That night…
Tragathal saw them long before he heard them: rubies glittering in the shrouded nightscape. Other Jiralhanae scouts were already gesturing towards the red lights, though discipline halted any cheers on their lips. Relief would be short, then their mission would resume, albeit with new burdens this time.
Only a few minutes passed before the red lights resolved themselves into the tall and narrow outlines of Banished shadow troop transports. The convoy approached with a haste that surprised and satisfied Tragathal. Arthoc's column being distant as it was, he hadn't expected the Chieftain to make good on his promise to deliver support before the day was over. Checking the clock on his wrist pad, Tragathal gratefully confirmed that there were still two hours before midnight on Algolis. Perhaps Arthoc was worthy of respect after all.
The convoy fanned out as it approached Tragathal's perch on a boulder, 8 total shadows in all. Each carried a single heavy plasma cannon that was almost identical to the Covenant model. It was the bulbous and fully-enclosed driver's cabin that marked these vehicles as Banished-made, though. As for the half-dozen choppers, they had long since split off and headed further North, not to mount their own pursuit but to monitor the area formerly assigned to Gjilios and serve as reinforcements in an emergency.
The lead shadow slid to a halt before Tragathal and swerved to the side so he could get a full view of the embarked warriors caught in the low light of the troop bay. Fortunately for the Scoutmaster, every one of them was Jiralhanae. Arthoc hadn't filled out the lances with Unggoy or Kig-yay as he'd feared. First to exit was a tall Jiralhanae in orange armor that blazed in the red light.
"Captain Yorsk of the Brothers of Unending Ire, reporting as ordered!" The Captain gave no respectful gesture or adopted an accommodating tone. One hand rested on the grip of a spike rifle with a bayonet twice its normal length.
Next, the driver of the shadow convoy spoke up over the battlenet. "We're ready to evacuate your wounded and dead. Be quick, so we can disperse from this dangerous gathering."
Tragathal waved a hand forward in response, and his scouts silently responded, assisting wounded brothers in boarding the shadows and securing those fallen who were in a retrievable state. The scoutmaster winced at the drawn-out process. All told, 6 of the 8 dead could be recovered, and 19 scouts had been injured during the firefight with the human marines. The fight had been short and merciless despite how much time seemed to have passed behind cover. Despite this, over half of his personal scout group was now out of the fight. Embarrassingly, he hadn't thought to send a team to check the ledges for signs of human casualties until they were much too distant from the battlefield.
For now, he would set his shame aside. Arthoc had provided more than twice as many troops as had been lost. Many carried heavy fuel rod guns and particle beam rifles, just as he had requested. The warriors stood arrayed in a loose series of lines centered around Captain Yorsk, discipline an afterthought. Some observed the nearby terrain, others complained to each other. Tragathal was unfazed. They could have their moments of levity for now.
"Heed my words!" The scoutmaster suddenly roared, and every Jiralhanae in sight halted. Even the injured paused to observe their Commander speak.
"Your days spent without lifting a foot have ended. Now you serve under my command, the Yylikoi Farguard! Starting tonight, you will know the ancient ways of the hunt as your forefathers on Doisac knew millennia ago-"
Tragthal halted at the sound of a comms request filling his ears, joined by a pre-assigned code on his HUD.
The code of a lance that was supposed to be dead.
All prior theatrics forgotten, Tragathal gestured for the newcomers to stay in place and activated his comms.
"Gjilios, is that you? What happened to your lance?"
Ragged breaths filled the channel, rising and falling with great pauses in between. Rocks and dirt rolled faintly out of the way across several seconds at a time, giving the impression that the speaker wasn't walking so much as crawling.
When a voice finally rose, it was just audible enough to be discernible as someone other than Gjilios.
"It put my insides outside, brother," the Jiralhanae moaned, the words flowing in rapid bursts of strained breath a few at a time. "wields pure fear, your fear, my fear, reject the fear, fight the enemy in front of you, we are not afraid, we are already…Banished…" A final breath, then static.
Tragathal had received many parting messages from dying warriors in his time as Scoutmaster, but none had been nearly as unsettling as this. He quickly signaled Captain Yorsk to join him and provided a personal retelling of the situation that had led to their deployment, closing by replaying the new transmission.
The Captain's aloof demeanor died instantly, the shorter Jiralhanae's head hunched forward as if the enemy was just out of sight.
"These enemies, no humans could do that?"
"I doubt there were even 'enemies' responsible. You heard how he said 'it', didn't you? Could a single enemy have been responsible?"
"You assume too much, Scoutmaster. The warrior was already dead! His spirit simply hadn't left the broken physical vessel! He might not have even understood what he was saying to you! Now, I was promised a proper Jiralhanae hunt, yes? Let us advance and avenge them!"
Tragathal stomped off without responding, signaling all the Jiralhanae under his command to follow.
"Do not fall behind," He snapped over his shoulder.
—
When the first thing Chyal Curo felt upon awakening was a dreadful headache, he knew his sleep had been callously stolen before it could truly begin. A rapid burst of quakes and distant blasts revealed the culprit, the pattern instantly recognizable to Chyal as wraith strikes. He'd heard the ungainly vehicles spewing plasma from both near and far on many occasions as a mercenary, but that was usually from lone mortars or groups of two. On this night, he was getting an unwelcome acquaintance in what the furious rhythm of a full wraith bombardment felt like.
Knowing he was already too frustrated to return to slumber, Chyal rose unsteadily to his feet. A faint ambient light cast the circular ground floor of the command center in blue, illuminating the silhouettes of those Sangheili squadmates more attuned to sleeping through artillery bombardment. Stepping lightly to avoid disturbing the others, Chyal advanced up the rounded ramp that led to the second floor of the modified tyrant emplacement. Plasma mortar blasts chased him with every step, the force of the impacts rising up his feet. The bombardment was clearly intensifying. Still, nobody else made a sound below him.
