Chapter 7 - Variabilis

(7th Cycle, 83 Units – Covenant Battle Calendar)

Aquilla System, Actium

High Mediolanum, Republic of Pavia

Near HMPD Headquarters

:********:

After a brief contemplation, 2nd Blade R'tas Vadumee reshouldered the stock of his beam rifle into the crux of his arm. He sighted down the scope and scanned the double-crescent targeting reticle across the structure that the humans called the 'HMPD Headquarters'.

The blue reticle flashed red with each human warrior that it passed over. There were the basic infantry type, the ones his kind referred to as Grass Fodder due to their green coloring, although they also went by the name given them by the enemy: Marines. They were slightly better than the average Unggoy and mostly on par with Kig-Yar. However, one by itself was no match for a Sangheili and required greater numbers to take on one of his kin. In that regard, they were much like the Unggoy. There were many squads of the 'Marines' patrolling around the pavilion as well as up and down the streets and highways outside the perimeter. They were out in large numbers, too large for any binary to take on directly, no matter how skilled.

There were also patrols of the human warriors that his fellow Sangheili referred to as 'Imps'. They were those in the black armor, the ones the humans called 'Orbital Drop Shock Troopers'. They were markedly more difficult to deal with than Marines and were more stubborn when it came to killing them. However, they weren't demons, and that much was a quiet relief to him.

Even months later, R'tas still freshly remembered what had happened on Miridem where, upon the words of one Field Marshall Arzon Zotamee, Covenant forces advanced on the human Starport. They had nearly broken their resistance, then were themselves broken beneath the boots of the green-armored abominations. He watched as they tore into Zotamee's forces and reversed the entire assault. While he was somewhat angered at the failure of his own plan and horrified at the fate of his fellow warriors, he couldn't help feeling some justice in the matter. Zotamee had declared he would succeed in taking on the humans like it was some inevitability. Apparently, the Gods hadn't seen it that way. He only wished that he'd gotten to see the Field Marshall's face after his ambitions were brought so low. For now, at least, as far as R'tas was aware, Zotamee was half the world away managing the ground forces occupying the planet's capital.

R'tas knew that his current task, however, was of far greater importance than anything Zotamee would be doing there now. It wasn't a matter of location, but of person.

He searched the throngs of human warriors for his target. Still, after three minutes of examining the patrols, those guarding the courtyards and those in the vehicles, he found no real indication that the human he was looking for was actually here.

At length he checked his armor's integrated database which pulled up a list onto his visor. On it were twelve humans, each one with a picture showing their faces. Beside them were translations of each of their names, their ranks, units under their command and present locations. Five of them were highlighted in red with a description to the left of their pictures showing the location where they were assassinated. At the top of the list was the first leader of the human forces on Actium, Brigadier General 'Lenz'. Other Shadows in his unit had dispatched the troublesome creature early on. Further down was another name he recognized, Major General 'Sin-to-maz', a kill which R'tas took personal pride in after having shot a beam-round through his neck in the jungles of the northern cays. His partner had also gotten some enjoyment out of the matter by shooting several Marines that tried to reach their wounded commander, forcing the rest to watch helplessly as their leader choked to death on his own blood.

For the last several days his unit of Silent Shadows had been deployed across Actium's surface with the goal of sabotaging the efforts of the human forces here by targeting their leadership echelon. They had exceled in that task up until the realization of the humans' counteroffensive on the two major continents.

His unit was immediately redeployed to their eastern capital to make the necessary preparations for the invasion.

R'tas had chosen the apartment building he was currently on top of after conducting a quick survey of the area. He knew they were likely to use the nearby headquarters as a forward operating base due to its relative positioning on the battlefield. He relied on his active camouflage to blend in with his new surroundings and waited.

He watched the first shock troopers move in on the building. Like a gracious deity he chose to spare them, even though he could have killed a quarter of their number before they ever realized where he was. A similar mercy was spared to the scores of others that came shortly thereafter, although their greater numbers made it near impossible for him to search for his target. He continued waiting even as sometime later he witnessed five teams of troopers depart for the east, towards Covenant held territory. Out of an abundance of caution, he radioed their incoming presence to the commanders of the nearest encampments. Still, he mantained his post. They were not his primary concern, but they were a good indication that some form of leadership was present here.

