March, 2578…
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Chyal Curo was flying.
The experience never got old. Reach out as if to grasp the destination, and the view of the craggy, tumorous surface below him slid forward accordingly. Tilt his head upwards, and the scene shifted to include the leering moon of this world, a constant companion even by day unlike its mercurial counterpart. Sparse clouds littered the sickly ochre sky around it, bringing with them stinging memories of exploring Nuusra on Sanghelios. Curo tossed the recollections aside quickly, knowing that this ethereal sensation required utmost focus to maintain. Withdrawing his left hand, he slowly brought his view hovering to a halt, causing it to wobble slightly as the drone's small antigravity propulsion engines hummed loudly to compensate for inertia. A twitch of his head to the right sent the drone spinning gradually in mid-air, letting the Sangheili observe the view through a headset at his preferred pace. It was just after high noon, the merciless sun making stoves out of every boulder on this world known to the humans as "Algolis" (and "formerly known" once again, if his employers had their way). The treacherous array of buttes and gorges molded into much of the landscape below his drone had now given way to a much flatter hunk of pale orange ground: a hill, with many like it on either side.
Sure enough, the unwelcome occupants of this tactically significant landscape soon made their presence known below him. A skeletal vehicle almost as ugly as its designers sped blithely into view, twin antigrav "skis" narrowly clearing the ground thanks to its excessive load of living cargo.
Chyal pinched the fingers on his left hand, activating the drone's rudimentary magnification. The war skiff filled his view in a second, automatically tracked by basic guidance systems. He was not impressed. Like many Banished vehicles, it was crude, functional, and ugly. Jiralhanae vehicle designers had seemingly taken all the wrong lessons from the "Prowler" of the war-era, replacing the precarious side-sleds capable of seating two passengers with an even more vulnerable gap in the hull that could transport over a dozen. Not comfortably, either, Chyal noted with a mixture of incredulousness and amusement as he counted the lance of Jiralhanae and their Unggoy thralls packed tightly within the unsecured troop bay. Two Unngoy even clung with both hands atop the metal scaffolding connecting the driver's compartment to the forward gunner's seat. Nobody, Jiralhanae leaders included, looked to have any kind of harness keeping them secure. At the very least, this war skiff appeared to possess metal handrails crudely welded to the scaffolding, albeit ones only the taller Jirals could grasp. For weaponry, the skiff had a front-mounted Pek plasma turret with a red arch-shaped shield replacing the 3 separate shields Chyal had seen on covenant-issue models. Not that it would be of any use, Curo noted wryly, before announcing his "claim" over local comms.
"I shall handle the Skiff, follow my lead." A series of brief concurrences echoed through his headset and around him, followed by claims on other targets.
The lone Banished transport was currently sliding across an isolated dip between two hills, but that wouldn't last long. Curo had observed the Banished forward outpost it was no doubt rushing reinforcements towards in the previous half-hour. If the Banished could fortify that area undeterred, they would have a useful position overlooking the main defensive lines of his employers. Obviously, Chyal Curo and the rest of the Arum team weren't going to let that happen.
Pushing away concerns about the failure of his employers to seize those hills beforehand (nobody was expecting the Banished to interfere, after all), Curo reversed the magnification, reached for the skiff, and clenched his left hand, red crosshairs appearing over it in response. Now locked on, the drone tore through the air towards its target, velocity and distance measurements flashing red on Chyal's HUD. He swept the air with his right hand, adjusting the drone's trajectory so that it shifted from a side-on interception to a pursuit. He doubted the Banished troops could bring the charging craft down, but with the current supply situation, he wanted to take extra care to ensure a direct hit. Besides, he always enjoyed a good chase.
Barely any time was lost in the swerve to line up behind the Skiff, and the drone soon accelerated behind the unaware driver, propulsion drives filling Chyal's ears with a satisfyingly high-pitched hum. He watched the skiff drift slightly up a hill, turning ever so slightly to the right as his drone reached the home stretch.
A lone Jiralhanae, already leaning forwards, whether in anticipation or to try and get some distance from his tightly-packed comrades, just happened to be facing the right way to catch sight of Chyal's drone when the transport bounced up the hill. The lightly-armored Jiralhanae's mouth opened in a silent scream of warning and he brought his spiker up to aim at the drone. A visible ripple of panic ran through the passengers. Chyal nudged the drone towards him specifically. One of the grunt hangar-ons belatedly swung his plasma pistol up. The spiker spat fire once, twice, then his view zipped past and froze on the Jiral's panicked face. After that…static.
