Chapter 47 – Malleus
August 23rd, 2552 - (16:40 Hours - Military Calendar)
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach
Viery Territory, New Alexandria
:********:
Duncan leaned into the shoulder braces of the M41 like a pillow. He wanted to imagine that they were soft enough to serve the same purpose, but they weren't. He was exhausted, but like everyone else in the convoy, he was an expert at disguising it as nothing more than mild annoyance.
The trip to the container port was a slow one. The Tango Company vehicles had to keep pace with the survivors of Szimpla who had for the past five minutes maintained a solid jog to either side of them. The march of boots and wheels took them down a long street leading north. Their destination was somewhere at the other end of it.
Having left their Zeta Company back-up at the central mall, Captain Thompson had decided to regroup with a few other survivors from Tango and Lima that had found their way to the container port. Duncan wondered if that was the reason why so many of the troopers jogging alongside them seemed eager to be on the move again. They were probably hoping that some of their buddies that they hadn't seen since the Scarab attack had made their way there. It was something he would never say out loud, but he thought it was better for them not to get their hopes up. One couldn't simply have over 170 metric tons worth of Covenant machinery dropped on top of them from orbit and expect to walk away from it unscathed, if at all. That was to say nothing of the insertion pods or the close quarters debacle that followed, and with Hunters of all things.
If Duncan didn't know any better, he would've thought that Rico had lucked out and shared his ill fortunes with Lima Company who in turn shared theirs with Tango. Where the wheel of misfortune would roll to next was anyone's guess, but he had a hope of his own, that killing the Scarab was the universe's way of evening things out. Maybe another toss of the proverbial dice would land the situation back in their favor.
Perhaps without consciously meaning to, he found his attention drifting off to the right. He peered deep into the east, waiting every other minute for a break in the line of apartments and neighborhood shops. No matter where he looked, however, he never saw the starport.
Erica, Noah, Rico, Christa and even Arthur, he couldn't help wondering if they had already made it onboard a transport. That brought with it its own worries, whether they would have their section of the skies secured by then, whether they would get an escape route opened for them in time. The worst part was knowing that their fate was no longer in his hands but someone else's. Someone who didn't know them personally, who didn't care about them beyond their place in Command's evacuation statistics, who couldn't care because it wasn't their family, their friend, their...
It was a can of worms he had to stop himself from opening any further, putting it aside once again in exchange for those things he could control. That list was short but had remained mostly unchanged: the M41, his MA37 assault rifle, two frag grenades and, if the time ever came, his M6 sidearm.
He was grateful that the first one was still intact, which meant that he could at least hold off on the other three.
"My leg is getting tired." Hector sighed, looking out at the troopers jogging nearby. "Wouldn't mind the exercise to be honest."
"Speak for yourself." Mito replied, once again holding his spent launcher over his lap like a pet cat. "I'm just glad I'm not beating feet with this thing."
"No one told you to hang onto it."
"No but look me in the eyes and tell me we would've survived the last five minutes without it."
Hector swung his head to meet his gaze. "We would've survived the last five minutes without-"
"Ah, shut up."
Hector stifled a laugh. "Hey Ep-1, are we almost there yet?"
"Our exit's coming up." The Staff said. "Whiskey says they're on the north side. We'll link up, restock and hold out there until Command says otherwise."
"I think the Covenant get a say in that somewhere."
"Well then let's keep them from using it."
"Easier said than done. What if they decide to drop more Scarabs on us? Whose to stop them from trying that little trick again?"
"Us." Zack replied. "We just need to make sure to keep an eye out so they don't land on top of us, or the tanks. We'll be needing those."
"Question," Renni interrupted. "It's gonna come up anyway so we might as well decide now. Who's going to break the news to them about Ep-6?"
"I'll handle it." The Staff said and left it at that.
"What're you thinking about, Ep-8?" Nova asked.
Duncan peered over the barrels of the M41 to the troop carrier ahead of them. Nova was looking right back at him from the passenger seat, an expectant gleam in her visor.
He shrugged.
She tilted her head questioningly. "You're thinking too much."
"Huh?"
"Whenever you're silent for a long time, you're thinking too much. So, start talking."
"Don't have a clue what you mean. I've been talking plenty already." He patted the side of the turret. "Just waiting for somebody to listen."
"You'll get your audience soon enough." The Staff cut in. "Just got off a private freq with Tango-Actual. Apparently the entire second defensive line's been dissolved. They punched clean through the middle of the first line with Lima and caused everything to fold up from there. They did the same with Tango back at the station."
"No one likes being surrounded." Renni noted.
"No one except us." Yuri snickered.
"Well, there's not that many of us on this side of things right now." The Staff said. "At the moment, the 109th's mostly withdrawing its 1st and 2nd Battalions. They're hooking up with the 5th to see if they can't toughen up the third line. At the rate things are going, they want to draw this one out as long as possible."
The image of Erica and Noah on the starport terminal line flickered through Duncan's thoughts. "And how long is possible?"
"Honestly, I'd rather we just held the position this time. But like Ep-4 said, the enemy still gets a say in it."
"So, we'll just shoot them in the mouth." Yuri said, shrugging nonchalantly as he inspected the length of his rifle. "Then they won't have one anymore."
"Oorah." Hector said, nodding in agreement.
The Staff nodded as well. "Oorah."
The point where their street ended came within sight. Up ahead, the road was blocked by an upcoming dump truck that had probably been bound for the container port when the attack began. It lay where it had crashed on its side. Its vast consignment of gravel was spilt on the street like a black carpet. The tank at the head of the convoy picked up speed and drove straight into it. Using engine power and sheer brute force, it pushed the larger vehicle back one thrust of its treads at a time until the obstacle screeched aside.
The five-meter-tall barricades and high fences of the container port came into view. The tank led the way, rolling through the exit and onto the street that framed the edges of the facility, crunching gravel as it went. Just as they had before, the scores of troops manning the sandbagged positions paid heed to their arrival.
The convoy turned left onto the new route, snaking along the southern edge of the port like a motorized serpent. As they rounded onto the heavily defended west side, Duncan saw that the mass-arrangement of Scorpions and Warthogs hadn't moved an inch since last he saw them. He envied them for that. He could hardly remember the last time he'd maintained a position for longer than five minutes.
While most of the convoy came to a stop near the assembly of guns and armor, Epsilon carried on. They drove through a small passage that ran between the tanks and those Warthogs that guarded the mouths of the three major routes coming from the west. Halfway through, Duncan snuck an eyeful of the boulevard. The far end of it was still obscured by the same fog-like debris cloud that flowed out from where Szimpla Station once stood.
Another right turn and the squad pulled onto the northern side of the facility. Immediately they fell under the shadow of the large parking garage that stood on the other side of the road. The Staff went a short distance beyond the corner before pulling in beside the sidewalk, leaving enough room for Hector to hit the brakes behind him.
The sidewalk here was already occupied. Beside a sandbag wall between two tall barriers was a lone Rocket Hog, Whiskey's Rocket Hog. The squad were all present and accounted for. Mackley sat on the hood, the M99 saddled on his lap while he scanned a careful eye over a detached magazine. Behind him, Sergeant Dalton was in the driver's seat, seemingly caught up in a bout of deep thought. Daz sat in shotgun, taking a long drink of water from her canteen. Reznik stood at the helm of the M79, leaning restively against one of the rocket pods. Next to him, Lang sat in a similar fashion to Mackley, legs hanging over the side of the Hog while he wiped a napkin over the barrel of his SRS-99.
All eyes quickly landed on Epsilon.
"Hey, look who it is," Reznik jeered. "Long time no see guys. Missed us much?"
"It's only been a couple of days." Nova said drily. "Whiskey-1 and 2 maybe, but you three? I'd need another week."
Mackley cocked his head, a prodding smile waiting on the other side of his visor. "We killed a Scarab."
