Chapter 17 – Divisus
August 18th, 2552 - (08:35 Hours - Military Calendar)
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach
Viery Territory, Eposz
New Alexandria, Magas Társaság Shopping Center
:********:
Magas Társaság was a familiar name.
Duncan remembered hearing of it years ago from Deaks. Back then, the corporal had told him of how LaGrange, the Ep-8 before him, was neutralized by the NA police. A psychotic break from reality ultimately did him in and sent him on a rampage. It was at this same shopping center that the Helljumper, who Duncan knew so little about besides his name and his fate, had met his end. Suicide by cop was his only legacy in the squad. He'd been killed by human bullets, taken down by human efforts. His death was different from and yet uncomfortably similar to the kind Duncan feared: losing his mind in the face of the enemy and getting himself killed in the process. The conditions he was soon to fight in made him consider how close he might come to his own mental break.
As he passed through the hallways and food courts, he couldn't help wondering where the rogue ODST that once held his callsign had gotten himself cornered. The whole experience left him troubled though perhaps not on the same level as those he passed.
Hundreds of people had found shelter in the building. Passing through one passageway after the next, the platoon found more and more of the same. Crowds lined the walls, families sat on the floor or huddled close together. There were so many that they even crammed their way into the shops and restaurants. Younger children played with each other, running around tables or slipping through aisles of clothes. They stood in sharp contrast to the older kids who seemed to have adopted the apprehension of the adults, staying put and flinching whenever the floor shook.
The place had more than its fair share of wounded. Behind the worried murmurs that pervaded the center there were also groans of pain. Amidst the crowds were the injured, many with simple cuts and bruises. Less common were the more savage wounds, ones that steamed from carbonized skin or glowed from shards of needler rounds still embedded in them.
Though a company of Army troopers had taken charge of the building, Duncan saw few if any medics. The soldiers patrolled the paths and corridors yet, like 1st Platoon, could do little to help those in need. However, that seemed to be lost on everyone else. The arrival of the platoon caused a phenomenon where the faces of those they passed, once forlorn, took on a glint of hope. Some of the kids hailed them. A few of the teens, adults and even some of the soldiers shouted after them.
"Give'em hell, troopers!"
"Good luck out there!"
"Save some for us, Helljumpers!"
The encouragement was a quiet surprise to everyone. It was as if they were Spartans. Right then Duncan almost wished they were. Then again, the last five minutes kept everyone from giving a heartening or reassuring reply. Not even Zack opened his mouth to play up to the praise.
Six minutes after their landing, they reached the mall's foyer. They pushed past the brochure stands and massage chairs to get through the front doors.
They came out onto a highway whose length curved out of sight in either direction. Barely an inch of asphalt could be seen since the whole thing was buried from end to end beneath a layer of abandoned vehicles. A sizable parking garage lay on the other side and, just beyond that, the MagLev Station loomed. What little sunlight managed to sneak through the fog was blocked out by the expansive dome that roofed the structure. Many of the smaller surrounding buildings fell under its shadow like a giant umbrella. The dark stretched even as far as the highway which the platoon quickly crossed.
Other platoons were doing the same further down, rushing from their own landing zones to reach the goal. With the aid of Army trooper squads, hundreds of ODSTs appeared from the woodwork of the city, concentrating and encroaching around the objective.
For 1st Platoon's part, the Army corporal that had brought them out of the shopping center led them to the parking garage. The first stop was an armed checkpoint at the entrance. Several Warthogs had set up a perimeter in front of and behind the barrier gates. Their gunners kept their turrets swinging from rooftop to rooftop in anticipation of an ambush, offering protection to the gathering troopers as they filed in. All along that side of the station's perimeter, other armed checkpoints followed suit with allowing their newest reinforcements deeper into the safe zone.
The bottom floor of the garage was surprisingly devoid of cars compared to the traffic jam outside. In the place of civilian vehicles were sprawling med-tents, munition crates, crews of Warthogs and Mongooses. A mass of the city's bruised and bandaged denizens lay off to the sides. They took their turns in the tents or migrated along the lines heading up the ramp to the next floor, searching for more space. Duncan saw it was just as packed with people, vehicles and personnel as the ODSTs went past.
The troopers jogged on the path leading through to the next exit. They had to make way for a convoy of patrolling Hogs coming to relieve the guard at the entrance. No one they passed missed the opportunity to ogle them, whether they sat on the sidelines or drove by. Shadowed stares behind broken glasses and strobing visors turned optimistic upon seeing them. The trend they found in the mall followed them here as well. Words and shouts of encouragement met them on their way in and echoed after them on their way out.
They cleared the garage and emerged out into the open, coming to the large promenade that encircled the station.
The monolithic building had dozens of magnetic railways that divided up the walking area around its base, their railed off paths bearing a close resemblance to the etchings on a sundial. More elevated railways rose high above both the promenade and one another, standing so high that Duncan couldn't see where they ended. Each circuited its way from a distant part of the city, often curving inward until they arrived at one of the many docking stations around the building. Some connected with one another like intricate jungle vines and ran out of sight about the station while others were shorter and their routes more straightforward. Some still had trams stuck on them like white caterpillars ready to cocoon themselves. Others lay bare like fruitless branches. None of the railways, either on the ground or in the air, looked active. Neither were the landing pads and maintenance hangars, both great and small, that dotted the upper floors. In truth, the whole thing reminded Duncan of a giant amusement park, albeit far more complex and with far more roller coasters than normal.
At that point the entire station was surrounded by ODSTs of both battalions. The flood of black armor surged forward in an organized mass. They advanced in their companies, those of the 7th from the north and those of the 22nd from the south. They flowed through the metal forest of support struts belonging to the elevated railways and along the artificial trenches of those built into the ground.
The layered defenses of the 77th Armored Division were there to meet them. Three staggered lines of Scorpion battle tanks stood between them and their way in. Their M512 high velocity cannons stared back in menacing silence. So did the M67 Gauss cannons and M79 rocket systems of the Hogs interspersed between the heavier armor. The formations had already made in-roads for the thousands of civilians fleeing to the building. However, they and the patrols driving about the area moved swiftly to give their reinforcements an easier time. Wheels screeched and treads turned aside to make additional routes for the newcomers. The ODSTs quickly piled into the openings company after company until the last platoon was beyond the tanks, allowing the defenses to reseal behind them.
They followed the railways to the groundside docking stations that yawned wide to receive them. The companies each took one for themselves, joining the detachments of the 77th's combat teams that had taken residence inside.
At the docking station slated for Bravo, the company found that their friends in the Army had made a small outpost. The seated waiting areas to either side of the railway had been transformed into supply depots, observation posts and a couple of medical stations. Civilians coming in were escorted in orderly lines through the waiting areas and up the escalators at the other end, disappearing deeper into the building.
The brown and green armored troopers welcomed their black-armored friends with wide smiles and pats on the back. They let them go where they would. Squads and platoons mingled with Army personnel. Others sat off to themselves in what seats hadn't been dismantled and piled into the defenses. A general air of conversation arose as servicemen from different branches discussed the wider goings on in the city.
1st Platoon found a spot for themselves; a row of seats that ran right along the railway. They plopped down onto the cushioned chairs, set their guns across their laps or by their sides and sat in silence. Reznik and Daz were the exceptions. They stayed on their feet and kept an eye on the glass doors of the entrance. Duncan didn't see the need for it. Three lines of heavy armor stood between them and anything that wanted to kill them. Nevertheless, he doubted the pair were ready to relax. Sitting down would have given them a chance to think, and that, right about now, was probably the last thing they needed.