"A fine hit," Mos'R Vakrakto rasped as Chyal's view automatically swapped to his squadmate's "Wight" drone. It was a second too late to capture the initial blast, but the results spoke for themselves. The "Stirge" suicide drone usually carried a duo of plasma grenades in a half-open socket, which were activated by various triggers including proximity, time limit, or even the operator's own command, all with the ideal goal of using the grenade's infamous adhesive properties to do the rest. The hapless Banished lance had already been taking their chances riding in an uncovered vehicle like the war skiff, but combine the lack of protection with their own supply of plasma and spike grenades? Chyal was surprised to see an Unggoy flying away from the storm of plasma in one piece. As for the Skiff itself, thin hunks of charred scrap were the only indication that it had once existed.
The scene brought an abnormal satisfaction to Chyal. He'd destroyed fully-loaded troop transports before, and over the years his thoughts had degraded from excitement to pitying the stupidity of his targets. But this was the first Banished squad he'd dealt with in such a fashion, perhaps even the first Banished kill for the whole team.
Around him, he heard more battle cries and declarations of success from the rest of Arum team, accompanied by reports of barricades, shade turrets, and snipers meeting similarly violent ends to the war skiff. The devastation felt notably subdued, however, compared to the heady battles on places like Ealyn IV, Cleyell, Van III and Oth Lodon, thanks to the limited supply of drones available for the team and the rest of their warband.
Arum team was part of "Death Dimension", a Sangheili mercenary unit centered around combat drones. Their founder, the self-proclaimed "Field Overlord" Ar'ulam Hral'hred, was unashamed in admitting his inspiration came from being hounded by human drones during the war, and his brief stint working alongside human forces during the Schism. It was he who'd given their own drones codenames like "Stirge", "Wight", and "Beholder", all borrowed from various human sources in a sardonic attempt to "get ahead" of the humans doing the same. However the boss felt about humans personally, though, he had no problem testing his mercs' mettle against them on worlds like Cleyell and Sedra throughout the 2560s, when Chyal had signed on.
Currently, they were in the employ of one Merg Vol and his Fleet of Indelible Conviction, an ex-covenant warlord who'd been harassing the humans on their frontier since 2554. The catch? They had NOT signed on to fight the Banished. Vol's intent with hitting Algolis had been simple: have his troops acquire more experience by destroying the UNSC garrison in a ground battle. Death Dimension was there to help hunt down the stragglers. Unfortunately, the humans had slipped through Fieldmaster Parg Vol's fingers and into the mountains after stalling his troops in several bitter battles for their main base and the nearby ruined city. For whatever reason, Death Dimension had been deployed out of position to partake in this initial phase of the campaign, instead having to settle for chasing stragglers. Chyal himself had only taken out one isolated human riding a Mongoose who'd tried to swerve away from his Stirge at the last second…a second too late. Already, his opinion of Fieldmaster Parg Vol had become unmentionable in polite conversation. Merg Vol's brother had bungled the battle for the human stronghold, eschewed the assistance of the mercenaries, allowed the core of their forces to escape, and failed to assemble proper hunting parties while he'd still possessed the opportunity. In those easy days, Chyal had expected to reap a more noteworthy toll when Vol's forces began the hunt for the humans in earnest, drones being quite advantageous for scouting the wily terrain of Algolis.
Then the Banished fleet had arrived, destroyed the corvette detachment Merg Vol had sent to support his ground advance, and sent the rest of the Volist fleet running, including Death Dimension's Flagship "Typhoon" and its drone stockpile. Having secured the space above their respective landing zones, both sides seemed content to let the ground forces do as they pleased until the opportunity for decisive battle presented itself.
Soon the triumphant reports of Chyal's teammates faded as the ex-covenant troops launched their half of the operation. From his vantage point within Mos'R's recon drone, Chyal watched a flurry of plasma bolts and fuel rods sweep aside disoriented Banished resistance on the first line of defense. The only thing missing was the source of this withering barrage.
Knowing he'd shot his bolt due to their current frugal approach to drone usage, Chyal soon disconnected his drone headset from Mos'R's feed. The team was operating out of the core bunker of an old Tyrant AA turret converted into a two-story command center by Parg Vol's troops. It hadn't taken long for the 24-man team to make it their own, leaving comms equipment, weapon crates, food wrappers, and furniture strewn about both floors in a manner that would've infuriated any Sangheili from Vol's forces who dared intrude on their abode.
An unfamiliar voice broke raggedly into their comms while Chyal searched for his preferred meal, one of the human MREs they'd surreptitiously pilfered from their main base. Vol's forces might've frowned on the practice, but Chyal was half-jokingly certain that if the old Covenant had given its troops field rations equivalent to human "Beef stew and deviled eggs" instead of protein paste, they would've won the war.
"The outpost is ours, and for that, I must offer my gratitude to our mercenary allies for their support." The voice spoke in an archaic, Covenant-tainted Sangheili dialect Chyal often heard the veterans in his keep revert to.