For his part in the overall plan, R'tas was to target one of the major components of the enemy's forces that had recently been spotted in the city. It was one of the leaders of their shock trooper battalions, a human his database identified with an ODST hosting a left arm pauldron accented by a white skull. For the time being, all he had to his knowledge were the identifiable armor settings and another of those terrible human names that were difficult to pronounce: 'Ger-i-zyn.'

"Have you spotted the vermin yet, because I haven't."

The question came from his operational partner, 3rd Blade Zuka 'Zamamee. He lay prone a few strides away as he eyed the scene below through an observation monocle. Zuka was, by all measures of what made one a Sangheili, an adept warrior with abilities that placed him near the pinnacle of his kind's combat prowess. His being a Silent Shadow paid testament to that very fact. However, he was also, for a Sangheili, brash and too ready to resort to unconventional expedience out of a pressing cause of religious need. R'tas often found his devoutness to the gods and the cause of the Covenant to be so fervent that it bordered on outright foolishness and willful blindness. He would often challenge those in the ordinary forces that espoused what he deemed a 'looser' interpretation of the holy scriptures, having even engaged one of his fellow Shadows in a sword duel after he felt they had cast doubt on the orthodoxy of, rather ironically, the Ages of Doubt. It was to be expected of course since he came from one of the lesser keeps of Ontom's eastern countryside where they tended to lean more on the fundamental literalist side of the faith. But it made R'tas somewhat wary of him, or more specifically his hardline worldview. However, there was no such wariness the other way around. In fact, Zuka avidly admired him. He said as much in singing his high praises every time he watched him snipe a difficult target. He also tended to rest his own weapons aside to watch R'tas at work whenever they were both assigned to a mission, a habit which he was currently in the middle of purveying.

Zuka's camouflaged image turned to him. "Well?"

"No." R'tas replied. "Not yet. The filth has yet to reveal himself."

Zuka let out a dissatisfied sigh, then after a moment perked back up. He extended out a translucent hand in an offering gesture while the other upheld his monocle. "What if I were to infiltrate their defenses and flush him out. It would be easier for you to…"

"I'd rather you didn't." R'tas said, shooting down the idea outright. "There's too many, even for you."

"Then I will go down in a blaze of glory." Zuka said with a detectable enthusiasm. "It's not so terrible a proposition."

"What glory is there in dying in disobedience to the will of the Gods?"

Zuka looked away from his monocle to stare at him. "I do not believe our 1st Blade Officer counts as a divine figure, as much as he might wish to delude himself. Were he a Hierarch, perhaps then you would have a point."

"But we are carrying out the will of the Gods. That is why we are here. If he is leading us then he is the closest representation we have of the Gods made manifest, albeit in a manner requiring of grace. The same goes for his orders."

"I admire how your mind can so easily twist doctrine to suit its needs." Zuka said sarcastically.

R'tas held back the criticism surging in his own being at the sheer hypocrisy laced throughout that statement. "It's the blessing of interpretation rather than the heresy of innovation. I have said nothing new to what is often spoken in the ranks of the infantry by their officers."

"And do not yield your hearts to false diviners, less they should taint the purity of your devotion and lead you down the path of Abaddon."

R'tas frowned at the recitation, and at what Zuka was intoning by extension. "I'm aware of the psalm, oh wise and sanctified 3rd Blade Officer. But would it not be so that to question the authority of our leaders would also mean to question the authority and wisdom of the Gods who appraised them to their positions?"

Zuka returned his attention back down his device. "Oh, you that are faithful, lend us your ears that we might open your eyes, so you will not miss the way to salvation."

"That your feet will not leave the path that leads to our gates, and beyond them, transcendence." R'tas finished as he set his rifle sights on the doors of the western wing.

Zuka turned back to him. "Ah, so you do know the scriptures then?"

"I have my dawn and twilight meditations, as do most Sangheili." R'tas broke from his scope to stare down his partner. "You're not the only warrior with great devotion, brother. It is time that you started respecting your fellow Sangheili the same way."

After a brief silence, Zuka began to laugh. "Once they can beat me like you can in reciting the holy writ then perhaps I will consider it…brother."

R'tas was about to scold him when something on the other side of his scope made him tense. One of the doors of the western wing opened and three ODSTs stepped out. The lead one wore a shoulder pauldron with a human skeleton etched onto it, the exact armor type of his target.

"I see him." Zuka said with all traces of sarcasm in his voice having instantly evaporated.

R'tas watched as the shock trooper called Colonel Garrison walked down the courtyard and over the roundabout with his escorts. He began issuing orders to nearby troopers, directing them to different positions around the pavilion while on his way to the western gate.

