Chapter 13 – Desperatio

August 13th, 2552 - (19:30 Hours - Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Viery Territory, Lochaber Base

:********:

The action at Szurdok Ridge had been a bloodbath. A winnable bloodbath that is until the Spartans of Noble Team accomplished their primary objective: the destruction of one of the Covenant spires. Several of them were located and ID'd on the south and southwest of the region, an array of towering structures that ONI intel confirmed as cloaking and shield generation technologies. Two of Noble's number that were sent in had survived the hot insertion. They dropped the shields on the westernmost spire and cleared the way for the UNSC Grafton to tear it a new one.

Montague had been present inside the ALC building, standing in the Strategic Command room on the top floor when that happened. He saw with his own eyes alongside those of a dozen logistics officers as the footage was relayed over multiple screens. Those designated for the action at the spire were taken mostly from the perspective of hull mounted cameras on the inbound Grafton. They captured the exact moment the spire's energy shield fell. Within seconds, a Falcon extract arrived at the upper part of the structure. Montague was biting his lip from sheer nerves as Noble-6, the last Spartan to leave, jumped off the spire's encircling balcony. He launched himself over an impossible fall before being caught by Noble-5, evoking a collective sigh of relief across the whole command room. How the Spartans so casually flirted with death Montague could never bring himself to understand. For the sake of his own sanity, he had to chalk it up to Spartans being Spartans.

The Falcon got its distance from the structure as the frigate closed in from above. Then came the moment of truth, the moment Montague had spent almost an hour arguing over.

His pre-mission debate hadn't been with any senior personnel but rather a junior officer. It was originally his idea to send in demolition teams to knock out the spire's supports with well-planted charges. However, it was Lieutenant Commander 'Catherine' or Noble-2's idea to try something else entirely. The tech-wiz of the Spartan team seemed to have a creative flare for destruction. That was fine with him so long as it was well-reasoned. And he had to admit that, at least in this case, it was. With some support from Noble-1, she convinced him that deploying a ship and authorizing an in-atmosphere MAC discharge was the better option. Since the spires were so large, they had to assume they were hiding something too dangerous for only ground forces to be exposed to. A fully deployed Paris-class with Archer missile pods, point-defense batteries and a magnetic accelerator cannon would be a better fit for an unknown threat. Plus, she reasoned, a small insertion team of Spartans was more practical than a company of EOD specialists, less casualties and more precision.

The general ultimately agreed. The lieutenant commander won him over but so did her commander. While she had the creative flare, Carter seemed to have a resigned wisdom about him that kept that flare tempered. Montague knew some of their shared history together, at least of what ONI allowed him to glean from their personnel files. They had a long-running comradery and it showed up in their dynamic. One was more spontaneous while the other was a bit more by the book, neither any less methodical nor calculating than the other. To have them agree on this was reassuring. Catherine made the proposal; Carter double-checked it and Montague okayed it. He believed on the morning of the operation that if the spires had something to hide then they would be more than ready for it.

As it turned out, the spires did have something to hide.

And they weren't prepared for it, not by any rational metric whatsoever. After all, how could they have possibly prepared for what happened next?

It started mere seconds after the Grafton fired off a single MAC round. Seeing the ship launch a tank-sized slug into the spire at a fraction of the speed of light was a unique experience, especially being in-atmosphere. The cameras shook, the structure crumbled and the entire command room cheered. Then all that enthusiasm suddenly vanished along with what appeared to be the frigate itself.

Many of the feeds on the screens were filled with a blinding illumination before fizzling and dying out. The few that remained operational shook with even more violent tremors than before. In seconds, their views were engulfed in smoke and flames.

The command room was left without eyes. Logistics personnel on hand were quick to reroute their stations to new feeds. The most useful came from the helmet cams of the departing Noble Team.

The Spartans themselves appeared equally stunned as they craned their heads outside to look. Noble-6 granted them the best angle on what was happening. Even then the most he could offer was a giant explosion erupting out of what used to be the frigate's hangar bay. The sound of Noble-5 trying to deny what he was seeing with his own eyes made the situation that much more palpable. Right then, one of the command room's Air Control officers was struggling to contact the frigate directly. In his frustration he had switched to an open channel in order to get a response out of her comms officer. The only reply given was from Noble-1, his words spoken with the truest sense of alarm.

"Grafton is dust! We need to get out of here NOW!"

Worse, he had the footage to prove it. From the team's helmet feeds, the staff of the command room saw the frigate crashing back down to Reach. Its hull had become a fiery furnace of burning metal and flying debris. Its body was contorting, its superstructure bending and breaking as it went down bow-first. The final flickers of its drives sent it diving into the very ruins of the structure it had just destroyed.

As the Grafton passed out of sight, what remained was a cloudless sky of ornate metal and a sun that glowed with deadly blue energy. The plasma of what the general's brain eventually recognized as a staggeringly massive energy projector soon diminished. The instant it did, he was given a chance to see the scope of this new 'sky'.

Before now, General Montague had never heard of a 'CSO-class supercarrier'. He didn't even know what they looked like. The class of ship was so rare and so sparsely encountered by the UNSC that very little information on them ever trickled down from ONI specs to his personal database. But now here one was.

There were many different aspects of the carrier that distinguished it from anything he'd seen before. The most blatant of these was of course its size.

It was, to put it lightly, gargantuan.

It was five-times the width of its CAS-assault carrier cousin and almost six-times its length. Looking at it, he realized how much of a threat it posed. The weapons were too numerous to count. The nanolaminate plating of the hull was too tough to damage even for a dedicated battlegroup of destroyers. Standard MAC rounds would amount to little more than peashooters. Even Reach's orbital defense platforms would need a few volleys just to flare its shields, yet alone penetrate them.

To take on something of such magnitude required an entire fleet. With that in mind, Montague felt a chill travel up his spine. He remembered the old reports he read of the first recorded naval engagement between the UNSC and the Covenant. 'Engagement' was a poor word for it. However, few in the upper echelons of command were comfortable with the more accurate phrasing: 'massacre'. The genius of the sometimes-loved-sometimes-hated hero of the UNSC, Admiral Preston Cole, couldn't save him from losing 13 ships to the Covenant's one. The opening skirmish in what was the Second Battle of Harvest had set the tone for the grinding, one-sided conflict to follow. Here, that tone was being set once again, by a vessel almost three times the size of the meteor that wiped out Earth's prehistoric residents. If worse came to worse, if desperation on the part of its commander won out, what would stop the carrier from doing the same to Reach?

That was the question today's' meeting in the command room had been called to address. The answers to Reach's dilemma would come from the mouths of none other than the UNSC Security Council.