Duncan meanwhile stared off at the rail. The long trail of metal reminded him of a spinal cord with its support beams and guide rings. He could still hear the low whir of the polar energies that pulsed rhythmically between the magnetic coils. That confirmed at least one of his theories. The building's power was still online and channeling through the railways. What remained was to find out if the higher-ups planned to use them and how.
He peered up just in time to see the person who could answer that question walking on the other side of the rail. Colonel Garrison was joined by an escort squad of his troopers while he followed one of the 77th's junior officers. Duncan watched them climb the escalators at the back of the docking station and disappear in the same direction as the civilians.
Zack leaned over from his seat. "What do you think they're going to talk about?"
"You mean him and Taylors?" Duncan asked.
"Yeah, has to be what he's going for, right?"
Duncan shrugged. "Probably have some last-minute details to work out with the 77th's CO."
"Or maybe the situation's changed." Hector sighed. "Maybe they need us somewhere else."
"Doubt it." Rico replied. "What Ep-8 said is probably more on point. I can't see the situation changing so fast between the drop and now that we need new objectives."
"Anything's possible."
"Possible? Sí. Probable? No."
"I just hope whatever it is, it doesn't take too long." Duncan said, glancing over at Daz and Reznik. The two were still standing nearby, pensively watching the world beyond the doors. "Think they'll be alright?"
The others also watched them with a hint of worry though no one in the squad moved to say anything.
"I hope so, they'll need to be."
Duncan turned to Dalton sitting a few seats away. The spry sergeant stopped checking out his rifle in order to scrutinize his two remaining troopers. He sighed at length at some troubling thought and returned to inspecting his weapon.
"This was supposed to be their first experience with an urban drop." He said. "Three of them aren't here, one of them I know won't be coming back, and now I have to figure out how to break the news to the other two when I see them again. If I see them again. What I hate the most about this is that they're probably going to blame themselves for it, whether it's not being there in the case of 3 and 4 or not doing enough for 2 and 5."
"How do you know they're going to blame themselves?" Zack asked.
Dalton put up his weapon and looked at the radioman with the most tired eyes Duncan had ever seen. It suddenly reminded him that he was an older man, that despite a strong core of a will, he was still graying at the edges.
"We all did it our first time, didn't we?"
Zack shut his mouth after that as the shadow of his own memories left him deep in thought, almost abnormally so.
Duncan likewise went silent. He remembered how it felt when Cosmo gave him the news about Stanton. His and Berlin's deaths were similar, too similar really. Death by pod: a classic for ODSTs yet always unexpected for those whose lives it took. Like most fates the universe had ordained for shock troopers, it was always quick but never peaceful.
Again, everyone stared earnestly at the backs of the two Helljumpers.
"They'll have to figure it out later." Dalton said. "That's the best they can do right now."
As Duncan observed the quiet pair, he noticed the area outside becoming suddenly illuminated. Sunlight was finally getting through the fog, or so he thought. He was about to tell the others when he realized the light was getting far too bright far too fast. A shrill scream of dying engines split the air, getting louder by the second.
A panic arose outside. The soldiers there pointed up, shouted and ran for dear life. Nearby Warthogs and tanks pulled off in every direction.
Those inside were only just catching on when the object came within sight. A fiery blur crashed down to the ground with enough force to crack the concrete. It skidded and scraped its way towards the doors at high speed. Troopers, both ODST and Army, got up and scampered further back into the station ahead of an explosion. The blast cracked the glass of the doors but otherwise left them intact.
The object slid to a halt a few seconds later, stopping several meters shy of the entrance.
Duncan upped the magnification on his visor to get a better look.
A wide, black wing stretched out from the inferno. At the center of the tilted frame was a mangled and crushed cockpit. Behind it, the fuselage burned as it hemorrhaged fuel, creating small ponds of fire that spread across the ground.
Duncan and the others gawked at what was once a Longsword fighter, watching as the flames engulfed the cockpit along with what was left of its last remaining wing.
:********:
Colonel Garrison waited for the elevator ride to come to a stop. All the while, he observed the interior of the MagLev station. The glassy elevator shaft offered a perfect chance to see the whole of the structure's heart.
A stadium-sized cavity comprised the central terminal of the building. Rings of concourses ribbed the inside from top to bottom. They were webbed together by a network of bridges, escalators and elevators like the one he was on. There was not a floor or concourse that wasn't bursting with people. Garrison placed their numbers in the tens of thousands. They sat where they could and stood where they had to. They gathered at railings, around tables and beside inactive displays of tram schedules that had been cancelled across the board.
The elevator sped along its course until the last visuals of the terminal were cut off. It hissed to a stop shortly thereafter.
Garrison was on the move before the doors were fully open and slipped through to the passageway with swiftness. His escort team followed.
The way ahead was full of officers from the 77th that were going about their business. They weren't too absorbed in their tasks to quickly step aside for him. Further down the long passage, they did the same for Colonel Taylors and his own entourage.
The two battalion commanders spotted one another and met at a set of doors near the middle.
"Is this it?" Taylors asked, side-eyeing the entrance. "Looks like a broom closet."
"So long as we can make this quick, I don't care." Garrison replied.
"Is he in there already?"
To answer the question the doors slid open for them. A pair of troopers stood guard at the threshold. They saluted and welcomed them inside.
Garrison wasn't impressed with what he found, but then again, he didn't need to be. A large sign labelled 'Scheduling Services' was being projected over an office space of cubicles, consoles and in the middle of everything was a tactical planner around which were assembled several men, officers all.
Garrison recognized the leader among them by his Iberian features: the picture-frame goatee that was graying in places, the thick eyebrows and a scar running across the right one. The UNSCDF personnel files he'd been given access to pointed the man out as Colonel Antoni Saraquez, the commanding officer of the 77th Armored.
Saraquez finished examining a projection of the city to look up at the new arrivals. He strode around the planner, drawing everyone's attention to the conversation as he held out his hand to his fellow COs.
"Garrison, Taylors, it's an honor."
"I bet it is." Taylors joked, shaking his hand. "Can't say I'm happy with the accommodations though. No small sandwiches, no ice tee, nothing?"
"Sorry about that." Saraquez laughed. "They were fresh out before we got here."
Garrison shook his hand as well. "What's the situation, colonel? We'll see how we can help."
"Oh, you can help plenty." Saraquez led them back to the planner, his officers making way for them to get a closer look.
"I'll need to make this fast. I'm sure you've both already been briefed on the plan from Olympic?"
Taylors nodded and pointed to the area west of the station. "We land, we pincer those sectors within range then we open up shop on those buildings with landing pads. Straightforward, no?"
"It is." Saraquez sighed. "Or at least it's supposed to be."
"What does that mean, colonel?" Garrison asked.
"It's something that only came to my attention as you boys were dropping." He snapped his fingers, triggering the planner to highlight every single structure they intended to capture. "We can secure these locations, sure. However, the surrounding areas and buildings along the route to those locations can't possibly be protected. I'm sure you saw how many people we have taking refuge in the building. That's not factoring in how many more we stand to save once we move out. We don't have a means of getting them to these extraction points safely, not as it relates to the strength of our own forces. Most would have to walk there, or worse, drag down our forward advance after we lend transports from our own stockpile."
Garrison mulled it over. "That wouldn't go down too well with the order of operations as they stand now."
"Precisely."
"What's your solution, if you have one?" Taylors asked.