"Three possible angles at 300 meters, 290 and 275." Zuka reported, noting the various obstacles including parked assault vehicles, tanks and flora in his calculations. "Which will you take?"

"In my eyes…275 is the firmest bet."

R'tas continued to track the human as he moved down the pathway. His grip tightened around the weapon's triggering stripe, his forefinger hovering just over it. He felt the passage of each second with the consecutive beats of his hearts as the colonel passed the 300-meter mark, then the 290-meter mark. At 280-meters he set his sights on his target's head and watched with anticipation as it turned red. He counted, 279…278…277…276…

At 275 meters he pressed the trigger, but someone else fired first.

The CRACK of a human sniper washed over him, blocking out the sound of his own weapon's discharge.

In an instant, he saw a ballistic tracer slam through the side of his rifle, striking his gun first and causing his shot to go wild. He saw his target tumble back in the brief blink before his rifle flew apart in his hands.

R'tas flattened himself out on the roof just before a second shot flashed overhead. He deduced that the enemy fire was coming from the left and quickly rolled towards the nearest edge. He flew off the side, fell four stories then grabbed hold of a windowsill. By then he could hear Zuka finishing his dash across the rooftop to leap over the edge. He fell down two more stories before grabbing another sill. There would have been no time to run for the exit, not with a sniper able to shoot his weapon out of his own grasp while he was still camouflaged. How they had even known he was there was completely lost on him. But there was no time to think on it, not while their position was compromised.

The two dropped down from sill to sill in an attempt to reach a point where they would be taken out of sight by a smaller, adjacent building. On the way, R'tas dared to look past his shoulder. By mere chance he spotted a human crouched on a distant rooftop several hundred meters away. His eyes widened in recognition of the same special armor he'd seen on Miridem. He quickly jumped to a different set of windowsills just as a third sniper round zipped into the window that he would have fallen past. However, he wasn't prepared for the ricochet that flashed through the window in front of him, grazing his energy shields and blowing out glass into his visor. He lost his grip, fell twenty meters and crashed down onto one of the human vehicles lining the street below. Its windows blew out as his weight cratered the roof. The impact left him winded. He was struggling to take in a solid breath when Zuka called down to him. "Brother!"

R'tas forced his hazy vision back into sharpness. A quick glance over his armor showed that his active camouflage had been dispelled along with his energy shields. He slid off the vehicle just as Zuka's visible form landed on another nearby, crumpling its roof beneath his boots. He dismounted with much greater grace than his teammate could muster.

R'tas started running in the other direction of the sniper, away from the HMPD building. Zuka joined in after him. "Are we retreating, brother?"

"A tactical withdrawal, yes."

"But why, we can take them."

"No." R'tas said as they rounded a corner onto another street.

"And why not?" Zuka came up next to him brandishing his own beam rifle.

R'tas' mind flashed through the memory formed only seconds ago when his rifle blew apart in his hands. He shook his head. "I could tell by their skill; we are no match."

"For the humans!?"

"No, not them, but it."

Zuka glanced back over his shoulder but kept sprinting. "You mean…you saw a Demon?"

R'tas slowly nodded. "And whose to say there aren't more of them nearby. We need to get some distance and report the sighting to our First Blade Officer. He needs to be informed of this immediately."

"I would rather face a thousand Demons than run away like some coward." Zuka growled.

"A coward flees." R'tas hissed back. "A warrior withdraws. We are withdrawing in order to face our enemy when we are able. What glory is there in an unwise death? You would be killed before you ever got close. We will fight again soon enough."

"I would rather die fighting now."

"Then die." R'tas told him. "Perish in your disobedience, brother. Pitch in your lot with the Demon's and hope to the Gods that they favor yours." They bounded into the darkness of an alleyway and stopped to catch their breaths. Amidst their collective panting R'tas looked up at him. "Though I wonder whose they will favor, a creature already set for destruction or a servant who no longer abides by his masters' will."

Zuka's defiant stance seemed to slacken at his words. The Sangheili looked back the way they had come. R'tas set a hand on his shoulder. "We are Shadows. We carry out the will of the Gods in the places where no other light can venture. That is our lot. It is not our place to question it. By their desire we will meet the creature and the others of its kind again. But not here, not now. Do you accept that lot, brother?"

Zuka finally began to slow his breathing. He looked to his superior, spared one last glance at the way they'd come, then gave a tentative nod. R'tas shook him reassuringly. "Then let us be on our way."