Six of the individuals most vital to humanity's survival were present, though not bodily of course. Each had been at their own station or office when the emergency meeting was called by the chairman. Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood had summoned them at Montague's behest shortly after he relayed the news of the carrier. Current satellite imagery showed the vessel from the top down and from several side views. It was beginning to ascend from its position in low orbit. At present it was rising through the stratosphere though not at any speed that would indicate an impending slipspace jump. It wasn't leaving, only giving itself more maneuvering room.

With Montague standing at the center of the command room's rings of stations, he was flanked on three sides by the members of the council. The governing body had seen a few changeups in the last several years. There were new faces and older new faces.

To Montague's left hovered the projection screens of Major General Nicolas Strauss and General Hogan.

Strauss, the Chief of Operations for the Army to those who knew of him and 'old stern-eye' to those who served alongside him, was surveying the feed of the supercarrier with the same bearing of his nickname. Montague imagined he was running through different scenarios within which the Army's substantial presence on Reach could be leveraged.

The same could be said of General Hogan, Chief of Operations for the Marine Corps and the heftiest figure in the meeting. He was sizing up the craft as if gauging how many battalions would be required to take it. While boarding action wasn't out of the question just yet, Montague very much doubted that it could be worked into a feasible plan. Not when it came to something like the CSO.

To Montague's right were the screens of General Dellert as well as the newest and youngest member of the council.

Dellert, Chief of the UNSC Air Force, was one whom Montague really wanted to hear an opinion from. Whatever action the council decided on would undoubtedly have a reliance on airpower. While the balding officer took a good look at the cruiser, his worrying stare caused a similar effect on the general. However, Montague wasn't as worried at what he might have to say as much as the other guy.

Beside Dellert's screen was that of a man who had a lot more hair on his head and a good deal of brass balls. He had to have the latter in order to have gained the position he now held, not only within the council but within his organization. As the council's liaison officer to ONI, he represented a change in the hands of power that hadn't been seen in years.

Colonel James Ackerson eyed the sight of the carrier with a mild mixture of scorn and intrigue. For someone who had to have known more about the CSO than anyone else in the meeting, he had yet to say a word. The general figured he was a man accustomed to holding his peace. Silence was the name of the game when one such as himself was rumored to be running an unknown number of secret programs and 'black-ink' operations. Reportedly, years of machinations and political maneuvering both within and outside of ONI had landed him in the good graces of Admiral Parangosky. She had stepped aside for him to take her spot on the council after decades of holding the seat.

Montague was many things but gullible wasn't one of them. While not privy to the inner workings of the Office, he couldn't bring himself to believe that anyone could outmaneuver Parangosky. It just wasn't possible to outplay a woman who knew the intimate details of what someone could be doing in the privacy of their own home several solar systems away. No, she had a hand to play in Ackerson's ascension to ONI liaison. What her purpose was behind it, well, he wasn't sure. Regardless there had to be a reason. Someone like the admiral never blinked unless it was to remind someone else to do the same.

Montague wondered what her intentions might've been while he focused on the last two screens hovering in front of him. On them were the live images of the two most important men in the meeting.

From beneath the brim of his officer's cap, Fleet Admiral Hood was staring at the feed of the carrier with his default expression: a stoic grimace. He was only a few years older than Montague though his bearing still gave him an air of seniority. His thoughts were hidden behind a gaze that examined the ship like an unamused parent with a riotous child. He was reserved and calculating as always.

Next to him was another new member of the council who wasn't as new or as young as Ackerson. Vice Admiral Danforth Whitcomb was a man whose shoulders were as broad as his confidence. He was armed with a straightforward disposition and years of achievements under his belt, some of which were numbered among humanity's few victories against the Covenant. Thanks to the salt and pepper moustache that drooped from his lip, he had the appearance of the seaborne Navy men of old. Right then Montague could imagine his visage printed on a wartime poster, pointing at passersby with the phrase: 'Your country needs you'. His approach to life wasn't all that different from the saying either.

His straightforwardness ultimately made him break the long silence that pervaded the opening minutes of the meeting.

"Someone want to explain how the hell something this big got into our airspace?" He asked, sneering at the feed of the ship. "Especially without any of our sensors catching so much as a whiff of it? This is Reach for God's sake, something like this shouldn't even be possible."

"But it is." Hood replied. "We're looking at the reality of that. It would seem the planetary security measures weren't as foolproof as we thought."

"Nowhere near it in fact." Dellert remarked. "I have to ask myself the same question. There's no conceivable way a security breach of this size simply went unnoticed. Somebody had to have seen something. Someone must be responsible for this."

Montague's attention inadvertently flickered to the colonel. Ackerson was still focused on the feed of the ascending carrier in the corner of his screen. He didn't seem to be showing any interest in the conversation. Or was that just an act? He wasn't the admiral, but he was giving Montague a similar impression, the sense of someone playing close to the chest until they got to see everyone else's hand.

"We can address the issue of the breach later, general." Hood said. "Right now, our sole concern should be on the same subject."

The fleet admiral paused contemplatively. "The matter at hand is this, we need to eliminate the threat this carrier poses to the rest of Reach. The fleet attached to it is also a problem. That said, the potential damage this particular ship can wreak on Epsilon Eridani places it at the highest priority."

"If what we saw it do to the Grafton is anything to go on then this is looking like an operation that'll require more than just the Navy." Strauss said. "I would say its capture is an option, sir."

Hood arched a brow. "A viable option?"

"A plausible one. If UNSC ships were able to pull alongside her hull, say a battlegroup of the prowler corps' best, Army and Marine forces could take a crack at securing it. I'd recommend a division or two from those present on Reach that have already been apprised of the Winter Contingency."

Montague spared a glance at Hogan and Ackerson, the other two whose forces would have a sizable involvement in the operation. The same men and women that would also have the highest risk should their plans go awry.

Hogan scratched his chin in thought. "I...can see a mission of that scale being undertaken. However, any success would be costly. What's to stop the crew onboard from venting atmosphere from those compartments that fall into our hands?"

"Exoatmospheric equipment is not something we lack, general." Strauss replied. "Nor manpower. Army troopers and Marines have armor that can enable them to survive in zero-oxygen environments."

"For only a few minutes." Hogan countered. "Be considerate, Strauss. Our boys and girls aren't given the same level of equipment you might find with Spartans. If they can't figure out a solution to a sealed door or blown compartment in time, they'll suffocate."

Montague noticed that at the mention of 'Spartans' Colonel Ackerson's gaze shifted from the feed to the wider conversation.

