Chapter 24 – Subtilitas

August 18th, 2552 - (10:25 Hours - Military Calendar)

Epsilon Eridani System, Reach

Viery Territory, Eposz

New Alexandria

:********:

For Mackley, and perhaps for any sniper, there was no weapon better suited to his profession than the M99 Stanchion Rifle. Its proper name was the M99 Special Application Scoped Rifle, or as he liked to see it, the best ranged weapon system that both the UNSC and God had ever thought to devise. It was so large that it had taken a pair of individual cases to transport its two halves and required two men to assemble it. When boiled down to its basic function, for all intents and purposes, it was a handheld magnetic accelerator cannon, a MAC gun like those used aboard Navy frigates only in miniature. Funnily enough, the rifle actually did look a lot like a ship thanks to its meter-long barrel and stocky build. It had a faint resemblance to an Epoch-class heavy carrier with a variant of its close cousin, the SRS-99's oracle scope mounted right where the bridge would be.

The rifle's optic was shaped like a thin crucifix. Its longest part was laddered with an ascending series of distance and range estimations which vacillated and recalculated as he looked around. Meanwhile the upper point was replaced by a crescent. It curved over the crucifix and fully enclosed what the latter's arms had been centered around: a small circle of a targeting reticle akin to that of the SRS. Through it, Mackley could zoom in on the face of a target 15-kilometers away, four kilometers longer than the CSO supercarrier that had appeared over Reach. Except in this case, he wouldn't be seeing any faces. Though 7.5-kilometers was its effective range, he could pull off longer shots with a little bit of guesswork, something he might need plenty of against targets he couldn't see.

Not with the naked eye at least.

That was where the thermal component came in. The Stanchion's scope not only gave him an eagle eye view of everything ahead of him but also offered heat signature recognition. Thanks to the weapons' ATLAS+ system, instead of his VISR's usual colors, the world presented itself to him in a canvas of cold purples, lukewarm reds, sultry oranges and hot yellows. By that metric and in so far as he could tell, the last two were in the majority.

Epsilon Eridani's morning rise behind him had turned the world in front of him into a city-sized microwave. The infrastructure of the surrounding buildings allowed for a mass heat conduction effect that transformed every structure into a searing maze of red and orange walls and rooftops. Worst of all were the windows that sucked in most of the heat and made each apartment, corporate office and high-rise into honeycombs of hot yellows. Whereas his scope was supposed to make his job easier, the sunlight managed to toss a wrench into their plans.

And still he had to try.

The Jackals were relying on active camouflage units to keep themselves out of sight. Their equipment generated substantial amounts of heat that would normally turn them into walking candles for someone using thermal imaging. With the sun out in force, however, they were being provided with extra cover by a jungle of heat sources.

It was Duncan and Nova's job to tell them which buildings showed signs of activity. It fell to Lang to pinpoint their exact position and to send it to Mackley. To do this, he used his newest attachment of thermal goggles which slipped down in front of his visor like a set of boxy binoculars. He looked through them out to wherever Duncan and Nova directed. After sifting through the different heat signatures to discern the right ones, he bent back down behind the ledge and typed away at the keypad of his portable computer. It was an accessory device housed in one of the weapon cases that came with the gun. Several screens across its rectangular frame scintillated or scrolled with information as he got to work.

Mackley's job was the simplest: point and shoot.

With a few keystrokes Lang uploaded the coordinates to the M99 itself. A red arrow appeared that Mackley could use to navigate towards his quarry. It acted in tandem with the gun's own movements by leading him like a compass, shifting along the thermal spectrum from red to orange and finally, once the crosshairs were centered, to yellow.

That was how he found his first mark.

The unlucky Jackal thought it was stealthier than it actually was. Its partner must have thought the same thing, hence why they appeared fully exposed atop an apartment building 400-meters to the west. By their position, Mackley gauged that they were part of the outermost layer of snipers.

Duncan had pointed out the spot, Lang had confirmed it and handed him the coordinates, leaving Mackley with the layup as he set his eye on the yellow figures. The two were monitoring the east though they weren't looking specifically in his direction. They had probably seen the Falcon come and go but hadn't seen anyone hop out. The enemy didn't know they were there. They were about to.

Mackley scoped in on the one standing at the left end of the rooftop. He hooked his forefinger around the trigger yet stopped short of the final squeeze.

"What do you think it looks like?"

"What?" Lang asked, hearing the wistfulness in his voice.

Mackley squeezed the trigger a bit more, putting it on the verge of the first shot. "A 5.4-millimeter to the chest at five-hundred thousandths the speed of light?"

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

"It can be literal."

"Don't know, I've only ever seen it used on practice dummies." Lang took one more look at the landscape then spoke in a manner that one could almost hear the grin in his voice. "But I'd like to find out."

"Wouldn't we all." Mackley squeezed the last bit of slack out of the trigger.

For a moment he wasn't sure if he had fired or if someone else had. The echo of the round washed over him a second later but he didn't see or feel a shot. He remembered then that the rifle was recoilless, and though he didn't see a tracer, he witnessed its results.

In the split second that it took those thoughts to run through his head he saw the Jackal simply vanish. An explosion of smoke enveloped it in a blink. Before the haze had passed, the other one rounded on where its partner had been and froze in alarm. Mackley seized the opportunity and used the bipod to swivel the Stanchion into place. He got its head in his crosshairs and fired again. Again, he saw his target ripped out of existence along with a small chunk of the rooftop.

