so she had really dig deep for this. " Trooper Miles, its me ! Lt. Rahman..I got a whole squad with me ! "
For a moment or so, there was nothing by way of a response, but then-
The door creaked, and swung open all the way. Standing on the other side of it was a tall, burly man wearing a full set of ODST armor- one that was as scarred, battered, and dinged as any set of that armor she'd ever come across. Except...this one had an orange chest plate, decorating with a scratched white skull and crossbones.
..She knew that armor. Hadn't know it long, but she knew it. From the moment she'd first spotted it way back at the bombed-out visitor's center back at The Preserve, she'd gotten the distinct impression that it'd be pretty hard to ever forget a set of plates that looked like that.
And, more importantly, she knew the name of the man wearing it.
" Trooper Miles ", the Army woman standing before him breathed.
She bit her lower lip, then quickly nodded toward the squad she had led here.
" Hope you don't mind...I brought some friends to our second reunion. "
Lt. Rahman...
No kidding, Captain...
Could've told me you were sending one of your good eggs...
A grin tugged at the corner of Dutch's mouth. Just a tug, but it was enough. It was always-always- a good feeling when you got gifted an officer that you knew could handle himself/herself to run the show for you...or, if things got out of hand for them like that one officer from that old movie he'd once watched with those smooth-headed aliens, and the Smartguns that were held chainshaw-style ( whoever he was...Dutch couldn't remember the name. Norman ? ), they'd realize they were out of their depth, and let the NCOs take charge.
That...and it was just great to find a good person hadn't bought it because of the Covenant. Going out like a hero ? Alright...if it had to happen. But, getting an extra day ? Yeah...that was worthy of gratitude just as much.
Thanking the lord for any favors...
" More the merrier, ma'am ", Dutch greeted. As the gentleman he was, he then stood aside, clearing the way.
" ' Specially if you brought some heavy ordinance. Gonna need as much of that we can get..."
Seriously...
Its a Scarab. We seriously need some boom-power here...
Or an orbital strike...
But, he wasn't going to say that to them. It was the height of " stating the obvious" , and the bad kind, as well.
Besides, as they filed through, he noticed that they were at least carrying as much of the heavy stuff as their unit had available- some Jackhammers, and a few Railguns- just like Westfield had said. Altogether, it was a pretty formidable assembly of badguy-to-red-mist weaponry...for dealing with anyone other than a Scarab.
...Maybe also a Locust...
Maybe.
But, that wasn't here or there. What was,...was that Scarab, and it was on them to get rid of the thing. One way, or the other...
At her soldiers looked ready- roughed and battered , though. They were still coated and sprayed with duracrete dust and dirt ( doubtlessly from near misses from all that overpowered weaponry from the Scarab ), and looked like they'd hugely benefit from a cooked meal ( forget that MRE stuff...ugh ), and some sleep. Actually, at this point...even an MRE would be better than just...nothing.
No room on schedule for that, though...
0, whatsoever.
" Agreed. " Rahman bit her lower lip, as she watched Wilson shut the door behind them. " We hit it as hard as we could, and tore chunks outta the legs, but that's the most we could accomplish..."
I noticed..
Don't kick yourself too hard. It takes " That one sweet spot " on the back of one to bring one down quick...and its all stupidly tucked away..
Cruelly clever.
...As was often the case with things that were so obvious it was pointless to say them aloud, they still had a tendency to get spoken anyway. Which it was, about a moment later:
" Hitting the weak spot was what we were going for, but couldn't cinch it before we got pushed back. The Captain's going for Round 2 on that plan, though..."
" Went south for us on the first go around, but now that you're here...", trailed off the Officer, biting her lower lip again, and sending a glance out the window. Beyond the glass, the Scarab still loomed, lumbering around like a hideous , overgrown spider out of one of those ancient monster movies from the 1950s that didn't even have color ( how primitive ).
" Ready as we're gonna get ", the ODST pointed out.
" Short of an orbital strike. Might need one of those to pull this off..."
" True. ", Rahman nodded. " Let's get this rolling, though..."
On that note, she turned toward the roomful of Marine and Soldiers, who were already getting organized by the NCOs who were on hand. Wilson was personally supervising the unlimbering of the bulky, hefty Railguns , while a Marine Lance Corporal began to ease open one of the windows. Cold air and even colder rainwater began to whip through, but...that was just the territory of their job.
" Jumas...check safeties..."
" ...Disengaged. Ok, open the breach and run checks "..
And, so on, as they prepared. All 4 of the Launchers they had on hand were out, set down on the floor, and all undergoing the process of getting loaded, prepped, and ready to unleash some serious damage. They'd need every milligram of it, because even as battered and gashed as the Scarab's armor plating was, it was still a Scarab.
They all knew- every last one of them here- that there were only 3 ways to destroy one: sheer overwhelming firepower to strip away all its plating and critically damage its systems underneath to where it shut down, an overwhelming strike from above ( airstrike, orbital, etc ) , or hitting it at that one weak spot...that one.
What they were gunning for. Their chances of actually hitting it, though...?
As he personally attended to one of the Railguns, kneeling low over it as he set about slotting a fresh shell through its breech, Dutch preferred not to think about it.