"Respectfully, generals, I think you're both missing the point." He said matter-of-factly.

"Alright then, forget the divisions." Strauss conceded. "Let's use specialized units who can perform insertions at the most important objectives on that ship. I suggest-"

"I believe you're still missing the point." Ackerson repeated, the tenor of his voice changing the atmosphere of the discussion. He no longer seemed like a junior officer offering polite criticism to a senior but rather a council member stepping on the toes of a fellow council member.

"And if I might ask, colonel, what is that point?" Strauss asked with the genial sharpness of someone used to arguing with equals.

Ackerson offered a cordial smile. "That idea would get every soldier killed before they so much as set foot on that carrier. Divisions of Marines and Army, teams of special forces, none of that will matter. Those numbers and specialties will be reduced to nothing more than space debris if they try making any approach on that ship."

"But the prowlers," Strauss protested. "Surely those can offer protection. They have the capacity to-"

"I've worked with a lot of prowlers, sir." Ackerson said. "I've also worked with a lot of their crews. They can tell you this from experience. The strength of a prowler's stealth capabilities isn't that they can camouflage but that they can also keep an effective operational distance. Crews rely on both to steer clear of trouble. The closer one comes to an enemy ship, the higher the chances are that they'll be detected. Keep in mind that that's despite the camouflaging. All it takes is a fault in the hull's ablative coating or a simple radiation leak from the drives that some rookie engineer missed during their inspection. Most prowlers that don't return from their missions are lost because of those exact same reasons. Because of them, it's common knowledge among the corps to give Covenant ships their breathing room. With a vessel possessing the amount of sensor arrays and armaments as a CSO, what you're proposing would be nothing short of signing the death warrants of every single member of that task force, stealth and strategy be damned."

Strauss stood back with a look of reluctant resignation. The appearance of an officer being outmaneuvered by someone their junior would be disquieting. Thankfully their shared status as council members kept it from turning into a complete embarrassment.

"Hmph, well, there is the matter of the ODPs." Whitcomb said. "Since no one's brought them up yet, I'll be the first to voice my opinion. The area where the carrier appeared is a known blind spot in Reach's defense array. The Covenant probably exploited that. Now's as good a time as any to close said blind spot by redeploying a few of the planet's defense platforms. We can quietly divert some to positions that would allow them to offer firing support to the naval reinforcements arriving in a few days."

There was a long and uncertain silence after the vice admiral's proposition.

Montague knew what he was referring to. Shortly after he'd informed them of the CSO, Hood had sent out a fleetwide call to arms. An estimated 60% of naval assets from present deployments were rerouted to Reach at the drop of a hat. According to reports, the first battlegroup was expected to arrive within the next 48 hours. As it turned out, two days was plenty of time for the carrier to wreak havoc on Reach. To make an already bad situation worse, the current number of the planet's home defense fleet was nowhere near sufficient to neutralize the Covenant's forces. The problem lay with Reach's tendency to dispatch its own ships as quick reaction forces to other besieged worlds. An act of necessity for the wider scope of humanity was now costing the planet its best defense. Their last hope would be those reinforcements, but what about before then? Of all their possible options, being at the CSO's mercy for two days straight was not one of them.

"That's not feasible." Ackerson said. "To move the ODPs would take a significant amount of time, time we don't have. It's not as if they come with fusion drives that allow them to change hemispheres whenever they please. Add to that the fact that if we move them then we risk putting them out of alignment with their orbital defense generators on the ground. The protection those generators afford them is priceless. Without it, they'll be exponentially more vulnerable to return fire from that carrier."

Whitcomb looked slightly irritated by the criticism though he kept it contained.

"That's not the only issue with that idea." Hood considered. "This isn't Earth where we would have hundreds of platforms forming a virtual fence in orbit. Isn't that right, Dellert?"

"Yessir." Dellert replied. "The Air Force has control over Earth's 300, but we only have 20 stationed around Reach."

Hood nodded. "That's less than an eighth of what we have in Sol. Unlike Earth, we can't afford to move them around. They're already preset in key defensive locations. That limitation is likely what the Covenant took advantage of. To remove any of our ODPs would be to leave us more exposed than we already are."

The fleet admiral didn't need to explain his point further than that. The inference was plain to see. If one Covenant fleet was here then what was to stop them from sending another at a different spot? The same happened at Actium in 2545 and to Meridian shortly afterwards, the latter having a span of three years between its first and second invasion. The last time Montague checked, neither of those colonies were still standing.

"Plus, to start moving ODPs would be to invite unwanted attention from those personnel who're out of the loop on the Winter Contingency." Strauss added. "You can't push those things around and not expect to raise a few eyebrows."

"Exactly." Hood said. "They will have to stay where they are."

Whitcomb huffed as he shook his head vehemently. "At this point what's that protocol even worth? This was supposed to be a small incursion, something we could sweep under the rug. That seemed to be the case anyways until we realized that we didn't have a big enough rug. Whether they should or not, the fact is that we need the rest of the home defense fleet in the know on this. Without those platforms, we have no other option than combining what vessels are present with those reinforcements. There's no other way I see us beating that ship and winning the situation on the ground. Sure, it might end up looking like Cole's opening shots from Second Harvest but it's better than sitting back while the casualties come in. Wouldn't you agree, Montague?"

"Pardon?"

"You have a better understanding of the situation on the ground than all of us here. I'm the only other one on the planet and even I don't know all you know. Your tactical knowledge is invaluable in this situation. Tell us, what do you think is our best way forward?"

Up until that moment Montague had done little more than listen. When it was his turn to speak, it came as a surprise. He quickly recalled the events of the past day.

August 12th, 2552, had seen the greatest challenge of his military career thrown at his feet. A UNSC task force numbering in the tens of thousands had jumped into the fray at his orders. Before the morning was over, tens of thousands had died, ground was gained and almost instantly lost with the appearance of the city-sized supercarrier. He had sent out a general order for all surviving forces to withdraw thereafter. Battalions of Army troopers and Marines fell back to emergency evacuation points. A considerable number were killed before they could do so, cut off by Covenant reinforcements deployed by the carrier. Others arrived at their evac points only to find no one there, their transports having been shot down by the enemy's renewed airpower. What remained were multiple units that had been left behind, some still making calls for help, others vanishing entirely.

Amidst the fog of war, of botched evacuations and overrun rendezvous points were the Spartans of Noble Team. All six were operating somewhere in the middle of that madness. The last he had heard of Commander Carter, he was having his team stay to assist those who were left behind, helping them establish a means of defense and escape. They had rediscovered lost units as well and helped command account for many that had gone missing, both the living and the massacred. The Spartans would need to be withdrawn soon. Before that could happen, however, there were other concerns that had Montague on edge.

