Chapter 30 – Vult
May 14th, 2545 (07:51 Hours – Military Calendar)
Aquilla System, Actium
High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia
Luna Alta Colonial Bank – System Headquarters
:********:
High Mediolanum's complete abandonment was an idea whose scale was hard to imagine, even for someone like the Staff who was used to seeing the bigger picture. Even so, the whole thing was going according to schedule ever since Mentieth's announcement yesterday evening that they would evacuate from Actium. He still wasn't sure how he felt about the entire situation. He could usually tell when the UNSC was going to win a fight well ahead of it happening and he was often right. The first time he really got his bearings for betting on outcomes was with New Constantinople. Back then, he'd surprised both Harper and Joels when he said they'd win despite that they were on the more pessimistic side of things. His predictions had grown less positive and more accurate the longer he stayed in the war.
But Actium was different. Though he rarely indulged in the betting about their odds that routinely took place among his squad, he'd felt tempted to do it this time around. The UNSC had won so many victories in the span of one counter-offensive after being on the precipice of defeat. Today, they had been set back to where they'd started almost overnight. It was one time he wished his predictions were right.
With Actium gone, the UNSC would be losing yet another important node in the Nexus Beltway. That truth made him consider how long it would take until they found the rest. How long would it be before they found New Carthage, Camber or even, God-forbid, Reach? From that point extinction would be just around the corner.
It felt surreal as he walked along the higher levels of the Luna Alta. Through the windows lining the walls of the hallway, he could see almost everything of a city whose fate was sealed. A large shadow passed overhead combined with the distinctive rumble of fusion drives that drew his attention upwards.
For every cumulus cloud drifting lazily in the blue-hued troposphere there was at least one UNSC Navy ship. Some were either departing or arriving from other destinations. Most were holding a stationary orbit in the city's airspace while endless streams of air transports flew into and out of their open hanger bays.
He counted somewhere in the realm of several dozen. It was an amalgamation of different battlegroups. Though not a hard rule, he could generally tell which belonged to groups that fought in Preveza. Those ones usually bore the identifiable scorch marking indicative of plasma weaponry. There were smallish lateral marks lining the hulls that were probably the failed attempt of Covenant pulse lasers to cut them in half. A decent number carried more serious wounds with gaping craters and holes in their infrastructure where plasma torpedoes had likely impacted. It often melted away the Titanium A armor to expose the innards. The only reason the crews on those ships weren't altogether dead was if they'd fought in-atmosphere. Those set could avoid the crushing depressurization that usually finished off a ship after a torpedo impact. The same couldn't be said for any that took that kind of damage in space, which was most likely why there were so few like that. Not that they didn't take a beating from fighting hard, but that most that did take it, in all objectivity, never got the chance to walk away.
From what he'd head, there was no chance that any ship up there belonged to Battlegroup Crimson. That crew had purportedly gotten themselves completely wiped out. The same went for the invasion force that landed in the planetary capital who ended up getting trapped with no hope for rescue. What bothered him more than anything was that those who'd gone to retake Caerleon in Task Force-6 numbered close to the personnel from Task Force-1 in High Mediolanum. Shortly after yesterday all radio contact with the last of the holdouts there was lost. It made him feel queasy. Had things been different and the Covenant defending this city were given naval support like in Caerleon, things would have gone more similar to events in the west.
On that note, as the Staff passed a platoon of Marines he saw that they were talking in hushed voices and looking to the east.
"You think they're serious, Sarge, ya'know, about going out like that?"
"It's their decision. They'll have to make it on their own. Anyone who has is probably already leaving."
One of them exhaled deeply. "I'm just glad we didn't get that choice. Could you imagine if Serakovich told us something like that? I'd say he'd lost his mind."
"Well then Mentieth's certainly lost his, along with everyone else that's going with him...but let's face it, maybe they're saner than we are."
Halfway past the group, the Staff followed their sightlines to see what they were staring at.
In the skies above the eastern city limits were two giant ships. To the untrained eye they looked more like titanic, floating MA5B assault rifles with broadened, segmented tops and shoulder stocks that slanted back down towards the grip. There was a bridge where the targeting reticle would be. Even from here he could make out the building-sized letters of the names 'Dragoon' and 'Syracuse' painted on the sides of their hulls.
The two Orion-class Assault Carriers from the 91st Expeditionary and Sigma Octanus Home Defense Fleets had arrived in the city at roughly 0500. They were maintaining a stationary position a few kilometers above the outskirts. Their sheer size blocked out a significant portion of the sunlight and cast large shadows over the 3rd Tier. Each one was well over 2-kilometers long and more than a quarter of that wide. Possessing two Magnetic Accelerator Cannons, a myriad of missile batteries and point defense guns, they were basically flying fortresses, able to go toe-to-toe with Covenant capital ships of the same classification. The floating behemoths were initially built to tackle the Insurrection in the outer colonies. Nowadays, at least here, they would be serving as one-way transits for forces that, if everything went according to plan, would all be dead before evening.
Mentieth's announcement yesterday evening still rung in his ears. It was near impossible to believe what he heard when the 53rd's colonel not only declared all UNSC forces would be leaving Actium, but that his own division would be staying behind to oversee a final operation.
"You will be called upon to fulfill a final duty to humanity. This will be your decision and yours alone. Take the time you need to consider it. Once we leave there will be no path for you going back, only forward."
. In the end, Mentieth finished his message on the E-band with a simple ultimatum: his 53rd personnel could choose either to go with him on the mission or to leave with everyone else. They were to make their final decision before the beginning of the evacuation efforts at 0620 Hours, and the city-wide silence that followed was unlike any the Staff had ever known.
There were hushed debates among personnel in every unit. Even Epsilon was split on the matter with much of the contention boiling down, as it always tended to do, to a heated exchange between the squad's marksman and engineering specialist. Per the usual, he acted as the tiebreaker in shutting down the conversation before it could break down to the point of throwing fists. They settled on doing what was asked of them and avoiding the topic of what wasn't asked.
