Enough Dead Heroes
John was no stranger to drop pod insertions. He wasn't even a stranger to drops into artificial gravity, which was how he knew that's what this was. Seconds before his pod hit the bottom of the trench, there was a sudden lurch, and up became left, and his path was dragged to the side before slamming into the ground.
His armour's gel layer locked to absorb the impact, then unlocked in short order (he'd had a lot worse falls) and he booted the door to the drop pod open instead of worrying about trivial things like 'levers'. On his back was a BR55 battle rifle. In his right hand was an M41 SPNKr rocket launcher, which he shouldered in short order, aiming upwards. Cortana took over the launcher's lock-on, targeting an enemy fighter a click out, and the moment John got a ping he pulled the trigger. The rocket burst free, arcing through the sky to nail the fighter not far above John's head and create a great blaze of fire, sending it careening down to crash elsewhere onto the station's surface.
"You always have been able to make an entrance," Cortana said, her voice speaking in the back of his head like they were his own thoughts.
"I doubt they'll appreciate it," he said. "Openings?"
"Maybe that great big hangar bay over there?"
John had already spotted it and started sprinting for it, as other drop pods slammed down around him, Pelicans swooping in to discharge soldiers, Mongooses, and Warthogs. The door to the hangar bay was huge, bigger than any UNSC hangar he'd ever seen (though not any Covenant), rimmed with white light and blocked by a shimmering line. Inside were far-stretching catwalks, polished black floors…and humanoid figures in white armour, scurrying around with weapons in their hands.
Cortana was still in his ear as he built up speed. "The shield has similar readings to those those around the station, Chief. Energy, not particle."
He put the SPNKr on his back and drew his BR. "That's a mistake."
He began firing, bullets streaking towards the figures, passing harmlessly through the shield. They worked. White breastplate and skull-like helmets shattered like ceramic. Glancing shots were deflected, and the first hit on-target tended to crack the armour without lasting damage. But the BR's three-round bursts broke and punched straight through, dropping the figures to the floor.
Blood flowed. Red blood.
John had almost emptied his first magazine when the contacts started firing back—red bolts of plasma, sharper and more controlled than Covenant weapons, that crossed the shield just as easily and flew out into the trench. But they weren't fast. John dodged, flicking out a mag, loaded another, and continued to return fire. If the shield was two-way, there was no point staying outside, and he needed to draw fire away from the ODSTs. He ducked low and pelted forwards, charging for the hangar entrance, a few bolts of plasma catching his armour and taking chunks out of his shields—
And then he was in, and there was sound, wailing alarms and zapping plasma fire and shouts of alarm in an unfamiliar language.
"Atmosphere—oxygen! Within safe parameters of earth air; it's breathable!"
John barely registered Cortana's comments except in how they meant marines could be sent in. He strafed left, killed a few more hostiles and ducked behind a staircase to reload. One soldier was there, cried out, put his gun in John's face—
John grabbed the weapon by the barrel, twisted, and punched. He felt the man's ribcage crack as he went flying backwards, slamming into the stairs and dropping. Chief twisted the stubby weapon into his own grip and leaned out from behind cover, pulling the trigger. Three kills later, he decided he liked it. The shots were accurate, the recoil was nothing to him, and he didn't know if it was a huge mag or very generous overheat because he just didn't have to reload.
The hostiles were disciplined and precise, but John was a Spartan. And by this point, ODST squads were flooding the room, one bringing a Warthog's chaingun to bear.
Some of the enemies were able to retreat. Most ended up littered across the floor of the hangar.
"This station is big enough that there must be more. Find me a terminal, we need to—Chief?" Cortana stopped talking as he knelt beside the trooper he had punched into oblivion. Laying his gun aside, he reached out—gently—and pulled the man's helmet off his head.
A pale face, a close-shaven head, and glassy eyes were revealed underneath.
He'd known it. From shortly before entering the hangar, really, but definitely from when he'd punched the man.
"Lord Hood, this is 117," he said into his comms. "The enemy is human. I repeat, the enemy is human."
Any response was drowned out by the rumbling roar of the In Amber Clad coming in to land out in the trench.
The hangar had gotten loud. With the In Amber Clad parked right outside, scores of soldiers and munitions were piling in and organising themselves. John, rather than leading all this, was instead messing around with the computers in a higher room.
Cortana was not designed to interface with this technology. But she was designed to interface with technology she wasn't designed to interface with, so it didn't count, and after half a minute she was in.
"Honestly, this is so odd," she said, her avatar appearing within the screen of one of the computers. "Why does half this stuff look like it belongs in analogue-revolution Earth, and the other half…oh. Oh? Oh…"
John would have given her some time to work, but knew from experience she'd be insulted. "What do you see?"
