CHAPTER ONE
Actium, former UNSC colony – 2556
This planet was dead.
Above, clouds were brown and soupy, stretching unbroken from horizon to horizon, poisoned by weapons most foul. Below, skeletal trees, stripped of their leaves by indiscriminate actions, protruded from sickly and diseased dirt. There, the last vestiges of an old war decomposed and crumbled to dust. Skulls and armour plating lay half buried in the soil, uncovered by the ravages of a twisted and putrid ecosystem.
War had returned to this wounded planet, however. The crack of bullets was met by the hiss and mewing of plasma, disturbing the old ghosts from their rest as the same violence they had perpetrated in life haunted them in death. They came, moaning and babbling, from their unmarked graves, desperate to dissuade a younger generation from making the same mistakes they had. None heard, nor cared.
Hunched against the barren landscape was a massive, purple building that looked like a crouching beetle. Three protrusions stabbed out of its body, flopped across the landscape in mockery of humungous legs. This structure was the source of conflict, evidenced by the battle raging at its base, amongst lines of steep barricades, forming ravines of artificial trenches.
Justin March was currently taking cover behind one such elevated barricade, that had all been constructed by the defenders of the building. Atop it had formerly sat a formidable, double-barrelled turret, known as a Shade, which had been spitting glops of pink plasma at any foe to come near, until a well-placed grenade had silenced it and its operator for good.
Crouched near Justin were four other soldiers, his fellow members of Fireteam Knife. All were hidden and faceless behind their grey armour with white paintwork, along with a white dagger emblem on their breastplates. They were SPARTAN-IVs, the premier soldier of humanity, more legendary than any other branch of the United Nations Space Corps. Aside from the SPARTAN-IIs, of course.
A voice came over Justin's communication system. "Stanforth-Actual to Knife-1. Status on the op?"
Several plasma shots scored and ricocheted off the top of the barricade, sending heat and fragments of molten metal over Fireteam Knife. Distortions of yellow flared across the Spartans' armour as the flaming splinters struck their personal energy shields.
Justin's blue eyes, hidden behind a glowing blue visor, lifted towards the skies above. Then he glanced at the mission clock in the corner of his Heads-Up Display. "Proceeding on schedule, Ma'am."
"Copy," replied Stanforth-Actual, Captain Caroline Ryan. "I'll leave you to it."
"We don't tell her how to fight a space battle," quipped Knife-4 after the communication was terminated, "so long as she doesn't tell us how to take a Covenant base."
"Covenant Remnant base, Harry," came the exasperated words of Knife-2.
"Same difference."
Justin shook his helmeted head, before rising up slightly to take a peek over the barricade. In the split second he had before the white path of a Zubo-pattern long rifle's discharge forced him to duck down again, he got a snapshot view of the Covenant Remnant defences bare metres away.
"Did you spot that nasty Jackal sniper, Lead?" Knife-3 asked as Justin plonked down in the dirt.
Jackals were the spindly, avian, spiney creatures that the Covenant employed infamously as snipers, or line infantry with arm-held personal shields.
"There are two," Justin replied, holding up the corresponding number of fingers. "I think the other's keeping an eye out for counter sniping."
"Damn," cursed Knife-5, the team's resident sniper, cradling her SRS99-S5 like a pet. "They're getting smarter."
The observation made Justin pause for a second. That was something he'd noticed, although some part of his brain had refused to accept the fact. Perhaps the fact that the Covenant were no longer winning the war against humanity had meant that they'd had to adapt tactics.
"That just means we'll have to get smarter ourselves," Justin declared.
"I had a thought, Lead," Knife-3 piped up. He placed his M319 Grenade Launcher on the ground and pulled his M395 DMR off his back clamps. "We pop up at the same time: Abbie takes out the first sniper, and then I take out the second."
Justin frowned behind his visor. There was massive risk, but it could pay off remarkably. Barely a second passed before he nodded.
There was a flash of movement as both Spartans pirouetted to their feet, fired, and then ducked down again. Twin beams of white raced past, a fraction of a second late.