"Do you think we at least killed that human, Gar-i-zyn?"

"Hmph. I'm sure of that much. More than likely he is already dead."

"…Understood."

The two Shadows left the alleyway. Once they were again able, they reactivated their active camouflage units and became lost to the visible world.

But R'tas' mind remained in that alleyway. Deep down something in him also wanted to turn back, to face his enemy head-on like he always desired. But he had seen what those creatures were capable of. Although he hated to admit it, they were a match for even his fellow Shadows. To face one now and at such a distance would likely mean the end of them. It wasn't the possibility of his own death that troubled him, however, but of Zuka's and many other Sangheili that would come afterwards if he failed to slay this foe. Then out of the depths of his mind arose an older memory that he wasn't quite expecting, one of three other Juvenile Sangheili sparring with him under the faithful stars of his homeworld. He couldn't help wondering how they would have dealt with this situation, if they would have done anything differently at all. He stopped himself when he realized those thoughts were all coming about in some hope to truly justify his own decision to himself. In the end he forced down the shame that rose up within and kept running.

:********:

Spartan Linda-058 moved with liquid grace across the streetway. She stopped at the corner of a building lying on an intersection, then swung around it to level her rifle down the perpendicular road.

There was nothing there, nothing except abandoned cars and empty side lanes. She rechecked her motion sensor which she'd set to its maximum effective range. Yet much to her quiet irritation, there was no sign of her quarry that she'd been pursuing for the last five minutes. They were long gone, out of range. She figured the two Elites were heading east. It wouldn't be her brightest idea to hunt them knowing what lay further in that direction. With a sigh, she reloaded her SRS-99 and discontinued the hunt.

She cursed herself for being so slow to react. Initially she'd tried to eliminate them both. Yet she hadn't been expecting the two of them to literally throw themselves over the edge of the building. Her attempts at killing them from that point on were next to frugal. That led to her current predicament of failing her sole objective in being this deep into the city.

Shortly after the arrival of the Task Force, she was deployed on a solo mission to ensure the safety of the UNSC leadership in the city. On Actium, overall COs had an uncanny tendency of dropping like flies. Logic dictated that some Special Forces unit was actively acquiring information on and targeting them. Logic also dictated that she would likely encounter them near where important officers were based in High Mediolanum. The HMPD Headquarters just so happened to be her best hunch since that was where the leaders of both the 7th Shock Troops Battalion as well as the 53rd Armored Division were present. She hadn't been wrong. Now she needed to know if she'd been too late.

Linda jogged back to the HQ. After half a minute she reached the western gateway. The whole area was already on high alert with teams of Shock Troopers and Marines combing the highways and streets for signs of the attackers. Some emerged onto the rooftop of the building where the snipers were spotted. Others investigated the two damaged sportscars on the street below to scan for any signs of the assailants.

Upon seeing her, the Marines and ODSTs would give her a salute, an acknowledging nod or simply stare at her as her towering form moved past. She curtly returned the acknowledgements while mostly ignoring the stares. The latter was a skill that came easily enough after some 20 odd years of practice.

She reached the western gateway where most of the commotion was centered. Personnel were gathered around the walls as well as the interior pavilion to form an encircling defense. Once they saw her the ones guarding the gateway quickly moved aside to let her through.

Her worries heightened to a boiling point until she crossed over the threshold, turned and saw him.

Two medics, an ODST and a Marine, were attending to the wounds of a very pissed but very much alive Colonel Garrison. They had sat him down against the wall of the nearby guard house while they removed parts of his armor to reach the smoldering wound in his left shoulder. The Marine held him in place while the trooper applied the nozzle of a biofoam injector on the wound and began spraying in the coagulant. While most ordinary human beings would have growled in pain or some form of agony, Garrison merely gritted his teeth as he stared at a nearby tree with a look that suggested he was ready to kill someone. His expression softened when he saw her walking towards him. Though the two medics subtly flinched at the appearance of her two-meter-tall visage, the Colonel fixed her with a welcoming smile. "Good to see you Spartan."

Linda snapped off a salute. "Thank you, sir. Might I ask, what is your condition?"

Garrison's smile turned to quiet frustration as the medics got back to work. He continued to occasionally wince at the cold chill of the biofoam. "I'm not too bad, just got a mild case of afterburn and a flesh wound."

