Halo: Feet First

by MikeDice

Halo: Feet First covers the story of a team of UNSC Orbital Drop Shock Troopers of the 7th Battalion, 105th Shock Troops Division. The main character, Duncan Iris, faces the full horror of the covenant war effort against humanity as well as the brave retaliation of outnumbered and outgunned UNSC forces. However, he also witnesses the turning of the tides as the war progresses.

96. Battle of Ballast - Chapter 4 (Conventu)

Chapter 4 – Conventus

January 4th, 2552 - (08:10 Hours - Military Calendar)

Daedalus system, Ballast

En Route to Vallejo station construction site

:********:

The sun was well over the eastern horizon now, making it so that Duncan couldn't look directly at Vallejo station without polarizing his visor. His view was limited to the prefabricated buildings that formed a kind of small town around it. The polycrete structures stood at an average height of six to seven stories, the vast majority of which were unfinished. Their partially emplaced walls were left pale and unpainted, leaving the skeleton of their steel girding, pipes and wooden planks exposed. The whole thing looked like a collection of beekeeper hives left open to the elements. As for the proverbial bees, there wasn't a single one in sight. That was because Epsilon was busy transporting them there by the bus-loads.

The connecting highway between the station and the city had to weave around wide hills and across lengthy plains, making the path more of a serpentine scenic route than a highway. Few road signs set at off-branching junctions made the city seem isolated, so much so that Duncan was pretty sure it would be another 500 kilometers before they reached anything other than the ODP. Rather graciously, the construction site was set on a flat plain of grasslands so that the last couple of minutes of their journey required few turns. That was a blessing given that the six reinforced buses transporting VOSPER's local developmental division were unwieldy craft. Even that was an understatement.

Being at the head of the convoy, Duncan watched from the troop section of one of Epsilon's newly acquired Hogs as the buses struggled to follow them around the smallest bends. They often had to slow down to avoid nose-diving straight into the hills on either side. His heart would skip a beat whenever one came close enough to have its armored sides spark against the rails or its windows brush against the grassy inclines. Yet the construction crew inside remained utterly unphased. Duncan figured they were used to this kind of commute by now; one more reason why he was glad he didn't live in Vallejo. He simply wanted them to hurry up before the surrounding tracts of grasslands became glasslands.

"See anyone yet!?"

The question came from Zack. Duncan turned to see who he was looking at. He followed his sightline to Deaks in the passenger seat with Hector at the wheel. The corporal had his sniper rifle out and aimed at their destination. Upping his visor's magnification, Duncan observed that the location was less than 600 meters away and closing fast. The squad's Nav point was closer as well, though it led down a road that slipped past the first buildings.

Deaks said something but his voice was lost to the wind.

"What!?" Zack shouted.

"I said I don't see them! It looks like 4-Actual's got everyone hidden pretty good! There's movement but I don't think it's our guys!"

"Oh!"

"You know you can just use your comms, right?" Nova asked from the seat beside him.

"What!?" Zack shouted back.

"I said you can just use your com-"

"WHAT!?"

Nova growled. "I SAID, YOU CAN JUST USE YOUR COMMS!"

"Still can't hear you! Hold on a sec, I'm gonna switch to comms!" Zack switched it on. "Okay, what're you saying?"

Nova stared daggers at him. Zack depolarized to flash her a knowing grin.

Out the corner of his visor, Duncan saw Nova's hand reach for her pistol, stop to ball into a fist then return to her lap. He rested a hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay."

"I want to kill something right now so move your hand or I'll tell the investigators that I mistook you for an Elite."

Duncan swiftly removed the hand.

From the driver's seat of the lead Hog, Martin Ellsworth spoke over the communications unit he'd been loaned for the mission. "What you're currently looking at are our unfinished apartment complexes. The original plan of VOSPER's system administration was to have all the workers living on site. Like the station itself, that idea was experimental and it came after construction was well underway. There was little need for them by the time they started building them. Plus, most of our guys were Vallejo-locals so there was basically no point. You know how these big corporations are though, they get so huge that they don't find out something's a bad idea until they're almost done setting it up."