"Snipers eliminated," Knife-3 reported haltingly.
"You've been hit, Max," Knife-2 broke in. Justin tensed as he realised that Knife-3's shields were down, evidenced by the flickers of yellow energy running over the contours of his armour.
"It's just a flesh wound," Knife-3 insisted, though it was clear that his teeth were clenched. His hand was drifting unconsciously to his side.
"Stay here with Abbie and get yourself patched up," Justin ordered, leaving no room for debate. "The rest of you, we're advancing. Once we break the next line of defences, I'll reconvene with Shark and Wolf Fireteams. Knife-2, go left. Knife-4, go right. I'll go over the top," he finished, jerking his finger towards the top of the barricade.
"Just like the Somme, sir?" Knife-4 ask with a molecule of humour, readying his MA5D Assault Rifle. Being equally a history buff and an avid joker made for some interesting combinations.
Justin grimaced. "Hopefully with more success." He held up three fingers. "On three, ready?"
Nods confirmed their understanding.
"One. Two. Three!"
High above, in orbit over the scarred planet, another battle was raging.
Leading the Covenant Remnant fleet, the focus of the combat, was the hourglass shaped, purple tinted bulk of a Ket-pattern battlecruiser. Covering its left flank was a Ceudar-pattern heavy corvette, the stepped hull concealing banks of powerful weapons. The final two warships were significantly less formidable, Zanar-pattern light cruisers, looking like copies of the battlecruiser, if only a sixth of its dimensions.
Facing them were seven ships, less imposing at first glance, but certainly dangerous if underestimated. These were UNSC warships, some of the newer ones to roll off the production lines since the official end of the Human-Covenant War, four years prior. The biggest change was their shielding technology, a new development snatched from Covenant warships. Aside from that, they still preserved much of their old systems, each ship equipped with a spine-mounted Magnetic Accelerator Cannon, capable of hurtling a ten-metre projectile at supersonic velocities.
The flagship, in the centre of the formation, was around two and a half times the length of the other six warships, and many times larger in all other dimensions. It was shaped like a series of four hexagons, arranged in order by decreasing width, and tipped onto the same side. On the upper hull, white lettering spelt out the ship's identification: UNSC MICHAEL STANFORTH CA-1923.
On the bridge, Captain Caroline Ryan watched as the Covenant ships fired volley after volley of plasma and pulse lasers to roar across the silent gulf of space towards Battlegroup 64. They were answered by the flare of Archer missiles and the twinkling yellow of the 50mm rounds from the heavy turrets.
This was the cultivation of four years of hunting. Here was Shipmaster Ramo 'Budamee's fleet, finally tracked down to its bolthole. On the planet below, the SPARTAN-IVs were assaulting the enemy base and what ground forces were garrisoned there by the enemy fleet. The four years of being hunted were clearly showing on the Fleet of Revenant Ascension, as 'Budamee had quaintly named his scratch force. The Valorous Truth, the flagship, was looking especially shabby.
All that remained was to destroy these ships. 'Budamee would be either killed up here in space, or down there on the planet. There was no way out for that terrorist.
"MAC guns charged across the fleet," reported Lieutenant Bright from his station.
Now for the coup de grace.
"Thank you," Caroline replied. "Andrew?"
A blink later, and the subject of her query was projected above the holoprojector as a translucent, three-dimensional figure tinted blue. Smaller than the expected size for an Artificial Intelligence, he was a male with soft, youthful features, short black hair, and a jumpsuit-like uniform. His hands were clasped behind his back and his feet were positioned directly under his shoulders, as per military regulations.
"Ma'am?" he asked. His voice issued from speakers and his sight came from cameras, but his mouth still formed the words and his eyes flickered and blinked like any human.
"Firing solutions for the MACs, please."
Andrew seemed to zone out for the briefest of moments. In reality, his attention devoted itself to linking with the other Artificial Intelligences aboard the rest of the fleet, in addition to calculating the optimum range and angles that were required for them to fire on the Covenant Remnant ships. His speedy algorithms and operational rate allowed this to be finished before the first half of the second moment had passed.