"Who is it that wants to thank us?" That was Dzhol'el Osulg, the commander of the Arum unit, in a voice that contained blatant satisfaction rather than genuine curiosity.
"Dosmarn Bopnorru, Captain of the 1st Stealth Combat Element…" Chyal pulled his attention away from the human canteen he was opening and keyed back into another observation drone just in time to see the distinctive gray-armored elites decloaking amid many Banished dead as the Captain went on. "Our forces were not previously informed that we would have aerial support until just before launching this mission. I take it you interceded of your own accord?"
It was true. Taking advantage of the almost boundless access to Vol's battlenet he had been entitled to as leader of their mercenary team, Osulg had succeeded in gleaning that the local Commander intended to launch an attack on the Banished-held hills and ungracefully inserted himself into the plan. Surprisingly, the Volist Sangheili overseeing their section of the front had agreed and allowed them the chance to prove themselves.
"We don't skimp on the job," Osulg declared.
"I can see the results of your handiwork now. This network of strongpoints would've been a substantial challenge to storm without aid. Unfortunately, 5 of my men still fell in combat during the attack, and we have numerous other injuries."
Chyal considered the information dourly. The end of the Covenant had not been kind to the Stealth Sangheili and the wider Fleet Security branch of the Covenant military; countless specialized troops had gone down with their respective ships during the schism, unlike the Special Operations legions that had a more independent infrastructure to rely on. Their distinctive gray armor was thus a very rare sight in the post-covenant sphere. Some detachments had weathered the storm alongside the ships they were assigned to and attempted to pass on their doctrine, though, as the current conversation proved. Deploying precious Infiltrator Sangheili against a numerically superior foe and expecting their Active Camo to even the odds was just the kind of tactical mishap he'd come to expect from much of the former Covenant, particularly self-proclaimed successors like Merg Vol's clique. With so many of the brightest and most innovative military leaders dead in the schism and the Fall of High Charity, wide swathes of ex-covenant space pinned their hopes for defense on staid, reactionary officers who'd served on the frontiers during the war and weren't receptive of new ideas, let alone ones sourced from humans.
"We may seek your assistance very soon." That brought a chorus of satisfied remarks from the other drone operators. Despite the obstinacy of their fragmented homeland, the Death Dimension wouldn't have stayed active for almost 20 years if there weren't countless potential employers in need of their services. Chyal's team harbored no illusions that Merg Vol's "restoration" of the old Covenant would come to pass, let alone his promise to find another Halo Ring. Their only concern was getting paid, and perhaps knocking some sense into their fellow Sangheili's heads regarding the importance of Drones. Until the Banished were dealt with, they would have to satisfy themselves with the latter.
Gauss cannons barked angrily, batting aside shade turrets and brute leaders. Jackhammer rockets chased ghosts and wraiths to their doom.
Matei Caragiu knew he was going to die.
He had cheated death far too long, longer than every single one of the Marines hosing the Covie encampment alongside him had been alive. He'd double-checked, triple-checked even. Surely there was some crusty NCO holding together purely by sheer bad attitude and force of will. No such luck. He was a bygone warrior, dumped on a bygone human colony solely to show the flag.
He carefully monitored the efforts of their fire support despite the fatalistic contemplations taking hold of his mind. "The turrets and tanks are down, charge!" Matei rose up and ordered his ad-hoc squad down the shallow hill overlooking the Covie base. Warthog engines roared around him.
He still didn't get why the UNSC had come back to this planet. They'd told him the Covenant had only glassed the sole major settlement of Kavala City and a few outlying villages when the fighting finally burnt out. He didn't know why. Maybe they'd been trying to find a forerunner artifact? Not that it mattered. The planet wasn't a complete wasteland, so some politician had demanded it be reoccupied, or so he imagined the process to be.
Return fire started to grasp at his squad, the pattern of low green bolts from confused grunts and blue streams of fire from the occasional elite trying to rally the troops for glory a familiar sight. Matei could hear marines stumbling to hit the dirt or find rocks to hide behind.
"Follow the First Sergeant! Trust the Warthogs! You stay still out here, you die!" That was Sergeant Ernie Barr, the man who should've been in charge of the squad. Matei needed a moment to recall that "First Sergeant" was referring to him as he paused to shoot a grunt.
First Sergeant? His head was still spinning from getting those Lance Corporal Chevrons all those years ago. Or was it last year…? Barr should've been the one leading the squad, not him. The other man had been fighting nonstop since 2552. But no, the Corps had boosted Caragiu 's "posthumous" promotion even higher last year, and now people followed him. People trusted him. People were inspired by him!