At the driver's seat, the Staff replied over the comm-link. "It won't be a bad idea for long. We can sure use them strategically for what's about to happen. Speaking of which, Epsilon, I just got news from 4-Actual. He's saying he'll meet us outside the west entrance. He'll need to walk us through. Apparently, they've gotten most of everything setup."

"Everything-everything?" Rico asked.

"Everything."

Rico whistled. "Baelson sure works fast."

"He's always been overachiever." Yuri remarked. "Sorry, I meant, he's always been 'a' overachiever. That's just what they do. Overachieve."

"It's 'an' overachiever." Nova grumbled.

"Sorry, I'm still trying to find out who asked you that."

"I did." Renni intruded. "So shut up."

"I'd rather overachieving than being caught unprepared." Duncan said. He looked out to the barbwire topped fencing that boxed in the site and the road that continued inside. In doing so he spotted an ODST standing some 100 meters from the gateway. The trooper's armor had small white accents around the shoulder pauldrons. That and the presence of the matchbox-like Command Network Module attached to the side of his helmet testified to his rank. But the 2nd Lieutenant didn't need any of those things for Duncan to recognize him. All he needed was that classic hand on hips with head-tilted down in a 'been expecting you' demeanor that he was so well known for in Bravo. "And speak of the devil."

The convoy slowed to a final approach until the lead Hog was right in front of him, bringing the Staff face to face with Baelson.

The latter's visor depolarized, exposing a sharp jaw, a sharp nose and piercing brown pupils that rested under the shade of thick but well-tamed eyebrows. All that upon a well-shaven face. He was too clean. To Duncan he was practically sparkling, the very image of an officer's officer. And he had that eternally expectant glare that gave him the air of everyone's older brother.

"Morning." He said. "You guys enjoyed the vacation I gave you?"

"Just about as much as every other one you've sent us on, sir." The Staff replied tiredly.

A small smile tugged at the lieutenant's lips. He looked to Mr. Martin, acknowledged him with a simple nod then jabbed a thumb at the station. "Follow me, and take it slow."

Baelson headed off at a mild jog. The convoy matched his pace.

For the first 50 meters Duncan kept an eye on the wide expanse of fields that comprised the terrain between the northern hills and the ODP. The grass here was knee-high, not that Baelson appeared to have any problem moving through it. Duncan didn't see any sign of the danger hidden just beneath it. He peeked ahead at the other Hog to see Rico's reaction. The demolitionist was likewise scanning the fields. The two locked eyes and Rico shook his head. That confirmed it. Bravo's EOD specialists had really done their job on this one. Even someone with such a keen-eye for explosives as Rico couldn't pick up on anything. A good sign. If he couldn't then the inbound legions of Covenant infantry and heavy armor definitely wouldn't either.

At 60 meters, they reached a section where the asphalt looked completely normal. Baelson held up a hand for them to stop. He pointed to the right side of the road and swerved his hand in a curving gesture. Then he moved off into the grass. The Staff followed, bringing the line of vehicles one after another onto less even ground. The lieutenant took 20 paces from the road, stopped then started for the station again. The Staff didn't miss a beat, turning where he turned and stopping where he stopped. The others did the same, although the less wieldy buses made Duncan worried when they were forced to deepen their turns more than anyone would have liked. He managed to breathe easy the moment they were back in a straight line again.

With less than 30 meters left to the western gate, he got a bead on the space inside. The nearest apartment buildings formed an urban wall around the outer perimeter of the ODP. They spanned from left to right and looked decently defensible. The route they were taking into the site passed between two of these buildings and even more on the way in. It was like a garden of tall hedges standing guard around a fountain; relatively easy to see through but not so easy to get past. Not so easy if they had the right obstacles in place, and they did.

Platoons of Marines and Military Police were laying down sandbags on the exposed floors of the outermost structures. Sniper rifles were laid down. SPNKR rockets and M319 grenade launchers were left to rest against the iron framework. Machine guns were heaved into place with nothing before them but open terrain. Personnel moved to and fro on the upper floors, from street to street and building to building, carrying more weapons and munitions crates where they needed to go. The majority of the activity was centered around the western gate, at least as far as Duncan could see. It was obvious they were establishing a choke-point for the Covenant to funnel into there.