At the moment the team were waiting on one of several lines throughout the Luna Alta's upper levels where queuing troopers and Marines were headed to the building's many helipads for evacuation. The move was running in conjunction with other efforts across the city utilizing public and private spaces to mount the mass troop withdrawal. The whole affair was expected to conclude before 1300 Hours. His best guess was that at this rate they would run slightly overtime. Evac sites were still being setup and only around 15% of local forces were already moved to the ships. But while that kind of logistical hassle fell to the feet of the higher ups to figure out, it was on him to discern why the squad's cryptanalyst had gone missing shortly after the announcement.
He needed to find him before Epsilon left without him. It was enough of a headache just figuring out where Mito was during the link up with the Cygnus QRF at the Greydowns. The last thing he needed was for someone else to miss their flight and end up on a ship going to the wrong planet.
It very-nearly made him feel like a dad trying to find his lost kid at the starport before the take-off. Then he caught himself, quickly dispelled that idea before the usual phantoms could play themselves out in his mind and carried on.
The windows remained a constant in the hallways he walked through. Thanks to them he got a good idea of the goings on outside.
The two closest buildings, the Hephaestus Material Company Headquarters and Mason Harcourt Law Firm were also having their helipads used as evac sites. Dozens of Pelicans and Albatrosses were landing to pick up hundreds of personnel then ferrying them away to waiting ships. Their passengers were normally Marines and ODSTs. However, he spotted a few persons in those lines wearing the distinguishable UNSC Army BDU of someone in the 53rd. They were in the minority among the other units and didn't seem to look at anyone, just keeping their eyes fixed to the ground until the next transport came.
Despite the abundance of chances to escape like some of their comrades, most of the 53rd Division chose to assemble for their imminent duty. Through the windows he glimpsed the hundreds of armored elements gathered in the marble-tiled plaza below. Scorpion tanks, Warthogs and Mongooses were waiting in several dozen columns of 9 or 10 at a time. The drivers would disembark to board an incoming Pelican before it attached its rear clamps to hardpoints on their vehicle's hull and carried it off. The Albatrosses would lower their ramps to allow several Warthogs and Mongooses or a pair of Scorpions to reverse into their cargo bays. Then they ascended into the swarms of dropships carrying a similar contingent of armored personnel to the open hanger bays of the Dragoon and Syracuse.
Those were the ones that chose the mission. Though he couldn't see their faces from here the Staff could tell that there were a lot of goodbyes that were being and had been said between many of them. Almost no one in their ranks was idle in making pre-checks on their vehicles while waiting for their turn to leave. It was an admirable sort of diligence a person could only hope to see in a propaganda reel. But not even Waypoint or ONI could replicate what he was seeing now.
The vast majority of the 53rd Armored Division were following their colonel into this last battle, choosing a certain end over an uncertain future.
They wouldn't be going in alone either. In the skies above the two Orion-class assault carriers were 20 ships; Paris-class heavy frigates and Charon-class light frigates, surviving elements of battlegroups Indigo and Silver. Stationed furthest to the east and pointed in the same direction were the two Halberd-class destroyers UNSC Arrow of Paris and UNSC Carchemish. The pair were with Task Force-1 during the course of the initial invasion. As of recent, their job was to spearhead the escorts accompanying the assault carriers into the Dark Zone. They were also to distract Covenant ships in the air long enough for the 53rd to get the job done.
Their sister ship, the UNSC Tower of Babel, was instead waiting off Pavia's western coast. Its captain was working to alleviate the pressure of the ongoing evacuation procedures on the ships in-atmosphere. That made it the squad's next destination, and after that, a short series of Cole-protocol compliant slipspace jumps back to Reach.
The Staff refocused on the end of what proved to be an unexpectedly long hallway. Two squads of ODSTs were walking in through a door from an adjacent room. He saw Gunnery Sergeant Singh and Captain Ortega at the head of the group, talking. He stepped into their way to salute. "Excuse me sirs, do you by any chance know where Ep-8 is?"
Singh raised one of his thick eyebrows to remember. "Yeah, actually, I think I saw him earlier but I don't know where he went. Ortega?"
Also without his helmet, the captain's long, Sicilian jaw shifted in thought. "I saw him on a lookout deck a few rooms further down. I told him to make sure to get going before he was left behind. Guess he didn't listen."
"I'll make sure he does, sir, no worries." The Staff nodded off to them and strode into the next few rooms. He came out into an intersection leading to an outer room. He followed it to a glass door with a semi-ovular lookout deck on the other side.
Duncan was leaning on the far wall, looking over the city below. The Staff came outside and stopped a few steps short. "Ep-8?"
He watched him slowly turn his head to look back at him, and in doing so the Staff got to see something that shocked him. The young ODST had the air of someone older than he actually was. His eyes looked held back by some unseen restraints so that they could only peer at him with an inner exhaustion.
"...Oh-, sorry, are we going now?"
The Staff stared at him, feeling a good deal more worried. "Yeah, it's time...what're you doing here?"
Taking in a shallow breath, Duncan turned back around to the cityscape. "I'm just enjoying the view, sir." He said with the tired earnestness of an elderly man. "After all, we're probably going to be the last ones to see it like this, you know? Hell, we'll be the last ones to ever see Actium like this. I figured why not while it's still here."
The Staff took a few uncertain steps forward until he was next to him. From here, he realized how much more of High Mediolanum he could see. Aquilla's morning light was shining down on the city, refracting off millions of individual windows on hundreds of buildings to create what he could only describe as a city of lights. The morning dew on the glass added to the refractions and gave them an almost golden transience.
It was a beautiful view, a fleeting one too. It hadn't dawned on him until now that the city he'd had to fight in for days on end was actually a nice place to live.
"Why are you really here, trooper?"
The question was met with a heartfelt sigh from the one to whom it was asked. Duncan's gaze melted from a quiet calm into a deep sadness the Staff had never seen on him before, the kind he'd recognized on the faces of decades-long veterans.
"I was thinking about Miridem. What we did there, what you did to that LC for us to get the mission done. Even though we were rescuing people, saving lives, at the end of the day we were still running away, weren't we sir?"
The Staff sensed that he'd been thinking about what they'd found in the interior for a while. He couldn't blame him. That said, he knew where that kind of mindset brought about. Overthinking in this war never led anywhere good for anyone that tried it, not even for persons with the best of intentions.