Reaching the second floor, Chyal stepped past the amorphous blob of translucent energy waiting just beyond the ramp and towards the familiar crate he was looking for. He was a few steps away when his hazy mind caught up with what he'd just seen. Chyal spun around in shock to see the intruder's shimmering form materialize into another Sangheili. He was dressed in an antiquated combat harness painted in an abnormally uniform shade of gray, and his helmet was the standard warrior pattern with two side fins and a pointed end on the back. A gray face mask with silver lenses and heavy mandible armor obscured the rest of his face. The newcomer had a needler and energy blade holstered on his right side and his arms were bent loosely at his side in preparation for a fight. Since he hadn't started shooting, Chyal decided against rousing the others, just in case.
"What business do you have with us?" He whispered, backing towards his original goal but keeping his palms turned down in the usual show of confusion.
"I was performing a small test, one that you failed quite miserably," the gray-armored Sangheili announced with no heed for the slumbering inhabitants of the building, "You mercenaries are completely bereft of security measures, not even a simple door code!"
"Who are you that thinks he can intrude upon us and criticize our conduct? I was robbed of my sleep by those wraiths!"
"I am Zash Umam, from the 1st Stealth Combat Element. We've encamped near your base to help provide security while we wait in reserve."
Now Chyal recognized the Sangheili's armor from what he'd seen of them via the drone. That was the unit his team had aided during their attack on the Banished outpost network.
"Your drones were crucial to the perfection of our assault. The Captain had decreed that we owe a great debt to you."
Chyal simply tipped his head upward to his right, a gesture of concurrence. A debt of honor didn't interest mercenaries much, but he knew they could make use of it if they needed to.
Despite his stubborn headache, Chyal couldn't ignore a question that lingered in his mind.
"We know of many Sangheili who view fighting the enemy with drones as dishonorable," he stated, turning back towards the crate and awaiting a reply.
"Captain Bopnorru doesn't regard such machines as dishonorable, simply…extraneous? Myself, I would remind those critics that the Forerunners' counted Sentinels among their arsenal. How can the divine guardians lack honor?"
Chyal found himself burdened with answers to far more questions than the one he'd asked right then. Ignoring the pounding in his head, Chyal hastily retrieved what he was looking for from the crate.
"What are you concerned with, if I may ask?"
"It's called 'instant coffee," Chyal explained, using the human term while he tore open a green pouch and arranged the contents on a nearby table. "I won't be resting again under this bombardment, so I must prepare for a long day." He placed a basic human field stove on the table and engaged it, then added a large mug atop it.
From one eye, he watched Zash grow tense, the Stealth Sangheili's mandibles clattering loudly in disapproval.
"The human MRES are inexpensive and flavorful. We can provide free samples if you wish."
"We have our own rations," Zash growled.
"Tell me, has your Captain any knowledge of the wider situation?" Chyal changed the subject, gesturing broadly with his hands to indicate the continued bombardment occurring outside.
"Nothing enlightening. The Banished Offensive is as inevitable as the morning sun."
Chyal didn't disagree. After the seizure of the Banished hilltop outposts, Parg Vol's troops had fought off a rapid Banished counterattack over 2000 warriors strong. When that had stalled, they simply sent in another attack to rally the survivors, and another after that. Vol's force could do nothing but respond accordingly, turning the battle into a drawn-out brawl. Now that the Banished were already bombarding their lines, Chyal didn't expect the poorly-fortified heights to hold out for a worthwhile amount of time.
In the distance, a metallic whine now drowned out the sound of plasma mortar fire for a few seconds before it faded away towards Banished lines. Chyal guessed that banshees were being deployed in a counter-artillery role against the Banished, though he doubted the light craft would be very effective.
Zash watched Chyal with an unreadable expression. "I suppose I should ask your name, pilot."
"It's 'operator', to be accurate. And I'm Chyal Curo."
The smell of fresh coffee started to fill the room. Chyal scooped up the mug and opened a panel on his combat harness with his free hand. Inside was an oversized human straw twisted into a series of coils and loops. "The best way to drink instant coffee," he clarified. Zash remained unreadable.
"Curo…I know of that clan." He finally replied. "I was assigned to a battlecruiser commanded by one BorRyyn Curo'ee."
"My father, yes." Chyal watched Zash twitch slightly at the revelation. Sangheili clans kept children unaware of their true fathers. Better to strengthen unity among the clan as a whole than specific bloodlines, so the old wisdom went.
But when some traditions were revealed to be lies, others fell with them.
"When did you join his ship?"
"It was my first posting, just before we struck the human planet called Sargasso."
Chyal knew the name. The battle had occurred right after he'd hatched, some time after his father was given a brief furlough following many years away fighting the humans. The plan, so BorRyyn once claimed, had been to dedicate the victory to his newborn offspring. He'd never explained where it all went wrong, leaving Chyal to uncover the history himself.
"Your Father was a beacon of faith for his crew." Zash went on so blithely that Chyal wasn't sure if he was being blunt or trying to imply something more accusatory. "No, a light that guided every fleet to which he was assigned. My warriors and I fought all the harder knowing that one so devoted to walking the path as he watched over us in orbit." The other Sangheili paused, then made his next point with tedious caution. "I would hope he recognizes your considerable skill in combat despite any estrangement caused by your…profession."
Taking a sip of coffee, Chyal remained motionless. He knew full well what Zash was implying. The way of the mercenary was scorned by Sangheili even before the age of the Covenant. A flash of inspiration occurred to him then, a tale that would explain the truth to Zash, though certainly not satisfy him.
"Do you know of Zhoist?"
Zash's mandibles rattled nervously at the name. To ask the question was practically an insult. Almost everyone who'd come of age during the Covenant's reign knew about Zhoist: the finest stellar jewel of the Covenant aside from High Charity, where the Gods had left ten sacred cities for the faithful to discover.