It was his decision to send both the 7th and 22nd Shock Troops Battalions after those two corvettes. It was his choice to have them try their hands at securing the future of Operation RED FLAG. Their twin operations were of his making. Likewise, the blood of the two battalions was also on his hands.

Both of their missions had ended in abject failure.

For the 22nd, their target had recalled the full extent of its airpower. Seraphs and Banshees intervened against their arriving HEVs. Scores of pods were destroyed before they could reach their destination. While hundreds of their Alpha and Delta Company still made it aboard, they didn't get very far. They had barely secured half the vessel before its shipmaster decided that it was a lost cause. Without warning, the corvette increased its speed and flew headlong into the side of a mountain. Most of the ODSTs survived to Montague's surprise, including Colonel Taylors. That was mainly thanks to the fact that they hadn't captured much of the ship and were therefore not in those compartments that suffered the brunt of the impact. That said, they were left shaken. They extricated themselves from the wreck and fled, escaping minutes before the last flickers of life in its reactor blew a massive chunk out of the mountain. Over 40 had died and twice as many were left wounded out of a force of 500. The results were bad but they weren't terrible, at least not compared to those casualties suffered by the 7th.

Between the two sister battalions it was the 7th that took the greater punishment. Their losses were twice as many as those of the 22nd. Garrison's troopers had advanced much further into their target ship than Taylors'. They had come the closet out of the two to taking their corvette. Out of a sad sense of irony it was for that exact reason that they lost more men. They were too deeply entangled in the firefights that raged throughout the ship to not feel it when its drives went critical. Its engines exploded, its stern came alight, and the whole corvette became a metal comet. At the end of the day the majority of those who made it aboard walked away with their lives. Nevertheless, over 100 ODSTs from their original number were either dead or assumed so.

That was the score, over 140 ODSTs killed and several times as many wounded. Their fates were the result of his attempt to make command's last-ditch fantasy come true. And that was precisely what RED FLAG was, a fantasy. He wished he had left it at that from the start. Had he never changed his mind, perhaps those 140 men and women would still be alive. They might've been better off too, like the 2nd Shock Troops Battalion. Those troopers, under the direction of Lieutenant Colonel McMason, had successfully neutralized the Covenant air traffic control station in Big Crater Bay. They could have been like the 11th who, with the guidance of Colonel Stuart, destroyed the Covenant dig site in Lower Viery. Even the 7th's and 22nd's other companies had better fates. The former were sent to secure the coastal town of Szeged, the latter to eliminate a FOB on the south side of the strait, both with minor casualties compared to their sister companies.

Montague wondered how much of the day's bloodshed was unnecessary. What he didn't have to wonder about however was who was to blame. The mirror answered that question for him every time he looked in it. Now what remained was the question of how to live with it. He found that he could. It was bearable so long as he focused on negating what could prove to be an even worse bloodbath.

"General?" Whitcomb called, drawing Montague back from the depths of his memory.

"I believe this is our best course of action" He finally replied. "We don't have the ability to break the Winter Contingency. Too many regions of Reach are still vulnerable and their populations aren't evacuated. To reveal the full extent of what's going on would work to our disadvantage, possibly turning what clandestine evac attempts that are underway into more of a clogged mess than they already are. With this carrier in play, we don't have the capacity to handle both it and planetwide civil unrest. One will have to give. If we combine fleets to take on that CSO, I bet we'll leave a massive power vacuum in the enemy's leadership. That'll open a window of opportunity for us to retake control on the ground and in orbit. We win by default the second we destroy that carrier. In this general's humble opinion to the security council, I can't see any another way forward than that."

The council went quiet as they factored his advice into their reasoning. Montague hoped it was the right call. Then again, he had hoped for the same of that little stunt with the corvettes so he wasn't sure how much his hopes were worth. Just as in the former case, the results would have to be the judge.

"Are there any objections to that proposal?" Hood asked. "If there are better ideas within this council, now is the time."

No one moved to take him up on his offer.

"Seems like we have a consensus." Ackerson said, smiling with a prescient demeanor that was starting to remind Montague an awful lot of the admiral.

"Seems we do." Whitcomb echoed. "I'll do everything I can on my end to make sure things run smoothly. Guess we'll find out firsthand if this strategy is worth its salt. That said, I have to ask, general, what are your plans for protecting Reach until everything's in place?"

"If we can't destroy it yet then we'll have to settle for containing it." Montague said. "So far, the Covenant doesn't seem too keen on taking that ship for a spin. They must know its size makes it a big target. I've also theorized that the attached fleet isn't fully aware of what they've discovered here, or at the least that they didn't know beforehand. They don't have the numbers to torch the planet. That's probably why the carrier's barely moved in the last day or so and appears to be keeping well away from recent actions in orbit."

"What are you saying, general?" Ackerson asked. "I still haven't heard a plan for how you intend to contain that carrier."

"We don't have to, colonel." Montague replied. "The carrier is already containing itself. My plan is to let its commander continue to do so. I'd prefer to let them sit there thinking over their next move instead of wasting ships on direct engagements. We'll need every vessel we can get our hands on to defeat that monster when the time comes."

"Well, that's an idea." Strauss thought aloud. "I didn't consider the possibility that the Covies might be just as caught up in deliberations as we are."

"If not more so." Montague added.

Ackerson shook his head dismissively. "With all due respect to you and your 'plan', General Montague, it still requires the Covenant to police themselves. What will you do if they decide to act before we're ready?"

Montague stared at the colonel and sighed with honest tiredness. "At that point what can we do, colonel?"

The question that answered Ackerson's left him without a rebuttal. At length the colonel pinched his brows in silent thought. His muted frustration could practically be felt through the screen. The same could be said of everyone else.

"I'll do what I can to speed up the timeline of those reinforcements." Hood said. "Meanwhile, Montague, I want you to set your sights on doing what you can for Reach. You're the one in charge there. If you feel the need to act before back-up arrives then I encourage you to do what you think is necessary. I only ask that you do so under the greatest discretion. You're standing on a potential landmine in the road of this war, don't take your foot off until you're certain it won't go off. Do you understand, general?"

"I do, sir."

"Glad to hear it. Alright, if there are no further points of discussion then this meeting is dismissed. We'll reconvene later for an update on the situation."

The council sounded off their salutations and wishes of good fortune for the general's plight before signing off. The colonel proved the sole exception.

"I do hope you know what you're doing, general." Ackerson said after making sure he was the last to leave. "This is Reach. The only world better protected than this is Earth. If we lose here then we'll already know what the future entails for us."