"Hey, Ep-2, this is your nuketown, right?" Deaks asked.

Nova nodded. "Yeah, this is the one."

"Think these guys know that?"

"Probably. We'll have to be able to up and abandon these positions once the mission calls for it. When we do, these guys will have the hardest job of trying to get onboard in time. I just hope they know that."

"It's the risk we volunteered for, Ep-2." Baelson replied, catching the two off-guard. "Epsilon will be right here with us. It's a staged withdrawal. Every unit has a secondary fallback point prior to takeoff, and a tertiary one...if things come to that. I'll be showing you yours soon."

"And what if they don't press us hard enough for things to come to that, sir?" Hector asked.

"Then we move as planned and only withdraw to our primary rendezvous once the call comes in for us to embark."

"I'd assume that's Vallejo station?" Zack asked.

"You assume correctly."

"Just making sure. Don't want to get incinerated is all."

"You'll be fine."

"You think so, sir?"

"I know so."

Zack faked an emotional cry. "Thank you, sir. Tha-, that means so much to me."

The Staff shook his head embarrassedly as did Baelson. At 15 meters, the lieutenant made a sharp left turn that took them back towards the road. He switched on his comm-link. "This is 4-Actual to Demo-team. Disable Threshold-4's section, over?"

"Copy." Another trooper replied.

The convoy carefully made the retransition to asphalt. They straightened up and shadowed Baelson the last of the way. They warily slipped over the normal looking threshold onto the dirt composite that made up most of the grounds of the construction site.

Once they were in, a group of on-site guards emerged from a nearby security post. They quickly pushed the gate closed then disappeared into their building. Baelson took the opportunity to jump onto the lead Hog. He grabbed a handhold while the Staff carried on down the first of the dirt roads.

"Hey, 4-Actual?" Mito called. "Respectfully, sir, you could disable one set, right? So then why not flip the switch on that whole field so we wouldn't have to do all that maneuvering?"

"It's easier to disable one set than that much of the grid. You'd be surprised how much ordnance you guys just drove over at the gate alone."

"Grid?" Zack asked.

The lieutenant used his freehand to point a finger into the sky and made a circular motion in the air.

Zack tensed. "Wait, you guys mined the whole thing?"

"As per Neptune-Actual's orders."

Epsilon's radioman stared out at the encompassing fields that fell away behind them. He tensed even more then settled back into his seat. Nova stared disapprovingly at him. "My God, you're slow."

"Roger that." Zack agreed.

What Duncan hadn't expected on the way in was the practically unnoticeable incline. The site was actually built upon a hilly landscape that was nearly imperceptible from a distance. There was first the outermost layer of apartment buildings that ringed the area behind the perimeter fence. Not far after that was a growing rise in the dirt road that flattened out into another level. As they crossed an intersection, he peered left and right to find that the next layer of apartment buildings similarly ringed the roads. Those roads were marginally broader and still covered in construction equipment; pyramids of steel girders, piles of pipes, plastic mesh barriers, tractors and cranes. Great firing positions through which to mount a withdrawal. A web of overhanging catwalks connected the upper floors of the outermost buildings to those behind them, providing an additional means of escape.

The Marines and MPs had established sandbag positions in much greater numbers here. While they worked, they were actively being watched over. Their guardians: M71 Scythes. There were a dozen of the 9-meter-tall anti-aircraft guns: six to either side of the intersection. They were set on the ground, atop pre-existing platforms or on the roofs of the apartments. The convoy drove close enough to one so that Duncan could see its finer details. Mounted upon the rotund base was a multi-barreled rotary cannon automated by an inbuilt control suite. An exposed belt of hundreds of AA rounds snaked around its midsection and into the gun itself. Passing from underneath the device's shadow, he couldn't help whistling. Those machines alone could take out Covenant dropships in seconds. Not even the lightning-fast Seraph fighters were safe around them. Then his nerves ignited in his gut. Command wouldn't have pulled out such heavy guns for any basic defense op.