Saraquez waved his hand across the projection like a magician preparing an illusion. The trick itself was the appearance of extensions that snaked out from the MagLev station towards the buildings. The lines connected to some and passed close by others, continuing until they had weaved themselves deep into New Alexandria.
"Here's the plan, or the addition to it. While your troopers move to recapture designated points, elements from my division will tag along to make life easier for them on the way. Any hostile heavy armor or forward enemy forces they come across can be taken out of operation more quickly. Of course, once they've secured the buildings, some of my guys will stay behind to lock down those locations and free yours to carry on to the next. However, we'll then reactivate the MagLev rails within those sectors. That'll allow us to transport civvies from here to these evac sites faster and more safely, leveling off the pressure that the landing facilities here at the station will have to face once the 83rd arrives. We'll keep activating railways and sending trams until we can get these people out of here."
"Turn on the trains behind us and export the residents." Taylors summarized. "Sounds good. When do we get on it?"
"Right now's good." Saraquez replied. "I've called for support from available AMX Units in the city. They'll be able to provide us with the close-range air support we'll need on the streets. They'll also help protect the railways from above, especially once we start sending the trams out."
"Anything the Air Force can lend us right now would be a big help." Garrison said. "I'll update my people on what's going on."
Taylors nodded. "I'll tell mines too. It's best if we start in the next 15 minutes. Any later than that and we risk ruining our schedule."
"Agreed." Saraquez said. "I'll have the information sent to your HUDs. We're good to go, gentlemen. Let's empty this city."
"As much as we can." Garrison added. "Good luck, colonel."
"Likewise, Garrison, Taylors. See you in a bit."
The two ODST colonels walked back out of the room, leaving their newest comrade to continue picking over the projection with his officers.
Neither of the two went very far before they stopped with their escorts.
Taylors tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Do you think those rails can hold?"
"Not sure." Garrison admitted. "They're tough but I doubt the city planners built them with fuel rods or plasma mortars in mind. If anything goes wrong, it'll backup the whole system."
"I guess that's what the AMXs are for."
"Probably. Let's hope they can do their job with all this cloud cover."
"I'll drink to that. Heading to your men?"
Garrison tapped his boot on the floor, trying to tune out the irritation building in his considerations. "Yeah. They'll be happy to know they'll have heavy backup for this one. A lot of them didn't like the idea of walking out there without the help."
"That's not what's bothering you though, is it?"
"...No."
"Come on, out with it."
Garrison let out deep exhale. "One of my company commanders got seriously injured on the way down. He'll live but his legs aren't going to be any good until we get him hospitalized."
"Which company?"
"Alpha."
Taylors arched a brow. "So, you're taking the reins?"
Garrison shrugged. "I guess so. There's no one else in the company suited for the job at the moment. I'll need to break the news to Bravo first."
"Bravo, hey?" Taylors laughed as he turned to leave. "I don't think they'll like that too much. They love you over there, don't they?"
"I'd hope they love me enough to follow my orders."
"Who do you have in mind to take over for you?"
"Don't worry about it." Garrison said and waved him off as he walked back the way he'd come. "All the best out there."
"Yup," Taylors replied, turning to march back to his own battalion. "Let's get this done fast. I don't want to miss the chance for my guys to have some fun out there before this place goes to hell."
"A bit too late on that one, pal." Garrison said under his breath as he stepped past the elevator doors and went on his way.
:********:
The streets reverberated with the sounds of firefights from the far-flung corners of the city. They didn't sound close enough to worry about but loud enough to keep an eye out for. Every burst of rifle fire and whine of plasma bolts was a piece of the puzzle that represented the overall combat situation in Sector 22. So far, it was relatively mild.
Some 20 minutes into their deployment and the battalion commanders gave them the go ahead. Both the 7th and 22nd set out from the MagLev station, this time with several companies of the 77th Armored in tow. In accordance with the plan, and the last-minute additions made to it, the battalions broke up into their companies and the companies into their platoons.
1st Platoon didn't mind most of the changes aside from losing the colonel to Alpha Company. They just had to hope his replacement and the plan were both up to the task. For one thing, they had backup. They set out from the station with four Warthogs and a pair of Scorpions. Most of Epsilon used the seating on the tanks. The Staff, Dalton, Daz and Reznik called shotgun on the Warthogs or clung to whatever handholds could be found beside the passenger seats.
The other platoons had gotten themselves a similar setup. Every now and again they would pass through a length of buildings to the next intersection. While rolling through it, they routinely came across a score of other armored convoys far to their left and right, all moving in the same direction. Tanks and Warthogs rolled by at matching speeds. Those shock troopers who couldn't find a ride jogged alongside them in orderly columns, aiming their weapons at the countless windows that stared down at them.
No shots had been fired yet. The relative quiet proved unnerving. Worse was that Duncan could hardly see the places where hostiles were likely to be. From his position in one of the forward seats of the lead tank, he was the first to see whatever lay ahead. The streets on the outskirts of Sector 22 were eerily inactive. The only resistance came from the mass of vehicles left abandoned in their path. The driver made quick work of them, using the sheer mass of the Scorpion to push them aside and open a way for those coming behind.
Duncan scanned the area with his rifle, upping his visor magnification to comb through the lower floors of apartment buildings and corporate offices. He regularly scoped up to their rooftops as well to sweep for signs of movement. However, most of the taller buildings were too far lost in the morning fog to make out very much. The few skyscrapers they passed were even worse since he could barely see those floors that were visible. Nevertheless, he sometimes spotted faces young and old looking down at him from the higher levels. Some were civilians. Others were soldiers. None looked ready to come out to them.
That, Duncan figured, was for the best.
Nothing was secured. Better that they come out after they'd achieved their objectives than risk walking out into an ambush. And that was precisely what he was on the lookout for. He twitched at every slight bit of activity on the streets. He didn't shoot though, mainly because it almost always turned out to be friendlies, groups of soldiers, civilians or a blend of both. They were either withdrawing to nearby buildings or running past their armored column in the direction of the MagLev station, only stopping to ask the tank drivers which way it was.
The column was rounding the base of a rotund skyscraper when they hit a greater influx of people than usual. A whole crowd several hundred strong was clogging their way forward. They stopped to let the mob pass. Duncan had to pull in his legs to avoid getting yanked in by the tides. He noticed quite a few wounded mixed in with the group. There were multiple burn victims whose scorched skin was barely hidden behind gauze wrappings. He saw a woman run by holding a little girl in her arms. The former was frantic, the latter was limp, her whole face masked behind a medical dressing. The sight of it left him quietly shaken, especially since the kid didn't look that old.
A small group of soldiers did their best to get the people out of their way, shepherding them past the tanks and to the safety of the rear.
The Staff comm'd the whole platoon before they got back underway. "Just spoke with an NCO. That was a field hospital, they're relocating. He says beyond this point we'll run into trouble."
"About time." Zack huffed. "I was starting to think this was just a road trip."
"I hope that means you're actually ready for contact." Nova warned.
"If it means I don't have to be bored anymore then yeah, I'm-, hey guys, check it out."
"What is it?"
"Look up, our air superiority's here."
As the column got moving, the platoon turned skyward. The fog was beginning to break in places. Through breaches in the haze, high above the dogfights that raged in the skyline, they witnessed as the gun-like bow of a ship knifed through the clouds. With a push, the full visage of a UNSC heavy frigate emerged from the upper atmosphere. A shadow passed through a distant cloud before another appeared further away, and another farther off. Together the three ships moved into mutually supporting positions, hovering several kilometers over the highest structures of the city.