"I'll do what I can, colonel." Montague replied.

Ackerson folded his arms across his chest and scrutinized him. "What can you do, Montague?"

Montague didn't answer. He couldn't.

Ackerson half-smiled-half-frowned. "Anyone can make promises, general, but not everyone's word is worth enough to keep them. For all our sakes, I hope to God you can keep yours. Ackerson out."

As the colonel's screen faded, Montague was left in the command room alone. He felt a minor sense of irritation at Ackerson's last words but discerned a deeper sense of foreboding at the reality they represented.

What could he do?

What could anyone do?

He had neither the assets nor the creativity to see a way through the next two days. The arrival of those reinforcements seemed an eternity away.

The fleet admiral's advice saved him from drowning in his own worries. He reminded himself that he needed to focus on what he could still do. He could work on finding some way to ease the civilian evacuation process that was putting a strain on sorely needed ships and manpower. If he could do that then perhaps he would have what he needed should the worst outcome present itself.

The first step on that road would be to return the command room's personnel from their private stations in the ALC Building. He had given them a break from their non-stop management of Viery's affairs to allow him an audience with the council. Now that that was finished, it was time to get them back under the same ceiling. Then he could get to work on tying up loose ends.

He had reached for the comm-piece in his ear when another contact came through. A familiar female voice which he recognized as one of the comms officers spoke.

"General Montague, sir, my apologies for interrupting your meeting."

"No worries, it's already over. Is there something going on?"

"Yessir, we've just received a hail from Colonel Holland of Special Warfare Group Three. He says he needs to speak with you."

"Holland? Look, if he needs something, tell him to give me a minute. Right now, I need to-"

"Sorry, sir, but he said it can't wait. He wanted me to insist that it's extremely important."

"...Did he say what it is?"

"No, sir, but he stressed that it was vital he discussed it with you alone 'as soon as humanly possible'."

Montague thought it over. What was so important that he needed to talk with him about it right then? Was it about his Spartans? Was he worried for them and asking for their evacuation from the frontlines?

A sneaking suspicion told him that despite his other concerns, this was a call he needed to take.

"Get him on the line for me." Montague said. "Tell him he's got five minutes to say what he needs to say."

"On it, sir."

"And have the staff of the command room return to their stations. I need to speak with them after I'm done."

"Will do, general."

Montague took one last look at the command room before walking out through the doors. The exit slid shut behind him as he made for the sanctity of his personal office.

:********:

"You're insane." Montague said plainly. "And so are your Spartans."

"Just hear me out, sir." Holland argued.

But Montague didn't want to. The idea being pedaled to him was so ludicrous that it defied his own willingness to listen.

Sitting behind the desk of his personal office, the general was left alone to have his conversation with the colonel. Though not as pretentious as Ackerson, Holland possessed the least sanity of the two. He had to if he thought the plan he had come to present was worth an iota of sane consideration.

On the screen that hovered over Montague's desk, the colonel was sitting in his own office. He kept himself remarkably composed as he uttered absolute madness.

"Yes, it's a longshot but it is possible. If you would allow me to explain my point, general, you would see it too."

Montague scratched his head, wondering how Reach's situation had deteriorated so far that its officers could make such a suggestion.

"Repeat what you just said, colonel. I really want you to hear yourself for a minute before I pass judgement on your 'point'."

Holland sighed. "About an hour ago, I received a hail from Noble-1. What I've said so far is his team's idea but I'm ultimately the one backing it. Now I'm only asking for you to do the same. With your permission, they can launch an operation to capture an element of the Covenant fleet. Once they have a ship secured, they can use it to deceive the supercarrier in orbit. The goal is to get in close under the pretense of needing to refuel. After that's done, they'll set off an FTL drive brought aboard that captured element. According to Noble-2, doing so gives us a chance of tearing that CSO in half before it can cause more damage than it already has."

"Noble-2? Why am I not surprised. At its core this sounds like one of her ideas."

"Say what you will about Noble-2, sir, she's thought this one through." Holland shot back. "We don't have nuclear warheads readily available. What fissile stockpiles we have on hand won't be capable of doing more than annoying that carrier. This way we stand a chance of knocking it out before it even knows what hit it."

The general cupped his chin in his hand as he studied the colonel. There were no traces of uncertainty in the man, none he could discern. Either he had an outstanding poker face or he was genuinely in agreement with Noble Team.

"Have they really sold you on this, colonel?"

Holland nodded after a slight hesitation. "Mostly, sir. Don't take it as me having blind faith in the plan. Believe me, I've considered every avenue we have for dealing with this new threat. None of them were as sound as this."

"Coming from you, that's saying a lot." Montague replied, realizing that it was in fact a brilliant poker face on Holland's part.

It was 'feasible' when one considered the awful truth that every other option equated to sitting on their hands and waiting. However, the scars of the last day were still fresh in his mind. After what happened to the 7th and 22nd Shock Troops, he was deeply reluctant to commission yet another capture attempt. The ODSTs had tried to do so with overwhelming numbers while their targets were still in-atmosphere. They by proxy had the home-field advantage. But what about a ship already in orbit? If the first case was like trying to fight a beached shark then the second was tantamount to wrestling one in its natural environment. The outcome was almost guaranteed.

"Let's move on to your points then, colonel. How do you plan on executing this operation given what we know Covenant ships to be capable of? How will we get past its defenses? How will we get onboard?"

Holland straightened in his chair with the reassurance of having gained the general's ear. "The operation will involve few forces. Casualty projections are low when compared to what we expect to inflict on that flagship. As I've said before, we'll require a fully functional FTL drive, orbit-capable transport and an entourage able to put up a fight against the corvette."

Montague raised a brow. "Corvette?"

"Yes. Satellite reconnaissance allowed me to confirm the presence of one patrolling along the edges of the Covenant's current perimeter. It's holding close to the CSO. We hijack it and use it as the delivery system to get that drive in close."

The general briefly shut his eyes at the horrific ironies at work. So, it would be another corvette then. The old phrase popped into his head, 'fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me'. How about a third time?

"You said the forces for this op will be few. I don't believe I'm wrong in assuming that Noble will be serving as the insertion team?"

"Correct, sir."

And there lay another problem. To lose hundreds of ODSTs for no gains whatsoever was an awful mess. To lose a team of Spartans, six of the best he'd ever heard of, would be the death knell to his operations in Very. Could those six really succeed where over 1,000 ODSTs, an entire battalion's worth of shock troops had failed?