Nova marveled at them as well. "Looks like they're expecting some serious company." She turned to Duncan. "Should we?"

He shrugged. "Guess so. They're packing more heat than I thought we'd need."

"Never rule out Covie air support." Yuri said. "Because they sure aren't ruling out ours."

"That's the most sense you've made all day, Match." Hector quipped.

"I try."

It was a long way to the following incline and the next section of the site. Scores of Warthogs and Scorpion tanks moving to their positions created a developing traffic jam.

If the second ring showed Duncan what the UNSC had brought to the table. the third ring showed him how they'd done it. Shadows flashed overhead. Above them, Pelicans slowed to hover over the tops of the apartments. There they descended under the guidance of Marines until they were sufficiently close to release their cargo. M95 Lances were dropped a short distance to the roofs, clanging against the metal superstructures like tolling bells. The guided missile weapons systems looked closer to rectangular prisms. They were mounted atop the universal base that the M71s used. The defense batteries packed six missiles each, a barrage capable of gutting a fleet of dropships. Besides the Lances, the general buzz of Marine and MPs was just as strong in this layer if not stronger thanks to the Hogs and Scorpions.

They reached the fourth and final ring after slugging through a good deal of traffic. The layout of the entire site became clear. The place was once a hill of its own. Now it looked more like a small volcano with the ODP marking its center.

The whole last ring was dominated by the focal point of the landscape. Vallejo station stood tall; a monolith to human engineering. The craft itself including the main gun and its collaring superstructure was separated from ground level. A 50-meter diameter with an indeterminable drop formed the chasm of the metal silo that encased its lower half. Compensating for that gap were the western and eastern space docks; the U-shaped extensions that provided a bridge over the darkness below.

The road surrounding the silo was covered in a rippling display of mutually defensible sandbag positions. Multiple bunkers had been made or were being made from more bags, concrete, steel and just about anything left lying around. It would be their last line of defense.

The Staff pulled in front of a checkpoint booth where an MP sergeant did a quick one-over of the incoming vehicles. Seeing Baelson among them made him certain he was doing the right thing in raising the long entry bar for them.

The convoy drove into the interior of the final ring. They made use of the ground between the last of the buildings and the first of the sandbag positions. Baelson eventually ordered them to stop once they were well inside, wrapped around the bunkers and bag-walls like a caterpillar around a fruit.

The doors to the buses folded open. Those inside streamed out. In under a minute, a small company's worth of construction workers had assembled in front of the holdout positions. The maw of the western space dock yawned wide before them.

Duncan closely watched their HVI as he hopped out of the lead Hog. The site manager was about to move for the front of the group when he was stopped by none other than Baelson. The lieutenant held out a hand to him, visor depolarized.

"It's a pleasure to work with you, sir."

Martin briefly scrutinized the hand before shaking it with his own. "Aren't you supposed to say that after the fact? We're not even in geosync yet."

"No, we're not. But that's why we brought you over, you and your crew. You have three hours. The success of this entire operation now rests on your shoulders." Baelson laid an emphatic hand on said shoulder. "So whatever you have to say to them, make sure it's enough."

Martin didn't look intimidated in the least. On the other hand, that didn't seem to be Baelson's intention. The visible intensity in his face matched that of the site manager's. They were both of the same mind, determined to get the job done.

Martin nodded and went on his way.

Epsilon saddled up behind the crowd to watch as Martin got on top of an empty bunker. The murmuring within the gathering subsided. Every one of the construction crew turned to pay him their full attention. He tapped the mic of his ear-piece. The sound rebounded reassuringly from the PA systems of the closest buildings.

His voice came loud and clear. "Morning, gang. How are we today?" He looked about to the sea of faces bobbing around him. No response came, nor did he appear to expect any. "Alright, listen folks, we've got a situation on our hands and I'm sure you know it already. I'm only going to put it in clearer details for you to better understand." He pointed back to the ODP. "What we're being asked to do is to launch the project into space. We've been working on it for a while already, but if there's ever been a time to send it on its way, it's now."