Until the very dawn of the crusade against the humans, when they had somehow infiltrated the world and obliterated two of the holy cities. It was another of the countless heretical acts that marked the humans for destruction, so the Hierarchs had claimed, and so the peoples of the Covenant had been taught.
"When my Father learned that Zhoist had been defiled by the humans, his ship was holding orbit over a glassed world awaiting repairs. He claims the humans did the very thing he denied they were capable of doing when they sabotaged the Ring of Mighty Abundance. It was that denial of the threat that led him to committing to the battle that almost destroyed his ship days before. Fleetmaster Kvaros'ee himself reprimanded him for reckless conduct.
Then the Fleetmaster was forced to turn his fleet around and return to Zhoist upon learning of the human threat. You surely know what followed. He failed, and the Prophets had him executed.
My Father returned to Sanghelios shortly after the schism, of his own initiative. He said his original intent had always been to tell his story to the youth of our keep as a lesson about the Forerunners' grand plan. Because his ship was left to watch over the human world as punishment for his rash actions, it wasn't destroyed at Zhoist like so much of Kvarosee's fleet. He would say the Forerunners had wanted to keep him alive so that he might pass on the value of humility and the importance of never underestimating your foe, no matter how heretical he may be." As he spoke, he could recall sitting obediently with his brothers in the grand hall and waiting for whatever wisdom their heroic father would enlighten them with. It was a time of confusion and upheaval, before news of the Arbiter's peace treaty with the human enemy had been delivered. The event had been the Kaidon's plan, a way of keeping the younglings at ease.
"If that was no longer his preferred lesson, what did he tell you to learn from his tale instead?"
"He told us to ask Vonta, the finest Forerunner scholar of our clan, commended by one of the Hierarchs themselves for his work."
"What did Vonta say?"
"Nothing. He was killed by Jiralhanae on High Charity during the schism."
Zash watched Chyal take more sips of coffee for a long while, the two Sangheili both completely silent.
Finally, Zash hopped down onto the ramp and stomped back to the first floor. "May your drones strike fast and true in the coming confrontation," he called back, heedless of the stirring Sangheili nearby.
—
Matei hopped into the newly-minted slit trench and surveyed the wider defenses from his vantage on a steep hill. On this rare night, both of Algolis' twin moons stood aside to let the stars shine above. A small valley lay before him, looking for all the world like no sentient being had set foot within. In reality, the dark sands now concealed dozens of mines, C12 charges, and IEDs. The hilltops opposite Matei's were covered in slit trenches hidden by camo nets and tarp. On the hills themselves, more rows of mines lay ready to bring a rockslide down upon any unwelcome guests who tried to climb them.
This wasn't the best ambush Matei had helped prepare, but it wasn't the worst either. Dirt was easier to dig through than ice, after all. Yet the surface might as well have been ice with how cold the night had become, a very displeasing omen with battle growing near.
Ultimately, Captain Sone had selected 65 men out of the remaining 300 or so fit marines in his oversized company. He was on the opposite hill alongside Staff Sergeant McAllen. The other half of the force fell under Matei's command. Fortunately, the Captain hadn't chosen to join his marines in the closest possible trench to the enemy, instead sitting further behind the lines in a rudimentary bunker. Thanks to that arrangement, Matei hadn't been able to get a read on the officer since their brief radio conversation. As he'd promised, the plan was left entirely to the sergeants, while he occasionally surveyed the work in silence before returning to his own dugout.
By this point, the only one whose decision really mattered was the enemy. The Marines had drones on watch further down the valley. If a large enough force showed up, they would hopefully have enough time to pile into the vehicles clown car-style and escape, rigging the mines to go off behind them to buy a little more time. Would it be enough time to reach the rest of the company under Lieutenant Maldini's command? And would the others be able to arrange a proper ambush? These were questions he'd asked himself before on another ice-cold night. He knew the answers were out of his hands. Ahead of him, many silhouettes drifted up and down the length of the hill, marines from his squad and others making hasty additions to the rough outline of their defenses. Matei would've liked to join them, but he was a squad leader now, odd though it still felt. The best preparation he could make was to get a good night's sleep. Retrieving his sleeping bag from the lip of the trench, he swiftly spread it out and prepared for another rough night's sleep on a mattress of dirt.
—
1529 hours, August 25th, 2526 (military calendar)
Utgard Ruins, Harvest
Matei shot the first alien but the second was on him moments later, diving with shocking speed for a creature so hunched over by its triangular backpack. It knocked his MA5 aside with one long arm and slammed awkwardly into him, using that same weight to knock the marine on his back. Debris bent and in some cases jabbed painfully into his armored back before snapping under his weight.
The assailant propped itself up with one hand on Matei's chest, giving him his first good look at the enemy. Four clawed fingers seemed fused directly into its thick lower arms with no discernable wrist joint in between. The skin was colored and textured like a rock, arms bare apart from metallic orange bands just below the shoulders. It wore a metal harness with jutting shoulder pads painted the same shade of orange that extended over its chest and left the rest of its squat form uncovered apart from a rubberized suit. Two legs were planted on either side of Matei's body in a wide stance. Most notably, a gray mask covered its mouth, further secured by a rubber strap that went over its forehead and between two orange eyes. The creature chittered at him and panted loudly through a crude microphone in its mask.
Instinct took over. As the alien reached for his throat with its free hand, Matei drew his right hand back and struck the creature in one of the protruding filters of its mask. The plasticine material bent under the blow with a satisfying crack, but pain screamed down the length of his wrist. In response, the alien jerked backward, the heavy harness that no doubt supplied some important chemical needed for it to breathe causing it to tilt further away than it had wanted. A low hissing sound filled the air. Before Matei could drag himself out from under the creature, it dipped forward and hit him head on with its right hand. Matei could only dip his head down so the impact struck the narrow brim of his helmet, the resulting hit knocking his head into a pile of rebar and glass. Again his helmet saved him from serious disorientation, but a sharp piece of debris still cut into the exposed right side of his neck. The hiss of escaping gas continued, but the alien made no attempt to grasp at its mask. Instead, it clawed at Matei's throat with its left hand, and he felt its fingers pawing at his armor as it tried to discern the shape of his neck. This was clearly a fight to the death, Matei realized the enemy wouldn't relent until he was dead, whether out of desperation or bloodlust.
