They were trying to destroy all possible areas of defilade… He spotted two teams providing fire discipline, three providing suppressive, and one providing sniper support. That one would be the most dangerous. They ran from the hallways and utilized grappling hooks to reach the higher level balconies. They quickly yet crudely set up shop.
That made twelve providing fire. On the lobby level, eight Spartans armed with riot shields were reading to breach. Fifteen looked standard-equipped, able to provide fire and maneuver standards, while five ignited a violet shield around their armor…
Biotics.
Nearest one... Ten meters away. Too far.
John checked his HUD. Ten rounds left in his MA5D. One in the chamber, plus another full mag and a plasma grenade.
Then he saw it…
The opportunity.
In less than ten seconds when Cerberus entered the room, John rolled forward, holstering his assault rifle and grabbed the dented riot shield from the hollow carcass of an enemy Spartan.
The enemy... slow, bulky, and inferior in nearly every way, seemed to be taken back that a single Spartan would attack them.
John made sure to keep the shield aimed at the sniper team, closing the distance on the nearest enemy. The metal jolting from the AP round of an SRS99-S5. Plasma bolts, lead bullets, and even some Eezo rounds hailed. Moving at nearly fifty-five kilometers an hour, many of the rounds missed or hit the shield, while some were absorbed by John's shield.
He targeted a standard Spartan; unhooked his last grenade, and stuck him dead center of his chest. John kicked him back into a group of three other enemies and rolled to the right.
Jumping up, John's hand dug into the rim of some amount of small defilade, as his other arm held up the battered shield. He climbed, keeping the shield up.
A spartan stood two feet in front of him. John battered him with the shield, throwing him off balance. He grabbed the weapon in the enemy's holster and ripped it out of its locks with sheer force. It was a plasma pistol. The Chief put his back to the ground, keeping his shield close, deflecting most of the incoming fire. He quickly charged the pistol and fired it at the Spartan. In one hit, his shield bursted and the Chief threw the riot shield.
The edge of the shield hit the Spartan directly below the helmet, right at the neck. The enemy clawed at his throat as he fell to the floor. At the same time, the plasma grenade stuck to the other Spartan ignited.
Rolling to the left, the Chief charged his plasma pistol and aimed it at the next target: the biotic Spartan.
John leapt onto the ground, firing the plasma pistol at the same time. The bolt of emerald energy hit the Spartan's shield, shattering it. Yet, his biotic shield was still active. The enemy was closing in; three standard Spartans and two riot shield Spartans, began to enclose on him.
Out of grenades. Can't penetrate with regular ammo and will take a second with plasma. He looked behind further down the outlining lobby. The enemy Spartans were forming a similar tetsudo. They were trying to box him in.
And he observed all this mid-flight, in less than milliseconds. John's foot slammed into one of the riot shield Spartans
The enemy Spartan was hurled to the ground. His shield bent from the Chief's kick.
Pivoting, the Chief tackled the biotic Spartan, rolled over on his back and used him as a shield.
He took most of the incoming fire. Rounds tearing through his biotic defenses. Knowing that he was in a useless position, the Chief reached up, grabbed his throat, and crushed it as if it was made of tin. The shattering echoes of cartilage and flesh, reverberated to his nerves. John tore off the ordnance from his belt. Standard UNSC grenade. He tossed it into the enemy encirclement. They bolted out of the way.
And there was also something very interesting in his ordinance belt. Something he hadn't seen in a long time.
The Chief grabbed the cylinder and smashed it into the ground.
The bubble shield enveloped him.. Hexagons of golden light ignited around him, taking all incoming enemy fire.
John grabbed the dead biotic's plasma rifle, while reaching for the last grenade from the biotic's belt. Rolling onto his feet, John pulled the pin and held the explosive for a brief second, before throwing it behind the incoming enemies.
The explosive bombarded the enemy Spartans, hurling them apart and bursting their shields.
The Master Chief rushed out, firing a precise pair of plasma that scorched the defenseless Spartan; melting his armor and reaching bare skin. A withered screech slid out from his throat. Before he could even tumble, the Chief switched to the next enemy Spartan and barraged him with smoking bolts of azure plasma. He, too, fell with a screech from his mouth.