"Make that two weeks."
"Ah, come on, let'em brag." Hector said. "So how was it? Scary?"
Lang finished cleaning his sniper rifle and set the stock down beside him like a cane. "Scary?"
Yuri stood up. "What he means is on scale of 1 to 10, how much did you piss yourselves?"
"Better question, what man wants to know the business of another man's drawers?"
"A man with a point to prove." Yuri said unabashedly. "So go ahead, prove it for me."
"Well, since you asked so nicely, we weren't scared at all. In fact-"
"That's because you weren't the ones getting shot at." Daz said, jabbing an accusatory finger at him. "You two were busy having fun in a Falcon while everyone else had to do the actual dirty work of keeping that thing's attention."
"And we did a pretty good job of it too," Reznik said, rapping his knuckles on the M79. "If I may say so myself. You're welcome by the way."
"Yeah, thanks for being bait." Lang sneered.
"The best bait."
"Hold on," The Staff interrupted. "You got air assistance?"
"Kilo-9-2." Mackley explained. "Him and 9-4 are still kicking around. He heard us over on SATCOM and decided to spare us some time. Couldn't stick around for long though. Apparently, the area around Traxus is seeing an uptick in activity right now. Not sure why."
"He says hi by the way." Lang added.
"Traxus?" The Staff said as if questioning the name.
Duncan was thinking the same thing even if neither of them said what was on their mind.
Everyone in the city, from the highest ranking general in his command post to the lowest ranking grunt behind a sandbag wall knew that the tower was no longer UNSC property. In truth, it hadn't been for the past two days.
The day after the Covenant had decided to throw a wrench into Noble Team's operation, they had launched an all-out offensive against the 145th Infantry Division in the northeast side of the city. Traxus Tower, their divisional command post, had gotten it the worst. A non-stop air assault combined with constant advances on the ground eventually crumbled their defenses around the building before the Covenant seized it for themselves. In so doing, they had driven a wedge between the 145th's defensive lines, pushed several battalions further south before purging the last of the command structure that hadn't escaped the building in time.
There were rumors swirling around that large numbers of previously rescued civilians who had sought shelter in the area had been recaptured and slaughtered. However, there was no real way to confirm them. That was because anyone remotely close enough to witness said massacres were more than likely a part of them. Duncan could only imagine that the Covenant had the exact same intentions for the west.
That was part of the reason why they were now so focused on taking the starport. It was another major operations center; it was isolated and there was nothing else of immediate concern in their way. This was simply their latest round of divide and conquer on the northern coast. It was heavily suspected by ODSTs and soldiers alike that from there they would advance south to take the 77th Armored Division's green zone before moving on to the overall command center at Olympic Tower itself. From there, the rest of New Alexandria was sure to follow.
However, to Duncan's unspoken shock, it sounded as if someone was throwing a wrench into the Covenant's own plans, a little bit of payback for so many setbacks.
"Ep-7." The Staff called.
"Sir?"
"I want you to do some digging. Find out what you can about what's going on over at the tower."
"Roger."
"Unless I'm wrong, it sounds like Major General Hoffman's finally getting his act together. Chances are if his guys actually manage to retake it, it'll be important later. Who knows, the Covies might even have to rethink their whole advance on this side of the bay."
"Speaking of which, I'd assume you guys were the ones that took care of the other walker?" Dalton asked. "We could see the explosion all the way from Alföldi."
The Staff nodded. "We helped."
"Right. Then they'll definitely have to rethink this, or at least regroup. Losing two Scarabs in the same sector? That can't be good for business."
"Let's hope so."
"Hey," Lang intruded, leaning on his rifle like an old man with his walking stick as he got a good look at the squad. "Tell me if I'm wrong but...I'm only counting eight of you right now."
"Yeah," Mackley agreed. "Where's Ep-6?"
The mildly jovial feel of the platoon's reunion quickly dampened like cool water thrown on a candle. Duncan noticed the shift the second it came. Suddenly the only sound passing between the two squads were the purring engines of passing Warthogs and the conversations of nearby soldiers.
After three excruciatingly long seconds, the Staff opened his mouth. "At the moment, he should be on one of those transports about to leave the starport. From there, God only knows, but he's going to need serious medical attention."
At the mention of 'medical attention', the members of Whiskey tensed uncomfortably or leaned deeper into the conversation.
Even Mackley set his beloved Stanchion aside as if it were the last thing on his mind. "W-, w-, what happened? Is he alright?"
"He's stable." The Staff said.
"Now anyway." Renni sighed. "We really played it close."
"Yeah, but what happened?" Daz pressed.
"A Brute was chasing him through one of the minefields near Lima's AO." The Staff explained. "It just so happened to step on one when it got close, almost killed him. He survived, but barely."
"...And the damage?" Dalton asked. "How's he looking?"
Zack raised his left arm and patted it. "Let's just say he's going to need another one of these."
Most of the younger members of Whiskey stiffened, gradations of grief washing over their faces, mixtures of anger and disbelief.
"It's Whiskey-6 all over again." Daz muttered.
Even Dalton shut his eyes and shook his head at the thought. "He was a good man."
"And thankfully still is." The Staff said. "He can get patched up but it'll be awhile before he's good to go. Whether he comes back or not, I left that up to him, but even if he does, there's no telling how far along things will be by then."
Mackley crossed his arms over his chest, a fresh coat of rage painted on his face, but also a glint of something Duncan hadn't seen since that moment on the rooftop at Császári. "Let's hope they send some more Brutes our way then. The Stanchion might mostly be for vehicles but I've seen what it can do to chieftains."
"Hold on, are you still trying to use that thing?" Renni interjected.
"Are you still trying to stop me?"
She gave a dispassionate shrug. "It's your shoulder."
"You're right, Doc. It's my shoulder." Mackley draped the Stanchion back over his lap with an embittered pride. "And my gun."
"Our gun." Lang corrected. "Wouldn't mind a slice of that action myself. We'll get some payback for our boys...both of'em."
Reznik nodded, his grip having returned to the triggers of the M79. "Amen."
The Staff looked up at him. "Whiskey-5, you're our main Demo guy now. Until Ep-6 gets back, if and when he gets back, his mantle is yours. Make him proud."
"He also said he won't be able to watch your back." Mito added. "If you cross the wrong wires, you'll be the first to find out. His words, not mine."
Reznik nodded again, albeit with the spaced-out delay of someone who'd just received a massive responsibility, one they hadn't asked for. "Yeah, sounds like him. Alright, guess I'll have to tighten up the ship a little sooner than I expected."
"And if you don't, just do your best to make sure we're out of range first." Zack kidded, drawing a small smile out of Reznik's worried mug.
"Thanks, I feel real encouraged now."
"It's what I do."
"Alright, that's enough chat." The Staff said. "Epsilon, start looking around for supplies, extra ammo, extra grenades, whatever you can get your hands on. Ep-8, you do the same. Don't take any chances just because you're on the '41."
A collective "Copy that" came from the squad like a disorganized choir as everyone began dismounting from the Warthogs. The earlier exhaustion was kicking in with a vengeance. Duncan felt it the second his boots hit the ground. His knees almost gave way and he had to grab ahold of the Hog to keep from falling over.
"Need some help, gramps?" Lang jibed, holding back a chuckle.
Duncan pulled himself back up, understanding just how far he'd been flying on fumes and pure, stubborn survival instinct. He set his hands behind the base of his back and pushed, earning a few muffled cracks from his spine. "If you're offering."
"Golf Company's running a resupply point out of Warehouse 2." Dalton said, stepping down from his Hog. "They've got food, ammo, everything. Come on, I'll show you."
:********:
Erica sunk back into her seat, almost dizzy. She'd been right. She wasn't ready for any of what Christa had to say.
Glassed planets?