"Sight for sore eyes." Yuri whooped. "Hopefully they can spare a couple Archers down here if we need it, of course so long as Ep-7 doesn't get us blown up too."
"I know what I'm doing." Zack shot back.
Yuri glanced over at him as the column finally rounded the skyscraper. "Do you?"
"Probably...hopefully...the buildings might be a problem."
"That does not inspire confidence in me."
What ultimately was inspiring was the platoon's front row seat to the opening barrage. Having locked onto their targets, the M870 point defense guns that lined each of the frigates opened up. The anti-aircraft fire rising from the tops of buildings was now joined by a rainfall of armor piercing sabot rounds. Multiple aircraft were caught in between. Squadrons of Seraphs went up in flashes of blue fire. Spirit dropships were torn apart, their shattered canopies ripped away from their smoking troop bays by well-placed shots. Duncan couldn't count how many vanished in the opening salvo, but he knew it was enough to make a small lightshow over New Alexandria.
The whole column let out a loud cheer.
Hep.
Duncan heard it and so did everyone else: the brief gasp of gravity propulsion drives. There were two, followed by the wailing noise of energy mortars.
He whipped back to the street, to the four-way intersection some 30 meters ahead. Peeking out from behind the buildings on either side were a pair of Wraith tanks. Twin balls of azure fire were already arcing towards them.
"Incoming!" Nova shouted.
The lead Scorpion stopped and quickly reversed. His partner behind him did the same, giving extra room for the mortars to fall short of their targets. They crashed down to blast the street twice over, incinerating asphalt and sending a thunderclap through Duncan's armor. His hearing dropped out as his guts quaked. He was still able to hear and respond to the Staff's order.
"Dismount, move to the sidewalk!"
He leapt off with everyone else though not before the lead tank gave a reply. The shot went wide, blowing out a chunk of one of the buildings the Wraiths had hidden behind. But by then the enemy vehicles had already hovered back out of sight.
1st Platoon sprinted to the right side of the road and regrouped on the sidewalk. Spreading themselves out under the shadow of the nearest building, they crouched into a lineup. Leaving two meters of blast-space between each of them, they kept their weapons trained on the wider neighborhood.
Mito, ever the point-man, dashed across the street towards one of the last buildings before the intersection. The others covered him until he reached the safety of a van and slinked behind it. He quietly got down on his hands and knees and peered past the wheels.
"Ep-9, do you have eyes on them?" The Staff asked.
"Yup. The one on the left anyway. He's in a good spot, about three meters outside the range of the tanks. Hold on, let me see if I can get the second."
Lying flat on his stomach, he crawled over to the front wheels and peeked out from behind them. He eyed the reflective surfaces of the many glass windows belonging to the building that stood on the left corner.
"There you are." He whispered contentedly. "I see'em, his buddy's doing the same thing on the other side."
"Think the Scorpions can push up?"
"I don't know, Ep-1. They've got this four-way locked down pretty tight. If our guys shoot one, they'll just get shot by the other. Those cannons can't look both ways at the same time."
A thoughtful pause came over the Staff. "But we can."
Before he could explain, the platoon perked up at the screech of rubber wheels. Two Warthogs split from the rest of the column and came speeding up the street. Soldiers from the 77th were behind the steering wheel as well as the Gauss cannons mounted at their backs. With steely determination, their squad leader comm'd the platoon.
"Heads up, this is Sergeant Henning moving in! We'll draw their fire for the tanks!"
"Henning, wait!" The Staff called.
He was too late. The Warthogs raced past the platoon. Skidding to a stop on the very edge of the intersection, the Gauss cannons swiveled to their targets. Hypersonic slugs lightninged into their armored hides at the speed of sound. A ragged hole was punched through the chassis of the one on the left while its comrade on the right was spared, the shot glancing off its carriage to strike a nearby building. The gunners got off a second shot. By then their drivers were taking action as the Wraiths were taking aim. One of the Hogs reversed in time to escape a mortar with its name on it. It only gave the second, slower Hog a double-helping of plasma. The screams of driver and gunner were cut short as two energy mortars slammed into them from either side. The twin plasma blasts spewed the vehicle back out into the air.
Mito saw it coming and ran. He leapt away just as the charred ruin came crashing down onto the van behind him.
The lead Scorpion got off a shell, scoring a minor hit on one of the Wraiths before both pulled back out of sight.
"Henning," The Staff said. "Do us all a favor and don't try that again."
Over the communications a younger voice replied. "The sarge just got smoked, sir. This is Corporal Volkov speaking."
"...Alright Volkov, keep your guys back. I don't think that'll work a second time."
"Honestly, sir, I don't think it worked the first time either."
The other Hog reversed further into the safety of the street.
Mito slipped back in next to Hector as the latter asked. "What's the play, Ep-1?"
"We'll break into two, Epsilon stays right while Whiskey swings left along with Ep-4 and 5." The Staff pointed to Rico and Reznik. "Ep-6, Whiskey-5, pull out your launchers. We'll paralyze these guys until the Scorpions can finish them off."
The two demolitionists nodded as they whipped out their M319 grenade launchers.
"Just say when." Rico beamed.
The Staff looked back towards the Scorpions and opened an additional comm channel. "Ep-1 to Backhander-1 and 2, we're going with EMPs. Be ready to move into position."
The driver of the lead tank, Backhander-1, replied with overt eagerness. "Roger that, ready and waiting."
"Platoon, get moving."
The Staff's order was followed by action. Whiskey broke off from Epsilon. Along with Hector and Yuri, they doubled back down the street. They filtered through the lanes of abandoned vehicles and crossed over to the other side to slowly crouch their way back up. The two squads mirrored one another, advancing across the last street between them and the intersection. They stopped within the shadows of the last two buildings just five meters shy of the killzone.
The two squads tensed up for a fight while Rico and Reznik inched forward. They stopped at the very edge of the enemy's visual range on either side. At that point the city's incessant cloud cover was beginning to clear. More sunlight was coming in, providing better reflections of the tanks on the windows of the adjacent buildings.
Rico gave his counterpart a questioning thumbs up. Reznik answered with one of his own. Then their motions were in sync. They raised their launchers simultaneously and pulled the triggers.
The grenades flew high. Striking off the corners of the neighboring buildings, they bounced back across the main road and whistled towards the Wraiths waiting just beyond. Using their reflections they timed the release, causing the projectiles to detonate right above their quarry. Electromagnetic energy crackled and sizzled over their heavy armor. Their electronics failed and the two vehicles thudded to the ground.
The Staff waved the Scorpions forward.
"Moving." Backhander-1 surged ahead with Backhander-2 right behind. They bullied a path through the last abandoned vehicles, stopping side by side on the edge of the intersection. Their cannons were swiveling left and right when the electromagnetic paralysis wore off. The Wraiths came back online only to shut off once more as a second round of grenades detonated beside them, incapacitating them again.
The Scorpions laid into them. The Wraiths suffered in silence as 90-millimeter tungsten shells thundered into them repeatedly. Neither Backhander wasted a shot, blowing away the turret gunners before they could have their say then hammering away at their mortars and centers of mass. After several seconds of punishment, the two tanks blew apart one after the other, their carriages torn asunder as azure blasts ripped them in half. The inferno of their remains bled pale smoke and sapphire flames into the air.
"Backhander-1 to Ep-1, road's clear, over."