"Let me ask you something trooper."
"Sir?"
"Why'd you join the ODSTs? Why sign up for a unit where you would see things like this?"
Duncan's head lowered under some invisible burden as he clasped his hands together over the railing. "Two years ago, right after my mother's funeral, I was approached by my uncle who was a recruiter. I can remember what he said even now, as clear as day. He told me 'People don't need another hero like Cole, they need more grunts like you and me who are willing to grab a rifle and hold the line, even if we know that we can't do it forever'. I thought if anything, what he meant by that last part about not doing it forever was in case I died some day, which is never out of the question in the ODSTs. I didn't think it meant that there literally wouldn't be a chance to do it forever because there won't be any more planets left."
He turned around to the Staff. "I was hoping that maybe in doing this job I could help us hold down a few planets, maybe even take some back. But all we seem to do is lose them, even when we're this close. I just..." He struggled to find some word to describe it. "I don't...know-..I don't know why we can't ever seem to win. Yesterday I caught myself wondering if the Covenant are right about us, if they really have Gods on their side who want us dead. Religious or not, they're the ones destroying more planets than we can ever hope of saving-"
"What matters more?" The Staff asked, cutting him off.
"Sir?"
"What matters more, the planets or the people?" The Staff depolarized his visor so that the younger trooper could see his hardened face and that he wasn't messing around. He wanted a genuine answer.
Duncan swallowed, a bit less certain. "People?"
"Exactly. We only fight to protect worlds because of the people that live on them. We don't bother with empty rocks in space and neither do the Covenant. We fight for lives, Ep-8, not for planets, and here we did just that."
"...And what'll happen when there's no more planets left to run to, and every remaining world is just another Chi Rho, all filled to the brim with people waiting to be glassed? What then? Where do they go then?"
"We'll stop it before it gets to that point."
"Can we?"
"In your superior's humble opinion, I think so." The Staff said. "We've survived too much, nuclear cold war, the interplanetary wars, the Insurrection. No one's better at killing us than us, Irish, remember that. So, if these Covies think they can actually pull it off then they've got another thing coming. Every time we came to the brink something stopped us, call it what you will, God, fate, coincidence, whatever you want. The point is we're here to help stop that threat this time around. And if we don't, well, I doubt either of us would live long enough to find out what that means in-detail, so, it's best to just worry about the here and now. That's all anyone can really ask of us."
Duncan didn't seem to either like the answer or dislike it. His expression remained neutral. "What about my family?" He asked, his voice low and raspy. "Erica, Noah, who's going to be there to protect them if I'm dead like everyone else?"
"You'll be the one to protect them, Irish, like you've been doing this entire time. So, you better stay alive. We can always get more planets back but we can't get people back." He turned on Duncan. "Erica and Noah can't get another you, okay kid? And I don't plan on writing my signature on a digital telegram to Mrs. Iris anytime soon, you hear me?"
He watched the private's expression lighten by a barely perceptible measure. It wasn't relaxation but was at least a perceivable improvement. He'd take whatever incremental good he could get.
The thrum of hybrid fusion drives and a gust of wind rushed over them. They peered up to where a Pelican was descending on a pad a short distance overhead.
"Besides." The Staff rested a hand on the trooper's shoulder which finally got him his full attention. "Whoever won a war just staring at a pretty view?" He gestured to the dropship and Duncan tentatively nodded back. They both took one last look at the city then went inside.
:********:
Duncan's mind refused to spare him his own considerations on the Staff's words. They held his attention all the way to when they reached the others in-line on the top floor. He wasn't safe there either. The rest of the squad, much like the other troopers and Marines waiting outside the helipad, were deathly quiet. They had their visors polarized as well so he had no idea what they were thinking. He noticed a few 53rd personnel within the mix as well that mostly kept themselves rigidly oriented towards the pad. It merely served to leave him more to his own thoughts than anything.
He watched the Pelicans land and take-off on the other side of the glass doors while the line grew increasingly shorter. In his head there was a slow race of one worrying thought sluggishly racing its way through his attention after the other. What captured him above all was what the Staff said about him not dying. It hadn't really answered his question; who would be there to protect Noah and Erica if he died? Truth be told, it shocked him that he never paid much thought to that idea himself. Maybe he'd just survived so much already and stared death down for so long that he assumed it would never call in his debt for all the close-calls. Looking at the squad, he now wondered if they all would go out before they found out if fighting this war was worth anything at all. The possibilities frightened him to his core, the thought that everything they did could be meaningless in the end.
Zack patted him on the shoulder. "Irish, hey, wake up bud. It's our turn."
Duncan flinched at registering that he'd drifted too far off into his thoughts to notice the rest of the squad walking through the doors to the pad. A Pelican was waiting for them with its bay door down. He glanced back at the rest of the line. Others were looking at him with expressions of impatience and mild irritation. A little embarrassed, he followed Zack outside.
"Hey, try not to doze off till we're out of here, okay? You can't nap your way through a glassing."
"I wasn't-...no worries."
"Mhm, I call left side."
They headed up the stairs onto the pad. As they stepped up the dropship's ramp only the two rear seats were left for them. Zack took the left and Duncan the right.
The pilot's voice came in on the intercom. "This is Apostle-5-1 to cargo bay, is everyone settled in?"
The Staff keyed his comm. "We're in, Apostle." He peered over at Duncan. "You mind keeping the rear door open for us, just until we get to the Babel?"
"That's not a problem, sir."
There was a commotion of flicking buttons inside the cockpit and the hybrid fusion drives whined back to an optimal output. In lifting off, the landing gear gradually retracted. With a forward thrust the dropship departed the Luna Alta on a westbound path.
With the rear door remaining open, everyone inside was privy to the sight of High Mediolanum in its final days. There were more persons undergoing evacuations on lower levels of the Luna Alta, as were those in the neighboring law firm and materials company. In eventually passing over northeastern Lerapetra, they found even the sapphire-shaped Ulterin-Aquilla embassy was temporarily reopened as an evacuation sight.