"Finished, Ma'am," Andrew finished with a nod. "Awaiting your command."
Caroline crossed her arms. "Send the bastards to meet their gods."
Barely a second later, a powerful vibration rocked through the ship, making Caroline's teeth clack together. Streaks of yellow light connected the prows of the UNSC warships and their Covenant counterparts. For the UNSC ships, there was no observable change, thanks to a momentary firing of engines to compensate for the small recoil. The Covenant ships had a much less peaceful reaction. The shields of both of the light cruisers instantly vaporised in a burst of purple energy.
With two MACs trained on it, the heavy corvette got off worse. The first shot stripped away its shields. The second gutted it along a diagonal, from front port to rear starboard. Atmosphere and fuel started leaking from both ends.
That left the Valorous Truth. Its shields were tougher, requiring two MACs to shatter. Luckily, the third MAC was the Stanforth's, which was significantly more powerful than the ones operated by the Strident-class heavy frigates escorting it.
The Valorous Truth was speared through, much like its escorting corvette. This shot was clearly more devastating, however, as the battlecruiser immediately began to list down and towards starboard.
With no invisible bubbles of energy to protect themselves, the warships of the Fleet of Revenant Ascension fell prey to the multitude of ordinance already being hurtled through space towards them. Armour plating was holed and melted under the barrage of Archer missiles and 50mm rounds.
We're winning up here, Caroline observed silently. I hope the same can be said down below.
Vaulting over the barricade, Justin immediately began analysing the situation before him, categorising everything into level of threat.
The primary threats were standing on the next barricade, about a short sprint away. Encased in purple armour, and brandishing their double-bodied plasma rifles, were a pair of Elites. Hinge-jaws, as some like to call them, on account of their lack of a lower jaw and their four teeth-lined mandibles. The purple signified them to be Special Operations Officers; particularly dangerous, well-trained, and intelligent individuals.
Next were the three plasma turrets positioned on top of the barricades. Each was spitting out a never-ending stream of lethal white-hot energy. Even only a few hits would be enough to burn through a Spartan's shield, their armour, and their flesh beneath. Luckily, though, the turrets were being manned by Grunts. Squeaky, methane breathing, bipedal creatures that looked a little like shell-less tortoises, they were not the most intelligent when it came to . . . anything, really.
There were a few clusters of Jackals near the two Elites, holding energy shields, and protecting the swarms of Grunts that gathered behind them. None of them, except the Elites, looked particularly eager to engage the Spartans.
Justin was quick in issuing a challenge towards the enemy. He squeezed the trigger of his M739 SAW, allowing the sound of its shots; a steady, constant clatter, to ring out. Music to his ears.
Even better was the sound of Knife-2 and -4 opening up with their BR85HB Battle Rifle and MA5D respectively.
The first storm of fire from Justin hit the Elite that was closer. It washed over its shield, burst through, and pockmarked its chest amour. Blue blood flew, and the alien collapsed with a strangled roar. It had still managed to get off a few shots from its plasma rifle, however, forcing Justin to dodge to his right to avoid being cauterised.
All it took was a three-note symphony of three-round bursts from Knife-2's rifle to silence the three operators of the plasma turrets. Each burst crashed through the mask on the front of each Grunt's face, and into its brain. One unlucky specimen had its mask shot off its face, causing the sudden burst of leaking methane to send it rocketing into the air.
Justin switched targets to the Elite that Knife-4 was engaging. "Knife-2, the Jackals!"
"On it," Knife-2, swinging her rifle towards the glowing disc shields. Several Jackals already had their plasma pistols on overcharge, holding them around the edge of their shield. One hit from an overcharged plasma bolt would take down a Spartan's shields in a heartbeat.
He had no more time to look at his immediate subordinate, as Justin had to focus on the Elite. Although it tried to dodge and weave, there was nowhere to take cover atop the barricade. With Knife-4's help, it soon met the fate of its compatriot.