His momentum never wavering, the Chief tore off the dying enemy's plasma grenade and planted it… right in the belly of another.
John was a blur… a machine developed to kill, efficiently. The enemy Spartans might as well have been recruits in boot camp. His hand whipped out and clasped the "suicide bomber's" neck, hurling him into the bubble shield with his compatriot.
As the bubble shield kept fire out, it also kept fire in. The enemy Spartan pair were already inside, as the grenade ignited. They were caught in the superheated blast that reached tens of thousands of degrees in less than seconds. Whatever their armor was made of... appendages and metal tombs melted in a wave of blue fire, right in front of their comrades' eyes.
John turned down the outlining lobby, right where it finally turned to the left at a ninety-degree angle. The remaining three biotic Spartans were there, surrounded by four more standard Spartans.
The Chief knew he had to move faster, he was almost running empty, and his motion detector indicated the sniper had him. John aimed, a millisecond away from unleashing a barrage when an emerald bolt lanced into a biotic Spartan. Like lightning, two more bolts struck the enemy biotic's center mass, splintering his shield.
A green bolt hit the farthest biotic Spartan. Another controlled pair hit him center mass, and his shield burst. John saw in the corner of his eye it came from Commander Shepard.
Not bad.
Now, their attention, briefly - ever so briefly - was focused on the Commander. Their seconds distraction was more than enough, John aimed onto the enemy unit and barreled smoldering plasma, till the plasma rifle began to overheat and its alarm rang..
The Chief threw it at the nearest enemy Spartan. And with a far slower reaction time, the enemy did not realize that he was struck with an IED.
The plasma rifle erupted in front of his side.. His shield overloaded, and his right arm disappeared in azure flames. His screams were cut, when a pair of 7.62x51mm bullets tore through his exposed neck
He fired off multiple shots at the nearest biotic. Their attention was now back to him. The group activated their biotics, forming what looked like a singularity. As it formed, the Master Chief felt the gravitational pull.
He pushed the choking Spartan forward, using the kinetic force, the Chief was able to pushed himself back.
He had an idea. He bounced right and used the gravity of the singularity to sling him forward. And it worked. Just like a black hole, the Spartan skirted around the event horizon like a ship would in space. He was pushed forward, and with the butt of the rifle he smacked one of the biotic Spartans right in the face. His shields bursts, and before his body could even react to the kinetic blow, the Chief raised his rifle again and hit him in the helmet. The glass visor cracked apart, and blood poured out of the cracks.
He aimed at the other biotic, and fired four consecutive shots. Accounting for recoil, stabilizing the weapon, each round hit the head. The first two ripped apart his shields. The next two pierced his helmet and melted his brains.
He lowered his shoulder and rammed the last remaining biotic Spartan over the railing. He fell into the central lobby.
He fired more controlled pairs at the other standard Spartans. He rushed in at point-blank. The barrel pushed into the stomach of one of the Spartans. Stray fire hit sporadically against the Chief's remaining shields. The carbine rounds ripped through the enemy's undersuit and began to melt his organs.
The Chief strode right, jumped over the railing, and was once again in the central lobby. The biotic Spartan tried to get on his feet, only to meet the butt of a Covenant carbine. The sleek Covenant metal was crushed as it hit the Spartan right under the helmet. The Chief turned the rifle and fired more rounds again right into the trachea.
Fifteen dead Spartans in less than a minute. The Chief didn't have time to observe his work. He aimed the carbine at the sniper team, pulled the trigger and hit the shooter right in the helmet. His shields turned bright yellow.
The Chief dodged more fire by rolling to the left, back to the decimated biotic Spartan team. He grabbed the helmet of one of the standard Spartans. He ripped it off. Electric sparks and blood poured out as the metal locks on the helmet ripped away. Tangents of flesh were also torn off. Now, there was only a bare face with a multitude of cybernetic implants.
The Chief landed another shot, and the Spartan's face was pushed in. More sparks ignited as biomatter and electronics were crushed. Shards of skull ripped through his skin.
The remaining ones fell back through the halls while the fire teams provided covering fire, pulling out through the hallways.
The Master Chief didn't follow. He immediately rearmed his assault rifle, scavenging gear and supplies from the dead as the remains of the fireteams retreated through the upper balconies.