"They call themselves the Galactic Empire, I think. Working on a translation program now. This is…Chief, I don't think they're from here, these maps don't make any sense, and—oh, this technology is strange. We could make most of this, but—why do they call so many things 'lasers' if they're plasma?"
And now he did have to step in. "Focus. Tactical information. How do we stop them?"
"Yeah, I'm on it." Cortana tapped her chin. "Let's see…hmm, not good. They're attempting repairs on the superlaser. Chief, that thing isn't just for destroying ships, it's a planet-killer. They might be able to jury-rig it to fire no matter how much surface damage we deal, and if so, Earth is toast when they get close enough in—" a countdown appeared in the top corner of John's visor. "An hour and twelve minutes."
Not good. "How do we stop it?"
"There's a glaringly obvious weakness in a certain thermal exhaust point—I have no idea how they could have missed it, the morons—but we don't have the right munitions to target it and they still have air superiority. Based on my own simulations…HAVOK nukes, placed at four key locations in the generator infrastructure, should be sufficient to cripple the station if not destroy it entirely. Alternatively, I have the location of their 'Grand Moff', who seems to be in charge here. Maybe we can do an Operation: Red Flag about this. Whatever we do, we'll have to be quick. There are over 25,000 stormtroopers—the white ones—and hundreds of thousands of other combatants on this station, plus armour, and they're massing now. Place is so big they'll have to trickle towards us, but that's a big trickle."
There was the sound of the door behind them sliding open. "Oh, I'm sure we can find a way to plug it."
Johnson walked in, an AR slung over his shoulder and a lit cigar in his mouth. "Hey, Cortana, what do they call this thing?"
Cortana tilted her head. "Most documents refer to it as…the 'Death Star'. Charming."
"That's awful. It doesn't look like a star at all. More like a chipped cue-ball." Johnson gestured at the door. "I took the liberty of organising everyone important. With the In Amber Clad's point defence still providing some covering fire, and the nearby gun emplacements all toast, we were able to group up with the survivors of the Righteous Hand."
He was followed by an ODST, his visor transparent, and then the hulking forms of three Spartans who (like John) had to stoop to avoid hitting their head on the door.
John immediately felt a lot better. "Linda, Fred, Will." He turned to the ODST. "Trooper?"
"Gunnery Sergeant Edward Buck, sir, I lead squad Alpha-Nine."
"Keyes, are you on comms?"
A crackle, and then Miranda's voice. "Still in one piece, Chief. I'm organising our forces from the In Amber Clad. We're busted up, but the techies think we may be able to take off again if you give them a few hours."
"Tell them they have one." Chief looked over the soldiers. "Do we have contact with Lord Hood?"
"Only with over ten minutes of comm delay," Cortana said. "We're halfway across the solar system."
Too long. Which meant that officially, Miranda had command. Unofficially—
"Have the men pull four of the ship's nukes," John said to Cortana. "Spartans, with me. We're going to push into the superstructure, set the bombs on remote detonation, and destroy the station."
"Chief." Three nods.
"Johnson, lead the marines in defence of the In Amber Clad to pull the enemy's attention off us. Unless the fleet can beat the fighter assault, that ship is our only way off the Death Star."
"Oh, they won't be able to keep their eyes off me."
John turned to Buck. "A longshot secondary objective is the capture of the station's CO to force a surrender. Brief with Cortana on the station's defences, and decide if your squad can pull it off."
"We'll brief on the way." Buck's visor darkened to opaque. "Alpha-Nine can do it, sir. Count on us."
There was a rough-sounding clunk, and some kind of computer chip popped up out of the console. It looked more like two or three computer chips welded together, one of which could double as a shiv.
"Pull me, Chief," Cortana said. "It's not elegant, but I didn't have long. It can hold me and help me interface."
John took out the 'chip' and plugged it into the back of his helmet. Rechecked his equipment, and looked up. "We may have sixty six minutes until this station destroys Earth. Good luck."
A Scorpion main battle tank rumbled down the ramp from the In Amber Clad and into the hangar bay. Avery Johnson hopped up onto it and whistled, loud, getting the attention of the hundred-odd soldiers in the room.
"Alright, marines! Listen up!" He took a drag from his cigar, and tossed it away.
"Congratulations! You stand upon the UNSC's first contact with a whole new brand of intergalactic asshole! Evidently, god saw how bored we were whooping the Covenant's ass, and decided to give us a fun vacation shootin' up the most incompetent buncha fascist-looking bastards I've ever seen!"