"That's my kill, Lead," Knife-4 declared.
"I never said it wasn't," Justin replied, ejecting the drum shaped ammunition magazine from underneath the SAW with a twist. He slid another into place just as the last Jackal had its pistol shot out of its hand. "Nice shooting, Eva."
"Thank you, Lead," Knife-2 replied crisply and professionally. Justin felt a hit of disappointment and hurt at her coldness. He'd always felt that she was the closest to him in terms of a friend amongst the members of Fireteam Knife. He had no time to mull over it, though, as a new problem presented itself.
Knife-2 had taken out all the Jackals swiftly, targeting exposed body parts like feet or hands, and then moving to the more critical areas once they were in turn left unprotected.
The gaggle of Grunts in front of Fireteam Knife, with their leaders slain and shielding forces eliminated, immediately embodied the two schools of thought that the diminutive aliens possessed while on the battlefield. Half immediately broke into a headlong rout, retreating in all directions, some even towards the Spartans. The other half dropped their pistols, reached into their waist pockets, pulled out two balls of blue each, activated them with a click and a glow of pale blue, and then ran towards the Spartans, waving trails of blue smoke behind them like a group of kids with sparklers.
They barely made a few steps before a small, green grenade hit the ground in front of them and bounced into their midst. The explosion tore through alien flesh, muscle, and bone. Dropped glowing blue spheres hit the ground with a plop. They pulsed, and then exploded in plasma, igniting more of the spheres. Within seconds there was nothing left, aside from pieces of scorched flesh.
Beyond the barricade was a stretch of open ground, leading to the gaping maw of the entrance to the towering structure. Two plasma turrets, operated by purple armoured Elites, sat at either side, just inside the gateway. The three members of Fireteam Knife crashed behind the barricade before the Elites' fire reached them.
"Bring up Knife-3 and -5," Justin directed Knife-2, who nodded. He then activated his longer-ranged comms. "Knife-1 to Shark and Wolf Teams. Status?"
"We're about to breach Entrance C," came Wolf-1's reply. "No casualties so far."
"We've got Hunters at Entrance A," Shark-1 followed. "We're pinned down at present. Two injured."
"Copy," Justin replied. "Hold your ground, Shark-1. I'll send some help from inside. Wolf-1, can you send your rocket launcher through the facility to surprise those Hunters from behind?"
"Roger that," Wolf-1 accepted.
Justin signed off the comms just as Knife-3 and -5 ducked down next to him. He couldn't avoid noticing the red stain on Knife-3's armour, but he was relieved to see the white fluff of Biofoam protruding from the gap in the metal.
"What now, Lead?" Knife-2 asked.
"Elites first," Justin responded flatly, still stung by her cold tone from earlier. He pointed over his shoulder towards the entrance. "Then we blast through every Covvie bastard until we find whatever hole 'Budamee's crawled into, tear him out of it, and give him a third eye."
A silence greeted this declaration from the rest of the team. It was rare for him to speak this harshly about anything or be angry in any capacity. And he never made combat personal.
"Can you take them out, Knife-5?"
She hesitated. Although her face was hidden, it was still written with concern for her team leader and friend.
"Any day now," Justin suddenly snapped. Her stomach jolted inside. Nevertheless, she readied her rifle, popped up, fired off two shots in quick succession, and ducked down again. A pair of gargling cries came from behind as the sound of plasma discharging instantly cut off.
Justin nodded before vaulting over the barricade. "Come on, then."
It had all been planned down to the very instant. At least, that's what the Oracle had told him. He did wonder if the Oracle had predicted that the filthy humans would track them down so quickly.
At any rate, it was not his place to question the wisdom that the Oracle revealed. It was still a bitter reality to watch the fleet's annihilation. The cultivation of years of work, all that he had saved from the Covenant's downfall, gone in minutes. To add insult to the injury, they had not managed to destroy even one of the wimpy human ships. Granted, the parasites had somehow figured out how to cower in their ships behind energy shields. It was not dissimilar to having a limb cut off, all the same.