He let his words settle over the group. Silence answered in kind. Then a male worker with a scruffy face spoke up from the back. "Hey, Boss El, mind telling me why they split me from my family to get me here!? I'm not even sure they're safe yet and still these UNSC-guys pushed me into that bus!"

A round of murmurs arose among the crew. Shouts of disgruntled agreement rang out. Martin was stoic. "You knew what was in that contract when you signed it."

"Respectfully, boss, it didn't say squat about shipping the project into space in the middle of a shootout with the Covenant."

"He's right!" A female worker harped from the center of the crowd. "VOSPER didn't say anything about us getting put in harm's way like this! We didn't sign up for any of it!"

The number of dissenting voices gradually grew into a clamor of disapproval. Duncan felt anxiety exploding in his gut. The rest of Epsilon stood at the ready. Even the closest Marine platoon who were busy buffering their sandbag positions were now monitoring the situation. Duncan saw more than a few fingers quietly reaching for their triggers, even his own. What he didn't see was any sort of emotion on Martin Ellsworth's face. The man was rock-solid with his hands folded over his chest, an island of calm in a sea of unrest.

Instead of saying anything in reply, Martin merely waited. He stood quiet for ten full seconds before the gathering eased back into silence. His attention locked onto the origin of the dissent. "Dominic, where's your family right now? Do you know?"

Dominic, the worker at the rear of the crowd, seemed taken aback. He looked away, swallowing hard. At length he was able to meet his boss' gaze again. "Wha-, what's this got to do with them except that these guys took me away from 'em!?"

"We're going to make it about them. Now tell me where they are, or where you think they are."

The firm response lit a burning confusion that blazed through Dominic's face. "I-, I'd tell you the truth if I really knew! Last I saw of 'em, they were still on a line waiting for a ride out of the dealership!"

"You think they're still there?"

Dominic considered it. Quickly getting exasperated, he shrugged. "I-, I-, man, probably!"

"Why do you care!?" Another worker shouted. "You probably got your folks out already, right!?"

"Yeah!" Yet another added. "You got your people out of here, didn't you!? What about ours!?'

Martin shook his head. "No. My family's still here. I sent my wife to the starport. I don't know if she's away yet, but my kids are still here." He nodded to Dominic. "Yours might still be too." He pointed to the others who'd shouted. "And yours, Rachel. And yours, Jake. And yours, Sammy." He looked around. "Who else?"

Though no one answered verbally, the reaction came from nervous glances shared between the workers. One by one they turned to Martin, some nodding with uncertainty, some seething with anger, most looking away with worry.

"That's almost all of you." Another pause enabled him to put his hands to his hips. To Duncan, he looked like a man about to explain something to men and women half his age. Like a father.

"You can go back." He said. "I'll speak with the UNSC-guys and work something out for you. But understand that there'll be no way for you to come back."

Dominic took of his helmet and jabbed it angrily at Martin. "And good riddance! I hated reactor duty anyway!" His outburst was met with another round of murmurs, albeit significantly smaller than the last.

"Understand that there'll be no way for you to come back." Martin repeated. "Not to the station, not to Vallejo and not to Ballast."

A heavy silence extinguished the last of the commotion.

"Don't any of you remember all those refugees from Ulterin a couple years back? Don't you remember what happened to them? They were the poor. They were the ones asking for charity on road-stops, them and their kids. Don't you remember the long lines to the food depots, the suicide spikes? That was them. Most of them were refugees even before Miridem, and not many of them ever got out of that cycle. And now you all want to do the same thing?"

"We got places we could run to, boss, like Earth!" Dominic retorted, his anger dimming, his eyes frantically searching for a point to be made. "Isn't running a better option than dying here anyway!? At least we have a chance that way!"

Martin's reply was swift. "If we run, there'll be no home left for us or the people we want to go back for. Most of you said you think your families are still on the surface. Tell me what happens if you guys leave before this job is done and the Covenant show up. The UNSC won't have this ODP to guard our airspace. There won't be much stopping the Covenant from flying down here and killing everyone in Vallejo and every one of you. And how many of you want to take that risk?"

Dead silence replied. Dominic stayed quiet. Martin focused on him.