The metallic gasp of a Banshee going into a boost erupted somewhere overhead before being abruptly cut off by a gauss round. Marines cheered over the radio.
He wondered when a Corvette would swoop down and paint the dirt black with their ashes as occasionally happened when his old Regiment tried to hit back. Where was Battlegroup Night Watch? They hadn't even tried for a last stand against the Covenant Fleet, for the simple reason that they'd inexplicably withdrawn from the system weeks beforehand. After that, it had only been a matter of time. From what he could ascertain, the "rules" for these Covie remnants were simple: don't go after planets guarded by human ships. They might win the battle, but they were at increasing risk of losing the war. Not that this was any consolation when the UNSC still couldn't keep its reduced holdings safe, apparently.
Already Marines had overrun the shocked covie defenders and were taking up positions inside the base proper ahead of Matei. With no return fire to occupy his thoughts, the Sergeant considered the peculiar architecture of this particular outpost. From a distance, it almost looked human, full of rectangular structures colored dark gray and surrounded by a half-finished wall made of blocky components. Even the familiar outlines of destroyed wraith self-propelled guns and ghost scout vehicles seemed to have shed their old, rounded forms like an insect's skin.
Gunfire was already starting to die down by the time Matei pulled ahead of his squad into the sprawling central structure of the base. D Company and the smaller formations attached to them had performed their duties exquisitely for such an unversed force, meticulously tracking every single covie larger than a jackal contained within the base in the preceding days since its conception. Preparation was important, but the element of surprise could be the greatest weapon of all, as Matei knew well. It pained him to think that this would be the first and last hurrah of the marines, likely to be chased into some hole and dug out with a scarab or two for daring to strike back against the fanatics who didn't realize The War was over.
They'd come out of slipspace a month ago, raining plasma mortars more as a show of force than a genuine threat and sending hordes of Phantoms to seize the primary UNSC base on the planet, a sprawling marine compound known as "Camp Ghost". They'd gotten lucky, decapitating the Marines' HQ and leaving scattered elements to fight a brief delaying action in the prime defensive terrain of the ruined city and the base. With a lot of improvisation and a little luck, the surviving chain of command had organized a phased withdrawal as the enemy began bringing more and more troops to the field. What the covies didn't know was that the Marines weren't aimlessly running into the mountains. In the 20 years since Algolis was retaken, all of that time had been spent preparing for this very eventuality. Camp Ghost, in essence, had a double meaning. Their real base consisted of a network of caches and compounds built deep within the rocks of the Algolis badlands, areas either unexplored or used as one large firing range prior to 2549. Because Covenant remnants typically lacked the power reserves to re-glass planets they raided, prolonged resistance was more feasible than it had been during The War. But relief, such as it was, remained many kilometers away. D Company had been heading on foot towards the hideouts when their scouts caught sight of this particular outpost while it was still under construction and decided to take a little detour.
Matei was about to turn a corner leading to a large atrium that appeared to house a CIC when something else got their first, casting a large shadow over the marine. The owner of the shadow proved to be considerably less intimidating than its size indicated, though. It was a brute, and it towered over Matei like their species always did, but the veteran's seasoned mind was already picking out errors. For one, it seemed completely unprepared for his presence despite his footfalls resounding sharply against the steel floor for several minutes. It even stumbled to a halt upon seeing him rather than bowling him over! Secondly, this particularly brute wasn't as tall or as heavy as the numerous examples of its kin lying dead outside the structure, the whole arrangement an odd exception to the elite-led forces that had spearheaded the attack, but Matei paid it little mind. It was a runty, lanky excuse for a brute dressed in equally thin armor that was patchwork in nature. Lastly, where it should've met Matei with a roaring battle cry or even a lunge forward to take a bite, it merely yelped in shock.
For a moment, Matei was amused. It was odd seeing a covie whose demeanor screamed "green as grass" in some universal language. He knew brutes, having fought through a tenacious if clumsy defense led by them on a faraway world, barely having enough time to take a deep breath before the horrific last cries for help of Echo and India teams filled the radio…
Enough was enough. Before the memories could grow more coherent, Matei reenacted a far more satisfying one, bringing up his MA5 and unloading it into the runt's face while it fumbled with a rusty covenant carbine. The scent of gunsmoke and fresh blood with an unfamiliar tang filled his nose, accompanied by the sound of the carbine slamming to the floor. Despite being so lanky, the brute still managed one last stumble to a sitting position against the wall as Matei jogged by it and into the atrium.
A sprawling holotable filled much of the room, bathing it in a bright red light. Smaller devices lined the walls, emitting the same harsh red glow from holographic displays and more archaic screens. Several gun racks covered any remaining empty space, the nearest of which caught Matei's experienced eye.