Interstellar mercenaries?
Re-terraformation technologies?
The Office of Naval Intelligence?
She had always known that there was a wider, more dangerous world above her own. Her husband lived in that one every day, but she had no idea that there was an even bigger one right above it, and a hint of something else just beyond. It was like having her own bubble burst only to find out that it was one of many.
For one, that terrible night that Duncan's old friend had sneaked into Falchion to pay her a visit suddenly came into full, awful clarity. All these years she had known that there was bad blood between them, but she never knew why. The dearth of answers and explanations from the one man who could give them to her had caused her to come up with her own. She'd chalked it up to the rare disagreement between men in arms, the kind that sometimes turned bloody and forced the military police to get involved.
She hadn't suspected this.
Not at all.
How could she have? The idea of her husband being an ONI operative was surprising enough, even if it was only a one-time affair. The reason why he'd volunteered, however, was surprising for an entirely different reason. It was one thing to stomp out a holdfast of the old Insurrection. It was another to do what Duncan did.
Christa, Arthur, the people of Hayth, the families of the very same men he was fighting, he'd been trying to save them. And they had been saved. That much was made obvious when Christa mentioned the close call at the town's grocery store. She struggled to wrap her head around the idea that her husband had essentially become a spy for the most unsavory of organizations, had gone deep into Covenant-held territory and escaped from a dying colony world under the umbrella of a de facto terrorist organization. All that to rescue the kind of people who, in another age, might have taken potshots at him if his pod landed in the middle of their yard, or perhaps more likely, at his father's.
Above all else, he'd been willing to betray the trust of his own best friend to do it.
Even if she had the training, even if she had the experience, she couldn't see herself doing the same. She couldn't see herself paying that price, especially after seeing how it ended.
He'd saved hundreds if not thousands of people he didn't know in exchange for the one he did. But then a sweeping revelation hit her like a truck. She realized that he was always doing that, except he was always trading in himself for others. The difference here was that now she had gotten to meet one of those people. They were no longer an unknown. She could finally attach a name and a face to the effort.
She wouldn't dare say that she'd done the actual legwork herself, but the earlier regret she'd felt about convincing him to follow his uncle was virtually gone.
"Since we weren't rebels ourselves, we spent a few years in a UNSC refugee camp over on Tribute." Christa continued. "They wanted to keep us under observation for a bit."
"So...how did you wind up out here?"
"Sigma Octanus. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. Things at the camp were already tight before that. You had people there from places like Jericho VII and the Atlas Moons, and even as far out as Harvest for some of the older folks that didn't have anyone left to take care of them. Refugees just kept piling up. When more started arriving from Sigma Octanus, the admins just didn't have the supplies to keep up anymore. The UNSC guys in charge decided to force out whoever was old enough to fend for themselves."
"What was the cutoff point?" Erica asked.
"...Around 14."
Erica clasped a hand to her brow in a bid to hold back how she really felt about that. "I see..."
"They handed us some credits, some IDs and some food to last us a few days. Me and Mr. Fisticuffs back there used what we had to buy a ticket here, to see if we could find work."
"Did you?"
Christa exhaled deeply as she pointed to herself. "One of World Cuisine's restaurants happened to be low on staff. I was a 'customer service specialist'. Thank God for high turnover rates, am I right?"
Erica nodded back towards Arthur. "And him?"
"Busboy."
"Makes sense." Erica took a moment to look around. Most of the seats around her were full. The first floor was busy with scores of murmuring conversations. The last few rows at the front were still empty and the flight attendants were ushering the last batch of passengers through the door. If she had to guess, from front to back, there were at least 200 people on their floor of the starship alone. The distant, muffled sounds of more conversations and more footsteps overhead suggested the presence of hundreds more above her.
She turned again to Christa. "So...where do you go from here?"
Christa shook her head. "Where do any of us go from here?"
"That's fair. Everything is so up in the air these days. We will be too if things turn out alright."
"I hope that's the case. A lot of things didn't go the way I thought they would. Too much honestly."
"Tell me about it." A thought crossed Erica's mind right then and filled her with a mixture of trepidation and something she couldn't quite put her finger on. "Hey-"
"Well, it's looking like they're almost done loading. I'll head back to my seat before Arty lets somebody else have it. It was nice talking to you again, both of you."
Christa got up to leave but Erica bumped her on the arm.
"Hey, if you ever feel like you need someone to talk to other than you-know-who, at least for the flight, I'm right here, alright?"
Christa didn't respond right away, but Erica could read how taken aback she was. After a few moments of frozen uncertainty her expression thawed with a warm smile, one Erica paid back in kind.
"Thanks for that. Knowing him, you'll probably end up being my therapist before we get wherever we're going."
Erica grinned. "Everyone needs one from time to time. Who knows, maybe I'll get him to talk too before it's over."
"Good luck with that. He's a hard nut to crack if ever I saw one..." Christa trailed off, her gaze falling to the floor without so much as a warning. Out the corner of her eye, Erica noticed her hand resting on one of her pockets, the fingers flexing, as if debating whether to reach inside or not. In the end, they balled into a fist and decided against whatever they had planned.
"Thanks...really..." Christa nodded off to her then turned and walked back towards her seat.
Erica watched her go. She wasn't sure whether it was her intuition as a woman or purely the quality of the exchange, but she felt something hanging in the air, something left unsaid that shouldn't have remained so. Whatever it was, it returned with Christa to her seat where she settled down beside Arthur. Despite the length of their conversation, the boy hadn't moved an inch. He was still looking out the window to the tarmac below, still thinking.
About what, she wondered.
"Mom."
The voice startled her but not in a frightening way. Noah had been so quiet that she'd almost forgotten he was sitting right next to her. He'd been listening as well. However, to her rising shock, she realized that he hadn't said a word. Throughout the story, he had done nothing more than listen and he'd done it so well that he managed to momentarily escape from her conscious awareness.
That, for him, was no small feat.
"What's wrong, honey?"
She watched her son shake his head, eyes wide with something that for once wasn't exhaustion or grief.
"Dad's...awesome."
He said it less like an opinion and more like an objective fact that he simply hadn't been aware of before.
It brought a smile to her face. "Oh really?"
"Yeah. I mean, he was already awesome, but now? I didn't even know he could do all that stuff. He saved Chrissy. He saved Arty. He saved us too. You know, I'm starting to think he just does this stuff all the time."
Noah was practically glowing by now and it only made Erica's smile widen, both to see him like this and to know how well he thought of his father. She had always known the high regard he held him in, so she could hardly imagine how he saw him now.
"Maybe he does." She replied. "That's what he always wanted."
Head turned, her eye shifted for the briefest moment to the teenage boy in the corner of her vision, her voice lowering. "Even if not everyone sees it that way."
"That's just so cool." Noah beamed, a new glimmer of intrigue taking over. "So, what do you think he's doing now?"
Erica let the image of the other boy break from her line of sight to give her own the attention he needed. "Knowing him, he's probably off doing the exact same thing for a hundred different people. You watch, I'm sure he'll tell us all about it when he gets the chance."
:********:
Duncan devoured the bowl of butternut squash soup with the ravenous haste of a death row inmate whose date with the noose was right around the corner. And maybe it was. Not a noose in any case, but in all likelihood something much worse.
Perhaps it was their proximity to the logistics center at the promenade, but somehow the troopers of 1st Battalion Golf Company had created what, to Duncan, counted as a five-star buffet.
Warehouse 2, a building half the size of a Gravball field, lay near the northwestern corner of the container port. Its curving roof formed humps like ocean waves, encompassing a manmade reef of aisle after aisle of shelved boxes and packages, some big, some small. The walkways between them were the size of entire roads, and that was precisely what they were, paths meant for a wide variety of forklifts and transportation carts to traverse the interior. All of the vehicles sat idle throughout the building, many still laden with their cargo or sitting frozen as they had reached up to the shelves for more.