"I don't know if I would call it that sir." The ODST tending to him said. "It's more like a lucky miss. That shot went straight through, missed your brachial artery by a fraction of a centimeter. I think any further to the left and up and half your cranial cavity wouldn't be here right now."

Garrison looked unphased by the information, only vaguely amused. He turned back to the spartan. "If I had to guess I'd say you're probably the reason why I'm still alive, aren't you?

Linda straightened. "My apologies, sir. I didn't spot them soon enough."

"Elites or Jackals?"

"Elites, sir. Two of them, active camouflage. They were posted on an apartment complex 250 meters to our west. They would have to have been there for some time already, even before I spotted them."

Garrison considered it for a moment and grinned. "The Split-jaws were watching us the whole time, figures. I knew I'd gone too long without a good attempt on my life anyway. If anything, it makes me feel more alive. But that does put me in a spot now doesn't it? Now I've got to take it a little easier for the big bonanza later today. Perfect."

"I don't think you should attend it sir." The ODST said. "You might still be able to hold an MA5 but you're maneuverability will be limited. That left arm of yours is going to need some rest for the polymer to regenerate the damaged tissue."

"What did I just say, Corporal Leeds?"

The medic hesitated. "Uh, that-…you were going to take it a little easier at the offensive later today?"

"Right, and that's exactly what I'm going to do." Garrison declared matter-of-factly. "Is that understood, corporal?"

"Y-, yes-, yessir."

"Good."

Linda quietly marveled at the way he brushed off a fresh assassination attempt as a mild inconvenience to his day, as if it were no worse than a papercut or a spilt drink. She didn't have any qualms about getting injured herself and had her own history of fighting while wounded. That said, she never went out of her way to contribute to a mission when time for rest and recovery was actively available and highly recommended. However, he was a Colonel. Perhaps that put him on a much tighter operational leash than a Petty Officer 2nd Class, even a Spartan for that matter.

She watched the Colonel decline a cigarette from the Marine medic. "No thanks, I'm already high as I can get on the polymer. Maybe that's why I'm so uppity right now. And what about you, young lady, are you staying here to help out later or are you ditching us?"

The causal manner with which he addressed her caught Linda off guard. Few outside of her fellow Spartans referred to her as anything other than that, so to hear someone call her 'young lady' was almost confusing.

"I'm-"

The low-toned roar of jet engines drew everyone's attention to the sky.

Linda used her HUD's optical zoom to see that the origin of the sound was coming from the west. There an AV-14 Hornet was cresting over the line of buildings and swooped in over the HQ.

A familiar male voice came through Linda's team-com. "This is Blue-3 to Blue-4, you still around? You're pick-ups arrived, over."

"This is Blue-4, I hear you. You're a little early."

"Blue-1's got our new deployment orders. He wanted me to make sure you actually came back rather than stay out here on your own."

"Why doesn't he trust me to come back? Does he think I'm that untrustworthy or does he think his new op's so uninteresting that I'll just stay on my own up here?"

Fred knew the first part of the question was little more than a chide and he laughed a little over the comms. "Sorry to tell you but you missed the mark on both of those. This one's really something. I'll say that much. And I'm pretty sure Chief doesn't doubt you at all. In fact, he's got so much faith in that eagle eye instinct of yours that he sent me to make sure it didn't take over like on your lone wolf side-ops. We're still working in team mode on this one."

"Alright then, does your pilot know where to land?"

She saw that the Hornet was already descending to a spot on the pavilion. "Never-mind, I guess they're quick to the draw."

"You be quick too; we've only got another 15 minutes to get back."

Linda flashed her acknowledgement light and turned to the Colonel. "My ride's here, sir. I wish you a quick recovery."

He gave her a casual thumbs up. "Safe travels, Spartan. And thanks for the save."

Linda gave a final nod and jogged off, leaving Garrison to have his bandages put in place. She reached the Hornet which had landed in a more open space on the grassy terrain. Fred was already on the starboard skid and greeted her with a two-fingered salute as she hopped onto the portside.

With the two Spartans aboard, the Hornet's Turbojet engines whined back to life. They accelerated into the air then headed away towards the west.

"I forgot to ask, had a happy hunt?" Fred prodded.

"No, my two rabbits got away before I could skin them." She looked back at the shrinking HMPD Headquarters. "They're somewhere out there."

"Kelly would probably take offense to that little metaphor of yours. Think they'll be a problem in the future?"

"One of them was about to put an ionized hydrogen particle round through the head of the leader of the 7th Shock Troops Battalion."