Around him, familiar shouts and high-pitched barks hinted at similar duels taking place between the rest of his squad and the alien attackers. They'd come falling from the rafters of the destroyed warehouse, not bothering to open fire before they set upon the marines with their claws. It was the culmination of a disastrous advance into the ruined city of Utgard on Harvest. 4th Battalion had inexplicably suffered a breakdown in communications until only individual platoons were in contact with each other. Whether it was inexperience or a new enemy electronic warfare weapon, nobody knew, but it was clear that the briefing had been wrong about the enemy being attrited to "insignificant threat levels" by artillery even before this ambush.
It was his first time facing the "Covenant" in the weeks since he'd arrived at Harvest, not counting the space battle he'd witnessed after leaving cryo. He belatedly recalled that these aliens were the "little bastards" outlined in the 1st Marine Expeditionary Army's briefings. They didn't seem so little up close.
Matei tried to push the alien's left hand away, but its arms were deceptively strong despite how thin they were above the elbow. He swung at it with a left hook but the alien deflected him painfully with its right arm, forcing him to grab the arm so it wouldn't claw his throat out with both hands. He managed to maneuver around its wristless hands and keep both arms from touching him, but the creature just leaned forward, using its weight to get closer by the second. Orange eyes glared down at him with a malicious spirit.
A magnum shot rang out. The entire battle seemed to freeze, Matei's attacker rising ever so slightly. More shots followed seconds later, aliens beyond Matei's sight screeching in obvious terror. The commotion was soon joined by other marines trying to regain the initiative. Too late, the alien attack Matei tried to pounce on him again. Before either of them could react, there was a flash of metal and the alien fell away clutching at its throat. Matei's rescuer leaned into view and pistol-whipped the creature in the face, smoothly leveling the weapon and emptying the magazine into several more targets. Matei sat up quickly and searched for his gun, watching the other marine slit two more alien throats out of the corner of his eye. By the time he found the MA5, the only sounds in the room were aliens choking on their own blood and the other marine reloading his pistol.
Matei saw Wilm stumble into view covered in a layer of light blue alien blood, weapons forgotten as he observed their rescuer. "Smooth moves, dude," He said uneasily. The marine turned, but not to take note of the one who'd complimented him. Instead, he turned his last kill over and studied the body. Matei finally got a good look at the marine's face and recognized him as Private Sergi Kozma, one of his squadmates. Sergi ignored the numerous stares directed his way and looked over the bodies with his glittering bronze eyes.
"I don't remember learning those moves from bootcamp," Matei started, watching the other man kick another dead alien on its side. Sergi was another rookie just like the rest of Matei's squad, the main difference being that instead of coming from New Harmony, he'd been transferred there all the way from boot camp on Reach before they'd left for Harvest. Without replying, Sergi knelt down beside another grunt and retrieved what he seemed to be looking for. It was definitely a gun, shaped vaguely like an upper-case G rotated 90 degrees, with two glowing prongs at what would've been the bottom of the bottom of the letter. Matei continued talking while Sergi examined the weapon.
"What's your secret, Sergi? Who taught you to fight like that?"
Sergi gripped the top of the gun along a black section that contrasted sharply with the metallic blue surface. With a gentle pull, the black panel lifted up to reveal a green glow. Sergi reached gingerly for the glow as he replied.
"Camp Lin Biao, People's Occupation."
He turned around and went back to examining the dead aliens, oblivious to the heavy footsteps now filling the room. Matei remained seated, trying to process what he'd just heard. Memories of watching news holo-shows overlaid with his Father's biting commentary from the couch filled his mind, words like "Trebuchet" and "bombing" standing out most prominently.
"You're a terrorist!"
It was Private Dahl, the one who'd recovered from the squad-wide stupor and stepped up towards Sergi. The other marine seemed to ignore the accusation.
"Do you guys see anything that looks like a battery pack here?"
"Hey! What's a rebel like you doing in the marines!" Dahl shouted.
"I think this was the only gun these guys had. Some kind of forced labor team...?"
"Stop ignoring me!"
Matei wished Dahl would shut up. They didn't know how many other Covenant squads might be waiting in the vicinity. He did understand the other man's confusion. The People's Occupation was the most notorious terrorist group in the whole insurrection, because they operated right under the UNSC's nose. Nobody could imagine an organized Innie group eking out a life on a planet-wide military base like Reach, but they'd managed it and inspired plenty of copycats throughout the Inner Colonies as a result.
"You guys killed marines…" Private Tseydner interjected.
Sergi paused and watched the squad, no emotions evident on his face.
"They're killing EVERYONE." Sergi finally replied, looking over the rest of his squad.
"These guys could split the UNSC in half if they made the right moves. But they won't. So everything's changed. Don't like it? Tell the ONI rep. You'll be in for a surprise…"
"Enough," someone else cut in without nearly enough authority. Still, the other marines turned towards the source of the voice. Sergeant Greig stepped unsteadily into view, alien blood still covering his face and body armor.
"We know who we're trying to kill. They just tried to kill us. They failed. Now if we're all clear who the teams are here, let's get cleaned up and try to find the Captain."
—
"Aww, shit."
Sergeant Greig spoke for the rest of the squad now huddled together inside the makeshift field hospital. Dozens of marines lay throughout the former storefront, the faded red paint serving as a grim omen.
Only one of them occupied their concerns, and his squad had barely made it out alive against an enemy armed with much better weapons than a lone plasma pistol.
Lying before them was Captain Lealand, bare arms and face ghostly white. The bandage covering his left thigh where his leg used to be explained why.
