Chapter 40 – Eripio
August 20th, 2552 - (05:58 Hours - Military Calendar)
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach
Viery Territory, New Alexandria
:********:
The Brutes were unrelenting. Facing fire from all sides didn't seem to matter. They were dug in on the front steps of the historical society building, intent on guarding their prey above all else. It was a territorial display taken to the most detrimental extreme. Bullets scratched and stabbed at them in rhythmic torrents. Whistling grenades bounced and detonated in their midst. With each volley and each explosion, more of their numbers were cut down and blown aside. Still, they were intent on holding the stairs.
They had been whittled down to three when the most worrying of them decided to make itself known. The chieftain let out a roar as it charged out from behind one of the support columns of the portico. It covered the steps in two swift strides and cannoned across the open ground, ignoring the growing storm of bullets that struck against its armor.
Duncan's frantic mind wasn't sure which to focus on, the dozen-strong Banshee squadron flying towards them from the northwest or the chieftain that was now barreling its way down the same street as him. One would be more of a problem, but the other was going to reach him sooner. He slammed in a new magazine and poured a stream of fully automatic fire into the chieftain. Yuri did the same in an attempt to slow it down. Rico joined in, launching a 40-millimeter down the road. The projectile skipped several times like a rock over water before blowing up in the Brute's face. If the blast hurt it, it showed no sign of it as it charged on through the smoke without any loss in momentum.
For the second time in the past two days, Duncan found himself in the path of a chieftain that refused to take a hint.
Yuri kept drilling into it with his SMG to no avail. "How many bullets will it take for you to understand the word 'die'!?"
The Brute shrugged off the submachine-gun fire altogether, giving a triumphant bellow as it did. Upon closing the last five meters it raised its gravity hammer for a first strike.
A blinding flash of light stung Duncan's retinas. He winced and turned away, bracing himself for a blow that never came. Once his vision cleared, he perked back up to see what had happened.
The chieftain was lying about ten paces back from where he last saw it, sprawled out on the ground. Its chest was a mangled, smoldering mess of eviscerated armor, pooling blood and steaming guts.
Yuri breathed easier. "Playing it real close, Whiskey-4."
"What does that make now, two?" Rico said, nearly laughing with relief.
"Sorry about that," Lang replied. "Got a little distracted."
As if to emphasize his point, another flicker of light lanced overhead, striking out the last of the first set of Banshees in a burst of flaming metal. The debris was spiraling down towards the society building even as another of the Brutes succumbed on the front steps.
The last of the pack left standing was the launcher-wielding whistleblower from before. It held its ground with a blazing bravado that saw it fire off grenades in every direction. Its defiance was rewarded by redoubled efforts from the whole platoon. It quickly began to tremble under the sheer incoming fire.
Its fate was nearly sealed when the ground shook.
Duncan was almost tempted to think it was an earthquake. Then he remembered the mission and looked off in the direction of the corvette.
Looking past the buildings to the southwest he saw plumes of smoke rising from the area of the landing zone. He checked his timer. Something was off. They were at least a minute ahead of schedule.
The buildings they'd targeted couldn't care less for their schedule as the demolition charges ripped out their bases. One by one he watched them collapse, beginning with the Triad Community Center. Screams and explosions rang out, only to be cut off and suppressed by the sounds of thundering impacts and more explosions. As the World Cuisine HQ fell, a mushroom cloud funneled high into the air. It just barely failed to reach the corvette up above. Those weren't the only detonations he could hear. More of them rumbled from elsewhere in the city. He quickly chalked them up as the other landing zones suffering the same fate.
The hum of multiple impulse drives pulled his eyes back to the northwest. The squadron of a dozen Banshees were banking off from their original vector. They were no longer coming for the platoon. They had changed course, each of them of the same mind as they turned and boosted towards the south, heading instead for the landing zone.
"Ep-1 to Epsilon, move up! Let's get those hostages! Whiskey, secure the north road! Whiskey-3 and 4, watch that extraction corridor, the tram will be here any minute!"
Duncan snapped back to the situation on the ground. Yuri and Rico had gone out from cover and were already dashing towards the building. He ditched his position and followed after them.
The rest of Epsilon rushed out from the neighboring streets in unison. Dalton, Daz and Reznik passed behind them, moving towards the northbound road on their right flank. Weapons raised, Epsilon closed in on the front steps and worked their way up, taking careful steps around the bodies of the Brutes.
Within the shade of the portico, they found a blood trail leading away from an abandoned Brute Shot. Its owner, the whistleblower, was on the other end of it. It clawed at the floor as it crawled away on its belly. It was slugging its way towards the front doors or rather the gaping hole where the doors should've been. A spike grenade lay near the threshold where one of its packmates had dropped it in their haste. The Brute tried to reach for it, paying no attention to the footsteps approaching from behind. A boot stamped down on its arm and its reach fell short.
The Staff let it slowly turn to him if only to line up its forehead with the barrel of his shotgun.
He fired.
A blast of buckshot tore off a side of its face and bit a chunk out of its brain. Its eyes rolled back as the shattered remains of its head hit the floor.
The squad moved on without further interruption.
Without a word, they broke up into two fireteams that stacked up on either side of the doorway, the Staff's on one side and Nova's on the other. At a nod from the former, they moved in.
They crossed through the vestibule and passed a front desk that had been covered in blood. Duncan didn't see a body as yet. They came out into the marble expanse of a circular hall. It ran the full height of the building with five floors leading up towards the glass dome, each forming concentric rings of railed balconies. Each floor possessed the tall shelves of a traditional library, dressed with books of antiquity and modernity. As the growing sunlight reflected off the marble tiling, it fell on the spectacle at the center of the ground floor: a pile of bones.