The air was filled with other dropships from the 24th and 61st Air Reconnaissance Groups. Their plentitude of aircraft looked like a swarm of bees hanging over a shattered nest, simultaneously moving to a new one. The remaining ships of battlegroups Gold, Cyan and Medallion not assigned to the evacuation efforts in High Estonia and New Eretria were those new nests. For better or worse, damaged or not, they were their only means of escaping what was coming.
It took five minutes of quiet winds and the sounds of passing dropships before anyone spoke. When they did, it was Zack. "Hey Ep-1, is it true we'll be the last ones out?"
"What do you mean?"
He tapped on his back-mounted radio. "I've been listening in on some back channels, the ones Task Forces 3 and 4 have been using. It sounds like New Eretria's already fully abandoned, and High Estonia's going to be out of the picture in the next two hours. That's way ahead of us here. Just wanted to know if that's true or not on official channels."
The Staff took more than a few seconds to find the answer he was looking for. "Officially," He breathed. "That's true. New Eretria's just about empty. Soon the same will be the case for Estonia and Treviso. The way things are looking, Mediolanum will be out of action right before the 53rd start their op." He paused again in thought. "That means this will be the last coastal city left, because they're burning Caerleon right now."
The ODSTs and the several persons from the 53rd seated in the bay all looked amongst each other and to the Staff.
"Seriously?" Deaks asked.
"That's the official report sent out by Neptune-Actual. The JSOC Base in Scilly was packing up and calling it a day when their satellites detected what was going on. The Covies must've started this morning. Apparently, you could see it from orbit."
"There were a lot of people trapped there." Nova said in a subdued tone. "Our guys, Helljumpers. They never got out did they, sir?"
The Staff gave a slow shake of his head.
There was silence in the cargo bay for a moment as they entered the airspace over the Katerini block. Then on the whisper of the passing wind there arose a sobbing sound.
Duncan's ear perked up and he knew it was coming from someone close. He checked his right-side and found a person from the 53rd sitting in the seat next to him. The man who looked not much older than himself sported the single bar of a private. Beneath his rank insignia, the name 'E. Seruko' was on a tag. He was hunched over with his hands on the back of his head, his mouth quivering while tears fell from his face to the floor. It dawned on Duncan that he'd been crying rather quietly since the Staff's mention of the 53rd's op. He gently elbowed him in the shoulder. "Hey, you okay man?"
Though his sobbing didn't stop, the man named Seruko turned his head a little to see him. Duncan was immediately taken aback by how pale his face was, and how tussled and torn out parts of his orange hair were beneath his helmet. Seruko stared at him with glazed, bloodshot eyes. He didn't say a word at first. But then his breathing steadied a bit more and he shook his head. "No, I'm not okay."
Duncan could barely hear his whisper over the airflow. He leaned in. "What?"
Seruko kept shaking his head. "I'm not-, I'm not okay. Okay? How could I be. I'm-, I-...I'm here and they're-" The private briefly reopened his eyes to look to the two increasingly distant assault carriers then shut them tight again, another tear managing to break through. "I'm a coward. That's all I've ever been. I was just too-... scared to admit it half the time. Then when it really mattered, when they needed me, you know what I did? I ran. That's what I'm doing now. I'm running. That's all it is."
Duncan backed up into his own seat. He felt something cold and sharp lodged in his chest that drove itself even deeper in. "Why do you say that?"
Seruko started to tremble. "You know what the last thing was my CO said to me? He just-, he just smiled at me and said: 'That's alright, kid, just fight your heart out next time'." He bowed his head to his knees, grasping at his helmet with clawed hands. "I-, I couldn't even look him in the eyes. I couldn't look any of them in the eyes. I couldn't."
From the side, Duncan watched him break down into more tears. By then everyone else in the bay were watching. No one said anything, although several other persons who were from the 53rd looked exhaustedly at their comrade. One, a Sergeant, even broke down into a progressing round of sobs himself.
Doing his best to ignore the sounds, Duncan forced himself to keep his attention on the outside as they flew past the ruined headquarters of the Freighter Insurance Company 'Far Delta'. The promenade marking the western boundary of the Katerini block came into sight a second later. Its cobblestone surface was still covered in abandoned traffic, burning combat vehicles and scattered Covenant corpses left from the fighting of days prior.
They flew over the 2nd Premiere Wall and the city fell away by more than a hundred meters.
Immediately a warning came through the comms. "Apostle-5-1 to cargo bay, hold on tight folks. Demolition job up ahead."
The Pelican swerved southward. Less than a few seconds later there was a bright explosion below that illuminated the bay's interior. A secondary pressure wave slammed into the underbelly, briefly shaking everyone inside.
"Oi! ¿Qué fue eso!?" Rico asked, clinging to his seat.
The cause of the disturbance came into view as they soared over it.
Below, in the eastern boundaries of the Sycion Block, were four large explosions that rose over the neighboring buildings and shone a silvery blue. Duncan noticed how close they were to the wall and wondered if it was a pipe.
"It's the Corps of Engineers." The pilot said. "They're detonating the emergency methane reserves that got left behind when we took Sycion. Be advised, they're going to be detonating infrastructure in other places too so the Covies don't get them back. We may have to make last-second maneuvers just in case."
The squad kept their eyes on the last glimmers of the explosions which faded into clouds of smoke.
On their way through Mezoline they passed over the old water tower. Seeing the building reminded him of the fighting there where the Staff concocted the genius idea of turning the entire structure into a high-pressure water grenade. Now the building was dark with many of its windows still broken from where water had burst through, carrying drowned Grunts out into the streets. Those same streets were dry, but noticeably darker than the surrounding area. They likely had the subsequent oversaturation of the local aquifer reservations to thank for that.
A little over a kilometer down, they came across the private grounds of the Henry Gosse Parthenon Oceanarium. It was less private and more public since it was presently being used as a gathering point for Hornet squadrons from the 24th. The fast attack aircraft were transporting away supply crates attached to their sides. It was probably a massive retransition of materials from a temporary munitions depot.
They drifted southwest to avoid several squadrons of Pelicans carrying Scorpion tanks from the 53rd in the opposite direction. They cruised over Lamia and Agrinio before arriving above Heraklion. A number of demolition ops of Covenant structures were taking place at the oversight of the Marines Corps of Engineers. They slipped a bit more south to avoid the resulting clouds of smoke that arose in those areas.