"Yeah, sounds like they'll be a problem in the future."

"Or now."

"But later for us, right now we've got bigger game to deal with out west."

Linda sighed, crouching on the skid as she mulled over the events of the last few minutes in her head. She gently caressed the side of her sniper rifle and placed it against her magnetic back harness with all the gentle care of a loving mother. "I hope so, Fred. I hope so."

:********:

The Master Chief watched through the open hatch of the Pelican dropship as it flew them over the cityscape of the 1st Tier.

The elevation provided a good view of the overall goings on. Most of the streets of the Coastal District were relatively clear with friendly forces moving unchallenged down the roads and highways below. In some areas there were firefights raging from building to building between UNSC forces and the remaining pockets of Covenant resistance. Wraiths trying to hold down intersections were quickly outmaneuvered by their human equivalents and outgunned by their high velocity cannons. Fleeing Ghosts were being hunted down across city squares by armored personnel in Warthogs and Mongooses. Marines were storming the last remaining Covenant strongholds with air support from Hornet and Pelican Gunships. A slew of them were currently strafing Covenant forces holding the 1st Tier's Municipal Administrative Building near the center. In doing so they laid down covering fire for the Marines of the 3rd Battalion's Hawk Company who, per their namesake, swooped in on the open yards for a final push on the building.

For the most part, things were wrapping up in the Coastal District. A quick glance at the 1st Premiere Wall showed as much. He counted 12 gatehouses presently ascending the height of the wall's 34-kilometer circumference. Their adjoined lift platforms were fully occupied with companies of Marines and detachments of armored elements bound for the 2nd Tier. They were all getting into place for the expected evening offensive, an operation he hoped his team would be a part of but knew otherwise.

"Think we'll be back in time?"

The question had come from Blue-2. Kelly had been sitting in the opposite seat near the rear opening so that she could also get an eyeful of the view.

"For?" The Chief asked.

"The big show of course, what else? It looks like they're getting ready to head in without us. I'm just hoping this op doesn't take too long."

"It'll take as long it needs to get the job done." He turned to her. "But we'll see how fast we can be. Keep in mind that where we're going, speed won't do us much good."

Kelly sighed at that fact as she leaned back into her seat. It was a bit more difficult to do so given the telemetry probe on her back harness whose cylindrical mass gave it the comparable size of a SPNKR launch-tube. She remained mindful not to move too much less she damage the encasement of the special UNSC tech. "This place is nice and all but a quick swim was the last thing we needed. Don't get me wrong, my MJOLNIR's definitely better than some two piece, but I wouldn't say it makes us very aquadynamic."

"We're not meant to be." Fred added from his seat next to the Chief. "We just need to sink like a rock. It's not like we'll actually be swimming."

"Reminds me of Emerald Cove." Their attention turned to Linda who up until then had been sitting quietly next to Kelly. The name brought up memories of its own, pleasant ones.

Fred rested his telemetry probe on the floor of the blood tray and leaned on it like a cane. "You think Mendez ever forgave us for that?" He asked, chuckling.

"I hope not." Kelly laughed. "It takes away the whole sting of what we did." She turned to the morning skies outside. "I'd rather he held a grudge against us for it in that refined 'Don't test me because I've considered murdering you before' look that he's so good at using."

Linda gave a light laugh of her own as she switched her sniper rifle's place on her harness with her telemetry probe. She must have noticed that the Master Chief was still quiet. "You think the Chief is okay, Chief?"

Behind his visor, John felt a small smile tug at his lips. "I'm sure he's fine, he was never the type to go down easy. I'm also sure the others are handling themselves as well wherever their assignments may be at the moment."

The Chief suddenly caught himself as he realized what he was doing. His tone returned to its normally serious tenor. "As for us, once we arrive, we'll be on our own. Keep your attention on your motion trackers. Understood, Spartans?"

Blue Team gave a collective nod.

Despite his superior's serious tone, Fred asked. "If there's good Calamari down there, do I have your permission to save it for later?"

"Mission first. Food second."

"Roger."

The Spartans spent the rest of the trip in silent observation of the outside as the view changed from the cityscape to High Mediolanum's bay.

The causeways, those that were still intact, had scores of Warthogs actively streaming down their lengths like blood shooting through arteries. They were headed for the islands of the Gulam Archipelago where firefights against Covenant forces were already taking place. Marines and armored personnel were locating, isolating then annihilating the remaining aliens in the various island towns. Their secondary invasion aimed to disable the last of the AA Shades that had reportedly given the ODSTs a hard time earlier in the day.