Montague shook his head in disapproval. "I'm sorry, colonel, but that's simply not on the table. The chances of us losing the whole of Noble are too high. We need them for-"

"The whole of Noble won't be deployed, sir." Holland corrected. "At least not for the space part of this mission."

Montague felt a flash of confusion. "Then who are you sending after that corvette?"

"Two Spartans, Noble-5 and Noble-6."

The urge to gawk at the colonel's proposal proved too strong and Montague's jaw fell slack. The feeling was reinforced by the steadfast seriousness with which the colonel carried himself.

"I'll need you to explain your reasoning behind your selection criteria. Two Spartans are nothing to scoff at but..."

"I've worked with them long enough to have a decent gauge of this team's individual talents and specialties. Noble-5 is a mobile wall. He doesn't let anything get past him. His ability to defend an objective is what makes him the perfect custodian for that drive. Then there's Noble-6. He might be new to the team but he has a knack for airpower. It's actually one of the main reasons I okayed his transfer to Noble. He knows how to pilot the special craft that I've come to request your permission for. And that brings me to my last point."

Following a considerate pause, Holland laid out his petition. "The Sabre Program, sir, I need access to it."

Sabre.

The name rung several bells in the general's memory. It was highly classified, it was high-tech, and its use made the most sense for all of those reasons. The FS-1000 Anti-Ship Spaceplane or 'Sabre' was an experimental starfighter whose development and existence had been denied by several UEG administrations. He had read the specs on its capabilities in his spare time. The Covenant had no experience with combating such craft. Because of that, the operation would have an ace up its sleeve.

"You're aware of Noble-6's familiarity with the program?" Montague asked.

"Yessir. That's what makes this whole mission more than just a pipedream. Noble-6 demonstrated his skills at the Insurrection of Mamore earlier this year. If he were to be given, say, a squadron of Sabre pilots in support, they would overturn that corvette's defenses in record time."

Montague factored everything he was presented with into a cohesive picture. It really was feasible. Desperate yes, but feasible.

"The program has several active launch facilities across Viery." He replied. "One of Reach's refit and repair stations, Anchor 9, also possesses an engineering facility. They have a few Sabres in storage. Perhaps Noble can use the location at Farkas Lake. That'll give them the easiest time linking up with the planetary defense team at the station."

"Does that mean you're giving us the greenlight, sir?"

"Almost. I just need two more questions answered before I can give you the thumbs up. The first is this: where do you plan on securing that slipspace drive from?"

"The hope was to procure one from an available frigate. I was wondering if you could help with that."

Montague knew he could. He also knew that he would need to okay it with either Vice Admiral Whitcomb or his colleague, Vice Admiral Michael Stanforth. Both might not have been in overall charge of operations in Viery but they did still have a say when it came to affairs of the Navy.

"I'll see what I can do. Last question: how do you intend on exfiltrating those Spartans? With how your plan sounds, it seems they'll have to bail out of that corvette right as its approaching the CSO. Won't the carrier's crew pick up on that and sense something's wrong? If they do, everything we're working towards goes up in smoke."

Holland's answer to his final question came accompanied with a reassuring confidence. "Don't worry about that, sir. They won't get close enough to be detected. The main objective is to land the Spartans with a boarding party, head straight to the bridge and place the corvette on autopilot. They'll be out of there before it gets close. The flagship won't suspect anything out of the ordinary until it's too late."

So the colonel had that part covered too. That was good. The last thing Montague wanted was to give the Spartans a way in but no way out. Leaving a pair of humanity's best soldiers to tango with a full crew of Covenant was a worrying notion as well. Even so, there was plenty in Noble's history to make him believe they could handle it. Perhaps they had learned from their mistakes after the loss they had suffered on Fumirole, a loss taken under an eerily similar circumstance. What they needed from him now was his permission to prove as much.

"As capable as they are, I don't think those Spartans should go at it alone."

The general's declaration soured the colonel's growing anticipation.

Montague was quick to explain himself. "We haven't factored in the wider scope of this mission. Your Spartans can't succeed if they have the whole fleet breathing down their necks. I'll have to make a few calls but I can secure you some naval assets. They'll work on drawing away other ships from the scene. We want to isolate both that corvette and that CSO. Don't want this being any harder than it has to be."

"I can handle my part with Noble, sir, but who's taking command of those Navy elements?"

The debate was won in Montague's head before he gave his answer. Whitcomb was a Godsend when it came to unwinnable battles. However, the brashness that made him so famous at New Constantinople might very well cost the UNSC everything on Reach. By comparison, Vice Admiral Stanforth was cool and collected. His level-headedness had won him the miracle of a victory at Sigma Octanus IV. When it came to choosing diversionary skirmishes over a direct assault, he was the better option.

"Vice Admiral Stanforth will be placed in charge of that part of the operation. You focus on yours, getting those Spartans in and out. If this is to go off without a hitch we'll need everyone on their toes. You'll only have one shot. Think you can make it happen, colonel?"

Holland nodded affirmatively. "I believe Noble can make it happen, sir."

"So do I. I'll send you the coordinates for the facility at Farkas. I'll handle the logistics behind the scenes as well. We'll give the Covenant a bloody nose they won't soon forget." Montague stopped upon recalling another question. "One more thing, colonel, what do you plan on naming this operation of yours?"

"Me, sir? Shouldn't it be up to you? You're my higher-up after all."

"I'm open to suggestions."

The colonel mulled it over.

A spark of inspiration made an idea click. "You said we're giving them a bloody nose, isn't that right?"

"That's correct."

"How about Upper Cut?"

Montague considered it approvingly. "Operation UPPER CUT. Sounds fitting." He smiled at his own spark of inspiration. "In keeping with that, we need something for the Navy's part. A left jab would be a pretty good follow-up, wouldn't you say? The good old one-two punch."

"Operation LEFT JAB?" Holland said. "Now that's poetic."

"Hopefully it's as effective as it is creative. That should be all for now, Holland. The Spartans are all yours. We'll sanction this mission for around 14:00 hours tomorrow. Everything should be in place by then."

"Noble will be happy to hear it, sir. Wish us luck. Holland out."

The colonel's screen winked out, leaving Montague to his lonesome. The quiet quickly set in. Except it wasn't quiet. His thoughts rattled with the same word again and again: 'luck'.

They would need plenty of that if they hoped to win.

The general allowed himself no rest. He pressed on to making several calls, moving to inform key personnel of their place in the UNSC's first response to the CSO. He worked quickly, laying down the final foundations for what were shaping up to be the two most important operations of his career.

:********:

Pacing from one end of his command platform to the next, Supreme Commander Barutamee was on the verge of a panic. After the events of the last two days, there was good reason to be.