"Captain, sir…" the Chief turned and saw the survivors huddled deep in cover and defilade. Captain Florence peered out.
"Jesus fucking Christ-"
"What's the status of the Council? Who are these people?"
"Asymmetric warfare. They had access to our comms, cut us off. Lord Hood sent me to check on the Council… These Spartans beat me to it. We were pushed out into the lobby."
"They're Cerberus…" Shepard said. A few of the Cerberus bodies detonated. Sparks of plasma flew in various directions. "No one utilizes Reaper implants…"
"You saw this?" The Chief asked.
The Commander nodded, "there's only one source where they get UNSC comms…."
"No…" Florence said, piecing it just as fast.
"It doesn't matter," the Chief replied. "Captain, follow your mission. Take the remaining C-SEC officers and ensure the Councilors are secured, then get them off station."
Captain Florence nodded.
"Commander…" the Chief said. He looked to the Commander. He looked...perplexed. "I'm going to hunt down the remaining enemy combatants, try to see what they're after."
And Shepard seemed to tense his shoulders, at the thought that the Spartan was telling him what he'll do. But, the Commander didn't argue, "I'll help Captain Florence secure the Councilors and any other high-value assets… You don't need back up?"
The Chief proceeded down the hall, "no."
…
They were speaking out in the open. Echoey and deep voices similar to standard Cerberus troops, the Spartan was beginning to agree more and more with the Commander.
"A third of my platoon was wiped out by a single UNSC Spartan! All our biotics are KIA!" The platoon commander said, "we have not secured VIP Gamma-"
"Negative, Hyperion. Gamma is no longer a priority," a similar deep voice replied. "Reroute and rejoin the other teams. Charlie is still number one priority. Make due, Hyperion. Over."
The Master Chief stayed in the shadows, just outside the twenty-five meter sensor range. And the posted firewatch didn't notice him. Kneeling in a puddle of liquid, aiming down the scope of their battle rifles, the standard enemy Spartans had near tunnel vision.
Poor training.
"Roger… We'll reroute through the Keeper tunnels, hal copy?"
"Copy, Hyperion actual. Interrogative: who's this Spartan?" Their comms said.
"I think it's him, Spear," the platoon commander said. "How the hell is he here-?"
From right under the pile of dead keepers, the Master Chief fired four consecutive shots from his carbine. And four green streaks of light traveled in the blackness of the Keeper tunnels. Two green lines destroyed the Spartan's shield, and two more pierced his visor.
He was down.
"CONTACT! CONTACT! CONTACT FRONT!" One of the Cerberus Spartans screamed.
And Chief aimed left, down an adjacent hallway with various access corridors attaching it to the main room where the platoon command was presiding. Pulled the pin on a flashbang, and threw it down there. He moved out of the Keeper pile, and into darkness.
"I got nothing on motion scanners-"
"I got no visual, switching to night vision-"
"Switch to internal comms, damnit!" The platoon commander ordered. After that it was silent.
Night vision… The Chief moved through the plotted labyrinth of corridors and access tunnels, maneuvering on a wide elliptical arc around the main room.
In an access tunnel, he had left a weapons cache scavenged from dead Cerberus Spartans. He grabbed a fuel rod cannon. From there, he maneuvered to a perpendicular hallway that had enfilade on the position he was just in. Thirty meters out. Fuel rod gun was too slow to hit before they noticed.
Just like he predicted though, a fireteam of Cerberus Spartans took position at the Keep pile. Scanning, far more alert than previously.
The Master Chief charged forward. Fifty-five kpm. He kept the front of his body low.
Ten-meters in, the Cerberus Spartans finally reacted. "CONTACT LEFT!"
Fifteen meters in, they opened fire. A few plasma rounds hit the Chief's shields. They held to halfway.
Eighteen meters in, he slid, keeping the fuel rod gun pointed forward. They tried tracing his path, only to miss a few inches behind him as he skidded across the concrete floor.
Twenty-five meters. He fired four quick rounds from the fuel rod cannon. The nearest Spartan couldn't jumped out of the way. He was engulfed in green fire. When the plasma round hit his armor, it exploded in a burst of fire. A carcass was thrown back. Plasma residue split onto the other Spartans, lighting their shields.