A collection of what Duncan immediately recognized to be over a dozen femurs, humeri and ribs were gathered in a heap.
Even if this was the right setting for it, he was sure that the bones hadn't come from any scientific exhibition that the building had to offer. His first clue was the dried blood stains that he could see just beneath them. The scraps of muscle, tendon, cartilage and clothing that still clung to most of them was another dead giveaway.
No one looked at it for longer than it took them to understand what they'd found.
The last group that they'd saved outside must have been the same one Lang had seen near the entrance. There was no sign of the group that had been housed in the main hall.
Four passageways branched off from the hall to the other rooms in the building.
Nova led her team down the first passageway on the left. The corridor terminated a short distance later at a room whose doors had been likewise ripped from their hinges. Duncan could see straight inside. It was a meeting room with wooden tables that had been haphazardly thrown into a pile in a corner. They stopped shy of actually going inside. Though there were signs that civilians had been held here, namely the rows of books and papers that had been laid out on the floor like makeshift beds, the room was completely empty.
"Room one clear." Nova said. "Moving to two."
"Roger that." The Staff replied. "Room three clear. Moving to four."
The team backtracked down the passage and returned to the main hall. They passed down the curving path that ran beside the base of bookshelves and statues of the city's historical figures, all the while giving the pile of bones a wide berth. The Staff's team moved similarly on the far side. Each turned the corner on the next pair of corridors and advanced.
The leftward passageway flickered in and out of the dark. The ceiling lights were shorting out in fits of epileptic malfunction. Nova's stack moved slowly down its length.
The gaping doorway at the end of it yawned wide for them. The room beyond was also dark. That didn't stop Duncan's VISR from picking out the general layout.
Several shapes were quickly highlighted at the back of the room, braced against the bookshelves. In seconds, several had spread to several dozen. Some were standing. Some were sitting down. Some were huddled close together. Some were alone. Across the board, all were undeniably human.
The civilians had gathered themselves at the very back. If he had to guess, he was looking at a mixture of both the group that had been held at the main hall and the one that had been kept here originally. The former must have come running after their guards had abandoned them for the fight outside. It explained their numbers. A quick headcount set them at around 35, men, women as well as a few children.
The team moved inside and secured the room. Mito found a switch on the wall and flicked it on, reactivating the ceiling lights. Over three dozen people came into full view. Some of them shrunk back at seeing the ODSTs more clearly. Others looked hopeful. They appeared rugged, dirty and exhausted but very much alive.
Nova stepped up and projected her voice through her helmet speaker. "Everyone, I need you to listen. We're here to help. Follow us and we'll evacuate you to safety."
There wasn't a split-second hesitation like Duncan had been expecting.
The civilians were instantly on the move, grabbing children, shouldering wounded loved ones and brushing themselves off as they huddled towards them.
"Right this way." Nova directed.
She and Mito led them back down the corridor. Duncan and Rico stayed behind at the threshold to make sure there were no stragglers.
As they did, a woman with matted hair and a bruised cheek stopped next to Rico. Her desperation was palpable even before she opened her mouth.
"Excuse me, have you seen a little girl out there? My daughter, they took her with a few others. If you know anything, please tell me."
"You mean Lizzy?" Duncan asked.
At the mention of the name the woman rounded on him, her expression lighting up as she did. "Ye-, yes. That's her. Have you seen her?"
"She's with us, ma'am. We have her secured."
He felt a deep warmth inside when he saw a glimmer of hope dawn in her haggard eyes.
"Can you take me to her?"
"We will, ma'am, just follow us." Rico said and took her by the shoulder, guiding her down the corridor. "Ep-8?"
"I got it."
Duncan peered back into the room after the last person had left it. Once he was sure there was no one else, no closets to check, no spaces behind the shelves to hide, he turned heel and ran after the group.
They herded the civilians into the central hall. Across the way, the Staff's team were doing the same with a group of similar size. The two crowds quickly merged into a single shuffling, fidgeting mass. They nevertheless took care to avoid the pile of bones in the middle of the room.
The Staff led the way at the head of the exodus. "Ep-1 to Whiskey-3 and 4, what's the status of our exfil, over?"
"Looks like Colonel Saraquez put his money where his mouth is, sir ." Mackley answered. "The tram's coming into view now. Should be pulling into the station in the next 30 seconds."
"Alright. I need another scan of the society building. Are there any other signatures outside of the main hall?"
Lang answered in turn. "Negative, Ep-1. The rest of the buildings' clear. Anybody else who's still in there is right behind you."
"Good. Whiskey-1?"
"North road's secured, sir." Dalton said. "It's a straight shot from here to the station."
"Copy. We're legging this one."
The Staff stopped in front of the vestibule and held up a hand, bringing the crowd of shell-shocked civilians to a halt as he spoke through his helmet speakers.
"Alright, everyone, listen closely. Here's what's going to happen. We're going to run you out of here and take you to the Maglev station down the street. A tram's going to be waiting for you there. You're going to get aboard and we're going to take you back behind UNSC lines. Is that understood?"
He didn't get an answer so much as a wave of hesitant faces and murmuring whispers.
"Are the Brutes gone?" Someone asked.
The palpable trepidation increased alongside the murmurs.
The Staff stepped aside, wordlessly pointing back to the Brute that he'd executed at the doorway. Duncan agreed. Seeing how unsettled they were, evidence would work better than word of mouth. He saw that same hesitation ebb away, replaced by a rising sense of relief and anticipation. He could read it all in their faces, their battered, bruised faces.
"We're leaving now." The Staff said and Duncan knew that everyone here was ready to do just that.