But the Oracle had said that it had to happen this way. They needed to appear weak, to make the humans move cautiously, suspicious of a trap. It was all a game to try and buy some more time. And that was all they needed for victory. Time.
Ramo 'Budamee had once been nothing more than a Zealot, commanding the light cruiser Glorious Reverence. When the Covenant had collapsed into civil war, 'Budamee had recognised it for what it was; the humans had infiltrated the hearts of his brethren with lies and poison. He'd gathered all the ships he could and fled away from the conflict to continue the war against the humans. It was on one of his many hit-and-run raids in the years that followed, that he was first contacted by the Oracle. Calling itself "The Engineer", it had presented 'Budamee with a solution, a solution of revenge, and the means to carry it out. It was an opportunity to win the entire war for the Covenant at a stroke. An opportunity that was far too good to pass up.
Now, he was standing outside the last door, behind which lay the key to their success. His strapping frame was concealed behind the white armour of a Ceremonial Battle Harness with glowing blue accents. The weight of the unique, swept-back helmet on his skull and the guards on his mandibles made him lift his head higher in pride. Hooked on his waist was a retracted sword. At a touch, it could spit forth twin blades of blue plasma that would slay even the dreaded "Demons", that the humans were so fond of deploying into battle. If the communiques from his troops were to be believed, then these Demons were at the forefront of this attack, the distant sounds of which were reaching his ears even here.
His musings were interrupted by the appearance of a hologram in the hallway just in front of him. Completely white, it was shaped like a many-pronged gear, with an eye floating unaided in the centre, and two bird wings extended from its sides.
'Budamee immediately bowed his head in reverence. "Oracle."
"The outer defences have fallen," the Oracle's dark voice growled. "The Demons are swarming into the citadel. It will not be long before they are here."
"That was expected," 'Budamee replied. "Has our Executioner departed?"
"Not yet," the Oracle admitted. "But the time is approaching with speed. The eddies will still at the correct moment, and our plan will then bear fruit."
"Indeed," 'Budamee agreed, drawing his sword but hesitating over its activation. He also hoisted a plasma rifle from his belt. "I shall play the part you ordained, Oracle, as our Executioner plays his, and as you play yours. For the Return."
"For the Return," repeated the Oracle, before his image flickered and vanished.
As 'Budamee fixed his eyes down the length of the corridor, he vowed to slay as many Demons as was needed to ensure the success of their mission. The success of the Oracle's plan.
The bodies of the defiant Covenant soldiers were strewn thickly throughout the main atrium, like fallen leaves. The Jackals and Elites lay sprawled and twisted, while the pointy backpacks of the Grunts stuck up like icebergs in an ocean, sometimes still weakly leaking methane from bullet holes.
Justin took a glance at his team, narrowing his eyes at the sight of each visor pointed in his direction. What were they concerned about?
Wolf-1, his armour covered with black patterning, and Shark-1, her patterns in light blue, came over to join where he was standing. They nodded to him; gestures he reciprocated as he opened a bandwidth to the fleet.
"Knife-1 to Stanforth-Actual, main level secured. Over."
It was only a few seconds delay before the reply came in. Captain Ryan's stern face under bob cut black hair faced him from a display in the corner of his HUD. "Stanforth-Actual to Knife-1, we're finished in orbit. Andrew is ready for your undivided attention."
"Thank you, Ma'am. Shark-4 is setting up the scanning device now."
"Thanks, Knife-1," broke in the AI.
Justin couldn't stop the shudders deep within his spine that happened whenever he heard the youthfulness of the AI's voice. Although the construct wasn't really a child, Justin was just unable to reconcile the concept of war being fought by children.
"I'm getting a good reading . . . hmm."
"Andrew?" asked Captain Ryan.
"The facility is just as large under the surface as above," Andrew responded. "Something's interfering with the lifeform scans, and I'm not sure where its coming from. I'll try to track it down. I'm not getting anything beyond a few levels, but from what I can see, it's thick with Covenant in every direction."