The soldiers of Golf Company had used the structure for their resupply point. Between two of its major support columns near the entrance was a virtual gun show of UNSC weaponry. Three whole aisles of armory storage cabinets, transit boxes and tall master pallets formed the basis of a cornucopia of rifles, launchers, grenades, freshly stocked magazines and other special equipment. Set in front of the gathering of guns and munitions were several folding tables that together held up a long line of pots, pans, trays and lit containers of chafing fuel gel. Butternut squash soup with a side of ham was on the menu. The second Epsilon was done getting weapons and ammo, they had immediately gone to besiege the lunch line along with a few other Golf Company personnel.
Duncan was the first out of the squad to get a bowl for himself. Newly laden with magazines for his rifle and sidearm, he leaned against one of the nearby support columns and dug in. It was a hodgepodge of things that didn't necessarily go together but that the battalion culinary specialists had managed to scrounge up. They made it work and they made it taste good, and that was all that mattered to him. Mixing spoonfuls of savory soup with sweetened meat created an enjoyable combination that was the best thing he'd tasted in days.
Yuri walked over with a bowl of his own that he was already half finished with. "It's not okroshka but it'll do."
"Better than sitting on an empty stomach for two days." Hector retorted, coming to stand beside them while he used his spoon to shovel mouthful after mouthful. "What do you think, D? Any good?"
"I'm just happy to eat." Duncan replied. "But yeah, it's alright."
Zack ambled into the small group, bowl in hand. "Guess what I found out?"
Yuri arched a curious brow. "What?"
"Guess."
"You...finally figured out how to get woman?"
Zack smirked. "Strong words for a doctor's pet."
"You mean...teacher's pet?"
Zack's smirk widened, his eye briefly flashing to where Renni and Nova sat eating on a crate. "I know what I said."
As Yuri glowered, Hector stepped in. "You figured out what's going on at the tower?"
"Sure did, well, sort of anyway. Just told the Staff. Turns out, the 145th really is trying their hand at retaking Traxus. God knows how they're going to pull it off, but they're trying."
"Any word on Sergeant Major Gantz's boys?" Duncan questioned.
"Yeah, the Bullfrogs are helping out the Army guys somewhere close to the coast. I got a word in with one of their radiomen. Gantz is planning an assault on the cargo port. Couldn't say when that would be though. In any event, they seem to have the tower surrounded. We'll have to wait and see how things play out I guess."
"Let's hope they can get it done." Hector said. "That'll at least take some of the heat off of us on this side of-...hey, isn't that Captain Barrett?"
Duncan followed his pointing finger to a spot near the lunch tables. The Staff was standing off to the side along with another ODST. Without his helmet on, Duncan quickly identified him as Captain Barrett. The two were talking about something that he was too far away to hear.
"What do you think they're on about?" Yuri wondered.
Duncan tried to size up the exchange. "Killing Covies maybe? I don't know."
Right then, the Staff locked eyes with them. "Epsilon, get over here. You're going to need to hear this too."
The four of them shared a look before walking over. The rest of the squad wasn't far behind. They gathered around the two with keen interest.
"Captain," The Staff said, gesturing for him to go ahead.
"Thanks Staff. Listen close, Epsilon. I've got my 5th Platoon positioned at an intersection near one of the west gates, Entry 6. We figured that's going to be one of the points where the Covenant might try to hit us the hardest once they get here. We could use your help making our position a little stronger, especially with your Hogs."
Duncan couldn't help noticing how familiar those words sounded. He remembered Captain Thompson saying something similar not too long ago.
"But doesn't Golf have plenty of big guns aimed that way already, sir?" Mito asked. "I don't know if ours would make that much of a difference."
"They're focused on the roads leading back in the direction of the station." Barrett corrected. "Our post is on the northwest side of things. We'll be covering one of the northern roads, keeping an eye on Golf Company's flank in case the Covenant try their luck at a pincer."
"Sounds like a plan." The Staff said. "We've got an M41 and an M79. Ep-8, Whiskey-5, you've been doing a pretty good job so far, so you'll be on station again."
"Roger." Duncan said.
Reznik snapped off a playful salute. "You can count on us, sir."
"I better. We've got a lot riding on this. As for the rest of you, same thing."
"We haven't let you down yet, sir." Zack said, mouth half full.
Before any answer could come from the Staff, the boom of a loud impact echoed into the warehouse.
Zack swallowed hard. "What's that?"
There was a commotion nearby. The ODSTs turned to see the same soldiers they'd stood on the lunch line with now setting their bowls aside, sitting up from their seats atop empty crates or old workbenches. Several NCOs rushed in through the door all at once. Orders were shouted and men started getting to their feet, bringing out their rifles as they ran towards the entrance.
"What do you think?" Nova said dryly. "Ep-1?"
There was another impact, an explosion, closer and distinctly plasmatic.
"Let's roll." The Staff ordered.
Half-full bowls were set aside or dropped altogether as the ODSTs ran to the entrance. Duncan took one last sip of soup before tossing the bowl and running after them.
They exchanged the pale glow of the warehouse's ceiling lights for the light of day, but it wasn't pure sunlight. The sky over the container port was full of a rainfall of energy mortars. They were sailing in from the west. By their numbers alone, Duncan continued as many as 12 Wraiths firing from somewhere out of sight.
"GET OUT OF THE WAY!"
Duncan didn't know who said it but he had more than enough sense to move. The squad scattered from the front of the warehouse, getting clear just a few seconds before a mortar landed where they'd stood, blowing out pieces of door and wall in a puff of vaporized cement.
"This way!" Barrett said, waving them towards a path through the maze of containers.
The squad followed him in. Containers rose as many as three high on either side of them, hemming them in with shadows that broadened and moved as more luminous artillery streaked overhead. Near and far, soldiers were also running through the corridors of weathering steel frames and locking rods. Some ran in the same direction. Others shouted orders for troopers to follow them elsewhere. A few called out for their comrades only to be silenced by the tremors of landing mortars.
Amidst the chaos, Duncan heard Sergeant Dalton on their comms. "Whiskey-1 to Epsilon, we've got two new problems!"
The squad flinched as a mortar landed atop one of the nearby containers, bathing them in a shower of glowing metal.
"We've noticed the first!" The Staff said.
"Enemy dropships inbound! I can't give you an accurate count right now but you're going to be seeing them in a minute!"
A minute turned out to be more like a second. Duncan looked up to see a new sight in the skies to the west. The distant visage of seven aircraft were flying towards the port, a conglomeration of manta-ray like shapes and pitchforked fuselages. The collection of Phantoms and Spirits were making a beeline towards them in a loose formation, not that there was any anti-aircraft fire rising to intercept them. They were passing high over the surrounding buildings but were rapidly descending towards their destination. In perfect synchronicity, the mortars ceased raining down across the port but continued to pound the streets just beyond.
"Keep moving!" The Staff barked.
The squad picked up the pace, running towards the end of the container-made corridor.
The dropships were faster. Their approach to the port was met with a flurry of machinegun fire from the defenses below that sparked and dappled their hulls, turning each into a moving constellation of direct hits and ricochets. Their descent angles were too steep for any of the tanks below to get a solid bead on them. They quickly began soaring over the port itself, most passing from view as they scattered across the area.
Two slowed down near Epsilon, a Phantom and a Spirit. The latter was the closest, hitting the brakes so that it came to hover above a clearing just ahead of them. It made a 90-degree turn, exposing its portside troop bay to the squad as it descended towards the helipad of one of the facility's loading docks. Nearly a meter off the platform, the doors of both bays popped open, unveiling the squads of Covenant within. A dozen Grunts, Jackals and Brutes hopped out from either side and down to the helipad, hitting the ground running.