Two more fuel rods rounds traveled forward, hitting the Spartan directly behind. A green burst and the Spartan was gone. Enough kinetic energy and plasma residue hit the other two Spartans that their shields went down.
When the Chief reached their position, he leaped up, unsheathing his scavenged Ka-Bar, and landed the blade right in the first Spartan's neck. He pushed the dying body out of the way with the hilt of the knife. He grabbed his holstered pistol, and repeatedly shot the remaining Spartan in the chest.
Before his body even hit the ground, the Chief was already on the move through the various passageways and access routes in this service grid.
He needed one of the members of the command squad alive, but it didn't necessarily had to be the CO.
If they were smart they would merely cover their sectors, and push back to wherever they needed to head to… At least, that's what Blue Team would do...
So he tried to think like a Marine, a marine unit, and how they would react to this kind of situation.
And he wondered if the bonds of brotherhood were as tight among them as they were among a marine unit, or Blue Team.
He sat tight, receiving an enfilade on a small firewatch position. A standard Spartan and one of the remaining riot shield Spartan manned it. Perfect. He simply walked into motion detector range.
And they reacted instantly, firing on his position before they could even confirm the target.
The Chief sporadically replied fire with a haste of Carbine rounds. He still kept his groupings tight, knocking the shields of one of the standard Spartans and forced him into cover.
More enemy Spartans converged on his position… Maybe four or five total.
The Master Chief charged forward before the others could reach firewatch's position. He slammed the shield of the riot Spartan. The shield was knocked out of his hands. The Spartan's body flew to the ground. The Chief aimed his carbine and fired repeatedly at his inner thigh, right at his unprotected femoral attrorary.
His shields bursts. The Master Chief's own shields were taking heavy damage from incoming fire. He quickly switched to his pistol and shot the attrorary. Immediately, bright red blood began to pour out.
The Master Chief fell back, turning down an adjoining service tunnel just as his shields overloaded.
Despite his injury, the enemy Spartan maintained noise discipline. At another dead sprint, the Master Chief made a wide arc just beyond the Spartans' motion scanners. He caught a brief glimpse of the main room. A decent portion of the platoon dislocated to help their comrade, to provide a security perimeter as the combat life savers went to work. If not, he'll bleed out in less than a minute.
The Chief maybe had a fifteen second window at most-
"I SEE HIM!"
"CONTACT RIGHT!"
One of the command Spartans saw him. Damnit. It's on the Chief.
They opened fire. A few rounds hit the Chief's reenergized shields.
He had another idea. He continued to push forward, completely a near one-eighty on his orbital arc sprint.
And he dislocated, disengaged and headed to what would more than likely be their egress route, and began to send up claymores.
...
Four Spartans carried the wounded. They were still on internal comms, but based on some physical hesitation, the way they turned their heads, the Chief could see they were debating leaving him behind.
With all the actions that it entails.
And they easily saw the claymore and either deactivated or tripped them from afar. The Chief knew that they knew someone was trying to alter their egress route.
Now, there's maybe twenty left…
He didn't move. He aimed the pistol. In the small incline the enemy platoon was walking up, the Chief let the grenade roll.
And it rolled. And they reacted.
"GRENADE!"
The platoon jumped out of the way behind pillars and through adjoining service tunnels. In the corner of one of these service tunnels was a claymore. A Spartan's foot stepped in front of it, and it activated.
"MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN!"
Two of the four stretcher bearer Spartans pulled the injured man out of the way into cover.
One man ambush. The Chief fired the remaining rounds of the fuel rod cannon. It hit one of the dislocated Spartans, and in another flash of greenlight his body burned away.
The Chief manuvered and ducked through various pillars and service corridors, peppering the enemy with his remaining carbine rounds.
They couldn't chase him down. They knew what would happened, yet they couldn't stay put either. So the platoon commander made the decision to keep pushing forward, to regroup with the other Spartans aboard and fight the Chief together.
And the Chief wondered if letting them regroup would be the right option, to tag the other enemy Spartans.
As the Spartans moved out of the ambush zone, the Chief continued to rain fire. He managed to target and kill one of the stretcher bearer Spartans as he was carrying the wounded. The wounded body dropped to the floor, creating a loud thud. The three remaining ones continued to drag the Spartans.