He had failed to predict the humans' most recent offensive. He had also failed to prepare for how precise their attacks would be. They had sent an assault force against nearly every deployment zone that Valiant Prudence had established. Simultaneously, their ships had harried a significant number of his own in-atmosphere. Not stopping there, they had the gall to attempt to capture two of them.

The heavy corvettes Holy Dispersion and Unyielding Penance were lost. The only solace Barutamee could take in their fates was that their shipmasters had performed their duties, denying the enemy their prize by crashing them down to the surface. The humans' plans for them were thwarted, and he was relieved to never have to see one of his ships being piloted by their filth. Nevertheless, two destroyed corvettes this early in his campaign was nothing to scoff at. The total number stood at three with the earlier loss of the Hand of Contrition. The infidels had taken him by surprise. That lack of foresight to anticipate their latest move could have spelt the demise of his fleet.

There was another reality that threatened to upend him as well. He knew for certain now that the humans were aware of his presence and actively moving against him. No chance existed of him disappearing back into the shadows, especially after the reveal of the Long Night of Solace. All semblances of covert operations on the planet had ended the moment the spire was destroyed.

Or maybe it was before that, he wondered.

Maybe it was when he first decided to come here without reporting to Vadamee first. Maybe it was when he decided to launch that assault against the enemy facility that lay on the very doorstep of his prize. Which misstep had led him here? Perhaps all of them?

To answer such questions was to invite doubt into the inner counsels of his thoughts, doubts he could ill-afford. And still he invited them, or rather they invited themselves. He had gotten himself into this and now he needed a way of escape.

His pacing ended abruptly.

He reexamined his frame of mind and heard there, behind the cacophony of worries and doubts, a small voice calling to him, whispering for him to run.

Cowardice.

A newfound rage bubbled up and overwhelmed the voice, decapitating it with the sharpness of his own convictions.

Since when had he become a coward? When had he ever allowed such notions to even make themselves known to him?

He rounded on his command chair and returned to its metal comfort. He allowed his fingers to clasp the ends of the arm rests and tighten around their frame. He was tempted to lay back but found that he couldn't. His blood was too hot within him to permit such an act. Instead, he leaned forward and surveyed the extent of his bridge.

At the dozens of individual stations that surrounded the command platform, the bridge crew of the Solace were hard at work. The respective officers of the different sections were doing as they had always done. Communications were trying to make the best out of a bad situation, sorting through scattered contacts from ground-based forces and random hails from other ships in the fleet. Weapons had their hands full managing the vast array of superheavy plasma lances, torpedo silos and pulse lasers that served as Solace's first line of defense. He could discern an anxiousness among the most senior of their lot. They were worried, probably because of his latest order which had them cycle much of the carrier's plasma away from its weapons and transfer it to its engines. The Engineering section benefited from the decision. They were hard pressed managing the conduit pathways and coolant networks that ensured their repulsor drives weren't put under too much stress. Lastly and most importantly, the officers under Navigations were the ones responsible for pulling the Solace out of the planet's atmosphere. Under his direction, they were headed for a central position within the fleet's new formation.

Its coordinates above the planet's equatorial latitude would make it the perfect rendezvous point for Valiant Prudence. At the heart of it he would have an overall view of every possible scenario and strategic development. No hostile warship could attack one of his without the Solace being close at hand to respond. At the same time, no opponent could attack the carrier without being in range of overwhelming reinforcements. It was an opportune defensive strategy for inopportune conditions.

The idea of a spaceborne, all-encompassing phalanx struck a chord in his warrior mentality. It was the most effective deployment for his ships given how heavily they were outnumbered.

The question remained as to why the humans hadn't attacked yet.

Surely the plan was so simple that even a mind as depraved as a human's could understand his intentions. They would know their best bet would be to stop him from finishing the formation. Once it was complete, they would have no chance against it aside from a suicidal offensive.

So why?

Were they too afraid to move?

No. That wasn't it. The humans were cowards, yes, but he had enough experience with them to know how 'courageous' they could be when the numbers were on their side. Right now they were. Subsequent scans revealed to him that the world was more heavily defended than initial observations had led him to believe. His enemies had the manpower, not enough to overcome him but enough to be a considerable challenge. Yet why was no challenge being offered?

Two possibilities came to mind.

The first was that they had so much in the way of resources to attack that they felt comfortable with delaying their plans for him. Perhaps they were so confident that they no longer perceived him as a threat, even with the might of the Solace. Certainly, even the humans couldn't be so arrogant, could they?

He dismissed the line of reasoning altogether. Surely, they weren't stupid. He was a threat to them. He was their enemy. He was the leader of the hundreds of thousands of holy warriors that had come to erase their legacy from the stars. He was a supreme commander, a foe worthy of every countermeasure their vile and decrepit minds could concoct. There was no need for the presence of another to prove what was already self-evident.

The second possibility became the only plausible one.

The humans weren't being overconfident. Quite the opposite. They were afraid. They were sufficiently intelligent to see the danger he posed to their existence. As such, it left a single explanation for their silence, one that unnerved him as a strategist as much as it reassured his confidence as a warrior.

They were waiting for reinforcements.

Their leaders must have concluded that they needed greater forces to overwhelm him. After seeing the Solace in action, that would be the logical takeaway. Where it concerned him was that it meant he would soon face a pushback too strong for the likes of his fleet. The same conclusion the humans must have arrived at forced him to reach one that he loathed with all his spirit.

He would need reinforcements of his own.

His old hatred for his fellow commander bubbled up inside of him. The memory resurged of the Hierarchs delivering authority of Valiant Prudence to Vadamee, taking it away from its rightful leader. Before Barutamee knew it, he was being pulled from his thoughts by the sound of creaking metal. He found the source to be his hands which had clasped so tightly to the arm rests that they had left deep impressions in the frame.

He took a minute to calm himself. The awful truth staring back at him was too painful to bear. However, it was still the truth.

He prepared to swallow his pride and ready himself for the rebuke that was sure to come.

He arose from his seat and walked towards the rightward edge of the command platform, bringing him directly above the communications section. His presence was immediately noticed by the group of comms officers below.

"Send this message to Supreme Commander Vadamee. Inform him of our discovery of this system, of this world and its human presence. Tell him that we need immediate reinforcements from Particular Justice. Provide our exact coordinates."

All activity across the bridge ground to a halt. There were surprised looks shared between the officers and curious glances aimed at Barutamee. After an uncertain pause, the most senior of the comms officers, a Sangheili named Kyze 'Pretumee, stood up from his station. He was the longest serving of the bridge crew and thus the only one that Barutamee was willing to hear from. Still, he spoke up in a respectfully cautious manner.