"Pink bullets…what an embarrassing way to lose a leg." The Captain joked, ignoring the ministrations of the medics around him.
As the squad had been informed, the Captain was hit by a strange weapon that didn't shoot plasma like most of the enemy's arsenal. Instead it fired pink spikes that seemed to follow a target that remained too stationary, as Lealand had found out the hard way. He also found out the hard way that the pink spikes weren't made of metal, but a crystalline material. When those crystals shattered inside a target…
It was a miracle the captain had survived, numerous less fortunate victims notwithstanding.
"Sergeant Greig, you have my gratitude. Your squad is the only intact one in the company."
"Thank you sir." Greig sighed. In the two hours since Matei and the others had arrived at the field hospital, many other squads had only returned in groups of three or four. Many others still hadn't returned at all.
"Since my command staff is a little indisposed at the moment-" Lealand winced, then went on. "-I'd say you're as good a Sergeant as any to oversee the rest of the Company.
"Sir, that won't be necessary once we decamp, reestablish contact with the battalion, and get out of this district-"
"Wait a minute, Sergeant, you still have 3/4th of a commanding officer here. We certainly should bring in a medevac for the wounded, but we cannot abandon this plaza."
"Captain, given your condition-"
"I'm still strong enough to read a report, and from what you and others have told me we killed many more of the aliens than they did us. For the moment, we have a good defensive position and time to fortify it before more of them arrive. If the whole Company runs off? We could be leaving a hole in our lines big enough for them to drive a division through. I can't allow that. We're going to sit tight here and gather survivors for a defense. That's an order."
"Sir-" Greig tried to argue, before one of the medics cut him off.
"Sergeant, he's lost too much blood, it's dangerously stressful for him to argue like this."
Greig turned away from the woman without saying another word, motioning for the squad to fall in. Matei took one last look at the Captain, catching Lealand giving him a knowing wink before he was blocked by the medics.
—
"Sir-"
Matei was sitting up before his eyes had fully opened, vision burning in the morning sunlight. A familiar voice gasped from the rim of the trench above him, the blurry shape resolving into Private Pasquin. The young woman watched him in confusion, shaking at the sound of his heavy breathing.
"Is something the matter?"
"Bad dream," he muttered dryly, reaching for his canteen. The previous two nights had been filled with the usual mental gibberish, nonsensical forays into his subconscious marked by such meaningless tripe as flaming helmets and fishing from a couch.
Unsurprisingly, Roza was now watching him watch sheer awe, the exact opposite of how a marine should've looked when one of her squadmates complained about a bad dream. He could see the lightbulb (candle, in her case?) brightening in her head at the implications.
"Did you-"
"There wasn't a ship, I wasn't on a ship. It was just me, and…" Matei stopped himself.
In the end, Barr's melodramatic description hadn't solved anything. The Marines had still gotten up, eaten breakfast, and continued onward none the wiser about the pair's shared anomaly. But tonight was different. Once again he'd relieved another memory of war, this time his first encounter with the Covenant.
Roza's words broke through his thoughts. "Sarge, we have Argus drones tracking a Banished convoy through the canyon, they'll be here in two hours."
"Then get back in here and keep your head down," Matei gestured for her to join him and retrieved an MRE from his sleeping bag. Normally the prospect of battle would've been a useful distraction, but not with his latest dream fresh in his mind.
They'd held that plaza, all right. Captain Lealand had refused medevacs until the last possible moment, continuing to advise the defense through weeks of Covenant probing attacks. In the end, Alpha Company had been relieved by another Marine battalion after a month of fighting. After that…
Matei spent the next hour slowly eating his breakfast and ignoring Pasquin's concerned gaze. The last thing he wanted to remember before battle started was another futile defense.
—
Over two dozen beetle-like transports floated hastily into the killzone. Matei hadn't seen anything like them during the war, but they were apparently a heavily-modified version of the Covenant "shadow" transport that had been used elsewhere, including on Earth. Most had covered troop bays, but a few retained the original unarmoured configuration. All carried heavy plasma turrets with 3 man-sized prongs that glowed green in the morning light.
Matei crouched in the slit trench, MA5 in one hand. To his right stood Roza and one half of the squad, Salykov and the rest waited on his left. Further down lay Sergeant McAllen's trench, and Sergeant Larrey's squad was entrenched somewhere to Matei's right. The trench had some camo netting pulled over, providing much-needed relief from the sun. Despite the shade, Matei continued to sweat with each second the enemy drew closer. This wasn't like the raid on the outpost. That had involved hundreds of marines and days of preparation against an enemy that was outnumbered. Today they had a fraction of the heavy weapons, and the enemy was the one who outnumbered them.
Matei saw Roza standing up straight, MA5 trained on the incoming transports. He hadn't seen how she'd handled her first real battle at the Banished outpost, but from where he was standing her training seemed to have prevailed.
"Hey, Private."
"Y-yes sir!" Roza shuddered.
"Remember: this time they're coming to us. If you made it through that base, you're home free."
Not a very accurate assessment; he was going off statistics from somewhere around 2530 about odds of survival for marines during their first few combat missions against the Covenant, and by then it was clear that the data was being skewed badly by a few unfortunate factors.
"T-minus one minute until we blow the canyon." Captain Sone enthusiastically announced over the radio.
"Just shoot until they stop moving. But don't waste your ammo. And if enough of them are shooting back..."
"Get down. I know."
"Forty-five seconds," Sergeant Barr yelled, stretching out each word.
"Good." Matei replied.
"30 seconds, marines," The Captain reminded them.
Matei had a last-minute inspiration and dropped his MA5, grabbing the Banished gun instead. He jammed the bayonet into the dirt for extra support, tracking the lead shadow in the formation.
"15 seconds."
Banished troops were fully recognizable now, crowing the armored roofs of the shadows or sitting in uncovered troop bays. Every single one was a brute dressed in armor colored bright red like human blood, a sharp contrast from the muted maroon that seemed to be the signature Banished color.