He waited for the smoke to clear. When it did, he got a good look at his handiwork. Two sizable craters had been chewed out of the top of the building. They were still smoldering. Yellow-hot viscera was left splattered around them which quickly cooled to a dull red. Nothing was left of the Jackals save for the pulped arm of one.

"Woooooh!" Mackley cheered. "Two down! Now let's see if we can get a two for one!"

"Already on it." Lang said.

He followed Nova's next piece of direction to a new position and quickly got Mackley underway. The latter swung the Stanchion to the right and lined up his sights on an office building half a kilometer to the north. There on the rooftop were multiple heat signatures. Two slowly distinguished themselves from the building's network of radiating generators by trading places. One retreated from its watch on the edge. The other went to resume its lookout duty on a different side. Its legs managed a few strides forward before they spiraled into the air as everything else was raptured in an explosion of blood.

Mackley managed to only hit the target this time. He immediately swept left to its partner.

He sadly couldn't get away with the same trick twice. The second Jackal had heard the commotion. Not even turning to see what had happened, it ducked down behind one of the generators.

"Hmph, like that'll help." His next shot pierced the center of mass of both generator and Jackal. The mingling mess of gore and metal erupted off the other side of the roof.

"That was good, but it didn't look like a two for one to me." Lang pointed out.

"Next one, I swear."

"Uhuh." Lang listened to Duncan's next set of directions, peered out to the south then dipped back to the computer. "Second chance, keep it tight."

Mackley followed the new coordinates on his scope to a high-rise on the southernmost end of Császári's cordon. The targeting software led him to a new sniper pair that weren't anywhere near as well-hidden as the first. They were out in the open, the first looking out towards Császári while the second was off to the side, observing something else. Mackley traced the second one's line of sight to the last building he'd targeted.

"Not good, they're starting to check on their buddies." He angled his next round at the floor between and slightly behind the two Jackals. Like an instantaneous transmission between hands and eyes, he felt his finger squeezing the trigger even as he watched the pair go flying like the buzzards they were. The blast launched both clear off the roof and left them falling, sprawling and probably screaming down a 30-story descent.

Lang gave him a fist-bump. "That's more like it."

"Santa Claus to Császári, I've got six turkeys for Christmas dinner, over?"

"Copy that, Santa." Captain Eddies replied. "Good work but now I'm going to need you to rob the whole store. We've got five more minutes before the 83rd's here and I've told Central to get those civilians moving. They'll be here a minute sooner. Think you can make that time?"

"Negative, sir." Mackley grinned. "I think I can beat it."

"Glad to hear it. Ep-1?"

"You've got 14 more to go before dinner, Santa." The Staff added. "Hurry up, the kids are waiting."

"Roger."

Lang received the newest direction from Nova. He looked straight ahead and perked up, asked if she was sure then shook his head amusedly at Mackley. "I think you're going to like this."

"Where?"

Lang uploaded the data while looking out hesitantly beyond the ledge.

When Mackley got it, he steered to the right until he was facing west again. At that point, he was looking directly over the Császári Building. He saw the handfuls of heat signatures that had taken cover behind Hogs and other vehicles. He panned upwards from there to where the arrow was leading him and stopped once he reached it.

It was a sizable skyscraper that had the gently curving shape of a saber. He spotted faint yellow figures moving in the windows on one of the middlemost floors.

"What's the issue?" Mackley asked. "They're right there."

"No, they're not." Lang sighed. "Check the calcs."

Mackley peeked at the distance calculations on the scope's range finders. He winced at the weird and conflicting estimations which showed the Jackals to be further away than they should've been. Right then he saw the problem. None of the calculations were wrong. The Jackals were in a position further west, but there was a building in the way.

"You see it?" Lang asked.

"I can still make that."

"You sure? That'll be some serious deceleration."

"Can't be helped. Besides, it's not like we can reposition right now, and something's telling me it won't be a problem."

"If you say so, chief. Let her rip."

Mackley did.

A flash of concrete and cement blasted out of a level of the skyscraper, promptly seconded by another of equal magnitude. The debris tumbled out into the long fall to the street below, cracking sidewalks and smashing windshields on impact.

The two of them waited. A slight wind pushed away the smoke and Mackley got a clear look at what he'd done.

A pair of gaping holes stared back at him. They were punched clean through so that he could see past the guts of decimated office spaces and sparking wires to the open air on the other side. There, on the rooftop of a building further down the street, he found his targets. The Jackal pair were both out of action. The upper half of one lay in a grave of a deep crater. The little that remained of its friend had painted a newly made chasm which had split the roof from end to end like a knife through cake.

Mackley looked over at Lang who stared speechless at the carnage. Knowing he couldn't see it; he stuck his tongue out.

"You're sticking your tongue out at me, aren't you?" Lang laughed, still trying to shrug off the shock of the scene.

"No."

"Alright William Tell, I'll let it slide. Reload that thing, it should be spent by now." He paused to shake his head disbelievingly at the damage. "That was..."

"Awesome?"

"More like insane."

"Insanely awesome." Mackley said as he reached for his weapon case.