And for the next fifty-meters, the Master Chief staged various ambush and firing points, harassing the retreating, once and a while taking down an enemy here and there.
He had hit one Spartan in the thigh, hoping to drag back a decent portion of the platoon. But the platoon commander grew smart. He left that one behind despite what looked like protests to the Chief from the platoon members. They left the injured Spartan in the middle of the hall, leaving it to the Chief to finish him off with a few pistol rounds.
The Chief pushed ahead of the platoon, taking a few stray rounds. He reconned their remaining possible egress route. It looked like they were heading towards a large service door. Only forty more meters to go.
This would be the last ambush point. He ran out of claymore and other explosive devices, but it didn't matter. He had a few carbine rounds left, and three full pistol mags.
Against maybe thirteen Spartans, it would do.
He set up a firing position right in front of the door, and pre-aimed at the main possible ingress point.
The point-man was so panicked he didn't even take the time to check his corners, rushing in. The Master Chief took the shot, utilizing four precision rounds yet again. His helmet cracked, and he fell to the floor.
The other Spartans in the adjoining hall were cut off. There were no other egress routes. No time to scout ahead for another way out without the Chief there to kill whoever they sent…
One option.
Another point-man dislocated from cover and fired DMR rounds at the Chief. The Spartan-II rolled left. The helmet of the body was out too far. The Chief used the last rounds in his carbine, and another successful headshot.
Only a handful left. At this point with this amount of casualties, the Chief would assume they would evac. But hearing tales of Cerberus brutality, the Chief wasn't entirely sure.
He rushed in before another point man could take position.
He reached the adjoining corridor, grabbed the downed point man's weapon. Battle Rifle. The remaining thirteen were clustered in the hallway, at the ready. They opened fired at the incoming Spartan. The Chief stepped back and grabbed equipment from the enemy Spartan's belt.
A small metal handle. Jackal shield.
A blue energy shield opened up, maybe two meters in diameter. The Chief crouched down putting as much of his body behind the Covenant tech. It could take a lot of damage, and did as the Chief charged forward to put the final nail in the coffin.
He recognized the platoon commander. The Chief steadied his battle rifle with one hand. He ignored the other Spartans, passing right by them at 55 kph. His shields took the brunt of the damage, dropping to near zero right as he reached the CO.
Point blank, right under his shields. Unlike Spartan-II, or III, or even IV, their shields seemed to act as a bubble, ejected maybe two or three inches off their armor while UNSC Spartan shields were...form-fitting to put it in laymen's terms.
He laid the barrel right into the CO's unprotected femoral artery and pulled the trigger twice. Six 7.62 rounds pierced the underlay suit. The first three rounds met some decent resistance. The next three did their job, ripping away the underlay titanium (or at the very least, the Chief's own underlay suit was made of titanium weave fibers) and hit the target.
And the Chief exfiled to the next point, deciding the objective had changed. Follow the enemy, see who else they lead to.
His shields burst as he hit an adjoining corridor. A few rounds hit his armor, leaving more scratch patterns.
But he got away.
...
"This is Hyperion to Spear Actual. We've taken heavy casualties. I have over thirty KIAs and two wounded! Our platoon commander is down! We're down to one IMMORTAL and we've lost all our PRAETORIANs! We have barely twelve HOPLITES left. We are combat ineffective! I say again, we are combat ineffective!"
"Roger, Hyperion. Standby, break. Break. Central, this is Spear. Pangea is all KIA, and Hyperion is declaring combat ineffectiveness. Suggest Hyperion go to plan B and hit soft targets. Hal copy?"
"Roger, Spear. Interrogative: is it who we think it is?"
"Yes, over."
"Copy. Break… Tell Hyperion to go to plan B, then. We can't let them lead him to our remaining teams. Status of Icarus and Hades?"
"Icarus has taken minimal casualties. Has not yet completed their objective but are in pursuit. Hades is spread thin, and is engaged with UNSC Spartan fireteams. Fifteen percent causality rate so far, over."
"What do you suggest?"
"Objective Gamma is out of the question. Objective Charlie and Lima are making their way to UNSC hangers-"
"Interrogative: are those not hardened targets?"
"Roger, Central. Once they hit there, we've lost our window… Hyperion or Pangea was supposed to intercept, but…"
"How the hell is he even on station?"