"Well," Justin remarked. "We'll have to clear them out either way. Knife Team goes up," he pointed towards the upwards sloping corridor in front of them, "Wolf Team goes down," he pointed to the corridor's brother, proceeding at a perpendicular angle, "and Shark stays here to guard the exit."
The tactical reasoning was sound. Shark had the most casualties out of the three fireteams and would therefore have more trouble clearing the building.
"You have my approval to proceed, Knife-1," Captain Ryan finished. "Smoke out the last rats."
"Yes Ma'am," Justin responded as the display minimised and vanished. He turned to the Spartans. "Knife Team up, Wolf Team down. Shark Team stays here. Let's move."
Justin mirrored the two other Fireteam Leaders in moving to his respective team. He checked the ammo counter on his SAW, and then slapped the safety off.
"After you," he offered Knife-4, who nodded before advancing up the sloped tunnel with his rifle raised. The rest of Knife Team followed after, with Justin running second and Knife-2 bringing up the rear.
They were coming. The distant footfalls, the approaching smell, and the warning from the Oracle, had all told him that. 'Budamee ignited his sword with a blaze of blue light. He pointed the twin prongs down the corridor ahead of him. The passage was short enough to cover in a three second sprint at full speed. At the end, it sloped up sharply towards the level above. There was no room for cover, no recesses to cower behind. A double-edged sword, but one that 'Budamee was confident would work to his advantage over the enemy's.
He started to regulate his breathing, steadying the excitement that was coursing through his veins. A clear and level head was needed to succeed in his objective.
The clattering of footsteps on metal grew louder. 'Budamee straightened up, disengaged his sword, and activated his battle harness's camouflage function. A shimmer passed over his form as light was bent around him, before he vanished entirely from sight, leaving only a slight distortion at the edges.
Just in time. To 'Budamee's joy, five Demons came charging down the corridor, guns at the ready and sweeping in all avenues. 'Budamee carefully slipped to the side, his back pressed up against the wall, as the Demons moved towards him. His heart caught in his throat as one of the Demons looked in his direction with its head on one side, as if it had caught a glimpse of the distortion prevalent in several places on his harness. But it shook its head and joined the rest of its team in moving past. They gathered around the door, examining for a way to open it and no doubt conversing in their foul language.
'Budamee stepped out into the corridor again, this time behind the Demons. Clenching his plasma rifle in his left hand, he lifted up his idle energy sword as he stepped towards the closest Demon. It had its back to him, while he was close enough to see the miniscule scratches in the black stripes across its armour.
Perhaps it felt his breath on the back of its neck. Or maybe it was alerted through the so-called 'six sense' that humans were purported to possess. Either way, it started to turn around. 'Budamee spotted two designs on its chest: a head of a ravening predator, and a large "4". He was perfectly poised to strike, but the Demon only needed to move its elbow slightly in order to discover him.
It was time to commit. He had the element of surprise.
'Budamee pulled back his right arm, pressed the activation trigger on his sword, and rammed it forward. In the same instant that the twin blue prongs winked into being, his active camouflage began to recede across his body, starting from his arm.
The Demon with the "4" had no time to cry out before the plasma sword speared through their chest. Lifting it off the ground with his sword, 'Budamee opened fire with his rifle at the rest of the Demons. Two had their shields immediately burnt away by the plasma, with one being struck in their now unprotected side, letting out a cry and a stench of burning metal and flesh.
To their credit, the remaining three Demons that were upright opened fire instantly. 'Budamee was mildly impressed as he swung the dead Demon, impaled on his sword, over to catch the bullets. He thrust his arm forward, sending the Demon sliding off the blade and hurtling through the air, to knock down two of the other Demons.
'Budamee then pirouetted to the right, avoiding the storm of bullets from the last Demon on its feet. He swung his sword around, which cut through its shields, armour, and body like a hot knife through butter. Its chest, head and right arm were neatly slit from its body and impacted against the wall.
A choked moan issued from the Demon lying on the ground, its hand pressed over its charred side. 'Budamee examined it for a beat before jamming his sword into its neck.