"Just hurry up and reload that thi-"

A blinding flash took out Mackley's sight. Though brief, his survival instincts threw his face down to the ground as a thunderclap crashed through his armor and bones. Pressing himself deep into the gravel, he twisted his head to Lang. To his relief, his spotter was also pressing himself as deep into the ground as he could. He reached up and closed the computer, securing it.

"Christ." Lang hissed. "That was close."

"How close?"

"Almost took your head off."

A newly lit rage burned bright and Mackley grabbed the gravel around his hands into tight fistfuls. He forced himself to relax. "Did you see where it came from?"

"No..." Lang reached back, pulled the SRS-99 off his harness and cradled it under his chest. "But I'd like to find out."

Mackley instantly read his mind. "Hold on, think for a sec. You won't be able to see a thing out there with that."

Lang tapped on his thermal goggles. "I'll see plenty, camo or no camo. I just have to pay attention. Plus, that Jackal's got you sighted. If you so much as raise your head, it's over, and it's not like we can afford to maneuver the Stanchion around."

Mackley felt a deep sense of unease while he watched him crawl away, headed towards the roof's nearest exit.

"You sure? Maybe I could do it."

"Just shut up and stay with the gun, Whiskey-3, I'll go see what I can see." Lang said as he reached the door. He turned himself to kick at it and eventually knocked it open, revealing the flight of stairs on the other end. "I probably won't be able to hold your hand for this next one so be ready to start shooting again once I give the all-clear."

"Roger that, mom." Mackley replied, half chiding and half-worried as he watched his spotter rise to his feet and sprint down the staircase, rifle in hand.

:********:

Lang bounded down from step to step. He arrived at a floor several stories distant from the roof and hopped onto a landing with a window. He crouched down at the edge of the light. The window was wide and offered a solid view of everything south of the building. So far, his sight was limited to a fraction of it. To see the whole thing could mean exposing himself to the sniper. Instead, he settled for increments. He inched forward, putting one foot in front of the other until he could see half of the scenery.

It was quiet.

He searched the surrounding windows, balconies and ledges. His training made him immediately lock onto the best vantage points. Amidst the rows of shining windows and darkened interiors, he made note of at least three. He switched intermittently between thermals and his visor as he eased forward enough to let the light peel the darkness from his barrel. Moving with deliberate slowness, he zoomed in with his scope.

He peeped at a suspicious shadow in a neighboring apartment complex just across the street. It turned out to be a fan that someone had left running in their living room. The thermals were clean. He sighted across to the upper floors of a district school. Its blocky build came with a number of visible classrooms. One of them drew his eye past rows of terminal displays to the teacher's desk on the far side. Beside it stood a lanky figure that his suspicions soon recognized to be the classroom skeleton. The whole room had gone cold since its last session. Ruling out the biology class, he shifted further to the southwest and settled on the corporate office 300-meters away. The soda-can shaped building blended harmoniously with the white walled landscape. Its sea green windows were uniform with those of others and glowed just as normally in the morning light. It still stood out however thanks to one of the upper office rooms, specifically one whose glass walls had been shattered. He checked it out from chairs to desk to family photos.

Nothing, no movement. There were no heat signatures either.

"Whiskey-4, you got anything?" Mackley comm'd.

Lang looked for a little while longer before giving his answer. "Negative, nothing on the south side. I'm displacing to the north."

"Negative on your last, we don't have time. Look, I've got an idea. I'm going to play scarecrow with my helmet. That way, we'll see where the shots are coming from."

"I don't think so. The whole point was to make sure nobody got hit."

"I didn't say anything about getting hit, I said I'm using my helmet. Now pay attention."

Lang reluctantly let him have the last word. He stayed put and observed the cityscape for signs of the target.

Five seconds later a light beam zipped past him and a thunderclap rang through his helmet. He immediately traced it to the nearby apartment complex, to a different floor where a room he hadn't noticed before had its balcony door open. He sighted through with his thermals which carved out the hot yellow figure standing inside from the cold purple of the room.

He fired.

In a blink, the Jackal shared its warmth with the rest of the room as it fell back with half of its head.

"Did you get'em?"

Lang smiled, gauging the hole he'd left in his window against the hole he'd left in the sniper. "Kill confirmed. How's your helmet?"

"Busted."

"Well, at least you weren't wearing it this time."

"Yeah, but I doubt I'm going to be finding a new one around here."

"We'll cross that bridge when we-"

A burst of vaporized cement coughed into Lang's face as the echo of a new beam rifle rung in his ears. He shuffled back from the window.

"Whiskey-4, you good!?"

Lang waved off the last of the smoke. "Still here."

"Where'd that come from?"

He flattened himself against the wall, the bulkiness of his rucksack making the act more challenging. Staying in the shadows, he surveyed the space in front of him. Right above where his head had been there was a sizable hole that had been blown out of the wall. He followed its entry vector to a door and to the hallway beyond that ran perpendicular to the stairs.

"There's more than one of them." Lang said. "That last shot came from the north. It's got a visual on my last position."

"Then hurry up and get another one. Listen, the clock's ticking. I've got to start taking out the last of these guys before that tram shows up."

"That's not a good idea, 3. You-"

"No, but it's the best we've got. You do what you can on your end, I'm giving you 30 seconds before I start shooting."

Lang didn't bother debating. He knew him well enough to see that there was no chance of convincing him otherwise. It wasn't just that his friend was hardheaded. That was part of it. What was always left unsaid was that as buddies in arms, he had a lot of faith in him, something Lang was intent on justifying as he barreled down another hallway. He rushed into the circuit of passageways that would take him to the north side of the building.