Soon, they were soaring over the HMPD Headquarters. The Notre Dame look alike was experiencing an outward surge of persons. Having its role switched from an early logistics base, it had acted as a rear-hospital for UNSC forces aside from the Eden Mall. Its inner pavilions behind the perimeter wall were covered with Marines and medics. They stood watch over hundreds of stretchers laying on the grass that were occupied by the wounded and just as many closed body bags. Albatrosses were landing in the dry soil of the decorative pools that had to be dredged to make extra landing zones. The bulky dropships had both the living and dead laid into their cargo bays before they closed up and took off.
Nearing the 1st Premiere Wall granted them a view of much of the 2nd Tier. More aircraft were descending to evac points such as the Octavia sports stadium and Überchassis car dealership back north, the Eden Mall and market bazaars to the east as well as the Sally Greens Department Store and the Perseus Institute in the south.
Finally coming to the promenade, Duncan could see that the lengthy strip of cobblestone and asphalt streets was still scarred from the after effects of the fighting there. The once-melted asphalt had dried in messy patches after being liquefied by the explosion of the pipeline network on the first day. There were long scorch marks spanning across this part of the city like fiery lacerations that went over the wall itself, webbing down into the 1st Tier. He could even see the gateway for Gatehouse-15 that Bravo had used to escape at the last second. Much of the cement and metal structuring had been blown open akin to broken bones jutting outward from the initial blast. But much unlike that first day, the many gatehouses of the 2nd Premiere Wall were all empty, void of any movement up their MagLev rails or on their adjoined lift platforms.
The 1st Tier proved mostly quiet save for the many buzzing evac sites. The myriad of hotels, eateries, tourist spots and extravagant villas and mansions mostly remained intact.
At a certain spot he saw something that caught his eye. It was a Csillagos Éj hotel standing strong in a tourist area. When they first headed for the wall, he wasn't sure if that was what he'd seen along the way. Now from an aerial view he was certain that it was indeed the high-class hotel meant for the upper crust of colonial society. To his surprise it was barely damaged, in open defiance of the destroyed property surrounding it. Its many outside pools and windows on each level made it shine like a precious gem in the morning sun. Then just as quickly as it appeared, the building zoomed out of sight.
Soon the Pelican was flying over the coasts. They were high enough to see much of the area which remained a time capsule to the events that transpired there. Lavender, Agean, Sangria and Medallion beaches were still covered in the hundreds of old HEVs that the 7th battalion had used to reach the city.
Down below, Duncan recognized the Eluciana Hotel. The castle-like building bore much of the signs of their hot landing with craters pockmarking both the beaches and the rear plazas. However, they also showed signs of their own former use as a forward landing point for Marines. Those Marines were currently evacuating off the roof, from along pool sides and near half-destroyed cabanas. Even at this height his memory could trace along the inactive lazy rivers to where some of them met at a large pool. In the middle was the remains of the crab-like fire controller Garrison had them take out to stop mortar fire on the beach.
Two of the departing Pelicans came alongside theirs as they flew over the bay. He saw that some of the oversea crossways connecting the mainland to the islands were broken down in places. Most were intact. All were empty except for the stray Warthog or Mongoose headed in different directions.
The sprawling arc of islands of the Gulam Archipelago were experiencing a winding down of activity. Much of Samos and Andros appeared empty from a distance. Most of the action centered over the largest, shoe-shaped island Icaria. There the group of Pelicans were made to detour around the main town of Agios. Half a dozen of the Telchines-class recreational craft were rising from their seaborne harborage into the air. To cut down on the number of flights, the Marines of 8th Battalion were using these massive strato-cruiseliners as a means of moving entire companies at a time to the frigates above. It explained how Samos and Andros were already evacuated.
However, the two Onager-class mass drivers on Agios' docks were still actively rotating from northwest to southwest, checking the skies with their long, electrified barrels. As were the 18 others scattered on other islands marking the archipelago's ending. The 20 drivers were acting as rear-defense for the rest of the UNSC fleet in case the other Covenant fleet in Preveza decided to make a move before they were ready. Now that Caerleon was being glassed, it really was only a matter of time.
The Koronea Sea began where the archipelago left off and they passed over the city's oil rigs. Most were abandoned and visibly shut down. The sole contrast was the Odyssey where a Pelican was picking up the last Marines from an external pad.
All at once, a series of three fast-acting explosions went off somewhere ahead of them. The pilot steered around it, granting those in the cargo bay a better view. Floating in the sea, still connected to the Theseus and Odessey rigs by harpoon lines, were the three bulbous sub-structures of the Covenant C&C. All three were being blown apart.
Explosions set by the Corps of Engineers were detonating within the formerly underwater command center. The trio of purplish blasts severed the harpoon lines and sent the ruptured C&C sinking into the water, its metal composition groaning under the stress. In a matter of seconds, the last substructure disappeared beneath the waves, more explosions going off beneath the surface while it descended back to the seafloor.
Was it all really for nothing?
Seeing everything again, Duncan felt the question resting on him far heavier than before. The only answer that rose to meet it were the quieted sobs of Private Seruko.
Before the rigs slipped out of sight the pilot comm'd in again. "We're approaching the Babel. I'm going to land us in Hanger-4. We're the last group in so they'll be taking off right after."
"Copy that." The Staff said.
The three Pelicans started a starboard turn, steering into a higher elevation. Then a shadow enveloped them and their speed slowed.
The hanger bay doors of the UNSC Tower of Babel came into view on either side. Once the three dropships flew in, they extend their landing gear.
Duncan felt the slight jostling of the otherwise smooth landing. He took one last look at the outside world before it was slowly sealed away by the massive hanger doors that slid shut behind them.
:********:
What remained of the UNSC Navy on Actium had mostly retreated to safety in the exosphere right above the planet's equatorial latitude. The remnants of the Aquilla Defense Fleet that survived the initial invasion, the Reach and Cygnus QRFs that arrived in the middle of the battle as well as the Sigma Octanus Home Defense and 91st Expeditionary Fleets that came at the end had assembled together in loose clusters. Those that weren't among them, battlegroups Indigo and Silver, had left directly from High Mediolanum for Pavia's interior. Everyone else would remain on emergency standby.