There was no time to ponder the significance. Matei leaned forward slightly as the Captain and several nearby marines counted down from ten.
"Seven, six, five…"
"Closer…closer…"
"Two, one. Hello, and goodbye!"
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watch?v=Ev5BWEPiI-A
For a moment, the Banished convoy vanished. A ripple of thunder filled the pass. C12 charges sent towers of sand and rock flying through the air. IEDs stuffed with captured covenant plasma grenades added brief flashes of lightning to the growing sandstorm. Moments later, a burning transport lurched out of the clouds. Blastwaves had ripped its troop bay free, leaving a hollow space between an arch-like frame covered in scorch marks. The turret twisted languidly to the side, bereft of its previous occupant. Then the shadow ran over the next line of mines and was knocked upwards by the blast until it jackknifed and tumbled back to the ground in two pieces.
That was all the excuse the marines needed. Dozens of guns opened fire on anything that moved in the fading sandstorm, accompanied by rockets from four different marines. On both hilltops, a pair of M247H machine guns sent spears of tracers into the clouds, the gruesome dissipation of several targets visible even at range. Roza held rock-still and fired her MA5 on semi auto. A stumbling shape might've fallen over after the 5th shot, but it was hard to tell
Everyone was shooting except Matei. The First Sergeant shouldered his new gun and prepared for a clear shot to present itself.
He didn't need to wait long. A half-dozen shadows charged through the dust, several oblivious to the fact that their plasma guns had been sheared from antigravity mounts by the shockwave. Brute soldiers in singed red armor followed behind, not stumbling in shock but charging definitely forward. The storm of sand and debris receded in their wake, revealing the aftermath of the explosion. Over a dozen shadows lay cracked like eggs or on their sides, some burned freshly from rocket hits, a vibrant purple flame Matei knew well from past battles. Dead brutes lay all around the transports, the demolished corpses and crisped chunks making the full extent of their losses inestimable. Many brutes weren't frozen in the grip of death; they clawed their way to the nearest weapon, struggled to plant feet that no longer existed under them, or pulled the scorched remains of gunners from plasma turrets. Some even looked completely unscathed, advancing through the pass in various states of disarray. The marine fire, deceptively loud from the whole group firing in unison despite being tentative in nature, finally roared to life at the sight of so many clear targets. A dozen brutes fell in seconds, though they were close that the ruined state of their armor was apparent. The rest weathered the barrage and charged on, seemingly motivated by the hail of bullets. Energy shields deflected the shots and lingered for many seconds with an ethereal glow that shimmered in the sunlight. 4 of the Banished shadows were shattered by mines, but the enemy continued charging forward nonetheless. Worse, the surviving shadows both possessed intact plasma turrets and used their fallen comrades as guideposts to avoid the minefields, which were already staggered due to a limited supply. Ignoring the transports, Matei examined the Brute attackers, quickly finding what he was looking for. The Brute was the most ostentatious of the attackers, dressed in heavy metallic-red armor and a helmet with two large horns that curved inward and outward until they ended on either side of its faceplate. Several other brutes followed behind it, giving Matei a helpful indicator of how much taller the leader was. Return whistled over Marine trenches on both hills, a mix of red plasma bolts and massive spikes. Occasionally, a brute shot round would fly up the hill in an ominous arc, the slow-moving spheres marked by a comet-like trail of smoke.
Matei took aim at the Brute leader as a marine on the other hill fired a rocket at one of the remaining shadows.
"Hey guys, get clear," He warned, squeezing the trigger with his right hand and watching the vents on the Banished gun pulsate. Roza stopped mid-reload and complied.
"Sir, what's the plan?" Private Salykov asked nervously, eyes fixated on the red glow emanating from the gun's maw.
"I'm guessing these brutes are the type to add a 'fun' fire mode when the trigger gets held down! Like a plasma pistol, but…just watch!" He tilted the gun up in preparation for an arced shot and released the trigger.
Immediately he regretted the choice when a cloud of steaming lightning erupted from the 3 vents on both sides of the weapon, filling his nostrils with hot fumes and heating the armor on his left arm. The heat even warmed his ballistic goggles and made his eyes water slightly. He almost dropped the gun before remembering that he would be dropping the huge bayonet near his feet as well.
Belatedly his mind noted the large ball of sparking red plasma that had left the barrel and was dropping towards his target. As Matei had hoped, the brute commander was starting to receive plenty of attention from other marines. Numerous lines of tracers were still bouncing harmlessly off its shields, but the marines were serving a purpose by wearing that extra layer of protection down.
Just as the brute commander was starting to glance at the incoming plasma projectile, it struck the dirt nearby. Not a direct hit, but it didn't matter. The blast coated everything in a 10-meter radius with viscous plasma that immediately burned with unnatural red fire. One brute took a splash of plasma right on his face and fell over without a word. Another's legs melted from under him and he fell onto the superheated surface in a burning heap. The ornately-armored commander was the last one standing, hopping comically around his roasted comrades through the fiery ground with plasma smeared across his chest, shields flaring white all the while. They vanished in a few seconds, the brutes chest plate burning white hot right afterwards. Distracted by the struggle to unhook its searing armor, it was completely unaware of another brute falling dead in its path until it tripped on the body and fell face-first onto the burning ground. Burning armor forgotten, the brute flailed with its now red-hot helmet, smoke rising all over its body with each desperate roll over patches of glowing sand. Finally the brute managed to tear its helmet free, only for a marine sniper who had waited patiently for a good target to put a bullet through its exposed head.