The last two were still trying to extract themselves from underneath their dead comrade when he finished them off with a pair of plasma bolts to the face.
Dabdab was a Grunt who enjoyed the simple things in life: the comfort of sleep, the comradeship of the other Grunts in his lance, the sweet tastes from the food nipple.
Did he believe in the Covenant, in the core tenets, in the religion of the Great Journey? Once, the answer had been certain. But then there had been the disaster of the Great Schism, the Fall of High Charity, the fragmenting of the Covenant. Endless cycles spent awake, watching and waiting for whatever enemy they fought nowadays. His friends killed and injured in the brutal conflict. Going hungry more often than not.
Dabdab's faith had been shaken severely. But then the ship he was on was met by Shipmaster 'Budamee. Unlike many others of his species, 'Budamee went to great lengths to inspire his followers. He would walk among them, even among the Grunts, so often looked down upon by other members of the Covenant. He talked kindly to them, and spoke often, carefully explaining everything from why they fought to his plans for finally defeating the humans.
Dabdab tried his best to believe in his leader's schemes, but he could not prevent doubt creeping in. 'Budamee had four ships and barely five thousand followers. At the height of its empire, the Covenant had ten thousand ships and almost a million warriors, yet it was still unable to destroy the humans.
Dabdab tried his best to fight. To fight alongside his new lance, under the watchful eye of a Spec Ops Elite by the name of 'Brutakamee. It had been in vain, however.
That was why Dabdab was frantically running down the corridor, panicking and squeaking in fear. Fear, from the speed and efficiency that the Demons had massacred his comrades and even the Spec Op officer. The only thought remaining in his brain was to run and hide, to prolong his existence, even for a few more precious moments.
He screeched to a halt after cresting to the next level and saw that it was a dead end. He had reached the uppermost level of the base. Looking around frantically, he spotted a small gap in the bottom of the wall, with a detached metal plate lying on the floor next to it. Throwing himself to the floor, Dabdab crawled within the gap, which was just big enough for his methane-filled backpack to squeeze inside.
Reaching around behind himself, Dabdab grabbed the metal plate, pulled it up, and tried to position it over the hole in the wall. He held his breath and froze all his movement as he heard footsteps on metal approaching.
Justin scanned the room, his SAW following the direction of his eyes. There was nothing in sight; no angled corridor leading to the next floor, no cluster of Elites or Hunters ready to make any human pay the ultimate price.
"Well, that's an anticlimax," Knife-4 remarked as he came up behind. "I guess they decided to give up and die."
Rolling his eyes, Justin opened his comms. "Knife-1 to Stanforth-Actual. Enemy above ground cleared."
"Copy Knife-1," replied Captain Ryan. "Proceed back to–"
"Wolf-1 to anybody who copies!" interrupted a frantic voice over the radio. "We're under attack by a–"
Wolf-1's voice was accompanied with gunfire. When it cut off, it was with the sound of something sizzling.
"Wolf-1? Wolf-1?" Justin queried, fear rolling in his stomach. "Does anyone have comms on Fireteam Wolf?"
"I'm accessing Fireteam Wolf's armour systems," Andrew reported as Justin broke into a run, back past his teammates.
"Let's go find Wolf," Justin ordered the rest of team Knife, almost interrupting Andrew's report.
"I can't detect any vital signs. I'm sorry."
Justin gritted his teeth as he ran down the sloped corridor at full speed, the rest of Knife team on his heels. Internally he was cursing his sluggishness, even though he was moving at a speed unobtainable by the majority of humanity.
"Where were they, Andrew?" he called. "Location? What happened to them?"
"They'd just reached a closed door on the seventh sublevel."
"That's how many levels we had above ground!" Knife-2 remarked.
"Indeed. They were trying to figure out how to open the door when they were attacked. I managed to recover some body camera footage. Playing now."
The display winked into view on Justin's HUD, showing a view of a closed doorway. Text on the top of the video identified it as WOLF-ONE – HUD RECORDING.