He left the labyrinth of room doors after just 15 seconds and came to the northern stairwell. It was in a corner of the complex adjacent to his last spot. He edged towards the window, seeing the hole that had been blasted through the glass and the hallway that the beam had travelled down. The shot could have only been possible if the sniper was somewhere with equal elevation. That narrowed down the list of hiding spots for him to check before he leaned out.

Despite the forest of apartments, it was another corporate office that captured his interest. Barely 200-meters away, its bottled frame stood out to him. So did its comparatively greater height which offered enough floors for the sniper to have a good line of sight. However, it was on fire. Many of those same floors were aflame and braids of smoke twirled skyward from the upper levels. If the sniper was there, it was trying, knowingly or unknowingly, to render his thermals useless. He crouched down and prepared for a closer look with his rifle.

"Alright, time's up." Mackley said. "Good luck."

Gritting his teeth, Lang swiveled around and fired down the hallway he'd come from, shooting out the window on the other end. If the Jackal was watching them then he had just tossed its attention away from Mackley. Having bought them a few seconds, he took a deep breath and side-stepped onto the landing. As the report of the Stanchion thundered overhead, he aimed at the office building.

The world slowed, or perhaps he had sped up.

He saw the flames on the other end of his scope which threatened to blind him. Even so, he picked out a few unusual signatures and opened fire. Each pull of the trigger earned an explosion of glass and heat as his rounds smashed through one window and crashed through another, passing into flames and smoke. He kept shifting and firing even as a beam lanced from the office building. His weapon clicked empty just as his third shot found its mark, ripping away the Jackal's invisibility as it tore through its chest, hurling it back into the inferno behind.

Lang slipped back to cover. A shaky hand slapped in a new magazine and he leaned out for another look. The Jackal wasn't there anymore. The same couldn't be said for its beam rifle which had been left ownerless on the floor.

He felt his unsteady smile fall to a worried scowl, remembering that it had gotten off one last shot. "Whiskey-3, you still there?"

A long silence yielded no reply.

"Whiskey-3, come in!"

Another long pause was cracked wide open by the echoing bark of the Stanchion.

"That answer your question?" Mackley replied.

Lang nearly collapsed. Bracing himself against the wall, he slid down to the floor. "You mind answering a little faster than that, man? I thought that last one took you out."

Another blast from the M99 reassured him to the contrary. "Me? Nah. I'm too lucky for that."

"More like reckless." Lang sighed.

"Recklessly lucky." He squeezed off another round. "That last one grazed my scope while I was cleaning house up here. I'm not getting shot at anymore so I'm assuming you did the same?"

"Yeah, knocked out two of them."

"How can we be sure it was just those two?"

"How about you stay right there so we can find out?"

"Hey, I said I was lucky but I don't think the almighty loves me enough to try that a third time. How about you? You're only on your second life right now."

"Hold on." Lang groaned as he stood back up. He eased towards the shattered remains of the window. He stopped mid-step to reconsider. Scoping around would take too long and he was already short on time as it was. Perhaps in the spirit of his squadmate he made a gamble with fate and stepped out fully into the open.

He was exposed. There was nothing between him and death's reach aside from some broken glass. Still, he stood in place for a full ten seconds, counting off each with the racing beat of his heart.

Nothing happened.

Only the wind hit his armor as it whispered freely into the building's passageways.

"Well?" Mackley asked.

"Yeah," Lang exhaled. "That's all of'em."

:********:

"Alright, get back topside." Mackley said. "I need you to watch my back while I finish up here."

The Staff had briefed him earlier that there were close to 20 Jackals out and about. Subtracting the two Lang had handled alongside his own kill count, he placed their remaining numbers at around six. He moved with an eye to subtract six more as he zoomed in on the inner layer of snipers. Those closest to the Császári Building were by far the most exposed, at least to him. One or two were still firing on the ODSTs from different rooftops. He kept their relative positions in mind while he narrowed down the spot that Duncan was directing him to.

"You said the DMV offices, right?" He asked, tracing the update to a groundside public garage area.

"That's the one." Duncan affirmed. "I've been observing motion between the ventilation units on the east side of the roof. Start there."

"Aye aye." Mackley followed his guidance to the roof. The columned ventilation units there were still active. They were generating so much heat that they distinguished themselves from the not-as-hot signatures standing between them. This newest pair weren't fools. They must have realized what he was up to since they were staying behind cover, not that it would help them whatsoever.

He lined himself up with a white-hot spot on one of the closest ventilation units, what he guessed was an overworked radiator, and sent in the shot.

The unit erupted in a burst of flames that sent a pressurized backblast across part of the roof, obliterating everything in range within a concussive blaze. Mackley gave it the usual couple of seconds for the smoke to peter out before he confirmed that there was nothing left to confirm. The Jackals who had used it as their hideout were utterly lost to the firestorm.

"Next."

"You're down to the last four." Duncan said. "There's a pair operating on the building 130-meters to our south. The last are posted somewhere on a balcony 180-meters north, district courthouse."

Mackley shambled on his stomach to swivel the gun to the left. He settled back down on the southernmost target, a smaller building that forced him into a tight squat in order to get the right angle. He looked into his scope in time to see an energy discharge on the rooftop. A beam zipped over his shoulder.