The Staff switched over to comms again. "Ep-4, 5 and 6, you go on ahead and help Whiskey-1 hold the road. Ep-2, 8 and 9, get those civilians we left back in the streets. Ep-7 and 10, stay with me. We're going to get these people moving. Whiskey-3 and 4, make sure everyone in this hall goes in front of me. We're not leaving anyone behind."
For the second time, there was a shared "Copy that" on the platoon freq.
Duncan went outside. Hector, Yuri, Rico, Nova and Mito went with him. Once they cleared the steps, the former three split off to the left and jogged towards the northern road. Even from 100-meters away Duncan could spot the local maglev station. It resembled a starport hangar made entirely of glass. Though nowhere near the scale of NA Central, the single maglev rail that ran parallel to its boarding zone was exactly what they needed. No sooner did he spot it than the expected tram came into view. Four two-storied coaches pulled in with a screeching halt as the conductor held down the brakes. The tram hovered the last of the way to the boarding zone, its white walls pockmarked from one end to the next with plasma scoring. Turrets and rifles peered out from the strip windows that lined its floors. The Army contingent within scanned the immediate area for hostile contacts.
"Our ride's here." Nova said as Duncan followed her across the outer yard.
Mito nodded. "Let's make this fast."
The three of them broke off into the surrounding streets.
Duncan went straight for the one where he'd left his own charges. He passed over the dead bodies of the Brutes and found the rescued trio cowering behind a few vehicles. He got them moving back towards the society building. There, the dozens of hostages that had been trapped inside were forming an orderly line. They ran with haste down the steps and towards the northern road as Zack and Renni ushered them on. Nova and Mito were already coming back with more civilians, adding them to what was quickly becoming an organized marathon. Within the clamor of rushing feet, he spotted Lizzy running among them.
He rushed back to the next street and drew in another trio of civilians.
When he was done, he ran back towards the main procession with Nova and Mito.
Nova called up to the Staff as he emerged from beneath the portico, bringing up the rear of the gathering. "I think that's it, Ep-1."
"Whiskey-3?"
"She's right, sir." Mackley replied. "That's the last of them."
"Then we're done here. Platoon, we're moving out. Whiskey-3, 4, move to exfil. We'll see you at the rendezvous."
"Roger that, sir." Lang said. "We'll be there."
The Staff descended the steps as the last to leave. The rest of Epsilon copied his example and took up a watchful run, securing the rear of the exodus as they left the society building behind.
They travelled up the north road. The tram lay ahead of them at the end of a 100-meter stretch that was more of a jog than a race. They had to keep pace with the civilians. One by one, the others who'd stood watch on the sidewalks fell in with them, first Yuri, then Hector and finally Rico. Soon the whole of Epsilon was bringing up the rear or moving along the flanks, weapons twitching from rooftop to window to alleyway in a defensive bracket.
The rest of Whiskey was at the fore. Already they were approaching the maglev station. Dalton led the charge around the side of the building. He waved a friendly hand to the guns of the tram as they emerged onto the boarding zone.
The doors of the two front coaches were already open. Squads of Army troopers had taken up positions outside. They formed clear paths for the first civilians to make their way inside. The ex-hostages streamed into the two coaches, splitting off for whichever refuge they thought the more expedient.
Epsilon brought the last of the stragglers to the boarding zone. The squad stopped at the front of the tram, letting the final hostages find their way inside. Before long, the dregs of the group had clambered aboard. The soldiers on watch quickly called down from the windows for them to follow suit.
"Think we can call it a day after this?" Daz asked as they moved for the lead coach.
"Call it a day?" The Staff huffed. "Hell corporal, the day just started."
Duncan could understand where she was coming from. He wanted to call it a day as well. He could feel a week's worth of exhaustion creeping in. That was despite the adrenaline that actively warned him of every shadow and shape in sight. He had a harder time finding a balance between the two once they stepped through the doors of the forward coach. Those civilians on the first floor were scattered about the three rows of seats that stretched from end to end. Except for the few families there were, they had mostly kept to themselves, giving the troops manning the windows a wide amount of room. There were plenty of empty seats. He was more than ready to plop down and knock off for a few hours, maybe even a day or two. But he didn't.
He followed the Staff's order to the rest of the platoon and found himself a position. He chose a window close to where a pair of soldiers had set up an M247H machinegun. The loud belch of the turret was sure to keep him on his toes if anything made a pass at them. That as well as the scents and odors that had settled into the interior from the last several days of continuous operation, smells he had regretfully come to expect.
The tram set off with a mechanical hiss. At the exact same moment, he caught movement out the corner of his eye. He looked to see the door between the two front coaches sliding open.
A woman walked inside. She was the same one who'd asked about Lizzy.
A shock of déjà vu struck him like a lightning bolt. He peered down the other end of the coach in search of the girl in question. He found her sitting at a seat not too far away
"Lizzy?" The woman called. "Lizzy, are you in here?"
Lizzy straightened up. Her head whipped back down the aisle to see who it was. Her eyes went wide. So did her mother's.
"MOM!" She jumped out of her chair and dashed towards her.
Her mom did the same, meeting her halfway. Lizzy jumped into her arms, wrapping herself completely around her. Her mom held her tight as she fell to her knees in the middle of the aisle. The little girl cried into her shoulder and she stroked her head comfortingly, barely able to say anything without crying herself.
"It's okay. It's okay, Liz. I'm here now. I'm here."
Duncan felt his heart warm up again. It was much better than the first time around. They'd gotten her out of here along with her mother. To him, it was more than enough. They had satisfied the lieutenant commander's last request as well as his own hopes.
They were safe.
"See." Her mom said earnestly, drawing her back so she could see her smiling. "They came for us, Lizzy. They came."