"Copy." The Staff replied, stepping out between the two Scorpions to survey the results.
The attention of everyone on the street shifted to two things. The first was the road sign hanging over the way forward. Amongst the names of districts, highways and points of egress there was the name they were looking for: 'Galactic Cup Committee Building – 600m'.
The second thing was a commotion that rose above the pyres of the two Wraiths: the thrum of fast-approaching impulse drives.
The source quickly made itself known. What at first was a dot moving up the intersection's rightward road grew into the visage of a Phantom dropship. It flew towards them at alarming speed.
"Phantom, three o'clock, closing fast!" The Staff called out.
The ODSTs pulled back behind the tanks as the latter's cannons moved to track it. The Phantom was faster. Its heavy plasma cannon targeted the two Scorpions. Bolts of directed energy pounded the ground around them. A few hits landed on Backhander-1, buffeting its side and blowing off one of its treads. Fires burst into being along its front. The cannons were too slow and the turret gunners were forced to pick up the slack, responding to the hail of plasma raining down from those of the dropship as it decelerated above the intersection.
The heavy plasma cannon twitched towards the platoon. Then just as quickly as it did; the weapon vanished in a violent flash of red. Its blazing remains fell to the asphalt.
Duncan and a few others whirled about to the leftmost street. Crouched within the shadows of a building further down was an ODST. He lowered his Spartan laser to give them the thumbs up before turning to face another firefight: a running battle between another platoon and a group of Ghosts.
"I think that was Hotel." Nova said.
"God bless'em." The Staff added, taking aim with everyone else at the dropship. But the Phantom maneuvered to face them as well, the Grunts manning its turrets turning away from the tanks to unleash hell behind them. The platoon scattered for cover, sliding behind and beneath battered cars in order to return fire. The Scorpions finally found their angle and pounded its sides, bashing its hangar doors with explosive blows. The column's last three Warthogs joined in, riddling its hull with chaingun fire and pummeling it with the Gauss cannon. Still, the dropship persisted. It moved from side to side, keeping its gunners from direct hits while allowing them to pour on the plasma.
With a car door as his shield, Duncan fired at one of the gunners. The second his ammo-counter hit zero, he crouched back down to reload, ignoring the plasma bursts that smashed against the door as he slapped in another magazine.
"Ep-8!"
He peered through the driver's window to find Rico and Reznik on the other side, taking cover behind a trailer truck.
Rico waved to get his attention. "Hey!"
"Yeah!?"
He patted the barrel of his grenade launcher. "Think you can hold this guy's attention for us!?"
Another plasma burst blew through the windshield, showering Duncan with glass before moving over to rake the trailer that the two had hidden behind. Duncan brushed off the steaming shards to stop them from slipping into his armor.
"I'll see what I can do!"
He waited for a lull in the shooting before he skidded out from cover and homed in on the left-side gunner. He laid down three-round bursts to catch the Grunt's interest. In little time, he was trading shots with it while rushing over to a minivan. He got in behind the back trunk just as plasma bolts slashed at the air around him. He continued leaning out to shoot back, guaranteeing the two demolitionists their opening.
Now free, Rico and Reznik also leaned out. They aimed high, launching two grenades. Their flight took them over the intersection. They curved towards the rear of the dropship and detonated above the hull.
The combined EMP blast fizzed through the rear of the craft. The Phantom's impulse drives warbled, whined with sudden strain then gave out. The dropship veered hard to one side, its momentum sending it flying forward. A shot from one of the tanks struck it in the underbelly. The explosion delivered a powerful uppercut that rocked the whole craft sideways. It plummeted to the street and boomed into the asphalt, tearing its way across the intersection. It slid to a stop against the base of a building and settled down on its side.
Flames spread speedily over its exterior. Meanwhile, those spreading from the treads of Backhander-1 did so at a slower albeit worrying rate.
As the others cautiously approached the downed dropship, Duncan ran over to the wounded Scorpion and knocked on its side.
"Hey, your ride doesn't look too good. Think you guys want to bail out?"
The turret gunner sized up the damage and glanced back at the driver. "It's not bad but it's not good. What do you think?"
Behind the glass housing of the cockpit, the driver shook his head. "It's not too serious. I'll hand you the extinguisher. After that, we can keep on rolling. She can carry us a few more blocks at least."
"You sure?" Duncan pressed, not liking the look of the flames.
"Positive. She's been through worse. Besides, where we're going, we'll need the firepower."
Duncan didn't get a chance to press him any further when the ripping of metal turned him back to the Phantom. A hangar door was being pried open. Reptilian hands forced them apart, causing the metal to creak and give way. The body of one of the Grunt gunners came flying out. An Elite, an orange-armored major vaulted out as well and two minors followed it.
The instant the three were on the ground they sprung at everyone around them. The two minors let loose with plasma rifles, pushing the ODSTs back to cover. The major moved with purpose. It sprinted towards Backhander-1, an energy sword flickering to life in its hand.
The platoon shot back alongside the Hog gunners. The minors lasted seconds, the first crumpling into a heap once a ballistic tempest broke its shields. Its friend's upper half was sent spiraling away after a direct hit from the Gauss cannon. But the major carried on. It seemed to ignore its flaring shields as Backhander-1's turret hammered desperately at them. Just a breadth away, Duncan was draining his rifle with the same intent. At his back, the driver was turning the cannon to meet the threat.
The major closed the distance in a heartbeat.
Duncan ducked beneath a swing meant for his neck. He rolled away and swiveled around to see the Elite already leaping towards the tank. With a single swipe, the turret fell silent, its gunner slumping over as his head sailed through the air. The driver tried frantically to open his cockpit, but the major came crashing down right on top of it, using its sheer weight to keep the cover pinned in place.
Duncan fumbled for another magazine as the Elite raised its sword. With an overhead swing, it gouged the blade deep into the heart of the engine at its feet. Flames and oil erupted from the wound. Some got into the cockpit and began to burn.
The platoon singled out the major and broke its shields with a combined barrage, Duncan firing up at it from near point-blank range. It was enough. Its shields broke and its body shook under the wrath of their guns. Bullets tore through armor and flesh until the alien tumbled off the tank.
But the damage was done.
The cockpit had become an oven, its insides burning along with the driver. Duncan could hear him screaming, his hands flailing around the glass for an emergency release. He would have dashed to his help had he not heard the static-like report of shells cooking off.
"Get back, it's going to blow!" Rico shouted.
Duncan pivoted mid-stride and threw himself behind the thick wheels of a flatbed.
The tank went off like a grenade. A single explosion blew its frame to pieces. Shrapnel-like debris wisped past, shattering car windows as the blast tossed over anything close.
It was over in a moment. However, the last image of the driver remained burned on Duncan's retinas. He picked himself up. There was a low hissing noise of pressurized air. He was surprised to see an arm-sized piece of debris lodged in the other side of the wheels, the same that had sheltered him.
Backhander-1 was a burning wreck, at least what remained of it. Its broken body was split across the scorched aftermath. There was no sign of the driver, not that he expected to find any.
"Wheels up," The Staff said over comms. "Everybody find whatever place you can on Backhander-2."
The others regrouped at the last tank. Duncan shakily joined them.
"Alright, there's not enough seats so...who's legging it?" Mito asked.
"Not me." Renni said. "Not if I can help it."
"I don't think you can." Yuri snared, sparing her a merciless grin.
"Either way, we'll have to slow down for those who're walking." The Staff explained. "Alright, let's keep this simple. Does anyone feel they can't walk? Any wounds or injuries?"