The UNSC Tower of Babel was the closest ship to the planet, providing logistical support for its part in the mission. With 1330 Hours less than a minute away, those aboard were being made privy to the undertaking that would unfold on the ground.
On D-deck, several hundred Marines and ODSTs were spanned out across the seats and tables of its largest cafeteria. Fresh from their arrival, their attention was collectively glued to the 40 individual holo-screens setup around the room.
Each screen was subdivided into four smaller screens showing feeds from the force going into the dark zone. There were helmet cams, vehicular cams, those mounted on the undersides of dropships and Longsword fighters as well as ships moving through the clouds.
Epsilon had taken a table for themselves near the outer edges and were able to get a good view of the nearest projections. No one said a word as they watched.
The displays captured the moment that the hanger bays of the Dragoon and Syracuse finally opened. Sunlight streamed in more and more until it revealed the full view of the surrounding area.
The Etna and Amiata Mountain regions were several kilometers below, spanning out as an expansive carpet of forests and plains with wrinkles of mountains and valleys. In the distance were the faintly visible beginnings of the tallest structures of the staging grounds.
Alarms blared and personnel were transported away with their vehicles. What ensued was a fine spray of Pelicans and Albatrosses pouring out from the two assault carriers to rain down over the regions. They carried Scorpions, various Warthog types and Mongooses to landing zones on the open plains. The three brigades landed in congruence with their smaller unit organization and quickly assembled into an array of formations. Columns and sub-columns formulated themselves on the ground mere seconds after they were dropped.
Hogs and Mongooses moved ahead along the pre-established roads conveniently left by the colonial conservationist society. Simultaneously, tank columns mowed their way through the edges of inconvenient forests to widen the path forward.
The 1st Brigade set its sights on the Southern staging ground and were coming from the Amita region. The 2nd and 3rd Brigade were moving on the Northwestern and Northeastern grounds respectively from the direction of the Etna Region. Numbering nearly 4,000 strong each, they were a formidable force to behold.
Their full deployment took less than two minutes. With the 53rd's hundreds of vehicular assets now on the ground, almost a thousand if not more, their massive movements triggered rising clouds of roiled dirt that rose well into the air.
Having landed less than five kilometers from the dark zone their presence was noticed immediately. The response was a scrambling of Seraph fighters that flooded over the clouds by the hundreds. Yet before they could reach halfway to their targets, they were engaged by an equal number of Longswords that flew out from the assault carriers to meet them. An aerial battle ensued dominated by the deafening warble of impulse drives and twin fusion reactors as a multitude of dogfights burst into being. The purple, teardrop fighters flew past their midnight, arrow-shaped counterparts, either maneuvering to fire their own fuel rod cannons or succumbing to ASGM-10 missiles that locked on and destroyed both energy shield and hull. Flashes of blue and orange explosions dotted the world overhead.
Large shadows passed over the angry swarm of fighters as UNSC and Covenant ships exchanged fire.
MAC rounds knifed through clouds to punch the shields of CCS Battlecruisers dispersing to face the newest threat. The UNSC frigates of battlegroups Silver and Indigo adopted a sniper tactic of keeping 10 or more kilometers distance between them and their targets. They reduced the risk to themselves by turning fully to the enemy, thereby presenting a smaller target surface. The cameras on their hulls showed them shuttering at the release of magnetic accelerator rounds whose resonance screamed across the whole region as they cracked open energy shields. A coordinated barrage from Silver in the north and later Indigo in the south decimated 7 CCS cruisers and severely damaged a CPV heavy destroyer.
While the burning wrecks fell to the forests below to set them aflame, the surviving response forces returned the favor. Plasma surged along their lateral lines before being released as torpedoes that swam towards the two lines of human ships.
The torpedoes tracked their movements. Yet what the Covenant could not have realized was that by engaging them here, they'd given their adversaries a much greater advantage than in orbit. One after the other the UNSC frigates and destroyers dipped down to low elevations just beneath the highest mountains and valleys, using them like trench cover.
The same torpedoes whose strength was in tracking their targets were now having that advantage turned into a weakness. The fiery ordnance slammed into the terrestrial cover, burning patches hundreds of meters wide across mountainsides and valleys, blasting earthen materials high into the atmosphere. Other than leaving burning wakes of blue flames to spread over the forests they did little to affect the two battlegroups. Only one Charon-class frigate, the UNSC Princeton had failed to duck down in time and was turned into a small sun after taking two torpedoes to the bow. Those that survived rose up once more to manageable elevations. Their MACs having effectively used the time to recycle their magnetic fields, unloaded another mass salvo that proceeded to tear into half a dozen more Covenant ships.
Two displays showed both the UNSC Carchemish and UNSC Arrow of Paris firing their dual MAC guns. the first shots stripped away energy shielding while the follow-ups speared through the rounded forward sections of two CPV destroyers. The targeted ships exploded shortly thereafter and their burning remains crashed down onto mountain ranges in puffs of smoke and debris.
Again, the 19 remaining ships comprising Silver and Indigo ducked down behind the mountains and valleys, thereby avoiding a second plasma volley. They repeated the procedure once the hostile barrage was finished and reduced the number of enemy ships on Sabat's borders to half of what they'd started with. However, some Covenant cruisers had purposefully held their fire until the UNSC frigates rose. As a result, the feeds of the UNSC Cordabello, High Horse and Normandy disappeared from displays around the cafeteria. Their static feeds switched out to show other ships focusing their fissile and magnetic attentions on the cruisers that had figured out their strategy.
The helmet and vehicle cams of the 3 brigades on the ground shook with each friendly and enemy vessel that fell to its demise.
Whilst the Covenant ships and starfighters were busy, the 53rd were able to cover the distance between them and the staging grounds nearly unscathed. Warthogs and Mongooses crested lower mountain ranges while the heavier armor moved through the wider passes. They regathered in the deforested plains surrounding the outskirts of the three staging grounds and surged on.