The lack of any anti-aircraft fire from the islands as they flew over them meant that the Marines of 8th Battalion were getting the job done just fine.

Soon the three Halberd-class Destroyers came into view above them. The UNSC Tower of Babel and UNSC Carchemish were in a holding pattern a few kilometers closer to the shore than they had been earlier in the morning. Their captains probably felt more reassured now that the bulk of the 1st Tier had been secured. The sole outlier was the UNSC Arrow of Paris which had taken up a greater elevation than its sister craft by more than 10 kilometers. Perhaps it was putting itself in the best position for an archer missile bombardment, or even more likely, acting as an immediate deterrent against any sudden appearance of Covenant naval forces in the area.

Eventually the islands and cays of the Gulam archipelago gave way to the open waters of the Koronea Sea. The surface became less serenely turquoise and detectably darker.

Oil rigs began to appear. There were dozens of them spaced out every few kilometers along Pavia's maritime waters. If the Chief remembered correctly, these were the rigs responsible for making High Mediolanum one of the eastern republic's more energy independent settlements as well as a major exporter of Diesel and Liquified Natural Gas extracted from Actium's upper mantle.

Some of those very same rigs were on fire, their oil bleeding out from damaged drill lines lying hundreds of meters beneath the water's surface. They had probably been burning for days already. Pelican Dropships were going from rig to rig dropping off personnel from the Marine Corps of Engineers. A few of the squadrons focused on the installations actively engulfed in flames, turning their open cargo bays to them so that Marines manning hoses in the place of machine guns could help quell the infernos.

"Looks like the Covenant did a number on these rigs." Fred noted.

"Some of them at least." Kelly said. "I'm surprised they didn't torch them all."

"Maybe they know something we don't." The Chief commented with a hint of a suggestion.

The Spartans looked to him, at the sea and silently came to their own conclusions.

Their flight soon came to its end as the Pelican began to descend. They came in just over the top of a rig's derrick tower whose blinking red lights indicated the support structure was still operational. The dropship banked right in its descent, allowing them to see the platoons of Marine Engineers moving to and froe. They maneuvered hoses to put out small fires or headed to the various stations across the installation to perform other tasks.

The Pelican settled on one of the helipads off in the corner. The Spartans were up before touchdown and walked down the ramp onto the pad, allowing the pilot to take off right after.

What struck the Chief right away were the splotches of red and blue blood staining the floor of this pad along with the other two, indicative of a hard-fought landing. There were piles of dead Grunts, Jackals, Elites and even a Hunter pair that had been stacked near the edges, Marine fireteams were taking them and hurling them into the sea. Four of them looked to be in the middle of throwing a blue-armored Elite over the nearby edge when the sight of the newcomers stopped them in their tracks. A few others passing by also stopped to stare at them before going on their way.

The Chief looked around for any identifiable officers. His attention finally settled on a grizzly faced Marine wearing a customary non-com's cap and a hardy demeanor that said he'd devoted the best years of his life to the Corps. He was making his way to the pad while staring at the four new arrivals, not with surprised awe like the others, but suspicion. He held a live cigarette between his lips in such a way that he almost reminded him of Mendez.

The Marine jogged up a short flight of steps onto the pad and stopped a few steps short of the Chief. He saluted. "I'm guessing you'd be…Blue Team?"

"That's us." Fred said.

The nom-com's suspicious gaze flashed between their featureless visors. "I'm Sergeant Major Rubello. My XO told me to expect you in the next twenty minutes, but it seems you're already here."

"We wanted to be early for this op." The Chief said. "Its important."

Rubello scrutinized them for a second as he breathed in his cigar and eased out the smoke. "I'll bet. Follow me please."

The Sergeant Major led them off the pad and into the main body of the rig. As they walked across the more open walkways and through the crisscrossing isles formed between the larger components, they found the dampness of the sea spray had combined with the excess mud and crude oil gathered on the floor to dirty their boots. They regularly ran into Marine Engineers moving from place to place, stopping of course to stare and whisper then move on. At one point they had to hurdle over the lines of several hoses being used further down to put out a roaring flame.

Eventually they reached the base of the derrick that stood at the center of the platform. Though Marines were still struggling to put out a few rogue fires, the majority of the space was clear of dangers. They circumvented the tower and stepped up another staircase onto the outer platform of the drilling control room. The two Marines standing guard there opened the door for them. Inside were a team of five Marines. They had visibly moved the bodies of several dead controllers from the original crew aside so they could access the consular stations.