He'd seen all manner of Covenant weapons and fired a few, but nothing he'd seen at all resembled the monstrous pair of weapons occupying this particular rack. In human terms, they were about Squad Automatic Weapon-sized, though he knew that was more like a carbine for brutes. Cementing its status as something other than Covenant, it was colored almost entirely in dark grey, except for a trio of red vents on either side that he guessed served as a crude warning for where excess plasma was vented, seeing as how it lacked a magazine. Most notably, it sported a massive bayonet below a muzzle vaguely reminiscent of a toothy maw.
Matei slung his MA5 and pulled out one of the large guns, testing its weight in his hands. Befitting a SAW-sized weapon, it felt as heavy as a machine gun, and he doubted he'd be fencing with that bayonet anytime soon. As he pondered how to remove it and how much lighter the weapon might be as a result, he heard the familiar footfalls of other marines approaching from both his left and his right. Before he could check who the sources were, the holotable in front of him hummed to life, emitting a wave of holographic static that reached upwards in great digital tendrils. The display resolved momentarily into a towering projection of a Brute, and Matei felt himself capitalize the word at the sight of this one. The being displayed in this hologram was the exact opposite of the run Matei had just killed, a hulking mass of armor splashed in threatening blood-red by the holoprojectors monochromatic coloration. It bore a long scar cutting through its right eye and a triangular glyph branded on its bald forehead.
When its grating voice erupted from the speakers, Matei instinctively stepped back, an effect he guessed was intentional.
"Hectarius, why are you dawdling with the progress report…" Even as the hologram's voice trailed off into confusion, it sounded harsh enough to break bone. Then it looked down right at him.
"Humans. I should've known Merg Vol's fanatics wouldn't kill you all before we arrived. Finally crawling out of your holes to fight back, are you? It is a perfect time to fight and die." Its tone shifted to mocking praise, an uncanny grin spreading on its face.
Matei remained silent, more curious than afraid. Having just killed one of this alien's kin, he wasn't going to be cowed by a hologram who could've been in orbit for all he knew.
"You stand on fateful ground, human. The world where Atriox struck his first blow against the Covenant. The crucible of The Banished. Where the Prophets-" he spoke that word through gritted teeth "-threw away the lives of our brothers in arms. 40 Jiralhanae at a time, wasted in frontal assaults against the likes of you. Hundreds died each day. All except for Atriox."
In truth, Matei hadn't the slightest idea what this scarred Brute was talking about, and it seemed to show through the holoprojector.
"Yours is a facade I've seen many times before. A shortsighted lack of understanding masquerading as some detached disinterest. Fear not, we shall demonstrate in deed what mere words cannot to those who revel in ignorance. It has taken almost 30 of your years, but the Banished have finally returned to the site of Atriox's defiance to claim it as our own. Atriox himself would tread upon this rock once again, but he has no need for…nostalgia." The Brute dragged out the last word as if savoring a mouthful of food.
"And what a momentous return it is. A legendary battle, where we crush both the delusional followers of the Prophets' lies and the meager human garrison squatting on this world! I couldn't have planned it better myself. The symbolism of our victory will inscribe a new order upon this galaxy-one dictated by the Banished. Take heart, human, your end will serve a worthwhile purpose in building a legend."
The Brute leaned back, seeming to indicate that he'd wasted enough time speaking to his accidental audience.
"I already have a legend."
Matei wasn't sure why he'd snapped back like that, just that when he felt the words settling in his mind, the urge to say them had turned irresistible.
The "Banished" leader glared down at him with his good eye. "You are but a child, what worlds have you to your name that can even approach Atriox's struggle on Algolis?"
"Harvest."
The twisted approximation of a grin returned to the Brute's face.
"Then the rumors are true. The 'immortal' crew of the lost human warship, returned after 50 years in stasis to fight again. Tell me, how did it feel to be rescued by the ships of a former enemy like Thel Vadam'ee? Did he set your world alight before he became The Arbiter?"
Matei didn't much care who had found the Spirit of Fire, particularly given that he hadn't been defrosted until the ship was safely in orbit over Earth. He'd just been happy to get out of cryo. Until he'd learned that it was 2577, that is. The ensuing crash course designed to bring the crew up to speed after their 46-year nap hadn't been much better.
In a moment of surprising sincerity, an aging ONI rep had praised the Spirit of Fire's crew for possessing two key traits: experience going back to the Insurrection, and a half-century edge on anyone else in uniform who still did. His offer was simple: accept reinstatement into the UNSCDF and help guide the next generation of warriors both in training and on the front. Whether they accepted or not, he guaranteed that they would be generously compensated for their extended service.