At the same time, Epsilon had reached the end of their route and swarmed into the clearing in force, dashing behind crates and abandoned forklifts as they swamped the pad in bursts of lead.
Moving towards a barrel for cover, Duncan angled his fire at a Grunt, catching it mid-jump. It hit the ground face-first, splashing blue blood on the pad. A Jackal raised a plasma pistol to pay him back with an overloaded bolt. He reached cover first as it crashed into the other side of the barrel, crumpling the metal like burning paper. He swung his rifle over the top to return fire, merely to see his shots glimmering off a host of shields.
The Jackals had clustered together to form a small shield wall, causing rounds to ricochet off the collection of energy barriers. To make matters worse, the ascending dropship's heavy plasma cannon rotated towards the squad. Three quick fireballs of pinkish purple energy flew down to pound the ground between them. Even as the craters hissed and sizzled, another salvo roared from the cannon. Captain Barrett predicted their course fast enough to run a few steps from his crate before they slammed into it, the arriving overpressure knocking him off his feet. He dove headfirst to the ground, rolled and came up running, firing over his shoulder while he sprinted for a nearby barrel. He managed to slide behind it right before a flock of spikes stabbed into the other side.
By then the pad's new occupants had used the brief chaos to regroup. While several Brutes gathered behind the Jackals, the Grunts were not so fortunate and were quickly picked off one after the other. As the fifth fell from the platform, more of their stubby kin came running over from those that had landed on the other side of the pad.
Plasma grenades glowing in each hand, four Grunts leapt from the pad and screamed their way towards the squad.
Yuri and Renni gunned down the first two, letting them explode at a safe distance. Duncan joined his fire to the Staff's to shoot the legs out from under the third. It fell forward onto its own grenades a split second before a thundering flash ripped it apart. Its smoking pieces drizzled to the ground even as the fourth hurled itself into the side of a forklift. Hector jumped away before both bomber and vehicle went up in a rupture of twirling wreckage that bounced and skidded past. He rolled back behind a piece of the wreck as the enemy unleashed a full reply of plasma and crystals.
Three of the Brutes hopped down from the pad, spike rifles chattering beneath a hail of covering fire that suddenly ceased as a pair of rockets flew straight into the shield wall, tossing flailing Jackals and severed limbs from the platform.
Mito crouched back behind a crate to slap the next round of ammunition into his launcher. The rest of the squad swiftly followed up with a wave of concentrated suppression fire that scythed into the surviving Brutes, chipping away at armor and chunks of skin. The trio saw the writing on the walls and threw themselves behind what cover there was near the stairs to the pad.
Their window of opportunity to shoot back was abruptly slammed shut by a rush of gunfire. Without anyone noticing, a trooper squad had moved into position on the south side of the pad, turning the two-way fight into an L-shaped ambush.
The first Brute to fall collapsed with both hands grasping at its throat. The second managed to land two lucky shots on a soldier that was maneuvering in the open. As he fell back with a pair of spikes in his chest, a grenade bounced into his killer's feet, the blast wiping the vengeful smile from its face along with most of its head. The death of its last comrade prompted the third to a final hail mary with a plasma grenade. Duncan felt a flash of horror as it sailed straight into an approaching soldier, latching onto his helmet. Wincing from the impact, the man's reaction was slower than that of his sergeant who ripped the brightening article off his head and threw it back. The Brute's reaction never came as it lost the deadly game of hot potato, the explosion kicking it clear across the ground like a steaming soccer ball.
"Move!" Barrett shouted. "Secure the pad!"
Both Epsilon and the ambushing squad stepped out or rose up from their cover. Together they advanced towards the helipad, weapons raised. Careful strides allowed them to sweep through the dead around the loading dock. Regularly, one of them would stop to deliver the coup de grace to any of the bodies that still moved.
Duncan stopped near the Brute that had gotten its throat torn out. It was still clinging to life, albeit barely. It no longer had the strength to grasp at the ragged gash in its jugular and continued to wheeze in a pool of its own blood. Its glazed eyes landed on him with a weak snarl as he considered finishing it off.
"Leave that one be, Helljumper."
He turned to find the same sergeant that had saved one of his men standing close by. He saw the hate in his gaze, a hate not meant for him. He nodded and moved on.
Zack and the Staff were up on the pad where they finished off the few Jackals that still drew breath, one with an M6 sidearm, the other with his shotgun. After blowing out the brains of the last survivor, the Staff and everyone else stopped to listen to the sounds of fighting. They were numerous, coming from seemingly every direction in the port. The source of the closest racket was already visible.
Not far from the loading dock there was another firefight. At a point where one of the port's maglev rails ran between a pair of overarching gantries, several squads of troopers exchanged fire with a matching number of Covenant.
Duncan sighted Captain Thompson among the pockets of Lima and Tango Company troopers. He was positioned behind one of the pockmarked container carts lining the rails, trading shots alongside his men with a band of scattered Jackals just beyond.
The Staff sent an open call to him over the comms. "Tango-Actual, this is Ep-1. We're on our way to assist."
Thompson turned in their direction. "Negative! We can handle things on our end! Sounds like you're needed at the front! Make your way there, over!?"
"Copy!"
The Staff hopped down from the helipad and waved Epsilon forward. The squad went after him, jogging around the platform and heading west into another part of the yard. No longer on the lookout for energy mortars coming straight for them, they were able to move with greater haste. They pushed on until they reached the northwestern corner of the port, emerging through the line of sandbagged machine gun nests that rimmed the gateway of Entry 6.
Coming out onto the curb, Duncan looked to where they'd left their Warthogs and realized with some confusion that there were now two less of them. The Rocket Hog was missing as was the troop carrier. The one they had procured from the dead NAPD officers was the only one still in place and it had apparently, in their absence, gone on to join its old owners. The vehicle had seemingly been pummeled into the ground by a massive fist so that its rear wheels tilted up from the street. Everything beneath the gun was smashed into a blazing, mangled wreck. The scorched asphalt and debris field around it spoke to a devastating explosion.
The squad flinched as another mortar landed in front of them, pounding a new crater into the street. They moved closer to a pair of the 5-meter-tall, Stonehenge-like barriers erected around the port, positioning themselves within the safety of their shadows.
Duncan looked to the intersection beyond the northwest corner of the port, the same one Captain Barrett had mentioned, and ogled the amount of firepower gathered there. A cluster of several Warthogs encompassed the westbound road in a defensive semicircle of Gauss cannons and turrets. The long barrels of three Scorpion tanks peeked over them. All were firing at something he couldn't see. The northbound road, however, was quieter. Several squads of ODSTs were gathered behind a vehicular barricade that had been pulled together to form a wall across the full width of the street. The sole gap in its center was being manned by a Rocket Hog. Dalton was behind the wheel, standing on his seat so that his rifle rested comfortably above the windshield. The two rocket pods of the M79 hovered over his head. Reznik shifted the weapon system on a slow rotation from left to right. Daz meanwhile was busy parallel parking the troop carrier into a small divide in the wall, sealing away the weakness in the barrier.
Another mortar landed near the intersection, striking perilously close to one of the tanks guarding the westward road and bathing it in crackling dust.
Whiskey was safer by comparison. The barricade was positioned between the parking garage and a building that sat close to the intersection, shielding them from anything that didn't come at a sufficiently steep angle.
"Ep-1 to Whiskey-1, what's the situation here!?"
The wailing of another mortar ended in a bellowing impact upon the roof of the building beside the barricade, hurling another downpour of dust and chunks of structural material onto the ODSTs below.
Dalton nimbly dodged a fist-sized piece of railing as he answered back. "Sorry about your Hog, sir! The Wraiths got to it before we could! Covies are making an armored push with light assault craft! They're not throwing anything heavy yet but we're pretty sure they'll be swinging around to the north side soon enough! Just in case, I sent Whiskey-3 and 4 up to that crane over on your right for anti-tank support!"