Waiting for them in the deadened no man's land roughly a kilometer wide were ranks upon ranks of Covenant Wraiths and Ghosts supported by Banshee squadrons. Phantoms flew in to drop off thousands of mobile infantry, lookout towers, portable barricades, energy barriers and ammo crates. They were quickly forming three layers of defense around each staging ground like platelets filling in a breach in the skin. For what they couldn't cover they instead kept their gridwork of crisscrossing energy lifts running laterally over the barren ground. These highways of constant energy would act as barriers against advancing forces. The Covenant went further and maximized the multiple proxy platforms that acted as nodes in the lift network as additional machine gun posts. Their platforms hosted plasma cannons, Shades and more Wraiths with commanding views of their surroundings. Their collective attention turned on the 3 brigades bearing down on them.
The 53rd charged and drove forwards into the hail of plasma fire that came to meet them over the open ground. Mongooses and their crews fell away under the targeting of Shades and plasma cannons. Warthogs erupted and Scorpions flew apart as plasma torpedoes from persistent Banshees struck their mark or were reduced to flaming craters when energy mortars arced into them. Individual helmet and vehicular feeds winked out and were quickly replaced as the owners fell dead from their vehicles or were consumed in blue light, only for the displays to switch to more active feeds. Yet the response was nowhere near sufficient to stop the incoming forces who drove past the burning wrecks of their comrades without hesitation.
At less than a hundred meters distance between them and the enemy lines, the 53rd were greeted with the sound of Longswords. Entire flights of friendly fighter squadrons soared over the battlefield: the second wave sent from the Dragoon and Syracuse. They went ahead of the main forces in spearhead sorties. Their fire missions warranted a release of a pair of ASMG-10 missiles each before breaking off the attack-run.
The subsequent rain from above thundered into the frontmost enemy formations. Explosions incinerated entire companies, shredded Wraiths whole and struck out many of the proxy platforms along with their accompanying emplacements.
Damage sustained to the platforms caused many of the lateral lifts to flicker out then flatline at the loss of their endpoints. With the addition of the smoldering holes left in the frontlines, the arriving 53rd plunged into their shattered positions like a knife to the stomach. Rapid pincers to the sides and forward blitzes skewered the beleaguered survivors of the missile bombardment with cannon fire from the tanks. Warthogs ran down, and in many cases, ran over fleeing infantry. SPNKR and grenade launcher crews on Mongooses used wolf pack tactics to surround Hunters and Elites holding their ground, encircling then engulfing them wholesale in a fine mixture of detonative ordnance. At the same time Banshees were swatted out of the sky using the same tactics from below or by the rotary cannons of passing Longswords.
The first line having fallen in the matter of a minute, the 3 brigades headed for the next only a short drive away. Though they had more time to prepare than their unlucky vanguard, the secondary defenses were endangered the very second human forces set their sights on them. They weren't prepared for Hornets that swooped down into the flat plains to help the tanks below specifically target the proxy platforms. Combined missile and cannon fire chewed down the complex network of lateral lifts more and more into a disorganized array. Holes in the defensive lines were created and quickly exploited by flanking armored columns that proceeded to route entire units of Wraiths. Tungsten shells smashed their vulnerable rear exhaust ports to blow them apart, turning their Ghost escorts into small firecrackers of flame and gore.
It seemed nothing would stop the forces on the ground from reaching their target areas when there came a series of high-pitched whines. What followed were multiple triple-shots of AA fire that tore away the invincibility of the Longswords.
Within the safety of the staging grounds, the Tyrant anti-aircraft cannons fired three powerful bursts of plasma that were fast enough to catch a number of UNSC starfighters. Seeing their fellow pilots disappear in bluish-orange flashes and spiraling out of control in fiery corkscrews, some of the Longswords redirected to the guns. They flew into the skyline of the grounds themselves to lay down suppressing missile barrages on the enemy AA. Some destroyed their targets, but most of the guns were too well protected in the thick urban amalgam of structures to be damaged. Those that survived tracked their assailants weaving their way back through the settlement of purple skyscrapers and returned fire.
"This is insane." Hector said, the lightness of his voice reflecting the fact that his attention was affixed to the displays like everyone in the room.
"Reminds me of Midway." Zack added offhandedly, earning a disbelieving look from Nova.
"You studied Midway?"
"I told you, they made us learn pre-colonial lit on Luna, including histories. What's strange is that, well, in that fight the carriers never met, just their planes. The Dragoon and Syracuse are kind of doing the same thing by keeping their distance."
Hector peered back at him. "Pretty sure the good guys won that fight though, right?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"On what you mean by good." Mito intruded, focusing on a camera feed showing a tank driver finishing off a dying Wraith. "My people lost that fight. You can ask my ancestor Hayato about whether he thought his side were justified or not in what they did. But the Japanese were the ones trying to defend their newly made colonies for their empire. And we're kind of doing the same thing."
Renni peeked over at him, intrigued. "And who won that fight exactly?"
Mito eased out a long breath. "Not the ones fighting for their colonies. They ended up almost losing everything, and bombs we're involved there too."
The message, though barely a whisper, was loud and clear to the rest of the squad that had listened.
"But we're not imperialists." The Staff said. He watched a sub-column of Rockethogs plough through burning Covenant wrecks on a straight course to the next defensive line. "Maybe we were once upon a time, but not anymore. Now we're all humanity's got."
Duncan noticed how he'd said that last part under his breath. He continued to watch the screens, feeling just a little more distant from the conversation than anyone at the table.
Suddenly the lights in the room brightened. They centered on two ODSTs, officers he guessed to be from the 7th's Echo Company. One of them he recognized by the particular pattern of blue accent stripes on his BDU to be the company commander. Mars-Actual stood on a table and intrinsically drew the room's attention to himself. His helmet speakers amplified his voice.
"Listen up. There isn't much time so I'll be quick. As you can see, the 53rd are almost to their objectives. However, we need carrier teams to deliver the tactical nukes to them once they reach their target areas. We need two more two-man teams to escort the bombs to forces on the ground. We've got only a short window before they're in place so I need volunteers ASAP."
The sheer silence that came after was absolute. The air of disbelief was broken a few seconds later by uncertain and worried whispers.
"They can't be serious."