He crossed his arms. "These people may look like humans, but they seem to think it's smart to attack our Earth and blow up our ships, which makes me think we're actually fighting some shaved chimpanzees stuffed into armour made of washing machines! And I wanna hear those chimps squeal!"
"OOH-RAH!" roared the marines.
"We have been tasked with preventing the sons of bitches from destroying our only way off this cue-ball. Well, I don't fancy giving them the chance to set up a nice offensive line, do you?"
"NO SIR!"
"Damn right! So we're gonna push on out of here, and show these imperial bastards what a REAL military looks like!"
"SIR, YES SIR!"
Lord Hood hadn't moved his feet in about an hour, staring up at the battle map that showed the progress of the Home Fleet against what he'd just now discovered was called 'the Death Star'. After decades fighting the Covenant, it wasn't the most pretentious name he'd ever heard, but it was close. The map showed a brutal slog of a battle between their ships and the ungodly massive horde of 'TIE fighters'—the attrition rate was favourable for now, but they were losing fighters faster than capital ships, and without those to distract the TIEs the point-defence batteries on the ships would have a much harder time. The MACs had gone from being the only real point of the ships to all but useless—the enduring ones were still targeting as many 'turbolasers' as they could to make future boarding actions (or the In Amber Clad's escape) easier.
There were barely over a hundred surviving ships and three hundred friendly fighters when Cortana's broadcast came in from the station. As well as all the tactical information, it also included a copy of their language—and a program for live translation of it, and details of how to communicate properly with the enemy.
"Alright, time to earn my paycheque…" Hood removed his hat, wiped a hand over his head, and put it back. "Ready a transmission."
"Yes, sir."
He would have stood at attention, but he already was. He stared into the camera.
"Attention, Death Star. This is Lord Hood, representative of the the United Nations Space Command, the planet Earth, and humanity. You have attacked our home without cause, and as such we have retaliated. But we do not know you, and there are other forces out there much more deserving of both our ire. I am willing to offer a truce, effective immediately, wherein we both withdraw our forces and cease future hostile actions. If you are unwilling or unable to commit to a permanent truce, I am also willing to offer a temporary ceasefire to give us time to discuss terms, provided that your station comes no closer to having line of sight on planet Earth during that time.
I know not who you are or where you come from, but we are both of mankind. The Covenant will slaughter both of us just the same, and they can muster forces fifty times what we have arrayed against you. We can—and should—be allies in that fight."
He waved a hand, and his officers sent the transmission—along with some footage of the Covenant attack on Reach, in case that happened to help convince them.
It took just over ten minutes for the signal to bounce from Earth orbit to their other satellites in the system, and reach the station. Despite transmitter and receiver moving inexorably closer together, it took slightly longer before the response arrived. By that point, there were less than 100 UNSC capital ships left. Hood didn't move the entire time.
The transmission in return was audio only. A human voice, in a language Hood didn't recognise, that still managed to sound tight with aristocracy and wet with venom. Cortana's program translated.
"This is Grand Moff Tarkin of the Galactic Empire, and the commander of this battle station. Your technology is primitive and ineffective, and your puny fleet and planet are insignificant compared to the might of the Empire and of the Death Star. If you desire peace, then you must surrender, immediately and unconditionally—both your forces, your ships, and your planet. If you fail, your invaders will be repelled, your fleet destroyed, and your planet annihilated. You have provided some quaint footage of one of your planets being attacked—allow me to show you what our station is capable of."
Hood narrowed his eyes.
"There's an accompanying video, sir—" one officer said, but Hood waved him down.
Following the fall of Reach, every officer of the UNSC down to the rank of captain had orders and authority to accept a surrender on behalf of humanity. They were that desperate, and the Covenant were so bent on genocide, that even an unconditional surrender was something to pay any price for. Further efforts could continue covertly, from within.
But that was the Covenant, not the Galactic Empire. One Covenant capital ship could outfight three UNSC ships of the same tonnage—this battle station had no support fleet. One Covenant seraph could overwhelm any UNSC fighter that wasn't exceptionally skilled—these TIEs dropped like swat mosquitos. Covenant shields blocked MAC rounds, and the shields of the Galactic Empire most definitely did not.
The Death Star was terrifying, yes—but any mid-sized Covenant fleet could do the same effective damage to a human presence on a world. And among the information that Cortana had been constantly streaming back from the surface was one crucial fact: they Only Had One Of It.
"This is Hood," he said. "I'm afraid I have to decline your offer. We are a people that do not cave easily to tyrants. Our self-defence will continue unless you change your mind, but we will also accept surrenders on an individual basis from your forces. May I advise that you evacuate civilian personnel."