Duncan traced his finger back to the closest of the row of tall cranes standing near the facility's fence. He scanned up its yellow heights before stopping at a point along the railed jib that extended out over the street. Two dark shapes lay prone at a spot close to the main hoist, the silvery stalk of the M99 glinting ever so slightly in the sunlight.
"Looks like half your guys are already in place, Ep-1!" Barrett said. "Let's get to it!"
"Roger that! Ep-4 and 8-"
Another mortar cut him off as it slammed into the parking garage across the street, spewing cement from its top floor like a vaporous flower.
"Sir!?" Hector yelled.
"The M41 still looks intact! Break it free and bring it over!"
Duncan peeked out from his barrier towards the smoldering wreck on the other side of the sidewalk. The barrels of the turret still stuck out from the billowing smoke. He shared a look with Hector.
"Copy!" Hector said.
"Copy!" Duncan echoed.
The Staff slipped his shotgun back into its place of honor on his back harness and whipped out his DMR, pointing two fingers towards the barricade. "Move out!"
Epsilon rose up in tandem and dashed out from the safety of the barriers, crossing the road with all possible haste. Duncan and Hector fell behind, descending on the slain Warthog. Duncan leapt onto the back. Grabbing ahold of the turret's handles, he set his boot against the base of the mount and pulled. Hector grabbed onto the side of the barrels and kicked hard at the frayed metal of the base.
A few battering kicks and Duncan felt it beginning to yield. "Almost got it!"
A shuddering impact on the street spat more dust into his visor. He leaned back, digging his boot deeper into the mount. The metal let out a groan. With another heavy kick from Hector, it turned into a tearing shriek and a surprised gasp from Duncan as it finally gave way, sending him falling. He landed hard on his back, quickly rolling out of the way of the turret as it crashed down beside him. Hector jumped down and grabbed the trailing ammo belt, slinging it around his neck like an abnormally long scarf. Kneeling, he got a firm grasp on the shoulder braces while Duncan gripped the barrels. Together, they heaved it up and began jogging towards the intersection.
Duncan glimpsed the westbound road on the way over. A fearsome display of outgoing fire was being thrown up by a pair of Gauss cannons, a quartet of M41s and a trio of 105-millimeter cannons. They created thick walls of death that continued to channel into a target rich environment. The charred wrecks of several maimed and mauled Ghosts sprawled down the length of the road. Nevertheless, three times as many were either funneling down the passage at full speed or firing their linked energy cannons at the formation. The streams of plasma bolts that they were pouring into the hides of the Warthogs were next to nothing compared to what they had against them. The handful of Covenant scout bikes that came within 30-meters of the defense were being knocked out one after another.
Duncan watched a Ghost and its Grunt driver flicker out of existence as a tungsten shell speared through both. Another was boosting its way towards the main attack when an accelerated round punched off one of its stabilizer fins. It wobbled a few meters before a stray acceleration from its last fin careened it into the back of a delivery truck with explosive force. Yet another fell flat onto the asphalt as its bullet-dotted frame gave out, its propulsion system failing. A Scorpion scored a direct hit on the driver's seat, sending the Grunt's upper half spiraling away from the rest of it.
Regardless of casualties, the Ghosts continued piling in from adjoining streets or from further down the road in a relentless push towards the port.
The sounds of battle resonated from the larger formation of Warthogs and Scorpions as all matter of firepower howled, hissed and rumbled into the rest of the Covenant advance.
Duncan pulled off to the right beneath a whirlwind of stray bolts coming from the west, leading them into the relative safety of the barricade. The others had already found good firing positions for themselves among the roofs, doors and undercarriages of the makeshift fortification.
The Staff saw them arrive and pointed down the lineup. "Find a good spot and set her up!"
"Roger!" Hector said. "Ep-8, limo on the left! Let's take it!"
Duncan spotted the limousine a few cars down from Whiskey's Rocket Hog and made straight for it. The long vehicle was placed lengthwise within the barricade. They turned the M41 around and laid it to rest against one of the doors.
"Any reason why you chose the limo!?" Duncan asked knowingly. "I know you used to drive these but-"
"Ain't that something!?" With one hand, Hector leisurely raised his SMG. A five-round burst blew out one of the windows. Another burst took out the window on the other side, creating an impromptu gunport for the M41. "Sure don't miss it though! Come on, help me with this!"
Squatting down, both of them pulled up the turret and eased it inside, using the other window as a counterbalance to the barrels.
"You might have a harder time keeping her steady without a tripod!" Hector said as he draped the ammo belt down the side of the limo. "We're going to need some more ammo! I'll see what I can scrounge up from those guys on the curb!"
Duncan nodded as he kneeled down to get a firm grip on the gun. Hector bounded off, keeping his head low on his mad dash back towards the defense barriers.
Duncan reached in and brushed off the last pieces of glass clinging to the windowsill to make maneuvering the weapon a little easier. He pushed the M41 forward and hooked the bottom of the gun palisades onto the inside of the door, taking some of the burden off his shoulders. He settled himself into the braces and gently panned the reticle across the width of the northern approach.
His targets for the time being consisted of 200-meters worth of empty lanes, dead road signs and inactive automobiles. His sight extended as far as a boxy apartment building that sat at a point where the road terminated at a three way. Everything else in between was a long funnel for the entire firing line to focus on. The perpendicular accessways and alleys leading onto their area of operations were extra variables. Duncan maintained a close watch on those that came from the west. When the pincer arrived, if it ever did, it was sure to come from that direction.
Most of the action was coming from the friendly forces behind them, from the other Warthogs and Scorpions managing the three main thoroughfares to the port.
A quick check of the ammo-counter on his HUD read '350'. It wasn't bad but depending on what decided to take a swing at them, he could end up running through it in under a minute.
Right then, Hector came back with a new ammo box in hand.
He set it down and popped open the lid, revealing another long ammo belt. "Alright, I've got 500! How much you got!?"
"About 350!"
"Okay, I'm thinking we might have to feed this in! You handle the gun; I'll keep it coming!"
"Sounds good!"
A mortar landed further down their road, nailing an unlucky car and throwing two more into a neighboring building. The cacophony of noise didn't stop there, however. A low whir was slowly rising in the air. Duncan listened close. It was coming from some of the accessways that passed over their street about 150-meters from the barricade. The commotion heightened and split apart into several distinguishable sounds that were collectively growing louder. He noticed a slight variation, hearing two different pitches, two different vehicle types.
The mechanical orchestra of propulsion drives reached a crescendo as the first craft wheeled onto the street from a westbound accessway. The sleek shape of the Revenant caused the afternoon light to glimmer off its crimson frame, creating a flickering effect that was only multiplied by the close arrival of another Revenant.
Both gun carriages turned fully towards the barricade. Instead of advancing, however, they moved sideways, hovering off to the left and right. One knocked over a parked motorcycle, the other scything through a streetlight as both pulled onto the adjacent sidewalks and arched their medium plasma mortars.
The reason behind the move shrieked into sight a second later as a Ghost maneuvered out from a much closer accessway, followed by three more in short order. The two lead Ghosts boosted forward, braving the 100-meter run towards the barricade. The Revenants launched their first volley in close coordination.
Both 1st and 5th Platoons saw the conundrum hurtling towards them, the pair of crimson comets and the quartet of speeding Ghosts. The question of which would reach them first was answered by Duncan with a long pull of the M41's triggers. The combined might of the two platoons immediately came crashing into the lead speeders in a glittering assault. A hail of ballistics sliced through stabilizer fins and gored into bulbous frames. At 50-meters, flames guttered into being on one of their fuselages before the entire vehicle came apart in a flare of energy, its momentum sending pieces of Ghost and Grunt cartwheeling down the street. The second sped around the wreck. It forged on for a few more meters before a flight of rockets smashed into it. Six succinct explosions fed into a seventh that blew through the heart of the carriage, catapulting the driver high into the air, arms flailing.