A burst of sound, akin to a lightning strike but fundamentally different, came from somewhere behind Wolf-1's head. The camera turned with the Spartan, as a new sound filled the air: plasma shots.
There was an Elite standing there. White armour. Pattern of a Zealot. Currently hoisting Wolf-4 aloft on its energy sword.
Justin watched in muted horror as it subdued the entirety of Fireteam Wolf in bare seconds. Wolf-1 was the last left on his feet as the Elite spun towards him. Then the camera was flying through the air. It impacted the wall, and then hit the floor, before cutting to black.
"Armour configuration matches previous sightings of Shipmaster Ramo 'Budamee," Andrew announced. "It's him, alright."
"Permission to take him, Stanforth-Actual," Justin requested, skidding slightly in Jackal blood on the second landing.
"Granted," Captain Ryan responded, sounding equally as eager to see the cur sent to hell.
The bodies of Fireteam Wolf lay in the huddle where they fell at the far end of the corridor. Aside from that, Justin could see no other beings, living or dead. Anger rose in his chest as he saw the dismembered half of Wolf-1 lying near the wall.
"D'you think he's given us the slip?" Knife-3 asked.
"No," Knife-2 murmured. "Something tells me he's still around."
Justin narrowed his eyes. "Andrew. Can you give me a thermal scan of the corridor?"
"Done. There is an extreme concentration of heat just in front of the far door. I would say that it matches the thermal energy levels of an Elite's cloaking device. Marking the target."
A diamond-shaped blue NAV marker appeared in the reported location. Justin smiled behind his visor. "Take him."
The storm of gunfire broke out with a thunderclap. Cloaking shields drew power from the normal energy shields, leaving the latter down when fully concealed. And battle harness armour did little to protect against bullets.
Ramo 'Budamee, Zealot of the Ministry of Fervent Intercession, Shipmaster of the Fleet of Revenant Ascension, the terrorist who massacred the human populations of Juneou and Tanuab III, slayer of five Demons, had a wall of bullets tear through his chest, and flopped to the floor, deader than the humans he murdered in life. An unremarkable end to a hated being.
A reverent silence fell over Fireteam Knife. The weight of the cultivation of four years of struggle weighed on their shoulders, while simultaneously relieved at having avenged the injustices of the past and laid the ghosts to rest.
Knife-4 was the first to stir. "What about the door?"
It was divided by smooth lines into three: each segment was curved and would retract when opened. In the middle, a circle displayed a red light, split into three parts.
"It's locked," observed Justin. "Andrew, can you help?"
"Stand by," replied the AI. "There."
A NAV marker appeared over a tiny control panel next to the door, a mess of orange and green points of light.
"Try the larger orange button in the middle."
Justin stepped over, navigating his way around the bodies of Fireteam Wolf. He poked a finger at the button that was slightly larger than all others. With a hum, the door split and slid open.
"Like clockwork," Andrew remarked. "Not a single authentication system in the entire Covenant."
Sweeping the room with his SAW, Justin took a moment to appraise the contents. Equipment bizarre and beyond his comprehension was stacked high. Protruding glass tubes running with dark blue energy and coils of metal were clearly energy sources. What drew his eyes was the object in front of the back wall. With a small slope leading up to a flat, wide base, and four pillars around the edges, it looked almost like the base of a circular lookout tower.
"What's with all this?" Knife-5 asked, peering at the alien paraphernalia.
"Andrew?" Justin queried.
"I have to admit, Knife-1, I am stumped. I'm a shipboard AI, after all. A smart AI, sure, but my speciality is shooting at Covenant, not understanding them. I could identify what the equipment does, but how they fit together as a whole? That's gonna be a tough one. I think we'll need the spooks from ONI down here to really figure it out."
"Regardless," broke in Captain Ryan. "I think one thing is clear: 'Budamee was cooking up something nasty in his basement. Fall back, Knife Team, in case it's booby-trapped."
"Knife-1 copies," Justin replied, taking a final glance around the room before following his team out.