Despite a runny nose and watering eyes, Lizzy managed to reflect her mother's smile, nodding as she burrowed her head back into her shoulder.
:********:
As much as he hated to admit it, and he usually never did, Lang knew he wasn't a good driver. Far from it. He was no Hector. He'd learned that much during his defensive driving training back on Earth. But he compensated for it by being good with guns. Big guns.
The Stanchion was the most recent addition to his resume and now he was packing it up. He planted the M99's forward barrel into his personal weapon case. Right next to him, Mackley was doing the same with the rearward section of the gun. They had gotten so used to handling it over the past three days that the dismantlement process took less than ten seconds. Almost in sync, they snapped their weapon cases shut and secured them to their back harnesses.
"Alright, let's bail." Mackley said as they threw themselves to their feet.
Lang shadowed him across the gravel floor of the apartment rooftop that had served as their overlook. They bolted for the railing at its northern end. A pair of tag lines were waiting for them there. Having anchored them in place well ahead of the assault, they were their express ticket to the streets. The two of them reached for the harnesses on their belts and clipped them to the rappels. They pulled their legs over the railing and clung to the other side, pushing out from the lip of the roof at a horizontal stance. A 15-story drop awaited them below. So did an old Warthog that they'd found near the side of the building.
Mackley flashed a grin. "See you at the bottom."
"Race you there." Lang goaded and quickly leapt off. He kept his guide hand in front of him and his brake hand behind as he fed the rope through his harness. Mackley took off after him. The two of them moved like gravity defying rabbits, hopping down two or three floors at a time, landing against then hopping away from walls and windowsills with equal precision.
To Lang's chagrin, he watched Mackley steal the lead halfway down. He struggled in vain to get it back.
Mackley touched down first and detached himself from his line before Lang even hit the ground. Lang got himself free of the rope and trailed after him to the Warthog. The vehicle wasn't parked along the sidewalk so much as the previous owner had ditched it there for whatever reason. Lang supposed that the polka dot pattern of scorch marks on its hide as well as a shattered windshield had something to do with it.
Mackley threw himself behind the wheel and keyed the ignition, revving up the engine. "Told you I'd see you at the bottom."
"You know what they say," Lang climbed up the back of the Hog and got a firm grasp on the turret. "First the worst..."
"Second a sore loser." Mackley laughed and hit the gas, making a quick U-turn in order to pull them back onto the street.
Lang swung the turret around, bringing it to bear as they raced eastward.
"Second the best." He corrected while he scanned the upcoming road for signs of hostile activity.
"You keep on believing that, bud."
"I'm sorry, who's the one who gets to shoot the '99 again?"
"...Shut up."
"Uhuh, that's what I thought."
The streets were relatively clear of other vehicles. Where they were in the city, Lang guessed that they were sufficiently far from the denser commercial centers to notice the difference. Instead of corporate offices and company buildings it was mostly a maze of apartment complexes and stores, less skyscrapers and more ordinary constructions. Mackley picked up speed, gunning it down the road while being careful to weave around the occasional car and police barricade. They would need to be fast if they were to reach the rendezvous on time. There was no telling how long the Staff would be able to stop the tram for them. However, pushing close to what Lang gauged to be around 80 kph or about 50 miles per hour, his job became a lot harder. The wind shear pushing against him made it twice as hard to maneuver the turret. He settled instead on leaving it focused on the way forward while keeping his head on a swivel.
The neighborhood zipped past in a blur of tall shadows and glimmering windows. The sky overhead was slowly molting out of its purple shell and shifting into a more pinkish hue. Waves of stratocumulus clouds coasted high above like the ripples of a giant pond. The growing sunlight bounced off every reflective surface it could find, and as it did, it made him notice something.
Two dots were in the sky off to their right. They each possessed a purple, metallic sheen. Although they were obviously Covenant, he had a tough time telling what kind of aircraft they were or how big. What he could understand right away, however, was that the pair were flying in the same direction as them. But they weren't going any faster or slower than them. In fact, they were matching their speed almost exactly.
He felt a nervous lump form in his throat. He couldn't quite place the feeling, but something about the whole situation felt unnervingly familiar.
He didn't get the chance to think about it for long before they reached the first intersection. Mackley made a sharp left turn that pulled the dots out of view. The Warthog wheeled onto a northbound road. About 100-meters ahead, the slanting M0 highway rolled through the city's urban underbrush, continuing its perpetual southwest-northeast passage. Further down, at the end of another 100-meter stretch, Lang could see the edge of a crossing. Wedged within it were the gravitic braces of the maglev rail which passed from east to west.
"That's it, right?" Mackley asked.
Lang double-checked his TACMAP. At a quick glance, he traced the rail from the local station down to where they were.
"Yeah, that's it."
"Looks like we beat'em to it. Speeding up."
Mackley pushed on the accelerator. They rocketed towards the crossing, bouncing a little as they passed over uneven asphalt.
They were nearly to the highway when movement caught Lang's eye. Two blurs shot out into an intersection between the highway and the crossing. There they slowed down so fast that he was sure they weren't human, a realization he confirmed once his brain caught up, ditching the idea of metal manta rays altogether.
"Ghosts!" Mackley barked.
"I see'em!" Lang said, turning the gun to meet the threat. "Keep driving!"
The Ghosts and their Grunt drivers had turned their backs to them. They hadn't come for them so much as the crossing itself. They must have detected the tram and were trying to set up an ambush. Lang jerked his circular reticle towards the closest, only for it to flash red at a new contact. The larger, crimson shape of a Revenant shot into the intersection. Unlike the Ghosts, it swung towards them as it slowed down. Its plasma mortar quickly arched in their direction.