The face of their comrade had hardly cracked against the street when the third and fourth Ghosts raced past the corpse. Now in the last 30-meters to the barricade, they gunned their drives.
Duncan was too focused on trying to kill the closest of them to realize what they were doing. Using his upper body, he pivoted the M41 across the windowsill so that each shot matched his target's increasing proximity. Just a few seconds from closing in, he let his aim linger so that a long burst struck the exposed driver in the side. The Grunt trembled under the onslaught and fell free from its seat. The craft skidded to a stop a few meters short of the line, unlike the fourth which rammed straight into a van, pushing it back with enough force to knock over the three ODSTs firing from behind it.
It began to reverse, pulling out of the van's dented side like a bloodied blade. Right then the Staff leapt onto the hood of a nearby car. Planting a boot on the roof, he got a clear view of the Grunt and shot it out of its seat with a round to the temple.
"Mortars!" Barrett warned.
One landed right in front of Duncan, the crimson explosion pummeling the street a few strides short of the limousine. A gust of shattered glass and rocks pinged off his visor. Wiping it clean, he felt the second mortar land with ground-cracking force somewhere behind the barricade. Not hearing any screams of pain or calls for a medic, he chalked them up as two near misses, an attempt to bracket their position from afar.
He leaned more into the shoulder braces in an effort to get the Revenants in his sights. His reticle switched to red upon encompassing the swift tank on the right side of the road. He squeezed off a tentative burst that instead sparked off the hull of a new arrival. Another Ghost wheeled in from an adjacent accessway with four more in hot pursuit. The most recent group came in at the rough halfway point between the barricade and their main fire support. They wasted no time in speeding towards the former, the lead craft even going so far as to pull ahead of the others to intercept another of Reznik's volleys. The hail of rockets soared into its center, each successive impact killing its momentum before the sixth gutted its chassis, splattering sapphire flames and blue viscera onto the upcoming speeders. They pushed through the smoke and charged on.
At 50-meters away, two of them slipped out of the way of the second pair. They slowed to lay down jets of plasma from their energy cannons while their comrades surged forward. ODSTs ducked under the weight of the suppression fire, holding back as rapid plasma bolts smashed through windows or burned sizzling craters into their cover.
Duncan thought better of it this time, ignoring the two remaining behind and focusing on the two continuing the charge. Reznik must have thought the same. At 20-meters, one of the Ghosts sparkled under the sputtering gaze of the M41 as a new round of rockets blitzed towards its partner. Flames ruptured from the fuselage of the first, resulting in an electrified burst that tore across one of its stabilizers and culminated in a larger explosion from within. The power of it punted the craft around in a smoking pirouette, flinging the Grunt clear of the controls. Its neighbor dodged around the incoming rockets merely to expose itself to a sidelong strike. It briefly vanished before shooting out of the haze in a wreath of flames. It still had enough momentum to crash into a truck near the Rocket Hog, rattling Mito and Nova as its weight pushed against their rucks before settling back down.
"Kamikazes!?" Mito yelled, standing up to plant his launcher back onto the truck's rails. "Really!? That's what they're going with!?"
Nova came up beside him. "Must be getting desperate!"
"Or maybe they've got plenty to spare!" Duncan shouted, redirecting his fire towards another accessway where the newest batch of Ghosts were already emerging.
The wreck of six Ghosts lay burning across the length of the street and now an equal number of them were zooming past the bonfires of their fellows. The two survivors of the second wave pushed out to the sidewalks and sent continuous streams of plasma splashing over the line. The four newcomers piloted past them on their one-way trip to the barricade.
Duncan was laying into one of the oncoming threats when his M41 gave an unwelcome click. "I'm dry!"
Hector was on it in a blink, drawing out the next belt from the ammo box like a snake handler with a viper. Duncan popped open the top of the receiver and made way for him to plant down the first round in the chain.
Beside him, he heard the screech of tires. He caught an eyeful of the Rocket Hog hastily reversing out of the gap in the barricade. Not even a moment later a crimson mortar landed in the same space, shuddering the closest vehicles. A second mortar struck the same damaged van from before. Several ODSTs stumbled out from its cover as it rolled over from the blow, flames dancing atop the gaping hole in its side.
Dalton pushed back into the gap as Hector finished loading the turret. Quickly, both the M41 and M79 started up again alongside a wider display of return fire. The renewed assault slammed into the quartet of Ghosts at the last 40-meters to the barricade. The leader became a rocket-magnet as it was blasted from front to back, turning it into clattering shrapnel. A second fell uselessly to the street after its driver was reduced to a pile of lead-riddled meat. The third slowed to fire back with its cannons: a fatal mistake.
Mito lined up a shot and unloaded his launcher. The first rocket soared into the fuselage in a flowering explosion that knocked it off course, incidentally whipping the driver around into a perfect alignment with the second. The ball of light punched through its chest in a spray of blood before the delayed detonation caught the oncoming hull of the fourth Ghost. The last driver was thrown out of its seat and tumbled along a short stretch of street. Upon the last of its momentum sliding away, it tried to rise up only to plop back down under the stuttering attention of a dozen guns.
Duncan was responsible for none of the carnage. His business was elsewhere.
He'd been aiming further down range, focusing on the annoying pair of Ghosts still providing covering fire. After four seconds, the sustained attention of the turret cracked the nose of the one on the left. The flames bleeding from its light armor were shortly added onto by additional hits to the hull. In a moment, the Ghost turned from a threat into a vehicle-sized flare.
Pieces of burning debris rained over its friend on the other side of the street. He was sliding the M41 towards it when a flash of light stabbed across the seating. The impulse drives of the hostile bike winked out and brought it crashing onto the road. The lower half of the driver titled onto the ground, spilling steaming guts over cracked asphalt.
"Got the last one." Mackley announced over comms.
"Solid work, Whiskey-3, but that's not the last of them!" Dalton replied over the uncomfortably close roar of the Revenants' latest short rounds. "We got two Revs up ahead of our position! Do you have a shot!?"
"...Negative. We can see'em but they're behind a building. We can take the shot but the overpenetration isn't going to be enough to kill anything aside from a soft target."
"Our ammo's running a little low right now." Lang added. "We'll need those things to move to within at least 40 meters of your position before we'll have a clear line of sight."
Duncan could hear the disgruntlement in the sergeant's reply. "Copy! Anything coming in from closer to our AO!?"
"Wish I could tell you, sir." Mackley said. "With all that smoke you guys got down there our visuals aren't the best, especially from this angle."
"Thermals!?"
"Worse."
"...Roger that! Keep tabs on those Revs! Tell us when you have a window!"
"Copy. We'll-...hey, hold on, I'm seeing another contact coming up behind them."
"ID!?"
"Definitely a Warith." Lang answered concernedly.
That set Duncan on edge. He guided his reticle over the distant profile of the leftmost Revenant. Its positioning gave him what he thought was a straight shot, that is until he started firing. He watched most of his outgoing rounds ricochet off the undercarriage of an upturned car that had met its demise on the sidewalk, providing cover to his target. He was about to pan over to its partner when a third target emerged onto the three-way at the very end of the road.
The rotund bulk of the Wraith slowly oriented itself towards the barricade. The second it was fully aligned, the petals of its main weapon arched towards the proper elevation and let loose. The mortar was brighter and larger than the pair of fireballs already well on their way.
A squad of Barrett's man beat a short retreat from one of the barricade's cars before the two miniature stars crashed into it. The combined blasts split the vehicle into two ragged halves that spiraled out of the formation, clattering to a final rest beside the surprised crew of a Warthog. What was left in its wake was a new hole in the line which Barrett's troopers rushed to fill by manning either side of the gap.