The platoon's mutual silence answered him.
"No? Then how about this, we all walk. That way we limit the odds of our driving face first into another ambush."
"Are you asking or telling, sir?" Zack questioned.
"Telling."
Epsilon's radioman sighed exhaustedly. His mood went entirely unnoticed by the platoon leader as he signaled for the rest of the column to follow.
Rifle in hand, The Staff set out over the intersection at a cautious jog, looking both ways as he crossed. Everyone else mirrored his example without further complaint. They pushed past the remains of Backhander-1 and the Wraiths while their comrades in the 77th covered them from the rear.
Even as they continued into the city, Duncan was ill at ease. There was something about the destruction that felt surreal. To make things that much worse the morning fog was almost completely gone, filling the streets with so much light that he couldn't miss a single detail. It was still New Alexandria. It just wasn't the one he remembered. That one, he felt, was done. Or maybe it never existed.
The idea that it was once the peaceful place he would come to visit after a long deployment was lost on him. Maybe it was just an illusion, a mirage of calm in a burning galaxy. Illusion or not though, he wished he could have it again. He wished it were the other way around. Not that the galaxy ever seemed to care what he wanted, or what the rest of mankind wanted for that matter.
What, he wondered, was one city to decades of reality's galaxy-wide apathy?
:********:
Sará would have preferred to stay inside if it meant she got to live a little longer. Sadly, her custodians weren't of the same opinion. The last several floors to the rooftop were hectic. Each step forward was dogged by the ruckus of alien engines zipping by. There were gunshots, some of which blew out the windows to hit stairs she'd passed only seconds earlier.
Finally reaching the end, the lead ONI agent pushed through the exit to find the rooftop as an island of calm amidst a sea of chaos. Fighters from both sides were still duking it out in the airways close to the hotel and beyond. They blasted away at each other while moving at high velocities around and above the skyscrapers. Some, turned to fireballs, crashed headlong into the structures, their ruins carving fiery gashes through entire floors. Higher still was an even greater spectacle. UNSC frigates had arrived above the city. The guns on their hulls fired down into the bedlam of the enemy's air presence. Though the latter was being cut down, they remained in much higher numbers. Every dropship the frigates shot to pieces was simply a grain in the sandbox. The UNSC fighters couldn't chase after every single one either, leaving plenty of Covenant aircraft unpursued and unmolested.
To Sará's supreme relief, none of them paid heed to what was going on at the Csillagos éj. Several Pelicans were rising around her. Having lifted off from landing pads lower down, their cargo bays full of frightened families, they flared their drives and stole away from the hotel.
Left in their wake was a single Pelican sitting on the rooftop's main landing pad. The pad was big enough to host a full squadron. However, how exposed it was probably dissuaded others from landing there. Yet it didn't stop a pair of Falcons from hovering above and to either side of the lone dropship. Their door gunners kept a wary eye out, every so often firing off long bursts at distant targets.
The agents made a beeline for the Pelican's open bay. Others were trying to do the same. A line of people had formed from an exit on the other side of the roof. They were being held back and vetted by a squad of Army troopers. Another squad guarded the dropship itself while a third stood in the agents' way.
The lead agent, as was his talent, identified the sergeant of the group by looks alone and flashed him his ID.
The squad's NCO didn't budge, holding up a hand to stop them. "Sorry, sir, but we can only take HVIs right now. You'll have to wait."
"What?" The agent hissed.
"I said you'll have to wait."
"We're naval intelligence, soldier. We have to get on that Pelican immediately."
"Look, I don't want to be here either. You have my sympathy but we didn't expect you guys. There might not be enough room and we need to get everyone on our list. You can either stay here and wait to see if we can squeeze you in once we have everyone onboard or you can wait for another ride. Your call."
"My call?" The agent looked around the pad frustratedly. "Who's in charge here? Who's your CO?"
As the two continued to argue, Sará peered past them to the other line. Some of the troopers on that side were holding datapads. They scrolled through a list of faces, checked them against those on the line then okayed those they could identify. Individuals, couples and small families trickled by once they were confirmed. They carried on up the steps to the pad and were welcomed into the bay. She envied the looks of comfort that descended on them after taking their seats.
One man in particular caught her eye. He was dressed in a crisp suit and was being escorted by a group of soldiers. The second he emerged from the exit; the troops had everyone else step aside in order to let him through.
Upon reaching the pad, a trooper with the bearing of a junior officer came up to meet the man. From their short conversation Sará overheard little aside from "Mr. Azimoth" and "you're safe". The officer took him personally to the cargo bay and ensured he received the safest seat near the door to the cockpit.
Several more people followed, filling what spaces remained onboard. The drives thrummed with new life before the dropship's rear ramp was raised.
"Come on, there's still room in there." The agent contended.
The sergeant shook his head. "Not anymore, sir. You'll have to wait for the next one."
"What next one!?"
His answer was drowned out by the high-pitched whine of fusion drives as the Pelican lifted off the pad. There was something else, a warbling noise.
Without warning, a trooper snapped his rifle skyward. "Banshees inbound!"
Others raised their weapons and opened fire, shooting over her head as a shadow engulfed her. A hand pushed her roughly to the floor. She saw the agents whirling around to fire their sidearms. The reply was merciless. A deluge of plasma cut through them like a rogue wave, slashing uncleanly through BDUs, shirts and concrete flooring. Blood splashed her in the face. Heat gnawed at her skin, suddenly overcome by a rush of cool wind as the shadow flew over her.
She dared raise her head to look.
A Banshee flew overhead, heading straight for the Pelican. Two more swooped in from the right and left, strafing both Falcons with plasma before rolling up and away, leaving comets of green energy to sail on. One of the Falcons managed to push ahead so that the death orb struck the rooftop. The other wasn't so fortunate. Its starboard rotor disintegrated in the blast, sending pieces of burning metal sparling across the roof. A soldier fell shrieking as a piece of rotor stabbed into his thigh. Several of the civilians running and screaming to the exit were scythed down, cut to pieces or impaled by larger fragments. The Falcon itself was set ablaze, the fire swiftly swallowing its way up the wing to the fuselage even as it twirled away from the roof, its smoking remains disappearing beyond the edge. Its partner wheeled about to line up a shot. So did the two banshees for a new attack run. But the former failed to notice the third assault craft which had already rolled away from its own vector.
A green comet soared straight at the Pelican. It struck its target: one of the fusion drives. The emerald explosion was seconded by a greater blast that ripped the drive wide open. Air screeched through the ruptured engine, causing the dropship to whirl around in a heavy turn. Sará felt a surge of fear once it rounded on her. It barely controlled itself enough to stop its turn and suddenly shot forward.
Her own autopilot kicked in. She picked herself up and hurled herself aside just before the craft came rocketing by, its underbelly skimming the roof itself. The strong gust of its passage pinned her in place.
The Pelican soared away from the hotel. It made a hardly controlled descent in its attempt to escape, its body swinging left and right while the pilot struggled to maneuver. Two of the Banshees gave chase. They sped and twirled along its smoke trail like a pair of sharks after wounded prey. Sará watched the dropship disappear beneath the fog of the city. The Banshees vanished behind it.
An explosion drew her back to the roof. She looked just in time to see a burning wreck crash down onto the pad. It was the other Falcon.
Its killer whirled through the air above with the dexterity of a ballet dancer. It recovered from its maneuver, dipped into a sharp descent and lined up its guns on the last civilians. They were fleeing into the safety of the exit though several had yet to reach it. A rain of plasma cut through the backs of the stragglers before the Banshee angled up, firing a green projectile at the exit and rolling away again.