"Nice to see you too pal." He let loose with a round that ripped through air, flesh and metal before pummeling the street beyond. He only grazed the roof. Not so for the guilty Jackal whose body became a bloody firecracker.

Another beam kicked up dust into his visor as it struck the ledge.

"Plenty of love to go around." He spent his next round on its partner who had the grave misfortune of standing out in the open. The shot speared through the building, disemboweling several floors before punching another crater into the street below, leaving a plume of debris in its wake. A moment later he found a pair of disembodied Jackal legs lying at the entry point.

The low whir of magnetic rails reached his ear. It was coming from behind him to the east, growing steadily louder as the source grew closer.

"Tram's inbound. Moving to the last two." He got back on his belly and swiveled to the courthouse north of Császári. It was much like other buildings in Alexandria though with a Romanesque overhang on its southern face. The detail was supported by pillars of a similar make and set its shadow over a set of steps with the same aesthetic. He panned up to a cupola built atop the overhang and focused on the balcony that extended from it.

There two Jackals stood. One of them was watching Császári. The other gave him goosebumps as it spotted him with its beam rifle at the exact same moment. Of all the rest he'd seen, it had the best view of his position. A twitch reaction gave him the upper hand, losing him the staring contest but winning him his life. The Jackal blinked out of reality in a whiplash of ballistic power that punched clear through the other side of the cupola. Its friend was belched out of the haze as little more than a head, a shoulder and an arm, all of which flew away into a long fall.

Mackley took a swift survey of the immediate area. When that led to nothing, he searched each rooftop for signs of any activity that could have fallen under his radar. Still nothing more revealed itself in the jumble of normal and mild heat signatures.

"Whiskey-3?" Duncan called.

"That's the last of them. Area secured."

A long pause later, Captain Eddies chimed in. "That's what I call a job well done, Whiskey-3! You've saved plenty of lives today, ours included. I'll be sure to give you two a big wet kiss later. Kilo-9-2, one of the Falcons tagging along with the transport is coming around to pick you guys up. You and Whiskey-4, get on it and run aerial observation for the tram. Keep it going until those civilians are safely in the building."

"Copy that, sir." Lang said.

Mackley heard boots crunching over gravel and turned back to where Lang was leaving the shadow of the exit. He smirked triumphantly through his visor as he draped his rifle over his shoulder like a true maverick. "Good stuff, man."

Mackley let out a long breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. A deep exhaustion fell over him that made him feel like he could doze off on a log. He ditched the idea and sat himself up beside the Stanchion. He wiped the swamp of sweat off his face and saw then that his hands were shaking. He was shaking.

"I wouldn't recommend sitting up so close to the ledge there." Lang said as he crouched in front of him. "Not without a helmet."

"Yeah?" Trembling, Mackley grabbed his helmet off the floor and held it up in the light, showing the shattered visor and the steaming hole in the forehead. "Whose fault is that, huh?"

"The Jackals' for shooting it and yours for holding it up in the first place."

"To help you."

"To keep you from getting hit. Yeah, thanks."

Mackley smirked. "You're welcome."

Sparing him a light kick to the knee, Lang pointed over to the Stanchion. "Come on, let's pack her up before that evac gets here."

The two of them descended on the weapon and performed a basic dismantlement, prying it into its two fundamental halves. Lang took the long barrel for himself, slapping down the bipod and placing it in his weapon case. Mackley placed his part, from the stock to the magazine, into the foam insert of his case, slotting the scope into a separate compartment.

The sound of rotors made them round on the Falcon that swooped in from the east side of the building. It came to a stop and hovered close to the roof.

Lang gave Mackley a helping hand and got him on his feet. The two of them slipped the cases on their backs and crossed to the Falcon. Hopping in, they gave the pilot the go-ahead. A smooth liftoff took them away from their old position and back out into the morning air.

From his seat in the rear, Mackley watched them descend towards the railway just as the tram shot into view. The long transport was making top speed towards Császári. Beside it hovered a second Falcon that maintained an equal pace. Kilo-9-2 flew in alongside them, adding a pair of snipers to the tram's defensive retinue of turret gunners and auto cannons.

The two guardian angels tagged along while their charge cleared the distance to the target building. It slowed the last 100-meters and screeched its arrival. Its shadow passed over the ODSTs below as it slid into the elevated tram stop on the building's western face.

The Falcons broke away and flew off to establish a perimeter around the building. While they circled Császári, Mackley maneuvered himself for a better view. He made sure to avoid aiming too close to one of the turret gunners so that a mild turbulence wouldn't risk him blowing his head off. He combed the passing streets and rooftops for hostile activity.

The high vantage point gave him a solid idea of what had happened. Scattered around the sidewalks were scores of dead Grunts. By the looks of it, they had died by the hundreds in one giant slaughter. Surprisingly, not many Warthogs had been destroyed of those that had provided cover for the ODSTs. Mackley wasn't sure how they managed to survive once he factored in the ambush from the snipers.

"Good thing we came when we did," Lang said.

"Might've been better if we came a little sooner."

"Maybe. I don't feel too ready to hear what Sarge has to say. He's really going to ring us out for this one."

Mackley shook his head. "You heard the captain. We saved lives, their lives. That's got to count for plenty. See?"