Lang flinched. "You gotta be-"
With an electrified BANG, it lobbed a ball of red-hot energy. The mortar streaked towards them like a falling star, arcing as it went.
By a quick glance, Lang could tell its trajectory was spot on. "Mack!"
Mackley answered with a pull at the wheel. Lang grabbed the turret for dear life as they made a hard right turn, barreling onto the M0 highway. The mortar thundered behind them, spewing a geyser of liquified asphalt into the air that pelted Lang from head to foot. They sped away down the M0, heading northeast.
Seconds later Lang heard the thrum of propulsion drives getting closer. He looked back to find the same Revenant peeling onto the highway. The two Ghosts came up from behind, rushing after it in an ensemble of flaring drives.
"They're tailing us!"
Mackley checked the rearview. "Then handle it!"
Lang strained against the rising wind as he struggled to bring the turret around. "Mack, if we don't make it out of this-"
"Whiskey-4, I need you to do something for me!"
"What!?"
"Shut up and shoot!"
Lang clenched his jaw in a desperate rage as he finally got a bead on the Revenant. It fired first, an energy mortar soaring high over a stream of machinegun fire. Mackley weaved left, curving around the blast wave as the mortar crashed down ahead of them. Lang squeezed the triggers with everything he had. He chipped away at the front of the vehicle with a nonstop barrage. The rounds gored holes in the smooth armor but did nothing against its speed. He searched for a weak spot when its main weapon fired again. In tandem, the Ghosts unleashed torrents of plasma that sliced at the back wheels with sizzling impacts.
Already on the edge of the thoroughfare, Mackley swerved right and bounced up onto the sidewalk. A line of trash cans exploded against the hood one after the other, spouting pieces of paper and rotten food over the Hog. The mortar came down at a higher angle than before, diving into the lane beside them in a splash of flames and dust.
They came to a clearer stretch of sidewalk that allowed Lang to baste the closest Ghost with raking fire. Through the rattle of falling bullet casings, he heard the Staff's voice on the comms. He sounded pissed.
"Whiskey-3 and 4, report. Where are you?"
"A little busy right now!" Lang replied, struggling to maintain his aim as Mackley careened back onto the highway, barely dodging a flatbed in the process.
"We ran into some trouble!" Mackley said.
"Define 'trouble'."
"Two Ghosts, one Revenant! They cut us off before we could reach the crossing! We're currently heading northeast along the M0, over!"
There was a short, irritated pause from the Staff. "Alright, are they still on you?"
Lang fired into one of the Ghosts until a gout of blue flames flickered over the carriage. Still, it persisted, boosting after them at a matching acceleration. "Like white on rice, sir!"
"Do what you can but keep following that highway. It'll bring you back to the rail. There's another crossing about one klick east of our location. We'll meet you there."
"Roger!" Mackley peered back at Lang. "It's starting to range us! Take that thing out already!"
"I'm trying-"
Lang ducked at a burst of plasma that sparked and fizzed off the turret's palisades. He immediately went for blood on the offending Ghost, pouring a hail of 12.7-millimeters into its flaming nose. The Revenant pulled in front of it and took the brunt of the fire, all the while trading his newest volley for another salvo. The mortar sailed after them, but its descent was off. Its angle was so shallow that he was sure it was a short round up until the moment it crashed right next to him. The blast briefly raised the back of the Hog as it struck the ground at the rear before smacking it back down with a groan. Lang had grabbed ahold of the M41 in time, just barely avoiding being flung off the gun. Despite a ringing in his ears, he could hear and then eventually see what the mortar had hit. One of the back wheels was now a spinning comet of fire. The smell of burning rubber stabbed at his nose.
Mackley peered back again and shook his head. "We can't keep going like this! At this rate-"
"Hey, Mack!? Remember you said to shut up and shoot!? I need you to shut up and drive! Serpentine, do it now!"
"You're really asking for it, man!" Mackley acquiesced and began swerving from one lane to the next, crashing back and forth across the grassy median, earning a tally of shattered crabapple trees for his trouble.
Lang held on tight as he used the chance to cover the Revenant in sweeping arcs of fire. He scored its hull until the front armor started bleeding flames. For its part, the Revenant tried and failed to get a good aim on them.
Seemingly understanding the situation, the two Ghosts rocketed ahead at full burn. Lang couldn't stop them before they had edged in on either side. One of them slammed its stabilizer fin into the Hog. The other did the same. He struggled to turn the turret as each blow threatened to knock his legs out from under him.
Mackley shouted at the closest of them and wheeled into it. The blow battered its carriage but it refused to back off, choosing rather to push against the side of the Hog in turn. The other one did the same and suddenly Lang realized what they were doing. They were bracketing them, pinning them in place.
He frantically drew the turret back towards the Revenant, but it was already too late.
Its mortar belched out another fireball. The mass of roiling energy soared towards them like a dying sun.
Seeing the approaching comet from the rearview, Mackley yanked out his SMG and drew it on the leftmost Ghost. The Grunt didn't get a chance to react to the flurry of point-blank fire beyond a gurgling shriek. It toppled out of its seat, causing the vehicle to veer away. Even as its buddy crashed headlong into a building, Mackley made a hard left turn, causing the last Ghost to lean after them. Despite a burning carriage, it continued to push against their right, not realizing its mistake until the moment the energy mortar slammed into it. Both vehicle and driver were enveloped in a rush of flames and debris. The corpse of the latter spiraled off into the air on a trail of burning methane.
"WOOOOOOH!" Mackley cheered. "Let's see Ep-4 pull that off, huh!?"