Panicked shrieks from inside were silenced once the projectile sailed through the door. The explosion blew out the exit like a kicked sandcastle, casting pieces of debris and flying limbs over the edge.
Sará felt a hand grab her roughly by the arm. She was hoisted back to her feet and pulled into a run. She turned to her rescuer and found the straining, bleeding face of the lead agent.
"Come on, we gotta go!"
She didn't get to ask where the other two were. She stumbled by their bloodied and burned bodies as well as the small bonfire that was once her suitcase.
A handful of troopers were still left. They stood among their dead comrades and shot at the flyer, some with rocket launchers. It was a move that only served to gain its attention. Sará heard its engines warble from the maneuvers that cleared it of the rockets. It was getting closer and the sound of its approach seized her with dread.
Was she really about to die here? Like this?
In the grasp of her fears, she heard its cannons go off, the anguished cries of the soldiers and the distinct launch of its deadly projectile. They were almost to the last exit when more plasma shot past. A bolt struck the agent in the back and he gasped for breath. Sará broke out of his grasp and grabbed ahold of him in turn, trying to push them both through the exit.
A mere step away from the threshold, her charge tripped and stumbled out of her hands. She turned to pick him up, but a flash of green put an end to that. The blast knocked her off her feet, tossed her through the entrance and sent her diving headfirst down the stairwell. She tumbled down the stairs before something hard smashed into the back of her skull. Then everything dimmed and faded.
:********:
Erica felt every shake and tremble of her hotel. So did her guests. The windows shuddered, the floor vibrated, and the air of anxiety grew each time. She couldn't tell if it was from the building being hit or the area around it. Regardless, the situation was getting out of hand.
She'd done everything she could to help. Since she left Noah, she'd busied herself fulfilling Lieutenant Walker's demands, using the announcement systems to lead her guests to those floors where they could be better protected. The hotel staff also chipped in to act as guides, conducting their clientele alongside the soldiers up and down the stairwells. It wasn't long until the residents of the Csillagos éj were concentrated together every four or five floors, leaving those in between empty and abandoned.
Floor 71 was one such refuge. The hallways, waiting areas and lounges were filled to bursting with hundreds of people. They sat in the passages and crowded whatever available spaces could be found. They made room where no room was before, lying on tables meant for decoration while chairs meant for two now seated several.
Lieutenant Walker's soldiers patrolled among them. Medics stopped to administer aid to the panic-stricken as well as the handful of injured in the building. They weren't alone. In their attempt to keep everyone calm they were joined by hotel staff. Cooks, maids and especially guest attendants were key to holding everything together. The dozens of staff sprinkled in between the hundreds of guests on the floor possessed the hospitality experience needed to manage them. All the same, it was a task made more challenging by the tremors outside.
Erica was in the middle of it. She walked through Floor 71 with a will, intent on finding what she hoped she wouldn't need. Two of her staff trailed after her: Ms. Turner, her head off housekeeping for the floor, and Mr. Mitchell, the head chef for the nearby banquet hall. She'd found them among those attending to the guests and asked for their company. They knew what she was looking for and likewise agreed, accepting it yet hoping against hope that it wouldn't be necessary.
The three of them maneuvered through a corridor bloated to the seams with people. Erica kept on the lookout for those sitting down so as to navigate over the jungle floor of outstretched legs. All the while, she typed the lieutenant's contacts into her datapad. She made the call and was greeted with a never-ending ring. It was her fifth try at getting ahold of him in the last five minutes.
"You don't think he's avoiding me, do you?" She asked, glaring irritatedly at Mitchell.
The hefty, titanium-armed cook shook his head emphatically. "He's probably got his hands full taking charge of the landing pads. Last I heard, they've only just started evacuating people on the upper floors. In fact, my sous chef called me a second ago from where he is on '120. Said they've already gotten half the floor in the air, the other half are waiting their turn."
"That's too slow." Turner said with a hint of worry. "At this rate..."
"At this rate we'll all get out of here." Mitchell cut in, flashing her an encouraging smile.
She grimaced in return. "I don't like this. I really don't."
"No, but you can't control it. Right now let's handle what we can. On that note, how much further boss?"
"Right around this corner." Erica said, turning it with them onto the last corridor.
Like every other passageway, it was lined with half-open doors, strewn with ownerless articles and bustling with guests. Except there was a door that remained shut. She was relieved to see that it was. If it was broken down, the relatively tense atmosphere would have imploded into anarchy. She headed straight for it, reaching out as it came up on her right to slide her ID card into the receiver. The device beeped and the lock slid out of place. She opened the way for the three of them then quickly locked the door behind them.
They had entered a basic suite. There was a bed, a bathroom and a small kitchen area, just the right amount of normalcy to hide what lay beneath the surface, or rather within the closet. She walked up to it and slipped her ID into a special receiver. Another beep later and the slatted doors folded aside to reveal her personal cache.
Two weapons lockers stood against the back wall of the closet. Erica typed the access codes into their keypads and swung their doors open. One held several M6 magnums whilst the other was draped in a quartet of M45 tactical shotguns. Small boxes of ammunition lay at the bottom.
She examined one of the sidearms and pulled it out for a closer inspection. Behind her, Mitchell whistled.
"That's quite a stash. I always suspected you were packing but...this? Even for a civilian, ma'am, this is-"
"What, you think it's because I'm married to an ODST that I'm gun-crazy?"
He shrugged apologetically. "Well, if the shoe fits."
"Its heels really," She placed the weapon back and eyed her footwear. "And they barely do. You're only half right by the way. He did rub off on me but-"
Mitchell walked in beside her to check out the shotguns. "You saw a day like this coming long beforehand and decided to prep for the apocalypse." He stopped to look at her. "Am I right all the way this time?"
She smiled back wearily. "Its smart to have an umbrella for a rainy day, no?"
"I'd say so." He rubbed a hand over the barrel of one of the M45s with the familiarity of an old friend. "What do you think, too conspicuous?"
"At this point I don't think it matters. There are already soldiers moving up and down this place with guns. What's three more?"
"We're not soldiers though."
"M-, me es-, especially." Turner stammered. "I was thinking, I have some qualifications for sidearms, ma'am. However, I've never had to use them in real life. I can't say how much good I'll be in a fight."
"You said you have the qualifications, right?" Erica asked.
Turner swallowed. "Yes, but like I said, I-"
"Good." Erica tossed an M6 to her which she barely managed to catch, fumbling for a second until it was firmly in her grasp. "I have them too and I've also never had to use them. All that aside, they're meant to do some good in real life. This is real life. What's the point of getting a license then if you don't use it when you really need to?"
Turner bit her lip and eyed her gun in silent consternation. Having won the argument, Erica turned back to the pistol locker and pulled out a sidearm for herself. She crouched down to pop open the boxes of ammunition and took out the clips inside. Already pre-loaded, she handed several to Turner and procured an equal amount for herself.
Beside her, Mitchell's robotic arm removed one of the shotguns and grabbed ahold of the ordnance for it. He thumbed shell after shell into the receiver until the weapon's appetite was satisfied, pulling the pump back with a contented clack.
"Just like old times." Mitchell grinned. "I think I could use a pistol too while I'm at it. Got any holsters?"
Pulling out another box, Erica took out a trio of velcroed holsters and handed them out. The last she fastened around her own waist, slipping her clips into the holders.