Even as Matei had tried to detect some snide, presumptuous twitch in the spook's face, he knew what his answer would be. Where else could Spirit's crew go? Colonies of ashen dirt and glassy oceans? Unrecognizable Earth cities? War memorials bearing the names of sons and daughters?
He'd been surprised that the number of not-so-early retirees had reached the triple digits. Of course, Matei himself wasn't one of them. Not when New Harmony was yet another glass hunk out in the galactic badlands. Instead, he would enter 2578 bearing the cloying notoriety of an "immortal", a living piece of history come to teach young marines how not to die.
It was confusing for Matei to hear genuine awe in the Brute's voice when referring to that title, both because of the creature's previous derision towards humans and because of his own thoughts about the term. Like most military labels it was half irreverent, half respectful. Matei wasn't fond of it either way. He didn't like being ogled by people who stumbled on his service record. He didn't like the envious looks other NCOs would give him because he, like so many other revived personnel from the Spirit of Fire who chose to stick with the military, had been bumped two or three ranks up.
On the other hand, to hear this alien refer to him as some kind of building block for someone else's epic saga when his own service record read like an interplanetary mashup of Odysseus and Xenophon's ten thousand upset him on a primal level, a layer of his subconscious that worked unseen against his conscious resignation to imminent death on this planet to ensure that he didn't seek it out in some humiliating fashion.
The Brute Commander looked disappointed, as if he expected a more pronounced reaction from his prodding. Having failed to pry it out, he went on.
"It matters not. If I cannot kill a Spartan on this planet, I'll settle for feeling a legend like yours. And perhaps you should know of mine. I am Escharum. War Chief of the Banished. This is my world now. Not the UNSC's, and certainly not to Merg Vol's. Take whatever you want from this base, it is yours by right of deed. Hectarius was not the best of the Banished, not by any measure. Our warriors will be pursuing you very soon, and in much greater numbers than 40 at a time. Set a fire in your heart, Immortal. We're putting your name to the test."
Escharum's hologram dissolved into static. Belatedly, Matei noticed that he wasn't alone. PFC Roza Pasquin stood uncomfortably close to Matei, as she so often did at every opportunity. Her eyes remained fixed on where the oversized hologram of the Banished leader stood. "That was…cool! He knows about you!"
"He's not exactly a classified asset," another squadmate, Private Asger Bossano, remarked on Matei's left. An old BR55 covered in someone else's kill marks hung over his shoulder, and he reached around to grab the grip for reassurance like he always did.
"And we don't bother to broadcast propaganda into covie space," Private Salykov interjected, "Besides, it's a long way from there to here."
"Don't forget, it was the ship that got all the publicity, not us," Matei reminded the trio, as well as Private Dylan Ramon and PFC "Cee" Norris, who were also straining to get their takes in from within the growing crowd. Further glancing revealed that all of the 3 dozen or so marines in the Banished CiC all regarded him with impressed looks rather than doing anything productive like gathering supplies. It was obvious in hindsight that they would have reached the room in time to hear his riposte to Escharum's screed.
"Not just the ship, they really wanted to butter up that fleet from the Alliance." Ramon added, cutting someone else off in a rush to get his opinion out.
"Alignment," Matei corrected the young man, "It's the Alignment. They talked about it so often, I'd expect you to get it right, y'know." Ramon slunk back in shame.
Admittedly, Matei reflected, he was more referring to the emphasis ONI's extensive debrief had placed on their new "friends" in the Not-Arbiter's cool kid's club, but he'd seen how the media had leaned hard on that framing too. Who really needed a reminder here, He thought.
Sergeant Barr was among the few not marveling at him or trying to take control of the discussion. He brushed past unaware marines and stopped their protestations with a steely glare or two. "The squad is unharmed, sir." He announced, and a wave of tangible relief filled the room. Matei could look forward to people saying he was "lucky" now, he knew, despite the fact that he'd all but ditched the squad and ran off into this structure single handedly. It was Barr's leadership that had gotten them through the fight intact, not his own.
The small crowd parted to accommodate a newcomer strolling Matei's way. The marine instinctively saluted when he caught a glimpse of the other man.
"At ease, First Sergeant." Captain Myint Sone was even younger than Matei, definitely too young to be a Captain. Was there a General Sone out there, Matei wondered. Not that it mattered in the immediate situation. When the Covie holdout fleet attacked, the Captain had calmly and hastily arranged for the withdrawal from Camp Ghost without sparing time to panic. In theory, he would make a passable officer. If he made it off the planet.
"We've taken 35 casualties and lost two Warthogs," The Captain told the assembled marines. "Judging by IFF data, there were about 200 'Banished' guys holding this base. If what the others are saying is true, it has supplies for 1000." He regarded the entire crowd before speaking again, pointedly avoiding directing his question Matei's way.. "The situation isn't quite the same now that we know these aren't Vol's guys. This base is off the beaten path from them. Do we occupy it at least temporarily, or take what we need and run?"