"I don't know, Central. Break. Break. Hyperion? This is Spear. Go to plan B."
"...Roger, Spear…. It's been an honor."
"Likewise, Hyperion. We'll regroup in hell. Out. Break. Central?"
"Go ahead, Spear."
"Not sure how long this will hold. And Hyperion may be all dead already if he is harassing them… What if we go loud?"
"It'll be expensive, Spear."
"Guess we'll have to pay."
"...Roger that, Spear. Might mean your team along with Hades may also have to go to plan B to punch a hole for the fleet. Not guaranteed, but the chance is high."
"We all understand what we signed up for, Central."
"Copy, Hyperion. Request granted. Pleasure doing business with you. It's been an honor."
"Understood, Central. See you in the history books. Out."
"Central to Fleet? Declaring Contingency: Thunder. I say again, Contingency: Thunder. Free fire zone declared. You are cleared hot. Out"
"Roger, this is Fleet. Commencing Thunder Run."
...
Citadel Tower, Presidium Wards, 2186 Citadel Calendar, 06:37
September 2nd
Traffic was tricky to maneuver around the permanent obstacle the UNSC had decided to place within the arms of the Citadel.
The UNSC Hopeful was a very odd and peculiar ship. It looked more like a garbage heap with dozens of parts and pieces stapled onto a central core. Jutting docking stations and loosely connected pieces. If it weren't for the weightlessness of space, that thing may fall apart. And Specialist Brooks had no idea how it could even move.
She took a sip of her coffee and sighed. She bought a new mug when she dropped the old one.
The Hopeful now served as a major annoyance as it sat off to the side, near two of the arms. But she guessed that was the price since the thing was supposedly a mobile hospital. The UNSC also left a few dozen guard ships and maybe one or two Sangheili ships that pretty much melded with the Citadel Fleet.
Despite the Hopeful being an obstacle, a decent portion of incoming refugees were redirected to the ship for both medical care and processing. It did certainly ease up traffic near the Presidium tremendously. Other than that, the day was as busy as usual. Quiet, work-filled, slightly depressing, and strangely ominous as the war continued to progress on and they were here. Nothing exciting, nothing unusual… She really needed to transfer stations.
Though some of those black hole 'slipspace' entrances UNSC and Sangheili ships performed were interesting to watch… But it didn't make the job worth it.
"Standby, I'm reading a black hole reading. Collapsing star, UNSC ships coming through." The controller next to her said.
"Are there any entrance schedules today?" Specialist Brooks asked.
"Huh. As if the UNSC tells us anything." He said. "We're gonna have to redirect traffic to a minimum safe distance."
That's another thing. Sometimes UNSC and Sangheili ships forgot to contact Citadel Space Traffic Control, making things extremely hectic to the point where it's almost scary. They could complain to the Citadel Embassy, but with the way politics had been going on according to the news, she doubted anyone was really listening.
Another problem was that it was hard to tell where exactly where the 'slipspace rupture' was coming from. It was guessing, give or take, with some measurement and predictions that may or may not be accurate.
"Standby, incoming slipspace rupture." She began to redirect traffic to safe distances, near the atmospheres of the arms. Hopefully they won't have to ground trajectory courses. They had to do that a few times, and...hundreds of complaints came in because of it.
They began to ready brace preparations. Cleared out any possible contradicting trajectories, ensured procedures for any possible fallout from the slipspace rupture, etc. etc.
She opened up the scope, and saw a small black ball form in the background of the Serpent Nebula. It quickly grew, with a large purple outline forming around the edges.
This time though something was different. The orb was a lot nearer, within the arms of the Citadel. It expanded to maybe about a couple dozen kilometers in diameter. A few ships came out. Sleek, smooth and purple. Sangheili ships. Maybe about a dozen total. Two -what were the names?- CCS-class battleship at over a klick in length, and around ten or eleven corvettes and light cruisers exited. The orb collapsed, producing an electromagnetic wave that passed through the system. All electronics shut down for a brief millisecond before turning back on.
Goddamn, they were way too close. They jumped inside the Citadel arms. They weren't supposed to do that.
"This is Citadel Space Traffic Control to incoming battlegroup, recommend immediate reduction of velocity or corrected alteration of trajectory until we can part traffic. Hal copy?" Specialist Brooks said on comms in a more calming voice contrast to what she actually felt.