Lang was still too stunned to respond aside from a renewed flood of machinegun fire. More flames burst out over the Revenant's hull, exposing its inner skeleton. He focused on the largest of the wounds and drilled into it.
The Revenant was slowing down. It made another try at them, hurling another mortar just as a shadow fell over them both. The ball of energy sailed straight into an overpass, bashing uselessly into its side.
Lang decided to risk it and aimed for the mortar's smaller profile. A wave of focusing fire peeled away its petal-like protrusions until nothing was left but a nub of glowing metal. The driver tried to fire again. Rather than launching a ball of energy, the Revenant became one, exploding in an eruption of burning wreckage. The flaming bodies of the two inside were hurled out. Lang saw the Brutes for the first time as they barreled over the highway at high speed, the asphalt tearing at burnt skin as they fell away behind them.
"Revenant's down!" He shouted.
"Glad to hear it!"
They reemerged into the sunlight. Lang took the hard-won respite to scan their surroundings more thoroughly. He peeked through the buildings of the passing neighborhood. As far as he could tell, the area around the highway was now clear save for the ubiquitous assortment of abandoned cars.
That was when a rumble shook his feet. It came from below. He remembered the back wheels. He grabbed ahold of the turret and leaned out. He could just barely see the one that had been hit. It was still on fire, but it moved with a noticeable wobble.
"Might want to slow down, Whiskey-3. One of our tires took some damage."
"No time." Mackley said. "We're not making it if we go any slower than this."
Lang wasn't so sure. He was about to protest when a shadow fell over him. The familiar hum of non-human drives swallowed up every other sound. He craned his neck to look.
A shape glided over the roof of a nearby building, swiftly joined by another. Their silhouettes were those of Covenant dropships but much larger, worryingly so. It didn't take him long to recognize the Phantom Gunboats for what they were. Pure dread followed close behind.
He tried to warn Mackley only for his voice to fall hoarse. "We're screwed."
Mackley looked up as well and immediately floored it. "Whiskey-3 to Ep-1, we've got some more company!"
"Gunboats, six o'clock!" Lang added as he wrestled his turret towards the rear. "We might not have any time to slow down, sir!"
"Ep-1 to Whiskey-3 and 4, do not stop. I repeat, do not stop. Gun it."
Mackley did just that well ahead of being ordered to. He sped them up, pushing them down the M0. The damaged wheel gave off a rattling squeal as they did. Behind them, the Gunboats finally tuned onto the highway and flew after them. They remained at a distance but kept pace at roughly the same speed.
Lang kept the M41 trained on them, switching from one Phantom to the next. A wave of frustration and confusion smacked into him. Regardless of the pairs of pincer-like pulse lasers on their sides, they were holding their fire. They were making no attempts to intercept them or even to delay. He wasn't sure why. Nevertheless, so long as they did nothing, he didn't dare beat them to the punch. It wasn't as if he would even be able to damage them if he did. Not with their shields. Not with just a turret.
Against every survival instinct that screamed at him to do something, he knew deep down that he could do nothing at all. Nothing but watch as the pair trailed them to...
A different sound grabbed his attention. Instead of the hum of impulse drives, it was the deep purring of gravitic repulsor units gliding over magnetic guide rails.
He whipped his head around. Up ahead of them, the buildings to their left whipped by in a flickering slideshow. Just beyond them, growing closer and closer was the railway. He spotted the tram. The transport was rocketing up the rail at a staggering velocity. At least it had been. He realized that it was hitting the brakes, slowing down for them.
Further on along the left side of the highway he spotted an exit ramp that led down to a street, one which went directly to the next crossing. He could practically hear Mackley's boot smash the accelerator. They put on even more speed, making a run for it.
He watched the Gunboats accelerate as well, no more and no less than they needed to stay on their heels.
"Whiskey-3, 4, listen up." The Staff said. "We're not going to be able stop, not with those Phantoms breathing down your necks. I need you to pull in alongside us and hop on."
Weaving around a lane's worth of dead traffic, Lang shot a look over at Mackley who spoke with the kind of confidence that he couldn't account for in himself.
"Copy your last, Ep-1. Just don't leave without us."
Lang put the pieces together much later than he should've and a lot sooner than he would've liked. He turned back to the Gunboats. They hadn't been trying to spare them. They'd been using them to track down the tram. The two of them were just bait meant to lure out a bigger catch.
More frustration bubbled to the surface, but it was his own guilt that made him finally open fire. A heavy-handed burst barked from the M41, filling the air with a storm of lead. His targets easily weathered the storm with an umbrella of their own, their energy shields flashing to life in envelopes of electrified light. It was as if he'd reminded them that they still had bait on their line, bait they no longer needed.
Their pulse lasers twitched in their direction. Ten thin columns of luminous plasma flared into being. They blazed a precise path up the highway, each beam tearing a vaporous wake across the asphalt like searing hot scalpels. The lightshow didn't take long to reach them. Mackley was faster, peeling hard to the left then to the right in another serpentine maneuver. Lang kept up the fire even as lasers hissed by a mere arm's length away. A beam sliced through a passing bus with the ease of a butter knife. Another set a large minivan on fire with the barest touch. More of them were still advancing and lashing out, making every attempt to box them in.
Mackley wouldn't let them. He kept dodging, predicting their paths and weaving aside as the lasers tried to cut ahead of them.
At the exact second that several beams were about to slice into their rear, Mackley pulled left and drove them down the exit ramp. They bounded onto the street with a bounce. The damaged wheel finally gave way. Lang felt a sudden jolt and knew they'd broken an axle. It wasn't bad enough to stop them but enough to take some of the wind out of their sails.
They still bolted for the rail with everything the Hog had left. More lasers stabbed down behind them in a race to the finish.