Heedless of the continued enemy attack, marines began cheering wildly at the scene below. Matei could feel eyes on both hills turning towards him after taking in the devastation his overcharged shot had inflicted on the brute charge. He too felt humbled at the sight. Never in his years of service before going into cryo had he caused so much destruction with one shot. The Banished gun felt lighter in his hands, as if his new understanding of its power had freed him from past worries about its weight. As he watched the red flames die out and leave a circle of ashen ground and charred corpses in their wake, the last working shadow was snapped in half by another rocket just as its plasma turret started to fire wildly at their hill. Brutes were exchanging fire with marine lines, but their previously suicidal rush had ground to a halt behind what little cover was available. Other marines in Matei's squad started directing bullets and taunts at the pinned brutes.
"Come out, you dumb apes," Private Salykov emptied his assault rifle at several targets huddled behind a boulder, "I thought you wanted this planet!"
But as Matei searched for another good target, he just picked out something roaring through the air above his head. Unfortunately, between Roza reloading her MA5 and Salykov's insults, he couldn't place the noise. He turned and prepared to order the private to shut up.
"You will never make it off this rock-"
Matei watched in horror as Salykov was cut off by a long metal spike cutting through the camo netting and piercing right through the top of his head. A few drops of blood escaped the marines mouth before he collapsed in a heap, dead before he hit the ground. More spikes sizzled into the trench and just outside the rim, joined by a hail of plasma. Matei barely noticed, overwhelmed by the gruesome sight before him. Everything around him faded into a blur: Captain Sone calling warnings over the comm, Roza screaming in shock, other marines firing blindly upwards. All of it bled together into one long buzz.
He hadn't put much effort into acquainting himself with his squad, and Salykov was no exception. Apart from Roza they all gave him the same distant reverence for being a Spirit of Fire survivor and simply went with the flow. Even after Merg Vol's fleet attacked, he still hadn't bothered. Organizing the withdrawal had occupied everyone's attention. Besides, they were all going to die anyway. Or so he'd decided. But he knew his squad felt differently. He knew they believed in him after they'd raided the Banished base without taking any casualties. Before that he'd been just a curiosity out of his time, now he was a proven leader, even if he'd gone off ahead. They trusted him to lead them to safety unscathed.
He had failed.
For the first time since D company had gone on the run, Matei felt angry. Not the latent frustration he felt after learning that the Covenant had destroyed his homeworld of New Harmony while he was sleeping in cryo, but the same rage he'd felt after being stranded in the ice on the same planet where his life had taken a dark turn.
Someone else had the presence of mind to pull away the netting covering the trench. Matei snapped upwards to get a good look at the assailants.
They must've scaled the cliffs through a side passage, perhaps as some kind of contingency plan by the main brute force in the event they were ambushed at the most obvious spot for a trap. In that case, the new wave of attackers had arrived very late to the battle. Not that it mattered when they still had a chance to reverse Banished fortunes.
It was another all-brute force at least two dozen strong, floating almost gracefully down towards the hill on jump packs. They carried a mix of spike rifles and plasma rifles that fired red energy bolts.
Matei sprang into action immediately as a brute directly above him stared down in obvious amazement. Not at him, he realized, but his looted plasma cannon. The brute bared its fangs and dipped its spiker just past him. Checking over his shoulder, Matei noticed Roza gasping in shock and still fiddling with a fresh magazine. Not wasting time with a warning, he grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her towards him, her unsteady footing making it easier just as he'd hoped. Spikes filled the dirt where she'd been standing.
"Do you want this?" Matei shouted as he and Roza slammed into the narrow floor of the slit trench, sitting up to shield her shuddering body. He held the trigger on the plasma cannon and aimed up at the brute.
"I'll give it to you! Du-te-n pizda mă-tii, monkey!"
This time he released the trigger right away. A cloud of crackling red steam still burst from the vents, but it was much less intense. Roza gasped in amazement below him at the sight
The incredulous Brute started twisting in mid-air to dodge the rising ball of energy. It wasn't fast enough. Superheated plasma grazed its huge right leg, armor peeling away in black chunks with an audible sizzle until the bolt erupted against its jump pack. For a moment, there was another sun rising in the sky, a ruby-red ball of volatile energy heralded by the unfortunate brute flying away in flames with his jump pack going haywire. Then the sun went supernova, an expanding sphere of red plasma splashing in all directions.
Unaware brutes were struck first, the intense hit overloading jump packs and triggering grenades. Others evaded the blast radius only to be struck by return fire from the marines. The scene above Matei soon turned into a veritable fireworks show punctuated by smaller blasts and brutes screaming in pain before colliding with the cliff or even each other. Then he realized that most of the red hot plasma was now falling back down towards the hill. A few other marines were calling out to take cover or trying to replace the camo nets to provide miniscule protection from the oversized sparks falling upon their trenches.
Matei heard Roza stirring below him. "Careful!" He pushed her back down and crouched on his hands and knees above her, ignoring the sensation of boiling rain falling upon his back and dripping down his helmet. Roza didn't seem to mind, staring up at him with awe twinkling in her brown eyes. Although it was improper, Matei couldn't turn his gaze away from his subordinate. Never in his life had someone besides his parents looked at him with the same pure admiration. It was enough to make him ignore the uncomfortable heat on his legs or the smell of Salykov's fresh blood. He'd lost a man today. Even if the cause was something completely unexpected, his decision as First Sergeant to join the defense was the reason they were there in the first place. But it wasn't the first time, and just like before he resolved to do anything he could to save the rest.
Roza pulled herself away slightly and pointed up, still too shocked for words. At first Matei swung around quickly until he realized that only a few occasional shots were echoing through the pass. Briefly, he served his trench.
"Status report?"
"I'm dandy," Sergeant Barr announced to his left. Ramon, Copper, Van Wall, and Roye all climbed carefully into view on the rim of the trench. On the right half, PFC "Cee" Norris was joined by Bossano, Mundsmann, and Tackett. All of them had scorch marks on their armor courtesy of falling plasma, some looking ragged thanks to the many holes burned in their fatigues. Matei felt embarrassed at the sight.
"Oh…sorry guys."