Why bother ? Either they'd succeed against these awful odds, and scrap that giant metal monster...
...Or it'd all go sideways, and they'd eitehr be dead, or fleeing for their lives.
..Daunting task. But, when you'd spent the last 20 years doing daunting tasks on daily basis- falling out of the sky by riding a borderline metal coffin, then landing amid heavily-occupied enemy territory without anything heavier than a few Jackhammer Launchers on your side- then...it slowly became routine. As close to normal as anything like that could become for anyone..
Wait...
He was still an ODST.
...It is, actually...normal, for us, acknowledged Dutch to himself, as the rain continued lashing the nearby glass.
An age-old truth, yes, but one that applied as much now as it did at its origins.
Hadn't changed, after so long.
0 reason, to expect that it would.
UNSC Jeddah
Marathon-class Heavy Cruiser
Low Earth Orbit over New Mombasa
Accompanied by fellow Marathon-Class Cruiser Taif
One by one...
The hatches covering the openings of the missile silos began to open. Only milliseconds separated each, as they flickered open, like a bed of metallic flowers blossoming.
Out from each one, the tomato-red tip of an M42 Archer missile was exposed, though still cocooned within their silos. But, with the hatches rapidly beginning to open...they had a way out now. They could go anywhere...
Such as all the way down to the Earth's surface, roughly 60 miles below.
Then, a second or so later...
They did.
It was space, so there wasn't any noise, at all. No searing, screeching whine as the electromagnetic launch systems activated, catapulting each missile out from its resting place, and out through the vaccum. There wasn't any searing, guttural roar as the rocket motors came alive, propelling the the missiles downwards as the exhaust ports glowed white hot...but, none of it needed to.
All that needed to happen, was that the missiles had been successfully launched, and they had been. All 24 of them- out and clear of the launch silos, out and clear of the cruiser, and all on their way down.
Beelining it...straight for the city of New Mombasa.
Ground Zero
NMPQ HQ
" Alright. Go, go, go...! "
At the urging of Wilson, the last of the Railguns was finally positioned-squarely across the sill of the now-opened window. The rain cascading down hadn't abated, and it'd already begun drenching everyone and everything it could with its chill, but nobody stopped to care.
" Double check all safeties, and confirm...! ", he directed the gunner- a short, squat Marine woman who's uniform sleeves had been rolled back to expose a pair of wiry, rock-solid arms, one of which sported both an angry red scar, and the remnants of a plasma burn. Her uniform name tab, as Dutch had observed, read " JACKSON ".
Alicia Jackson. Someone's called her by her first, that the ODST had also caught. Nice, actually...to know that much about those you fight alongside. Even if you hadn't before.
" Gotcha, Sergeant...! ", she responded . " Just say when, and I'll let 'em have it..right where it hurts..."
" Copy that ", echoed her spotter-a tall, thin man with a shock of red hair hunkered beside her. " We'll be ready...! "
All around them, on their left, and on their right, the rest of the heavy weapons teams were doing the same. Jackahmmer Launchers, and the Railguns, were all getting their final checks and placements taken care of. Gaps had been cleared between each team along the length of the glass panes which had been opened for them, and each team had taken great care to ensure that they all had a firing angle on the Scarab...which was still there, lumbering and plodding around, rattling the Earth itself with each step.
The Covenant army around it was still bustling with their activity, and hadn't moved out or showed any signs that they would. That was encouraging, but nobody expected it'd last much longer. Besides, though, it didn't matter all that much overall: The last word from Command had been to secure this area, and without further communication from them to say otherwise...the original orders still stood.
Within reason, though. No point getting massacred on some suicidal charge against that thing, and if this ambush went sideways...
Well...if , that is.
If.
Surrounded by it all, Dutch knew that everyone else knew...all of that. It was just mental static, even the reality of having to fight a Scarab. It'd just settled on everyone's mind, and they knew what the score was.
Just waiting for the order from Westfield...that's all they were doing now.
" Steady...steady everyone ", called the ODST, addressing both his own immediate charges, and the whole room along with them. " This is gonna come down to miliseconds, understand ? "
A garbled chorus of affirmation came back at that, and as it died off, Dutch spotted Lt. Rahman, standing still by the door that she'd entered through. She was gripping her TACPAD , its screen glimmering, and with her Comms specialist standing close at hand.
Biting her lower lip, her concentration and focus was obvious...as was the slight tremor of her hands. Dutch had caught it a while ago, but just like a lot of other stuff going on right now...he knew now wasn't right to say or do anything about it. Something had gotten to her...but it'd have to wait.
Wait till after they survived this, more specifically.
Or till they-
" ...All personnel this net...all personnel this net ! ", shouted the Marine officer running the whole operation over Dutch's helmet comms.
" ...Be advised: the situation has changed ! I've just been notified ...that there is an Archer missile strike on its way against that Scarab from an orbital platform as we speak ! I send again...brace for archer missile strike ! "
... What ?!
If there was ever a dictionary definition for " total whiplash-level of shock ", this was it. Dutch's veins nearly burst from the random surge of adrenaline that'd they'd just been flooded with. Judging from the slight jump from Lt. Rahman...she'd been hit by it as well.