Duncan refocused on the Revenants to chip in where he could, but it suddenly dawned on him that they weren't where he last saw them. They were advancing down the street side by side, pushing through the smoke of a near miss from Reznik. They were approaching at a stable pace. Not relying on their boosters just yet allowed them to hurl their next bombardment in perfect synchronicity.
Duncan picked one and drilled into it for all he was worth. Reznik did the same by launching his next barrage at both assault craft. The response was an instant maneuver to the side of the road by either target. The barrage reached them at the halfway point merely to light up the center of the street. Even Duncan couldn't find an angle on them without wasting valuable ammo on the dead cars in the way.
By then the Revenants' latest explosive duo were descending towards the Rocket Hog. Dalton reversed right on time, or so Duncan thought at seeing the first land at a safe distance in front of it. The second, however, slammed down beside the Hog, striking so close that it knocked the vehicle into a tilt, exposing its two flaming wheels. The instant it settled to the ground one of the rear tires gave out like a broken leg, throwing them off balance.
"We're hit!" Dalton growled.
It was then that Duncan saw the larger mortar from the Wraith soaring through the last of its long descent towards the line. He could tell where it was going to hit and leveled a worried eye at Whiskey.
Dalton was crushing the accelerator, trying to egg more speed out of the Warthog. The best he could get was a snail's crawl as the warped shape of the rear bumper scratched against the ground in a shriek of sparks.
"Whiskey, get out of there!" The Staff yelled.
Dalton and Daz bailed out of the front seats and rushed for cover. Reznik stayed a moment longer, just enough to squeeze one last volley out of the M79 before taking a giant leap from the back of the Hog. He hit the ground running, getting away at the last second. The blue meteor arrived with all the force of one. The Rocket Hog vanished one moment then reappeared the next in a split-second volcano of flying parts.
Duncan kept his head down under the flurry of detritus that came raining around him.
Another Hog lost.
He resettled his gun sights on the advancing Revenants, but something quickly cut off his view, an imposing mass of blue armor. He backed out of his sights, witnessing with no small amount of horror as a Wraith emerged onto the street from an accessway barely 10 meters ahead. It boosted onto their road at a sideways slide so that it appeared with its weapon already aimed.
Duncan felt two things: the weakness in his knees and the grasp of a hand on his shoulder.
The Wraith fired.
"Fall back!" Barrett ordered.
But Hector had already yanked Duncan free of the gun and pushed him away. He heard him running after him. A hand caught him in the back as Hector used his weight to push him to the ground.
The mortar landed.
The explosion was so close that it rattled his teeth. A massive shadow passed over him in a rush of wind before the source came crashing down ahead of him. The burning wreck of the limousine barreled away, rolling side over side into the nearest Warthog. The jarring impact threw the gunner clear of his turret and knocked the Warthog into a tumble of its own.
Duncan felt himself being pulled to his feet. Hector hoisted him up. He stumbled with him off to the left side of the barricade. Plasma bolts chased after them all the while, lashing at the ground in their wake. They threw themselves behind the last car in the lineup as more bolts seared into the other side of it.
Bracing his back against the door, Duncan tried to get his bearings. He saw most of 1st and 5th Platoon abandoning the barricade wholesale. They were running back to the container port, some stopping to dish out covering fire or to toss frag grenades. There was a crash of metal on metal and the heart of the barricade bulged and flew apart, cars flying and tumbling from the battering ram of the Wraith. The last of the tank's thrust died out but still granted it the momentum to pivot around the corner and into the flank of the closest tanks.
The nearest Scorpion never got a chance to react to the mortar that sailed into its back. The explosion blew the cannon into the air on a column of flames that channeled through the rest of the tank in the blink of an eye, secondary detonations parting tread from chassis and gunner from turret. As the glass of the driver's cockpit twirled to the ground, a nearby Warthog responded with strikes from its Gauss cannon which pounded three fresh craters into the Wraith's hull. The Brute at its plasma cannon answered back with a long burst that caught the trooper in the stomach, kicking him from the Gauss. The Wraith's main weapon fired and enveloped both the resistant Hog and its last few occupants in a crushing inferno.
At that point, the other two Scorpions and the remaining Warthogs covering the west side of the intersection were turning to meet the threat at their backs. They wouldn't be fast enough. Duncan knew it for a fact, watching the mortar take aim at another tank, only to burst apart as a supersonic bullet turned both it and the head of the gunner into a splattering vapor.
There was a loud THUMP.
A rocket zoomed into view, shooting straight into the Wraith's cycling exhaust port. Another followed on the heels of the first. The two explosions fed into one another. A third, larger explosion blew its innards out of its belly like a bloated corpse. Its drives died. The full weight of the wreck hammered the ground, creating a web of cracks and crevices.
Mito stumbled to his feet on the other side of the barricade.
Heaving his launcher up with him, he spotted Duncan and Hector and waved them over. "Come on, we gotta move!"
Duncan got up shakily. This time, he was the one to lend Hector a hand, helping him to his feet. Straight away the three of them made for the port. The path led the latter two across the wide breach in the barricade. On the edge of his periphery, Duncan perceived something that he was glad he didn't see directly.
The two Revenants were boosting towards their position at full speed. Their hammerhead shape allowed them to smash clear through any debris in their way, whether manmade or Covenant. The second Wraith wasn't far behind either. Where the Revenants cut a path towards the barricade, the enemy tank cleared out whole lanes of traffic through sheer mass alone, pushing empty cars and burning Ghosts out of its way like a lawnmower through grass.
The Revenants spotted them before they were safely away. One of them fired. He pumped his legs faster and could hear Hector doing likewise. They rushed past the burning remains of the Rocket Hog and past the overturned van, clearing another gap. The mortar landed behind them, too far to kill but too near to avoid the wind that whipped them in the back. They stumbled forward but refused to fall, catching themselves and hurrying away.
They escaped from the last of the barricade and disappeared into the shadow of the parking garage on the other side of the street. Mito was already there, crouching on the sidewalk. He waved them on while he loaded the next set of rockets into his launcher. Duncan and Hector skidded behind him, not daring to cross over to the port just yet.
It was the right call.
The Revenants shot through the gaps in the barricade. Entering within striking range of the port's northwestern corner, they were themselves struck to a standstill as the air around them rapidly filled with bullets. The wide array of machinegun nests lining the locale's northern and western perimeters immediately pounced on them. Gunfire crashed into the Revenants like an overwhelming tsunami that bore results in moments. Exhaust hissed from penetrated conduits in the hull of one, quickly turning into gouts of fire that suddenly transformed the vehicle into a fireball of its own. The two Brutes within were violently shucked from their seats in a blazing eviction. The carriage of the last Revenant was already ablaze. It struggled through the eye of a storm that was swiftly closing in. As the battered body of its partner fell out of the passenger seat, the Brute behind the controls let off its first and last shot as its torso exploded open, the Stanchion's latest round burrowing a steaming hole into the road. Mito had already launched a rocket at the back of the vehicle. The blow knocked out its propulsion drives and turned it into a small conflagration before it even hit the ground.
The last mortar wailed directly into one of the defense barriers, blasting away pieces of concrete. However, when the smoke cleared, it exposed a crackling albeit minor fissure in its build.
The sounds of metal grinding against metal still emanated from beyond the abandoned barricade. The Wraith, Duncan remembered. It was still coming, still bullying its way towards the port.
Mito aimed at the spot where it would emerge.
There was no need.
One of the Scorpion tanks that had been caught up in the earlier ambush now rolled backwards until it was in front of the barricade.
Its cannon thundered once, twice. The blue blast of an energy mortar landed several meters short of its treads by the time it fired its third round. What followed was a distant sound that came as a relief to Duncan, the distinct, fizzling rupture of a Wraith's propulsion drive.
Malleus - Hammer