"You only need to apologize if it doesn't work, sir," Bossanno laughed, kicking the burnt remains of a brute that had fallen in a heap next to the trench. The entire hill was covered in similarly well-done bodies, bits of maroon armor, and weapons shattered by the fall. As for dead marines, Matei only saw 3 human corpses strewn outside of the trenches. It really seemed as if the brutes had opened fire from a little too high. Had they waited a few more seconds, they might have been able to drop lower beneath the cacophony of gunfire. Had the sight of Matei firing one of their weapons upset them? He could tell by the state of the brutes that the marines wouldn't be finding any prisoners to pose those questions to.
Sergeant McAllen's squad also reported in, grimly counting 4 dead from the jump pack attack. Matei saw that their trench had received even more attention than his. The camo net was riddled with holes from spikes, and one section was completely missing. In its place were dozens of slightly glowing spikes. Matei belatedly remembered another explosion like glass breaking resounding just before he'd shot up at the brute. He now realized it had been one of their spike grenades. At the sight of a large red stain covering the exposed trench, Matei looked away in disgust towards the base of the hill. A lone brute had fallen there, just short of the first layer of IEDs. Beyond it lay at least two dozen more brutes, the furthest extent of their bold rush through marine fire. The corpses of at least two dozen lay further back, a blackened circle littered with smoldering remains marking where Matei had unleashed an overcharged shot onto the enemy. After that was nothing but the now-familiar mess of transports shattered by explosives and their dismembered cargo.
"Blocking force, what's the status of the enemy?" Captain Sone asked over the radio.
"Not a tango in sight," Sergeant McAllen's voice echoed on the comm and from within the trench.
Sone exhaled loudly without speaking for a long while. Before he could speak, Matei retrieved the Banished plasma cannon, looking for some form of energy bar or display that might indicate how much ammo was left. He didn't find anything by the time Sone started talking again.
"Good job Marines. Especially First Sergeant Caragiu. That was a very…unconventional move, and it saved half of our defenses. Probably the whole ambush, as well. I'm going to contact Maldini to have reinforcements and explosives sent here while we-"
"No. We need to grab anything that isn't broken down there and get back to the trucks." Matei felt eyes on both hills track him as he stood on the rim of his trench and gestured disapprovingly in the Captain's direction.
"Sergeant, we can discuss our next move after I've properly assessed our situation-"
"Sir, that's not necessary. Those jump brutes got up there somehow, that means there was some kind of parallel route up to the cliffs, a shortcut, whatever you call it. Our position is at risk of being compromised."
"Then we'll rig the cliff with claymores, the main convoy has climbing gear and plenty of marines who know how to use it." Sone's voice was blatantly agitated, not at all a proper tone to have, especially with the other marines listening in.
"That'll take time we may not have, Captain. And it's only plugging one hole that won't matter much if they push on this pass with a larger force."
"What larger force, Caragiu? We must've killed 300 kongs down there! I'd be confident in saying those were some kind of special unit we haven't seen before, too. This seems like just the type of battalion they'd send to deal with a little guerilla band while they've got Merg Vol's covie-wannabees to deal with. So I'll ask again, what kind of larger Banished force do you imagine is bearing down on us out there?"
"It's not about imagining things, it's about not knowing. We don't know what they have available to wield against us. The next attack could arrive before lunch time while we're still waiting for reinforcements. We just took unplanned losses thanks to those jump troops, and there's no way to plug the holes in our minefield. It's either replace our casualties and risk getting steamrolled, or ante up and distract from our real goal. I'm pretty happy with how this ambush played out, but we didn't let the outpost raid get to our heads and we can't overestimate the damage we did here, either."
"Caragiu, you were the one who wanted to come down here in the first place! Now I made the decision to lead this expedition personally because I knew: in order to buy the rest of the Company time, I needed to send a few marines in harm's way at just the right spot to make the Banished. That wasn't a price I was willing to pay without a guarantee from someone I could trust that it was a sound tactical move. You were that trustworthy second opinion, First Sergeant. I took your advice when Maldini was still second-guessing me and McAllen was trying to run out the clock. And now you're telling me that when we have the perfect defensive position and perfect warning sign to any Banished idiots of what's going to happen if they don't turn around, it's all a fluke and we're the ones who need to run off."
Matei felt a wave of surprise fall upon him from both within and without. He himself didn't realize how important his insight had been to the Captain's decision for this mission. Worse, Sone had just let slip his reliance on Matei for advice to a large number of marines in D Company. Already Matei could see Barr moving into his line of sight with a self-satisfied grin as though he'd guessed what was going on. Ignoring the newfound attention, Matei slowly provided his response, knowing that letting his frustration show would only make things worse.
"Situation's changed, sir. They have a way to get right on top of us. I told you, we made them angry before, now they're even angrier. Whatever comes down this pass next, we'll need the whole company together when it catches up with us."
"Sergeant, are you getting cold feet because you lost marines? There's no reason I can't rotate your squad out. Listen, I've read your service record. I thought you'd be a little more robust about losing people-"
"Captain, you don't know jack or shit about what I did during the war. And if you act like you do again…"
It was a really stupid thing to do. But Matei didn't care. A tangle of conflicting thoughts warred in his brain where fatalistic resolve had once rested.
Death was going to catch up to him on Algolis. But he had a squad to look after. Roza's glimmering eyes flashed in his mind.
All he knew for sure was that Captain Sone was, ultimately, in over his head. If he pulled this stupid bluff off…
A sigh filled the radio.
"Damnit! Fine Matei, we're leaving. Just give me a proper status report while I get packed up. Whoever you lost…those marines are my responsibility too."
The insubordination worked. Matei acknowledged the order and sat down in the trench, giving his casualty report while the sound of his squad sliding down the hill to search for loot grew further away.
A/N re: Just a random guy 117-I made a spacebattles thread, and I'll keep updating the other pages. ffnet til the day I die!
A big two-part chapter where everything kicks off in earnest is coming, don't miss it.