"They really think anyone's signing up for that?"
"I wouldn't, and I swear I'm half-sane right now."
Duncan understood the problem the moment it came about. No one wanted to volunteer for a job involving a lost cause of a planet, and rightfully so. But there was a job that needed to be done, and it seemed no one in the room was eager to do it. Most looked around while keeping their heads down, namely those from the 53rd that hadn't volunteered to go in the first place.
Exactly how command hadn't already designated carrier teams was a wonder to him. Either it was a serious overlooking of an important component to their strategy or there had simply been no time to focus on it given the massive evacuation effort in Pavia. Knowing their commanders, it was probably the latter.
Something arose in his own chest that made him see the bigger picture. He felt an unexplainable urge to stand up. His mind fought it. Someone else didn't.
"I volunteer!"
The voice drew the entire room's attention to an ODST standing several tables down from Epsilon's. It took the others a brief heartbeat to recognize him as Hotel-7, Private Reece. However, he appeared different than his showing during the Master Chief's mission briefing. His characteristically thin eyebrows were creased with determination, his square jaw locked in a confident firmness. One of the ODSTs in his squad sitting around him, Hotel-1, grabbed his shoulder to try and swiftly pull him back down. Again, unlike last time he refused to budge.
"Anyone else?" Mars-Actual asked.
In response, another ODST got up, this one from the 22nd along with another a second later from the same battalion.
"We need one more."
That feeling in Duncan's chest burned away at his rationalizations for why he should stay. He tried a final attempt to suppress it to see if someone else would stand. No one did, not even his squad-mates who remained in their seats, refusing to look in Mars-Actual's direction. Then out the corner of his periphery he saw the Staff tense in preparation to stand. It broke whatever restraints he had left and he sprung to his feet faster than his squad-leader could.
The Staff looked up at him, surprised. So did everyone else. Their expressions changed from reluctance to a deep worry aimed his way. He ignored them before their looks could stop him in his tracks as he turned to Mars-Actual. "Right here, sir!"
The room's attention shifted to him. He could sense many of them were whispering and staring at him like he was a madman in their midst. Maybe they weren't wrong.
Still, he'd stood. There was no going back.
Mars-Actual nodded and hailed the four ODSTs over to himself. As they came, someone in the room shouted. "Look!"
Over a thousand pairs of eyes returned to the displays which were mostly set on a single, unsettling sight.
More Covenant ships were being released from the shipyards inside the staging grounds. They were beginning to set their attention not on the UNSC ships shooting at them from afar, but on the 53rd's brigades which were driving deeper into their territory. An answer came from the 12 remainders of Silver and Indigo who fired MAC rounds aimed at these diverging ships with the goal of knocking them out. Longsword squadrons assisted them by targeting the incoming cruisers and destroyers. They switched to ASGM-15 missiles which released a burst of electromagnetic energy to penetrate their shields before inflicting hull-penetrative explosive charges on their unprotected exteriors. The combined effort took out a little more than a quarter of the secondary naval forces. It effectively drew the focus of the other ships away from the ground to the remaining elements of the UNSC battlegroups. They moved north and south to reinforce the initial aerial defense that was now whittled down to a handful of cruisers.
On several screens taken from different perspectives, a Covenant CPV-destroyer was advancing towards the UNSC Arrow of Paris which had hidden itself behind the bulky protection of Mount Sabato's southern face. Its lateral lines warmed and it fired two plasma torpedoes that struck the mountain, burning away much of its northern slopes. Seeing that its cover was being rendered useless, the Paris gained more elevation to line up its MACs for a shot.
Before it could use its duel magnetic accelerators, a ventral energy projector mounted to the top of the enemy destroyer unleashed a lance of blue plasma that speared through the MAC guns themselves. The beam stabbed cleanly out through the Paris' rear engines, effectively impaling it from front to back on a line of plasma. Interior explosions erupted out through the Titanium-A armor from bow to stern. Its engines flickered out.
The ship began dipping downwards in a death plummet.
A wave of shocked gasps and angry growls rang out around the cafeteria. They could do nothing except watch one of their own flagships rapidly lose altitude. The CPV turned starboard to refocus on the elements of the 1st Brigade approaching the southern staging ground.
Suddenly, the Paris' engines flickered back online like a faltering light. They roared with a palpable vigor that enabled the entire ship to lift itself out from its deadly nosedive. It flew less than a few hundred meters above the forests, plying whole trees lose from the soil in its turbulent wake. Then it arced upwards, rocketing over the eviscerated landscape of Mount Sabato towards the other destroyer at incredibly high speeds.
Too high to stop, Duncan knew, because they weren't planning to.
He watched the CPV try to turn in vain to face the renewed threat. But the Arrow of Paris proved too fast. The knife-like bow of the ship stabbed through shielding into the spherical forward section of the enemy vessel, plunging 150 meters into its internal cavities before the tips emerged out the other side.
The whole thing looked like a shark's head impaled on a spear.
No one in the cafeteria breathed.
Then there was a spark of light from the UNSC destroyer. A burst of electrical energy surged over it and into the hull of the Covenant ship. The images of the two vessels suddenly disappeared within a ball of light as the Arrow of Paris' fusion drives self-destructed.
There was a sonic boom that automatically forced the displays to lower their volume.
The aerial shockwave was so close to the ground that it caused several Covenant barracks, skyscrapers in their own right, to tumble back as if they were little more than dominos to a flicking finger. It simultaneously blasted a hole into the southern staging ground's second and third defensive lines where Covenant forces were simply flash-vaporized.
The explosion slowly faded away to reveal pieces of fiery debris. The pieces rained down on the world below, bearing little resemblance to the two ships they once were.
In the immediate aftermath, forces of the 1st Brigade took advantage of and advanced into the hole in the enemy formation. From it they pincered into the backs of the defenses still standing in their way.
Duncan came back to the situation at hand at seeing Reece walk past him to join the others with Mars-Actual. He withstood the urge to turn back to the squad, feeling that they were looking at him. He willed himself to follow the other volunteers through a set of doors. They all shared shadows over their visors as they headed to the nearest hanger bay, ready to play their part in the last mission.
Vult – Wills