He pointed to the tram station as the Falcon circled around to the west side. The doors of the various compartments had opened and a rainbow torrent of civilians had spewed out. A mix of Army troopers and ODSTs met them on the loading platform. The force of a dozen or so guided what quickly evolved into hundreds of people that the tram had disgorged. It was a massive combination of men, women and children, families and loners, young and old. Among them, he spotted handfuls of Army casualties that hobbled with or were stretchered out by comrades. The crowds were funneled through the entrance to one of the lower floors. Before long, the whole group had drained into the building.

"Whiskey-3 and 4, how're we looking from up there?" Captain Eddies comm'd.

"Pretty good, sir." Lang said, taking observant eyefuls of their surroundings. "The immediate area is clean. Can't say much for the Grunts though."

"Well, the good thing is they're actually dead this time. Anyways, I need you groundside now. Let the Falcons handle the rest. Kilo-9-2, bring our boys in."

"Copy." The pilot rounded them to the eastern front of the building. Slipping out of his rotation, he made a soft descent towards one of the helipads, stopping a half-meter short of a full landing. Mackley gave a curt thank you knock on the fuselage before he and Lang hopped out onto the pad.

As the Falcon took off behind them, they saw their crew walking towards them. Though their helmets were on, Mackley had grown to recognize 1st Platoon by the way they carried themselves. He was immediately happy to see them, almost giddy. He couldn't tell if the feeling was mutual however at watching the brisk strides of one of them. He figured it was Daz from her walk. She slipped up the stairs, strode towards them and stopped within arm's reach.

The two of them fidgeted nervously under her faceless stare.

Mackley cracked a smile. "Hey Whiskey-2. Missed us much?"

Her visor depolarized to expose the sharp glare underneath. She was clenching her jaw, shaking her head like she was ready to throw a punch. She suddenly reached out faster than either of them could react and pulled them into a tight hug.

Even after it registered, Mackley didn't know what to do or say. Neither did Lang. They shared a confused glance while the rest of the platoon looked on approvingly.

"You two are a bunch of idiots." She growled as she raised her head, shocking them both with the sight of tears slipping over a welcoming smile. "And thank God, 'cause only a bunch of idiots what've tried what you just did."

"Yet alone pull it off." Reznik added, coming in beside her to give both a congratulatory thump on the chest. "But you did. Last I saw, you two could barely crawl out of bed. Now here you are coming through for us when we weren't even expecting it. I'd toss a medal at you if I could, but-"

A new set of footsteps climbed the short flight to the helipad. Mackley stiffened at finding himself under the scrutinizing glare of his sergeant. Lang likewise froze into a worried statue.

"Where's your helmet, trooper?" Dalton asked.

Mackley swallowed. "It's ugh-, well," He reached back to unclip it from his rucksack and held it out for all to see.

The sergeant examined it with equal intensity before settling on the squad's snipers.

"Hmph, at least you weren't wearing it." A trace of an approving smile appeared on his face. "Good work."

Mackley felt a weight lift off his shoulders that allowed him to stand a little straighter. "Thanks, sir."

"Glad you're not mad at us." Lang laughed.

"Two of my men that I thought were out of action showed up to help us when we needed it most. I don't think 'mad' is the word for it. Although..."

Dalton and the others turned to Epsilon, to the Staff.

"As happy as I am to see you, Whiskey-3, 4, and I really am, I'd like to know how you got all the way out here." The Staff pointed to their weapon cases. "And how you got your hands on that kind of tech?"

Mackley could feel the burden of their full attention. He was hoping Lang would explain it and gave him the look, whispering over to him. "Come on, it was your idea."

Lang mirrored his expression. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You-"

"Well?" The Staff called.

With his partner in crime not giving in, Mackley resolved to be their spokesman. He gave them a quick rundown of what they did, what happened after the others left the tent and what they found in the bowels of the Beta-1 armory. He stopped at the tale of Lang's pilot friend who had helped them reach the city.

The Staff stood in contemplative silence.

"You know flyboys, Whiskey-4?" Yuri questioned.

"One or two of'em, yeah. Why?"

"Making friends with Air Force isn't easy. You must've done something to earn their respect, and today you definitely earned mine." Yuri gave him a two fingered salute.

"Mine too." Mito said.

Zack gave them the thumbs up. "Same here."

After a quiet counsel with himself, the Staff nodded. "You guys did good. You can be proud of these two, Whiskey-1. Orders or not, they sure took care of business."

Dalton slapped them on the shoulder. "You hear that? That's some high praise. Don't forget it."

"And remember something else, too." The Staff continued. "You know you're in a combat zone, there's no doubt about that. From here on, if you get an order from me or your sergeant you better be sure to follow it. Is that clear?"

They answered in tandem. "Yessir."

"Alright then, here's the first. Get down here, we need to establish a proper perimeter for these pads with 4th Platoon."

"Yessir." Lang said and started after the rest of Whiskey as they headed down the stairs.

Mackley didn't move. Something was wrong. He could see that there was a problem, or rather he couldn't see it and that was the problem.

"Hang on a sec."

Only Lang stopped. "What's up?"

"...Where's Whiskey-6?"

The others came to an abrupt stop as well, even Epsilon. They turned to the new arrivals, hitting them with looks that hadn't been there before. Their relieved expressions vanished. Heavy eyed stares replaced them. They scared Mackley, like he'd brought something up that everyone else wished he hadn't.