The hotel shook again.
"That sounded like it came from above." Mitchell noted as he stashed away his new pistol along with the last of his extra shells and clips. "Have any frags in the attic by any chance?"
"Sorry, no attic." Erica replied. "What you see is all there is."
Turner finished fastening her weapon to her person. "Here's to hoping we won't need it."
"Let's find out." Erica took her datapad and pulled up Lieutenant Walker's contacts again.
Before she could press it, the lieutenant himself beat her to it. Taken aback with worry, she let the call through.
Walker's voice came out in a stream of agitation. "Mrs. Iris? Mrs Iris, respond immediately."
"I'm here lieutenant, what's going on?"
"My observation teams spotted multiple dropships heading towards the hotel. They've also sighted Covenant forces approaching from the ground. I need you to help gather the guests in the most secure rooms on whatever floor they're concentrated on. Private rooms, halls, wherever, so long as its defensible. They'll need to stay there until my guys give the greenlight to come out."
Erica's breath hitched in her throat. She turned around to stare out one of the room's windows to the wider expanse of the city. A tight lump grew in her chest and made her feel like she was choking from the inside out.
"Ma'am, please confirm you understand what I've told you. Can you assist?"
"Boss?" Mitchell called worriedly.
She shook herself out of it. "I-...I can help."
"Good." Walker sighed. "Get to it. Use the PA like you did last time. That should-"
"Hold on a second. Does that mean the evacuation is-..."
"It's on hold, ma'am. At least until we can neutralize the threat to the hotel. Now get going, there isn't much time."
"Wait-wait, isn't there-"
The sound of the lieutenant ending the call wrought an icy feeling in her stomach. Her heart began to race in the middle of the maelstrom of horror that howled through her thoughts. The rustle of whirring gyros accompanied Mitchell's prosthetic hand as it came to rest on her shoulder. Despite the cool of the metal, it conveyed a warmth that went beyond words. From it, she found the strength to scroll to the hotel's announcement system on her device. Her finger hovered over the access button. There it remained until a heartening squeeze from Mitchell's hand prompted hers to action.
:********:
Noah was happy for Emma and quietly saddened at the same time. Watching her parents appear from the crowds to come to her rescue left him perplexed. On the one hand, he was happy to know she would be safe. On the other, he was losing his chance to act around her like the toughee his mom wanted him to be. He figured it was for the best that she was with her family. Nevertheless, he was thoroughly put out at their arrival.
Her mom cried out to her as they slipped from the rest of the gathering outside Starry Night to wrap her in a tight hug.
Noah looked on, slightly envious.
After a while, they let her go and turned his way.
"Are these your friends?" The dad asked, gesturing at him, Daniel and Tommy.
"Huh-, ugh-, well," Emma mumbled.
Her dad didn't give her a chance for a proper answer, holding the three in a heartfelt respect. "You boys have no idea how grateful I am that you watched out for our little girl for us."
"Thank you so-so much." Her mom seconded. "We're heading back to a spot we have on the other side over there. Do you kids want to tag along?"
Noah considered it. He remembered his mom telling him to go with any of their parents if he could. Maybe it was for the best. Still, he was hesitant to leave. What if he was leaving his mom behind too while he was at it?
As if she'd read his mind, he heard his mother's voice come again through the building, drawing everyone's attention to what she had to say.
"All guests, please remain calm. This is an emergency announcement. An immediate threat to the hotel's security has been detected. Everyone is to evacuate to safe zones on their floor that I will designate. These include ballrooms, banquet halls, gyms, pool rooms and entertainment centers. Please locate these on your respective floors right away. Army personnel will be acting to hide you in these locations until they can secure the building. Hotel staff, assist however you can in directing guests to these safe zones. Again, I ask that you please remain calm and move in an orderly fashion."
Noah heard her repeat herself, listing the places people needed to go. He scarcely listened to most of it. He was far too worried about what 'an immediate threat' meant. Then the change in the air of the room made him realize what was happening. Concerned shouts rang out above a sea of anxious murmurs across the atrium. People started moving, shuffling in different directions as they tried to go against or with the tide of persons. The soldiers standing guard at the edges of the atrium now stepped out of the way. They ushered the crowds down passageways as staff from the hotel pointed out rooms to them. Underlying everything was a deep sense of dread like that Noah had only ever known in his nightmares. The kind where something big was chasing after him. He could never see it or outrun it, too slow to do anything but wonder when he would wake up.
He wanted to wake up. He shut his eyes tight and opened them. The people were still there, moving about with faces so desperate that they scared him to look at.
Emma and her parents were different. They turned pleadingly to the boys, asking them to come with them.
Their pleas fell on deaf ears.
For all his fright, Tommy turned them down first. "I need to find my parents. I can't leave them."
Daniel stood in shocked silence, unsure what to do or say.
Noah knew what to say though he wasn't sure why. Despite the fear that made his heart pound in his chest, he gave them his answer.
"No."
The reply was met with expressions of shock, the sharpest of which was from Emma herself. It pained him to see it. However, a spark of logic urged him to say it. He was a kid to be sure. That didn't mean he couldn't figure things out. For as long as he'd known him, his dad had been fighting the Covenant. He was the smartest person he knew. If he had been fighting them for years then it meant one of two things if not both: they weren't weak and they weren't stupid.
"We can't hide in the rooms." He explained. "They'll find us. They'll find us and-... we just can't hide there. We have to go somewhere else."
Emma's mom cocked her head at him as if he'd said something insulting. "Then where do you think we should go? There's nowhere else. We need to leave right no-"
"The vents." He rounded on Daniel and Tommy. "We can go up in the vents. We'll hide there."
Tommy stood glossy-eyed, lost for words.
Daniel meanwhile looked him over like a stranger. "Noe, are you crazy? This isn't the time for pranks. We can't do that. We don't even have the tools."
Almost on cue, Noah plunged a hand into his pocket and flicked out a thumb-sized screwdriver. "See? We can get in there."
Daniel balked at the tool and how he'd been able to hide it. He seemed to reconsider.
"This is insane." Emma's dad warned. "Come on, guys. You can't go off on your own. Look, we're getting left behind. The soldiers are starting to look our way, just come with us."
"We'll protect you." Her mom insisted.
"You won't." Noah said simply. "You can't. You don't stand a chance if they find you. My dad does though, and I'm going to hide 'til he gets here."
Noah tuned out any further debate from them. However, a look from Emma stopped him cold. She was scared for him. He could see that. There was something else there too. She cared. She really did.
"Noe?"
Hearing his name like that made him pause. For a moment he genuinely considered taking them up on their offer. He would know for sure that she was okay, that Daniel and Tommy were okay, that they were being looked after by adults. Except they wouldn't be. He knew that. Deep down he wanted to see his mom again, his dad too. The feeling that if he left with them then he would never his own parents again brought him to the brink of tears. It also stifled whatever doubts he had left.
"I'll see you later, Emma." Was all he could think to say.
At the end of that sentence he had turned and walked off. He went after one of the groups heading into a corridor but still glanced back. To his relief and secret surprise, Daniel and Tommy were following him. Yet behind them, Emma stayed put with her parents. She and her family watched in horrified disbelief while they trudged off. Her dad tried to run over to stop them. He in turn was stopped by a soldier who asked for them to get going, pointing to a group heading in another direction. They took one last look at the boys, took Emma by the hand and left. Still, she kept looking back at them, and Noah back at her until they both vanished into the crowds.
Divisus – Divided