He motioned for them to send the message, then turned away from the screen. "Notify the In Amber Clad: if the Death Star is still operational when Earth comes into view, they are to fly up to the firing dish and detonate their ship's slipspace drive."
"No need, sir," said one of the officers. "Captain Keyes has already transmitted her intent to do just that."
For a split second there, it was like Jacob was back. Lord Hood smiled for just a moment, then went back to solemnly watching the battle map.
Jonathan Doherty had approximately zero idea what was going on here. He'd signed up to fight Covenant, he'd been expecting to be deployed on Earth against the Covenant. He didn't have a clue what this space station was about, why it was manned by humans, or why it wanted to kill them.
He figured he'd just keep his mouth shut and do whatever Buck said. He knew how to kill humans. And this was the sort of situation where it paid to be the strong, silent type.
"On me, Rookie," Buck whispered. "Incoming."
Jonathan comm-pinged an affirmative response, pushing up to the nook between the wall and the doorframe.
He heard the stomping of feet, of course. Armoured men running in formation was a sound all UNSC personnel knew well. He and Buck waited, silent, as six of the 'stormtroopers' jogged through the corridor, passing them without so much as looking.
The moment Jonathan and Buck were parallel with the last two, they moved. Jonathan lunged with his knife, grabbing the stormtrooper's helmet and digging his blade into the black fabric covering the neck. Properly confirming a kill would take more effort, but he was already moving, yanking the trooper's gun away and letting him drop before rushing for the man ahead and repeating the takedown.
Under the constant blare of the alarms, it took the back troopers clattering to the floor to alert those in front. And by that point, Dutch, Mickey, and Romeo were rushing out from their own hiding spots, tackling the troopers to the ground. There was some grunting, slamming, and the brief burst of suppressed pistol fire—then nothing.
"All clear?" Buck called, looking around and getting nods. "Good work, Rookie—Romeo, goddamnit, I said no guns!"
"You said no risking the armour," Romeo said, pulling off his ODST helmet and slapping the dead trooper in the chest. "I didn't miss."
"Now is not the time to be clever, asshole," Buck snapped, removing his own helmet. "Shut up and get this on. Mickey, keep your gun up until we're changed."
They worked fast, stripping the dead stormtroopers of their outer armour while also shedding their own. It was…hectic.
"Oh, I hate this already," Dutch said. "Mickey, can I have yours? He's taller than mine."
"Doesn't matter if it's a little tight around the middle, we just need to pass at a quick glance," Buck said. "Damnit, how does this work—someone help me with these clips."
"Oh, forget this!" Romeo said, voice muffled. "I can't see a thing in this helmet! How am I supposed to shoot?"
"You never hit anything anyway."
"Screw you, Mickey, it's your turn!"
Jonathan just worked quickly and silently, changing into the white armour. He stuck his knife in the boot, and put his suppressed magnum in the belt's holster rather than their strange plasma pistol, before picking up an E-11 and covering their six with it.
"Alright—god, this stuff is clunky—anyone see any ID on them?" Buck asked, standing and drawing out a small comm-pad.
"Nothing," Mickey said, "and no easy access for biometrics."
Jonathan agreed. It was almost impossible to tell which of his teammates were which until they started talking—especially since this armour had no HUD.
"Then let's hope these elevators let anyone in." Buck stuck the pad in his belt and hefted his gun. "On me. Don't go loud unless I say, or you're made—but we're on a time limit and this place is in crisis, so it's gonna be a real crappy stealth op anyways. We just need to make it hard to track us and pin us down."
Dutch snorted. "Like fighting the insurgency all over again. Put on the rags, carry an outdated assault rifle and hope for the best…"
"Yeah, well the insurgency wasn't gonna blow up Earth if we screwed up." Buck stood at attention and started snapping his fingers at spots on the floor, and the four of them formed up behind him. "Move fast, keep your backs straight, try to act like fascists."
"I mean, the UNSC kind of already—"
"Not now, Mickey."
"We have been under martial law for like twenty—"
"Shut UP, Romeo!"
John was sprinting through an enemy ship, flanked by Blue Team, gunning down faceless enemies and moving under Cortana's direction.
The target had changed, but the old methods were working just fine.
A blast from Linda's sniper took out a trooper on overwatch, letting them all run for the blast door Cortana had waypointed. Strange, black, wheeled robots scattered around their feet, whistling in panic. John slammed a fist into the panel, opening it—then jerked back behind cover as a storm of blaster fire burst out.
"I count five!" Linda called over the shrieking plasma, "Three with heavy automatics!"