Suddenly the two of them seemed to stand out like needles in a rain-drenched haystack.

"Repeat your last, Whiskey-3?" Dalton asked.

Mackley could feel Lang exuding the same uneasiness as him. He licked his drying lips and willed himself to speak.

"Where's Berlin?"

:********:

Duncan watched as the first transports of the 83rd Auxiliary Wing arrived over New Alexandria. They first appeared as a swarm of dots in the south that came to rival those already in the vicinity. The fleet of hundreds of aircraft descended from the skies like a spray of metal rain, an armada of Pelican dropships, Albatrosses, Falcons and other requisitioned aircraft. They flowed past the encircling vigil of the three frigates and glided into the city, filling windows and streets with a shadow puppetry of passing shapes. Though a few found a ready challenge from Covenant fighters, their own fighters provided the majority with the support they needed. These in turn diffused freely into smaller groups that flew to individual landing zones.

They touched down on the rooftop helipads of skyscrapers or to other spots where military personnel and civilians waited eagerly to receive them. It was no different at Császári.

A squadron of Pelicans were the first to reach the sector. Five of them soared over the buildings to the south and hovered to the landing pads around the outer yard. Settling down, they lowered their ramps and laid their cargo bays open.

Right away, civilians spilled out of the front entrance. They were organized into several small groups of 20 to 30 that could move faster than the wary crawl of the masses. The first wave of them were guided across the yard by squads of soldiers. Parents were led up the stairs with children in hand. They moved across the pads, up the ramps and into the safety of the bays where waiting crew chiefs helped them into their seats. Once they were secured, the ramps were raised and the bays were shut. Then the low whine of stationary drives rose into a boisterous choir that filled the streets with the melody of ascension.

The dropships lifted off slowly at first and one after the next. At the terminus of their ascent, they banked around and flew south again. More quickly arrived in a coordinated and continuous conveyor belt of exfiltration craft. More groups of civilians were also brought out like an assembly line, smaller ones being herded to the Pelicans as the larger were taken to the Albatrosses. All the while, several additional Falcons joined Kilo-9-2 and 9-4 in their circling patrol of the locale.

Duncan allowed himself to relax. 1st Platoon had captured their first two objectives in time. Both had been secured and now both were being used to extract scores of people. Hundreds if not thousands of lives were being saved on their account as well as 4th Platoon's and even the Army's. Everything was moving according to plan.

It hadn't always been that way. In fact, everything had started off sideways and it seemed that the last-minute miracle of Whiskey's snipers had proved the deciding factor.

That was why he was here, inside Császári, on the stairs that would take him to the top. He pulled away from the window, from the scene of rising and descending transports and headed up the last flight of steps. They terminated at a door that had been left shut. His right hand was full, so he made three careful knocks with his left.

"Come on out." He heard Lang say.

He opened the door and stepped out onto the roof. The gravel floor that covered it would have instantly given away anyone or anything that tried to sneak up on the sniper pair. Not that Duncan was an intruder. Even if he was, Lang could have easily blown his brains out the moment he stepped outside.

The trooper was sitting against the ledge of the rooftop. He had his back to it while his sniper rifle, though lowered, could snap up in a blink. Mackley was crouched next to him with his own '99 setup atop the ledge. He was on overwatch while Lang guarded his back.

For two newbies, they operated like seasoned marksmen. Today they'd covered not just for each other's blind spots but for everyone else's. He remembered Reznik saying he would gladly toss them a medal. It made him regret that what he brought along paled in comparison, yet alone that nothing he could give them would make up for what they had lost.

He headed over. "Hey, how's it coming up here?"

Despite having welcomed him, Lang stayed quiet. His face and whatever he was thinking were left hidden behind the opaqueness of his visor.

Mackley wasn't much different. Even without his helmet he didn't so much as twitch in his direction.

It didn't take a genius to understand the cold shoulder or to see that it wasn't personal. He tried again. "Whiskey-3, I brought something for you. I think you'll need it."

Neither responded, though Mackley tensed as if he'd seen something on his scope. Duncan wasn't blind. He could tell they were trying to get him to leave.

He let out a deep sigh as he walked to Mackley's side only for the trooper to turn away from him.

"Look, I know about what you told Ep-2. I know you wanted to prove yourself. If ever you did it, it was back there. You guys were great, really, and we all owe you one. But you're going to need this."

Duncan held up what he had.

Curiosity got the better of him and Mackley turned to look. In doing so, Duncan got to see the shadow that hung over his face. His eyes were red and puffy, his hair ruffled. His cheeks were damp, but it wasn't sweat. The brazen trooper he'd met at the helipad was gone. Left in his place was an exhausted thing that almost hurt to look at, an old man in a young man's body that inspected what he held with bare recognition.

It was an ODST helmet. While dented and scarred in some places, it was relatively intact. At length, the mask of fatigue met his gaze and managed to wrinkle with interest, or rather something that Duncan realized a bit later: suspicion.

The sniper's raspy voice croaked out a single word. "Whose?"

"You'll need it."

Mackley arched a defiant brow. "Whose?"

It was Duncan's turn not to answer. Then, seeing the sniper about to return to his vigil, he relented.

"A trooper who doesn't need it anymore." He pressed the helmet to his shoulder. "And here's one who does."