No response. Sometimes they had trouble establishing lines with the UNSC and Sangheili since they have some strange older system of communication.
"Fuckin' pricks." The other operator said. "They know how much work we have to do now?"
He wasn't wrong. CSTC now had to redirect all incoming traffic coming in from the front of the Citadel and ground all flights trying to break all the arms' atmospheres. Any traffic in route had to be rerouted on emergency vectors.
CSTC got to work. Fingers tapped on holo-computers. Voices spoke giving orders to incoming and outgoing ships. Who knew what the incoming battle group's trajectory was. They were probably talking to the local UNSC and Sangheili ships, but certainly not to the Citadel.
"Incoming battlegroup, identify callsign and register possible trajectory with Citadel Space Traffic Control, hal copy?" She said.
The ships kept pushing towards the Presidium ring. They pushed near the UNSC Hopeful.
It would be way too slow to try and get someone to contact the local UNSC traffic control and get them to respond. CSTC was ordered to send all their data to UNSC traffic control, but not vice-versa. And somehow, the public still blamed CSTC.
Made sense.
Maya sighed again. Downed another gulp of her coffee. It was definitely better than energy drinks… Which she got hooked on it a few weeks ago thanks to some Alliance and UNSC marines she was hanging out with in a nightclub. Redbull and vodka were an interesting mix. Too bad she had to get out quickly when a massive fight broke out between some enlisted Alliance marine and some UNSC marine officer of all things. Luckily she got out before the cops came.
Still though, coffee wasn't giving that same kick as those energy drinks.
"Incoming battlegroup, this is Citadel Space Traffic Control. Interrogative: can you read me?" She said.
She's gonna take the silence as a no.
She began to run up calculations. Of course, with no definite origin point since the black hole disappeared as soon as it came into existence, it was kinda hard. She did notice something though. It's velocity in relation to the Presidium….
"Hey...Jackie…" Maya said to her fellow operator. "Are they increasing speed?"
"Uh yea…"
The speed limit within the Citadel arms in relation to anything was a few hundred knots. Again, it seems their allies weren't listening. Go figure.
Maybe they were just trying to connect with the UNSC ships that anchored themselves around the Presidium and the Citadel tower.
They weren't going to listen. Best they could do was calculate their possible trajectory, make redirecting traffic a little easier on themselves.
"That's a lot of momentum," Jackie commented as the ship increased speed. "Heavy ships."
"Maybe they're on rotation to Palaven," Maya answered. She brought up a VI interface assistant and began to input her calculations. Possible trajectory, velocity…
Wait.
No, that wasn't right. She ran it again…
No...no that was right. Then again it was alien tech. They could change trajectories at the last minute.
"Battlegroup, this is CSTC, confirm you are increasing velocity?" Maya asked.
Still no response. They were halfway through the arms, nose aimed directly at the…
Their trajectory was directed towards the Presidium.
"Someone contact UNSC traffic control." Her NCO ordered as he paced along the row of controllers. "Tell them to get that Sangheili battlegroup to speak up."
Jesus, they were on a direct collision course.
Incoming. They were only a few dozen kilometers away.
"SIR!" Another operator down the row said. "UNSC traffic control says it isn't theirs!"
Jesus Christ.
Someone sounded the catastrophe-collision alarm. She saw on the scope that the few UNSC and Citadel Security ships began to move to engage. Their noses redirected towards the incoming Sangheili ships.
"PREPARE EVACUATIONS!" Her NCO barked. "CONTACT THE COUNCIL. STAFF IS PRIORITY!"
A UNSC cruiser managed to get into position and fired a MAC round and a full volley of missiles. It hit one of the light cruisers, piercing the shields and ripping off chunks of purple metals and debris.
It was still on a collision course.
Incoming. Two kilometers. The ships begin to disperse to specific parts of the Presidium and the upper wards. The CCS-class battleships began to divert. Multiple corvettes were still on a direct collision course.
Three kilometers. They increased engine output.
Missiles and battery rounds were flying in every direction, trying to target the incoming ships. The corvettes were aimed at multiple hangers…
They were about to hit.
"BRACE! BRACE! BRACE!" Maya screamed.