They too gawked at the incoming Spartans. One of the men, a rosy faced private asked "You guys are the next shift, right?"

"Shut it Oswald." Rubello growled. "Keep your eyes on those intake levels. It's not like you're getting paid to do anything else."

Private Oswald shrugged as he returned to his duties. "You don't really pay me at all." He muttered.

Rubello opened another door that led to a staircase with multiple landings. They traversed down ten flights before reaching a final door, one that the Sergeant Major had to cycle open via a wheel handle.

The large chamber beyond hosted two levels, the topmost having balconies that ran along the sides of the wall before meeting at an observation booth on the far end. The lower level was comprised of a grated floor platform that occupied only half of the bottom. The other half was the familiar, eternally moving surface of the Koronea Sea. A thick descension cable that ran from the roof and into the sea held on it a spherical dive cabin. Rubello pointed to it. "Here's your chassis sir. Do feel free to enjoy the refreshments."

"Will do." The Chief said.

Rubello pointed out a ladder along one side of the balcony. The Spartans quickly took it down to the bottom platform and marched up to the diving cabin. Since it was still a few meters overhead, a crew of Marines manning the observation booth lowered it down to their level.

"It's no Sportscar." Linda noted hesitantly. "But it'll do I guess."

"Just for this mission." The Chief assured. He located the entry hatch, twisted the wheel handle and pulled it open. Kelly went in first, followed by Linda and Fred. The Chief chose to go in last, checking one final time to make sure his probe was still on his back before pulling the hatch shut behind him.

The interior of the cabin was something like a lounge. It was well-lit with an encirclement of metal seating. The Spartans took their seats carefully. Much to their relief, they were reinforced enough to bare the weight of their MJOLNIR.

"Nice and comfy." Kelly said in a sing-song voice.

"They already have the AC, now all we need is the aged wine." Fred added.

Linda shook her head. "No thanks. We're already going into the drink as it is."

Rubello comm'd in. "The cabin has a continuously recycling air supply so your only concern will be going in and out. Just tug on the rope when you're ready and we'll pull you up."

The Chief nodded at the metaphor. "Thank you, Sergeant Major. We're good to launch."

"Copy."

A female voice from the observation booth came over the PA. "Descension cable is active. Be advised, Diving Cabin descending in 5...4...3...2..."

The Spartans felt a slight jolt and heard a hiss of metal gears. Then the craft began to descend.

Outside the craft's portholes the chamber gradually disappeared from sight as they dipped beneath the waves.

The ride down was smooth. It was almost impossible to tell that they were moving at all without looking outside where the depths became darker with each passing minute.

A wall-integrated monitor told them their depth level. They kept a close eye on it as they passed the 100-meter mark, then 200 meters.

After five minutes they reached the 500-meter mark. The cabin whined to a halt while the low thrum of the sea echoed around them. The voice came back on the PA. "Be advised Blue Team, pressure equalization and water influx is about to engage in 3… 2…"

The Spartans braced a second before water began to flow from inlets into the midst of the interior. They watched over the course of a minute as the water slowly rose, covering their shins then moving up to their waists, over their chests until finally their visors were submerged. In little time the entire space was completely underwater. Their limited oxygen modes automatically activated, displaying their armor's 90 minutes of air reserves.

Another minute passed to allow the water to settle. Then the female Marine came back on. "Pressurization is complete. You are now free to exit."

The Chief was the first on his feet, an act made slightly harder due to the slowed distillation of movement affect. The others followed his lead in heading for the doors. He undid the hatch and pushed it open. Per his nature he was the first to leap out into the darkness that lay beyond.

No light reached the seafloor half a kilometer down. It was utterly dark save for the external lights of the cabin and the perimeter lights of the oil rig's four support struts. It was a lot like staring at a barren desert, at least up until the point that the illumination could reach. Beyond that was only a dark nothingness.

The Chief used his HUD's integrated compass to reorient himself towards the southeast and turned on his helmet's flashlights. "Eyes up out there. I want a 2-kilometer spread. We've got a little over 88 minutes, I'm setting our limit at 30. Move out."

Kelly, Linda and Fred flashed their acknowledgement lights. Blue Team proceeded to split off, heading in different directions as their helmet lights carved a path across the darkness of the seafloor.

Variabilis - Variable