The tram rushed into view. It had slowed down. However, its speed told them that it was about to pass them by...and it did.
They watched it accelerate down the rail on an eastbound heading, disappearing just as quickly. They'd still had 20-meters to go. They finished it without hesitation and fishtailed it alongside the rails without a loss in momentum.
The tram hadn't gotten too far ahead. They could still match its velocity and gradually gained on it.
"Whiskey-3 and 4, I can see you." The Staff said. "Speed up before-...contacts, six o'clock!"
The hum of impulse drives returned at their backs. Using the windows of the surrounding buildings, Lang could see the reflection of the two Gunboats as they turned and took up the pursuit.
Mackley squeezed out every last inch that the accelerator could yield. Even then, they were moving like a limping man at a desperate run. They were just able to draw up to the rearmost coach. The windows were full of muzzle flashes. The Army trooper contingent inside was spewing fountains of hot lead back at the Gunboats.
Mackley closed in on one of the first-floor windows. The glass paneling slid aside. Dalton and the Staff peeked through, each holding out a hand.
"Time to jump!" The Staff said.
"You sure we can make that!?" Mackley asked. A burst of light as the Phantoms began unleashing their superheavy plasma cannons on the back of the tram made their options clear.
"Stop thinking about it and jump!" Dalton yelled.
"Whiskey-4, you first!" Mackley said.
Lang tensed. "You better be right behind me!"
"No problem, now go!"
Lang leaned towards the side of the Hog. He planted a boot on the very edge and pushed off. A split-second of open air and he collided into the tram, grabbing the Staff's hand and getting a good grip on the windowsill. The Staff hauled him up and pulled him inside.
He fell to the floor, picking himself up without a second thought as he looked back outside. Mackley was still driving, fighting to maintain control of the vehicle. The flaming wheel only continued to wobble. The Warthog began to sway. Mackley reached down for something then pulled himself up onto the edge of the driver's side. The Hog continued to move without him. Lang saw where he'd jammed his SMG against the accelerator.
Mackley turned and jumped.
Dalton caught his hand, easing his impact against the side of the tram. He managed to get his boots against the wall and pulled at the sergeant's arm as he scaled it.
The Warthog continued on its own for two more seconds before it reached another crossing, crashing hood first into the wide bulk of a sanitation truck. Its engine block exploded on impact, casting a burst of flames over the side of the container.
Dalton helped him through the window with a pat on the back. "Not bad, trooper."
Mackley didn't respond so much as he collapsed to his hands and knees, his legs wobbling out from under him. Lang was tempted to do the same. He was utterly drained. But there was no time for that. There was no time for relief either. Getting aboard didn't stop him from accepting the job that still needed to be done as the sound of battering plasma fire resonated through the trembling interior of the coach.
:********:
The Staff looked for a spare turret, a rocket launcher, a grenade launcher, anything with a kick to it. None were available. Everything they had was being thrown up at the enemy by the onboard detachment. The best he could do was order the rest of 1st Platoon to keep the civilians back. Everyone was busy in the forward coaches, piling the newly freed hostages into the central aisles for cover. They were bracing themselves just as he was.
The Gunboats were pounding the back of the tram with heavy plasma bolts. The speed of their pursuit meant they couldn't quite bring their pulse lasers to bear. Their shields flared from the onslaught of machinegun and rocket fire that rattled and raced out from the windows of the tram. The flare-up of ordnance did little to actually break the barriers of energy which held against them, albeit with whining groans of strain from the sheer volume of explosions.
The Staff ducked from a flurry of superheated bolts that concussed his section of the tram, cracking some windows and shattering others.
"Can't they go any faster!?" Lang cried.
"We're already at top speed!" Dalton replied. "These look like the same ones that came at us yesterday! Ep-1, what're your orders!?"
The Staff didn't have any. There was nothing they could do aside from hunkering down and hoping for the best. Then, while taking an eyeful of how they were faring against their shields, he spotted a new silhouette in the sky. It was whizzing after them with considerable speed. Despite what he had been hoping for, it wasn't a Longsword or a Pelican. It was another Phantom, a regular dropship at least but still another card in the enemy's hand. It arrived high over their pursuers and took up a commanding position above them.
He gritted his teeth, hating just how hard the Covenant was making it for them. If he had to guess, they were out for blood, seeking revenge for the landing zones.
"Heads up, we've got another Phantom!"
"You've got to be kidding!" Dalton hissed. "How're we supposed to-"
The new arrival opened fire.
The Staff braced himself for even more damage, only to watch as a downpour of plasma bolts rained down on the Gunboats. They crashed against them in a searing waterfall. The added fire from above joined the return fire from below, causing their shields to brighten in intensity.
The Staff stood stunned. His confusion lasted shorter than the time it took for him to zoom his visor on the new Phantom. Azure muzzle flashes flickered from its port and starboard platforms as both of its plasma cannons opened up. To both his shock and relief, the gunners were ODSTs. At the door behind the starboard platform an armored figure leaned out, using her robotic hand to steady herself as she looked on.
"This is Noble-2 to Team 1, sit tight. We'll get these guys off your backs."
On cue, the dropship's heavy plasma cannon snapped towards the Gunboats. The two below were just beginning to turn towards their attacker when bolts of pinkish-blue light streaked into one of them. The rapid succession of blows flared its shields to the breaking point. It made one last attempt to bring its lasers to bear but was too late. A second volley crashed into its shielding, popping it like a bubble. There was still plenty of heavy plasma left to hammer into its hull, smashing against a pair of pulse lasers with buffeting explosions.