Matei tried not to look annoyed. He hated this aspect of their current predicament the most. Since they fled the camp, Sone had been all but asking for permission from Matei to do anything risky. The attack on this base, for instance, had been discussed in private with him, though the Captain had taken ownership of the idea when he announced their plan. Whether the rest of D company grasped this or not, he didn't know, but it would become obvious if Sone wasn't careful. Sone's brisk casualty update hit even harder, now. Today there were 35 casualties in exchange for a successful raid. He didn't want to think about how many deaths might be on his hands if he made the wrong decision later.
First, he wanted to clear up some of his confusion about the wider situation for the Marines, using the discussion as an excuse to ask about specificities he'd been too zoned out during previous briefings to recall.
"We know anybody in the vicinity who'd want to use this place as a rest stop?" The other NCOs in the room murmured their assent at the reminder. The Marines were traveling light: columns consisted of no more than 300 personnel and lacked anything heavier than an H9 hauler.
The plan prioritized autonomy over collective interaction, but this outpost presented a worthwhile exception for any nearby column in need.
"We rolled over these guys so quickly; I haven't had time to raise anyone in the vicinity!" Thakin looked around incredulously. "Just going off what we've gotten from the last status report, A Company is a week's march South of us, and that's assuming these Banished guys don't send troops into the hills. Staff Sergeant Riley-Kwami is still trying to do things Evans Carlson style to our East, so I doubt he'd swing around to restock his supplies here. He's gotta have his sights set on bigger targets deeper within their lines. We can help him by drawing the enemy's attention our way."
Matei was surprised by the reference. Evans Carlson was a trailblazing officer who'd lead a quasi-guerilla raiding force in one of the ancestral national militaries that went on to form the core of the UNSC Marines. From his experience, it was much harder to find others who sought meticulous knowledge of the eras when humanity's greatest enemy was itself than it had in 2526. In his assessment, the war had imbued tunnel vision on everyone after raging for so long, and judging by present company on the planet this effect was even worse for the covies. As the Captain listed off other marine detachments, he entertained the strange notion that Sergeant Forge's story was being discussed in Marine Officer Candidate schools at that very moment. To his embarrassment, it took Sone's dismal uttering of the words "still hasn't reported in for 3 days" to bring him back to the present discussion. A familiar sense of disappointment filled the crowd around him, now growing slightly as other squad leaders met up with the Captain.
"So, who took them out, these new guys or the Volists?" Staff Sergeant RJ McCallen asked.
"Rakken was well to our Northeast. For all we know that area could be crawling with Banished."
All Matei could do was sigh. Gunnery Sergeant Joseph Rakken's father Wilm had served in the same squad as Matei during his first deployment to Harvest. It was the tail end of the 2526 Campaign, when the UNSC was "winning" until an overwhelming Covenant counteroffensive buried such delusions. One side-effect of that counteroffensive was Matei's squad being scattered and almost entirely wiped out, Wilm Rakken being one of the apparent dead. As it turned out, the man hadn't just survived Harvest, he'd made it through the whole war in one piece. Joseph had promised to arrange a meeting with his Father, Matei, and a few other surviving Harvest Veterans from their unit after Matei rotated off Algolis. Now the idea seemed painfully fantastical. Matei then noted the growing pause in discussion around him. The Captain had crossed his arms tensely, indicating he was ready for the others to give their insight. Matei waited a few moments for someone else to speak up first, before recognizing the sensation of being watched. Without a hint of his annoyance, he provided his take.
"Can't hold this place against the people who set it up, sir. They'll know its weaknesses, could probably track us by accessing the tech, who knows? Besides, we don't have the shade turrets or heavy weapons to mount a proper defense. Our snipers and AT gunners did their jobs too well. We should stick with the original plan, steal their supplies and keep moving for the redoubts where we can pick the battlefield."
Other sergeants stated a wide range of opinions, ranging from splitting the Company to booby trapping the base and volunteering to stay behind as bait, but the decision was already made. D Company stripped the Banished base of everything not nailed down, piled it onto their warthogs and trucks, and marched Westwards towards their hideouts in the badlands. Matei trudged grimly alongside the convoy, rejecting a warthog ride so he could be just slightly more distant from the others. War stories from 2549 echoed over the sight of Escharum's towering hologram in his mind. From what he'd heard, Algolis had gone kicking and screaming into the howling dark. If there were any battles that would've left a covie with a grudge against their leaders, it surely would've been that one. Months of battle, all to glass one city and a few weapons facilities? Then he recalled Escharum's lament that the brutes were being used as fodder. Combined with what he knew about the initial Covenant Assault and how a certain lone marine had completely derailed it, he had a new perspective on the months-long slog that followed.