"We are...breaking our silence, commander?"

"We are. There is no longer a need for it."

"...May I ask why?"

"Is it not obvious? After their recent defeat and their discovery of this carrier, the humans will certainly return for a reckoning. When they do, we will need all the salvation the Gods can afford us."

A wave of hushed whispers washed through the bridge crew.

Pretumee ventured further. "Shall we tell him of everything we have found here?"

Barutamee pondered the question. "Yes, we will tell him of the strong human presence we encountered."

Pretumee's expression took on a shade of intrigue. "...Only of the humans?"

Though he didn't show it, in the depths of his spirit Barutamee bore a malicious smile. "Only of the humans."

A shared look of conspiracy told him that Pretumee was in agreement.

The senior comms officer bowed his head. "It will be done, commander."

Barutamee allowed him to return to his tasks while he returned to pacing across his command platform.

His plans were defeated, at least partly. What remained of his ambitions were still in play. A chance yet remained that he might recover the greatest relic that this world had to offer. What could prove to be the quintessential gateway to the heart of the empire of his Gods lay right as his fingertips. The forces standing in his way could be batted aside the second his reinforcements arrived. The humans would face annihilation, as they always did, and he would use their destruction as a diversion for him to seek the artifact. If they arrived on time, Vadamee's fleet would have the honor of paying in blood for his ultimate prize. It was an arrangement he would gladly bring to fruition.

He was well into reveling in his own ruminations when Pretumee's voice reached his ear.

"Commander, we've just received a reply."

With barely contained satisfaction, Barutamee strode back to the edge of the platform. "How soon can they..."

The horrified expression on Pretumee's face froze the commander mid-sentence. The comms officer turned to him with a worry in his eyes that bordered on fear.

"What did Vadamee say?" Barutamee asked. "How soon can he come?"

Pretumee gave a grim shake of his head. "The reply did not come from Vadamee, commander."

Barutamee cocked his head quizzically, prompting the officer to explain.

"It came from the Ministry of Resolution. They intercepted our message. They said they have already dispatched a fleet in response to our 'original report'."

Barutamee stopped breathing. He felt the cold hands of death lay themselves upon his shoulders. "When did-...who sent-"

"They said in their reply that the message was sent earlier by one of Prudence's shipmasters, though they won't say which. Apparently, whoever they are, they informed the ministry of the list of relics we've located. The reaction fleet is on its way to assist us but they're laying a restriction against any further actions on our part. We're being censured for failing to inform Particular Justice and the ministries of our findings in a timely manner."

"Censured? By who?"

"The...Hierarchs, commander."

Every other voice, every other conversation and whisper died the moment Pretumee made the proclamation. It was worse for Barutamee who pulled back as if stabbed. In truth, something much worse had been done to him. In speaking, Pretumee had just pronounced their doom, and he continued to do so.

"The commander of the reinforcements has been placed in charge of securing the relics."

"All of them?"

Pretumee nodded.

The supreme commander of Valiant Prudence felt a frigidness course through his inner being.

He'd been outflanked.

Someone had betrayed him.

Suddenly his goal seemed far away, growing farther and farther until he could no longer sense it.

Across the bridge, every eye settled on him. They were waiting for an answer. Despite the turmoil raging its way through his conscious mind, the commander in him rose to the task.

"Did it say when they will arrive?"

"...No."

Barutamee took a deep breath. "Then we will obey. We'll remain here until the reaction fleet comes to our aid. Inform the rest of Prudence to do the same."

As Pretumee began directing the other comms officers, Barutamee turned and walked away. His return to his command chair was marked with slow strides that lacked the anticipation of a moment earlier. What remained in its place was dread, the weight of which pinned him in place as he sat down.

He stared off into the distance, searching for a source of calm amidst the raging waves of his heart. Through the flood of sadness and despair he found safe harbor within a pair of questions.

Who was the little insect that had betrayed him?

Who had sold him out?

The tides of his disappointment abated before an island of vengeance. There was a traitor in his midst, a traitor who needed to be found and dealt with before he made his next move.

He narrowed down the list of suspects quickly.

Fleet Master Kantar Utaralee was loyal to the core. He had served under him long enough to leave no room for suspicion. That left two individuals whose loyalties he suspected of being to the Gods, to the Covenant but not to him.

Shipmaster Irym Rizanamee of the Holy Dispersion had expressed serious doubts at some of his decisions before. Loyal ears on his bridge had gone so far as to relay some of his sentiments to the Solace. He was a believable traitor. However, he didn't strike him as the kind to lead an effort against him.

The commander's deductions brought him to focus on the Sangheili whose capacity for treachery was undeniable.

Shipmaster Ardo Moretumee of the Ardent Prayer had never been one to sing his praises. That fact became blatantly obvious from the sentiments he expressed in private, or at least what he thought was in private. There were a few loyal and attentive ears aboard the Prayer as well who conveyed his personal ramblings to Barutamee's bridge. Moretumee had made light of his losses at Ballast several times already. He expressed on a regular basis how he viewed him as an incompetent commander.

Was it so wrong to assume that he criticized him because he wanted what he had? Was that such a great leap in logic?

No, Barutamee decided, it wasn't.

In fact, it made more sense the longer he thought about it. Moretumee struck him as the kind to spearhead a mutiny against his leadership. Irym would have been nothing more than a fellow conspirator.

With Rizanamee dead, Moretumee stood alone.

Not for long, however. Soon he would have plenty of company within the extensive labyrinth of the supercarrier's brig.

Barutamee mulled over a strategy that would allow him to bring Moretumee to heel without hampering Prudence's ability to defend against the humans. Concurrent with those thoughts was the understanding that Vadamee would soon learn of his disobedience.

Then there were the Hierarchs. They already knew. Their censure against him was his condemnation, their disapproval was his damnation.

Beneath his feet, he felt hell open its mouth wide to receive his soul. He wouldn't surrender it without a fight. There was still one chance left for salvation and he resolved to seize it.

The planet's greatest relic would have to be taken before Resolution's fleet arrived. The Devoted Sentries would be summoned and redeployed. He would grant them all the resources they needed to attempt to overcome the humans stationed there once more. They would have to secure the relic, uncover its secrets and send them to him.

Then he would run.

Run, he hoped, to what was to be the eminent domain of the Forerunners. He would seek salvation from the wrath of the Hierarchs upon the very seps of Maethrillian, and if that proved impossible, he would drag Moretumee right along with him into the depths of damnation.

Desperatio - Desperation