John made three quick hand signs—hesitated for a split second, Kelly usually took point on this plan—pointed at Will, who was the best in hand to hand, and then Fred.
Both pinged acknowledgement. Fred drew a grenade, flicked off the pin, and hurled it down the corridor. The shooters were a good twenty metres away, but a Spartan's strength made that an easy throw. The moment the blast went off, Will was in, sprinting, reaching half the speed of a Warthog before dropping to his knees and sliding into the cloud of smoke the grenade had left. Chief, Linda and Fred aimed their weapons. UNSC grenades didn't leave much of a smoke cloud, but they didn't need to—two seconds and a few flashes after detonation, the smoke cleared, and Will was stood alone at the end of the corridor, punching one last stormtrooper hard enough to crack his helmet and break his neck.
There was no time for congratulations. They all moved up to the door the troopers had been guarding, Fred picking up one of the heavy blasters while John stuck Cortana's makeshift chip into the console.
"One moment…done!" The door opened, and Cortana continued as John picked her back up.
"I've waypointed each of your target zones. Four linked rooms, four bombs. Make sure not to trip!"
The room revealed ahead of them was cavernous, walls with strips of green lights stretching upwards and downwards seemingly ad infinitum. Worryingly thin catwalks criss-crossed the space, connecting doors in the walls, computer areas, and technical-looking stations John wouldn't pretend to understand. There were a few people in uniform at the nearest station seemingly trying to call for help; Linda shot them.
"Split up," John commanded, "Go to your targets. Reinforcements may be on their way."
"Going."
"Roger."
"On it, John."
They got back to running again. Cortana knew John, and so had given him the longest trip to reach his target. He was with Will for the first part of it, and then split off alone, running from one enormous room to another. Even for someone used to fighting on Covenant ships, the Death Star was big. Defences were few—Johnson was doing a good job holding their attention—but John knew reinforcements would be quick once the Imperials realised what they were doing.
"Do you think they can disarm the bombs if we leave them?" he asked, pressing into the last room. Two stormtroopers turned in shock to face him. He just shoved them both off the catwalk and into the abyss.
"That's if they know we've placed them," Cortana said. "They should be as ignorant of our tech as we were of theirs—and if they start tampering, we can trigger detonation early."
She knew him well enough to know what he was getting at, and her voice softened. "We'll get everyone off the station before we blow it, Chief."
"Not if it risks Earth."
John's footsteps echoed through the chamber as he reached the target point—one of the strange columns of something techy, stretching into the depths below.
"Blue Team!" came Linda's voice over the comms. "Bomb planted, but I'm facing reinforcements! Might take me a minute to push through!"
"Almost at the bomb-site!" came Fred's voice. "Be back to assist in thirty, Linda!"
John jumped over to the column, using his grav-boots to stick to the metal platform for safety. Inched around, and drew the HAVOK nuclear warhead from his lower back, planting it on the side of the surface. He'd done this before, in reality and in training; it was a matter of rote, at this point, to prime it for remote detonation.
"Bomb planted," John said, jumping back to the catwalk. "Moving to regroup."
"At target location," Will's voice crackled in. "Planting bomb now—nevermind, contact. John, can you—hrrk!"
The sound that came from Will's throat was pained and desperate.
"Will?" John called, already running. "Do you copy?"
"Mayday!" Will responded, his voice sounding choked. "High threat target, engaging—"
Gunfire, and then the feed cut.
John narrowed his eyes behind his helmet, and ran faster.
"My target's defended too!" Fred called, "I can't assist!"
"I'll manage!" Linda said, "Chief, can you—"
"On my way," he said, reaching the point where he'd diverged from Will and following his teammate's steps.
The door to the next room opened without protest. John charged in with his weapon up—and skidded to a stop.
Will was suspended in the air, facing him, shields flickering. As John watched, a bright red blade burst up out of his chest, making him cry out in pain. The blade curved up, and out, tearing a huge scorched gash in him and leaving at his shoulder. Then Will dropped, landing on the catwalk trailing smoke. His warhead, metres away, had rolled dangerously close to the edge.
A figure stood over the corpse, cloaked, in black armour, wielding a crackling plasma blade. It looked up at John, producing an insidious half-mechanical breathing.
Behold, chapter two! Honestly a bit blown away by the feedback, I don't normally get this many reviews this fast! Really appreciate it, love hearing what you all think.
Anyway, he is here, and it's time for the real battle to start. I hope you all enjoyed my attempt at a Sgt Johnson speech, I know I had fun. I have no idea if all of those insane rants were scripted, or they just left David Scully in the recording booth unsupervised, but they're a delight.
Next update will come out on Monday. How do you think the Chief vs Vader fight is going to go?