The fire from below immediately picked up. Soldiers launched rockets that hissed towards its underbelly even as machinegun crews graffitied its bare hull with bullet holes. The barrage peppered its frame in blasts of heat that bucked the nose of the craft. As it reeled from the uppercut, another burst of heavy plasma punched down on its center. The entire craft let out a groan as it tilted under the weight of conflicting forces. A scream of mechanical meltdown culminated in a massive explosion that ballooned out of its starboard side, causing an uncontrolled swing to port. The other Gunboat quickly ascended, avoiding a collision with its partner that now soared away from the rails on a trail of fumes. The Phantom flew for a moment longer before crashing headlong into a passing building. It ploughed a path through the lower floors before a final detonation ripped it apart in a blast of flame and vaporized cement. Its momentum still carried on, its sizzling remains spiraling and clattering alongside the rail in fiery pinwheels.
The soldiers around the Staff let out a loud cheer.
"That's one," Kat said. "Focus your fire on the other."
The Staff had a dog in the fight but no leash to wield it with. He simply watched while those with the bigger guns put them to use.
The shields of the last Gunboat became the center of a new lightshow of human and Covenant munitions. Quickly, the energy barrier began to buckle.
The lone survivor made its move, rotating away from what would've been a fight with an elevated opponent. Without the high ground, it accelerated its drives and broke its pursuit, flying off from the guide rail just as its shields collapsed. The Staff looked out the windows on the other side of the tram and watched it slip away to the north, disappearing into the city.
There was another loud cheer, one that rang through the whole tram.
Back outside, the friendly Phantom came to hover over them, keeping pace.
"How was the hostage rescue, Ep-1?" Kat asked over comms.
The Staff smirked, getting to his feet with a grunt as he, Dalton, Mackley and Lang finally stood up. He allowed himself the luxury of leaning against the cushioned padding of one the seats. It was the closest he'd come to a pillow in the last few days.
"Didn't go as planned, ma'am, but we got it done. All the civilians we could account for are aboard. Thanks for the save."
"Thank me when this is over. We're not in the clear yet, not until we're out of here."
"Roger. How was the demo op?"
"All four landing zones have been taken care of. Same with the corvettes. The fireworks should be coming in a few minutes. We'll provide you with air support until you reach the starport. Hopefully we can get a front row seat from the tarmac."
"Happy to hear it, Noble-2. See you on the ground."
He really was happy to hear it. He leaned further into the seat. Taking the chance, he popped his neck seal and pulled off his helmet if only to wipe the cold sweat that had gathered on his brow.
"What do we do now, sir?" Mackley asked.
He looked over at them and at the rest of the coach, his vision clear of his HUD's readouts seemingly for the first time ever. It had really only been hours, hours that felt more like days.
"Stay on guard until we get back." He exhaled a long breath. "And after that, well, hope to God we get to call it a day after all."
:********:
Carter was still aboard his commandeered Phantom, holding onto the wall of the troop bay with the ODSTs when his comms came alive.
The desperate voice of a man, perhaps a communications officer, caught his ear.
"This is Command to Noble-1, come in Noble-1, over."
"Command, this is Noble-1. Go ahead."
"Noble-1, be advised, the next Covenant assault wave has reached the city. Your team's being ordered to reroute to Olympic Tower effectively immediately. The operation's facing severe setbacks. The counteroffensive is being delayed, over."
Carter took everything in as soon as it was said. That didn't spare him from a combination of surprise and disquiet.
"Please explain, Command. What do you mean by delayed?"
"It's being called off, Noble-1. Their assault arrived a lot sooner than we anticipated. It was more coordinated than we thought, looks like they were focusing on our air defenses from the very beginning. The strike against the corvettes is being delayed indefinitely."
"Spartan," A trooper called from behind. "Might want to take a look at this."
He turned around to see the ODST standing half out of the open door to the starboard platform. Carter ignored whatever else the comms officer had to say. The other ODSTs made room for him to pass. The trooper stepped aside, and he looked out onto the wider world.
The city's skyline was once again under attack, though this time not from the corvettes.
To the north, east and south, in dozens of individual sectors he saw what looked like flocks of buzzards circling and diving towards dying prey. He zoomed in with his visor. The 'buzzards' were squadrons of Covenant dropships, fighters and flyers, Phantoms, Spirits, Seraphs and Banshees. There was a greater abundance of them now than there had been the day before. Some had weaved their way into the city, passing unimpeded by those positions where New Alexandria's air defenses were long dead. However, most of them had set their sights on locations that immediately made their intent clear.
Their 'prey' was still alive and was firing back on every front. From atop rotational gun mounts, M95 Lance Missile Batteries tracked their targets. A fine spray of ASGM-7 missiles flew into the air, creating upwelling springs of fissile material. They traced paths of exhaust like nets thrown into the sea for a catch. Many ensnared the Covenant aircraft descending towards them in flaming eruptions and airborne debris. Still, many more broke through their fields of fire. Dropships landed on the grounds near to them, bays sliding and raising open to disgorge scores of troops. Banshees strafed them with plasma even as Seraphs dropped charges, creating new burns in the cityscape that consumed their quarry. Those M95s that survived through wailing torrents of plasma continued to twitch after new targets, blowing more out of the air even as neighboring Lances were erased in flashes of destruction.
The battery sites.
They'd gone after the battery sites.
There was now no way for the UNSC to send a missile barrage against the unshielded corvettes. Most of the M95s were busy either fighting to save themselves and their crew or were being eradicated.
They'd been outplayed. The Covenant had been one step ahead.
Carter reconsidered the idea. If the Covenant had predicted exactly what they were going to do, they wouldn't have let their landing zones be destroyed. No, they were only a half-step ahead of them. But half a step was still more than enough to win them the lead.
Eripio - Rescue