Couldn't hide it as well, though. Wasn't the only thing, but it mattered more than the other.
...Saw the shipwrecks on the way down, though...
Thought the Home Fleet was under-strength- guess that's not the case anymore..!
But...that can't be right...!
"...Sir ?! ". The ODST put some weight behind his tone, cranking the volume a tad- and from an ODST, that always carried weight above their rank. " Sir, did you say orbital strike...?! "
" Hey, hey- everyone ! "
Having now suddenly sprung away from the doorway, Rahman was now rushing toward the center of the room, frantically gesturing toward the sky right past the glass. " Everyone ! Hit the deck ! Friendly fire support, on the way...danger close ! "
Even as the words were halfway out, though, Dutch was already scanning the heavens- and sure enough...a cluster of snow-white, tangerine-orange orbs were visible. High above- a couple thousand feet at least- but at the rate they were closing...
...Good Lord...!
"...Got a visual ! Friendly missiles, on approach ! Get low, and brace ! ", he promptly bellowed, swiveling around to shout at the room as a whole.
They were already scrambling, though- but now ( with just a nanosecond elapsed )...they were doing it even more. It'd clearly caught everybody off guard, and their rushed, barely-contained-chaos of their movements. Still disciplined, but...
Ah...long as it got the job done even mostly-professionally...!
As the orbs got brighter and brighter ( closer and closer... ), and as a distant ( but rapidly strengthening ) roar began to assert itself, Dutch stayed vertical just long enough to double-check that everyone else had taken cover, before going for it himself.
" Kivec ! You better have been paying attention, kid ! "
" Copy that, Trooper...! "
Well...all taken care of, then.
As the ODST finally got low himself, hugging the floor...one particular thought became dominant...at least for a moment.
Deja Vu...
...Hardcore Deja Vu-
BAWOOOMMM !
BAWOOOOMMM !
BAWOOOMMM !
BAWOOOMM !1
...EAUUUUUUAAGHH...!
The absolute cacophony of apocalyptic explosions that were so loud and powerful that they literally seemed to shake and vibrate the planet itself...didn't leave much opportunity for thought. Or breathing, for that matter.
Archers were designed to kill ships, after all. Even Covenant ones ( which required you to use dozens of them just on one ship, due to those aggravatingly strong shields ), so short of a MAC strike, they were some of the heaviest-grade of boom-power the UNSC could sling on any battlefield. But, as an ODST, Dutch ususally got to only watch them go off on screens showing the events of some naval clash of whichever ship he was on, and the alien's fearsome fleet...
Watching them from this angle ? Rare, for certain.
Loud, mostly...
Dust flew off from every surface, nook, cranny, and so on that it'd been sitting, a few panes of glass outright got knocked out of their frames, and the solid hardwood floor literally vibrated like a guitar string from the punishing soundwaves. It didn't last long...only a few seconds...but for those few seconds, it seemed for all the world as if it was ending.
The Archers, slamming down...
The secondary booms of enemy munitions cooking off...
Heaven's spears, God...!
Keep 'em on target, that's all I ask...!
That's it...!
BAWAOOOM...!
BAWOOOM !
BAWOOOM !
BAWOOM.. !
The heavyweight explosions rolled on for several more moments, and the secondaries for even longer after that, but...at last...they trailed off.
The...sudden silence that quickly began to drape itself over the city like a sheet was nearly as jarring as the detonations themselves. " The loudest sound is a click when you're used to a bang ", sort of vibe, so to speak..
It took a handful of moments for everyone to process it, to comprehend it...
Mostly because a lot of them were still stun-locked a bit from all the Archer missiles that'd just rained pretty much on their position ! That wasn't normal...
"...Holy...! Geez...! "
" Crazy-ass squids...! What was that ?! "
And so on, and so forth. Clearly, a lot of the ground-pounders weren't pleased with nearly getting deleted by their own side, which was understandable .
Dutch was already springing back to his boots, though. He didn't even think about it, or go off anything other than pure reflex...
All 4 limbs were still pulsing with stabbing-feelings from all the shockwaves, and the adrenaline surge hadn't even halfway finished dissipating, but that didn't matter.
He had to know...
Had to find out-
"...Xiphos ! Lt. Rahman...! "
Westfield. Seems the detionations hadn't rocked him that bad- or he'd bounched back already. Either or...
" Trooper- ! "
"...Sir ! ", exlaimed the ODST, gazing out past one of the wrecked panes of glass, at the square that lay beyond.
" Its dead, sir ! "
" The Scarab ! Its dead ! "
ODST Launch Bay
Deck 37 of the UNSC Jeddah
15th Battalion
24th Starborne Expeditionary Division
" Sahara Company...Sahara Company, stand to ! "
" The DZ has been marked , and missiles are away. Prepare to drop ! All personnel of Sahara Company...to your pods, and standby ! "
The set of orders, spoken with a pure-grade Welsh accent, boomed out with authority from the loudspeakers of the Jeddah's bay.
" All personnel of Sahara Company, to your pods ! "