Footsteps soon resounded behind him, first more unsteadily, then in time with his own if somewhat lighter. Matei kept his eyes ahead, counting each tedious second as his pursuer struggled to keep pace with him up a growing incline. Finally, the footsteps lurched forward into a run, and Private Pasquin stumbled into position to his right. Though she stood taller than Matei even while leaning forward in exhaustion, her unfamiliarity with rough ground was obvious.
"Sir, permission to…" the 18 year-old started.
"Go ahead," Matei almost let his words fade into a sigh before reminding himself of his pledge not to let Roza down too bluntly. During an experience he expected to tear at everyone's psyche like this one, that last thing the company needed was more angst.
"About these Banished covies, well, if they're tuned-in enough to know about you, then they must know a lot about us."
"Like they've been collecting intel," Matei helped Roza along.
"Yes!" Matei made the mistake of looking right at her, watching her amber eyes twinkle in the afternoon sun. There was so much zest and spirit evident within them. It reminded him of two things: the first batch of newcomers dumped into his fireteam when he was a corporal, and the faded green glimmer that looked back at him in the mirror every day. He didn't look forward to seeing that spark fade forever before he could coax some wisdom out of it.
Roza watched his gaze, a smile starting to form on her face. That was a relief. It meant Matei wasn't letting his brooding show (or she was too naive to tell). Thus inspired, she went on.
"I just think, if they know enough about us to know about guys like you…how do you think they got it? Maybe they've pulled this thing off before?"
"Possibly." Raiders with no particular ax to grind were a fact of life in human space, it was a sad truth. But that was the key distinction. They raided. They didn't set up shop and build massive bases, and they didn't have galaxy-spanning agendas that they announced to the nearest enemy.
"Maybe they're why Battlegroup Night Watch ran off? To go handle the Banished, I mean."
Matei's head was shaking the moment he heard "maybe". He wondered if she was providing a genuine theory or vocalizing wishful thinking to feel more secure, as if there was a plan in motion that had allowed their current situation to develop.
"Without telling us?" Whatever knot ONI had probably tied around information pertaining to these "Banished" forces, Matei knew it would be undone for the people directly in their path.
"You're also leaving out Merg Vol's gang, and we didn't get warned about them either. Speaking of Merg Vol, think, if the Banished can set up bases safely on the surface…"
Roza watched him trail off, then replied after a brief pause.
"Then they have enough ships to protect their guys on the ground."
"Right, and you saw the footage from those probes. They'd need a lot of ships to face down those CAS carrier's in Vol's fleet. If Night Watch can't risk confronting Merg Vol, either you're right, and they struck at the Banished based on bad intel and got smashed by their full strength…" The First Sergeant trailed off upon noticing the effect his suggestion was having. Roza's eyes glinted in fear, the next words spilling out with a twinge of hope.
"Or they were pulled away to deal with something else!" The young woman paused, mental calculations evident in her widening eyes. One hand reached shakily upward to grasp a stray clump of her dirty blonde hair, and soon she was twisting it absentmindedly around her finger while stomping purposefully forward in an attempt to mute the possibility she'd just invoked from her mind. Matei wished he could indulge in himself like that, too. Unfortunately, he was a Sergeant, a First Sergeant no less, and had a responsibility to ponder every unwelcome possibility. It was a responsibility that encompassed both his squad and, to a disproportionate extent, his company.
Matei wracked his cryo-lagged brain for something with a bit of finality to tell Private Pasquin before he got lost in thought. She was still twirling around strands of hair, regulation limits long since forgotten due to more pressing concerns. Finally, he settled on some unfettered marine bravado. What he said next came subconsciously, and for a moment he thought he could see his icy breath materializing in below-freezing air as he recited the reassurance he'd been given all those years ago.
"You gotta keep in mind, they're here for whatever's on this world. They're not here for us first. Not right now. So we'll make it a pain to chase us, buy our time with their blood. You do it enough times, and help will be here before you know it. Hoo-rah?"
He almost jumped when Pasquin murmured a halfhearted "Hoo-rah," back at him, and the crunching of boots stumbling through snow was replaced by the cracks of boots pounding confidently on hard rock. Not just Pasquin, but several marines within earshot now seemed to be standing a little straighter and striding forward more confidently.
The effect was accidental, but he decided that it was useful to leverage his minor fame to keep the others' espirit de corps fresh every once in a while. Anything that happened outside of Algolis wasn't going to have much of an impact, after all, not with death so hot on his heels.
A/N: Since the last chapter was a prologue and this one was written before it, I'm going to kick up the tempo a little and post it ahead of my planned update schedule