Mackley paid a close eye to the article and to the man handing it to him. Duncan stared him down with an insistence that wore away at his stubbornness. He eventually reached over and took the helmet.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Mackley checked it over, saying under his breath. "We should've come sooner."

"What?"

"Nothing."

He pressed his helmet to his waist and returned to his duties one-handed, as if he hadn't said a word. But he had and Duncan wasn't about to let it go.

"It wouldn't have made a difference."

"Yeah?" Lang said, shifting around tiredly with his rifle. "Well, thanks for that. I guess that cheers us right up, doesn't it?"

"It's not supposed to."

"Then what's it supposed to do?" Mackley asked. "Sure doesn't help."

"Neither could you." Duncan noted. "It happened before we reached the ground. Nobody could've done anything for him, you especially."

Mackley slowly shook his head. "Because we weren't there, not when he needed us."

"And what could you have done, Mack? Tell me."

A long hesitance was ended by a building laugh. "I-, I guess I could've tried what I did on Luna." He glanced at Lang. "Hell, that probably would've made things worse, am I right?"

Mackley laughed some more. Lang just watched him, cradling his rifle tighter as his friend cackled to himself.

It stopped almost as soon as it began.

Despite the heat of the morning, Mackley started to shiver. His new helmet fell to the floor. Still trying to hold his '99, he put his other hand to his mouth to quiet down. Laughter turned to something else and he quickly lost his grip on both the gun and himself.

Without a word, Duncan and Lang got ahold of him and hoisted him away, laying him against the ledge where Lang had sat. Duncan turned to the latter of the duo who nodded to the unspoken request and took up his friend's old position.

Mackley sobbed out in the open. As bad as it was, the trooper still had the wherewithal to keep it down.

Again, Duncan found it hard to watch. He took his comrade's sniper and dragged it closer to him. After grabbing his fallen helmet, he planted it beside him as well and grabbed his shoulder to get his attention.

"When you're done, put this on and watch his back. Got that?"

Through tears and gnashing teeth, Mackley managed a weak nod. Duncan gave his shoulder one last reassuring shake before getting up.

"Whiskey-4?"

Already looking through his scope, Lang mirrored his friend's gesture. "I'll keep an eye on him."

"And yourself."

"...I'll try."

It was with hesitance that Duncan turned away and left them to it. Deep down, he felt like a hypocrite. Regardless of how he carried himself, the part of him that he kept fastened beneath the weight of necessity served as a reminder that he needed to take his own advice. His memories of Stanton, his old friend who'd died before he ever saw his first day of combat, didn't make it any easier.

He trudged back down the stairs intent on getting back to the platoon. Having run Sergeant Dalton's errand, he was more than ready to get busy again. The citywide evacuation was gaining headway and he wanted to play his part.

He had reached the 3rd floor when he ran into Nova on the stairs.

"Ep-8, I was looking for you. Look here, you can crack this, right?" She held out a datapad.

"What's this for?"

Nova paused. Depolarizing, she gave him a sideways look.

Understanding came to him like a punch to the gut. Straight away, he switched it on, gunned it through the minor security of the UI and opened the communications suite.

Erica's number came to him like a bolt from heaven and was typed out on the screen even faster.

He made the call.

Several seconds later, he got his answer: 'No Signal'.

His grip became so tight that he would have broken the device had Nova not plucked it out of his hands to see for herself.

She groaned. "You're kidding me."

"How's there no service here? It's a government building."

"I think you answered your own question there. Or maybe-...maybe it's on her end and the hotel's comms are out."

"Neither of those sounds very promising."

"No. We might have to wait 'till we got a little closer."

"How close?"

Nova shrugged. "Half a kilometer, visual range at least."

Duncan felt his chest burning with a rage that he could barely keep in check. "Come on, seriously? There's got to be a better option."

"I don't like this either, D, but it looks like that's how this is going to play out."

"I think I want a second opinion."

"Ep-7's good with this stuff. You can ask him, see what he says."

Duncan reconsidered and his rage fell into a cool resignation. "No, he's really only good with military stuff. Civvy tech's not his forte."

Nova folded her arms over her chest. "So what's it going to be?"

"You didn't find any other devices?"

"You can turn this whole building upside down, but with no service I doubt it'll make a difference."

"So, what then? What do I do now? It's not like we're moving out anytime soon."

Nova's empathetic grimace gave him his answer before she even got the words out. "Hope they're not there."

"And if they are?"

She raised a brow. "Do you even know your wife? You've been out here with me and Epsilon for years and you still haven't figured out that she can handle herself?"

That got Duncan thinking. From what he'd seen her pull on the gun range, he could tell she had a point.

"And Noah?"

Nova handed him an encouraging grin. "Him too."

What was at one point a red-hot worry boiling him from the inside out was at last simmered down by her counsel. Duncan didn't say it, but he agreed. Nevertheless...

The Staff's voice passed through their helmets. "Ep-2, 8, get out here. 4-Actual needs us escorting this next batch to the pads."

"On our way, sir." Nova replied. She urged Duncan to follow.

He let her take the lead. Against what she'd said, the flaming worry in the back of his mind began heating up again. He relied then on his best defense. He ignored it and set his focus on what he actually could control, keeping it at the forefront of his thoughts as they jogged out an exit to the mission at hand.

Subtilitas - Subtlety