"You asked if running is a better option than dying here? You tell me. I don't see any difference."

Martin didn't wait again for an answer. He pointed back to the station. "Reactor Teams, Dominic, you know the way. Rachel, your Disengagement Teams have to tackle the restraints. Sammy, have your Refueling Teams hook up a lifeline to the depot. Jake and everyone else in Launch control, you're with me. We've got three hours. Let's move."

The last of the site manager's words were echoed by his own movement. He jumped off the bunker and headed through the small maze of sandbags towards the station. He never looked back. Neither did the bulk of the construction workers who hesitantly followed after him. They began as an unsure trickle that quickly became a determined flood. The group drained through the barriers and past their Marine custodians. They used ramps left in place to walk up into the open doors of the umbilicals on either side of the western space dock.

Not all of them moved. Several dozen stayed behind. Duncan sighted the man called Dominic among them. His face was downcast. He looked up and saw Martin watching him from one of the ramps. They stared each other down. Ultimately it was Dominic who turned away, twisted his hardhat tighter on his head and moved steely-faced towards the umbilicals. His resolve gave the uncertain remainders what they needed to follow his example.

Martin waited to make sure he was the last person inside. He turned to Epsilon and raised a confident thumbs-up. The Staff returned the gesture. Then Martin was gone.

"So that's them, now what about us?" Zack asked. "What's our job here?"

"We ran over this in the secondary briefing, Ep-7." The Staff said. "We'll find a spot in this sector and stick it out."

"And I've got the perfect one picked out." Baelson interrupted as he stopped in front of them. "We'll need you to man a position close to the entrance. That'll give you the best sightlines on where the enemy will land once they run into our AA. We'll really need that Epsilon-luck of yours to hold up. How about it?"

The Staff looked to one side of the squad then to the next. Affirmative glares and hardy stances met his eye. He turned readily to the lieutenant. "Just tell us where you need us, sir."

:********:

Hood was worried. The situation was accelerating to a point where he wouldn't be able to control its beginning, but the outcome might still be in hand. That said, there were a few troubling loose ends remaining.

Sitting in his command chair on the bridge of the UNSC Sevastopol, he was made privy to every groundside and spaceborne progress report in Daedalus. The reports were promising as were the call-ins to his personal communications display. He'd used it to speak with groundside commanders about reorganizing the evacuation efforts in the cities. It was a comparatively lighter task when matched against his other two priorities: organizing the fleet and getting the orbital defense platforms underway.

The first of those priorities came as second nature. This was far from his first time coordinating a planetary defense. Because he was anticipating a heavy Covenant presence, his bet was on placing the 93-ship strong armada at Ballast's equatorial latitude. The strength of the planet's magnetic field there was strong, though it was still outmatched by the stronger fields at the poles. The Covenant's space weaponry relied on ionized plasma directed by artificial magnetic fields generated by their ships. For that reason, staging the battle inside a naturally strong magnetic field would work to the UNSC's advantage by destabilizing the Covenant's plasma direction capabilities. The Navy could shoot at them while they would have a pretty hard time shooting back. A number of his vice admirals saw things that way as well. The downside to that approach, the reason it wasn't a fully viable strategy, was that dispatching the fleet to either pole meant one of two things. First; splitting up their forces, something they might not afford to do if the enemy came in greater numbers, making the divide and conquer dilemma that much more likely. Second, regardless of having the fleet assemble at one pole to concentrate their strength, doing so would ultimately leave too much of the planet's surface vulnerable. The last thing they needed was to get cornered while the Covenant had free reign over an evacuee-filled airspace. Their hands were tied. Instead, he'd chosen the next best option of arraying their forces in two lines along the equator; the only other location with a substantial enough magnetic field to be of use.

He would have paid top dollar to get a QRF from Earth given the size of the naval assets that the Security Council had recently decided to move to Sol. But that would require a vote to risk putting Earth's safety at risk, a vote he was sure to lose. Again, his hands were tied.

Within the confines of his chair, he could see the extent of his ordered deployment. Hundreds of kilometers beyond the bridge's forward view screen was a wall of frigates, destroyers and a handful of carriers. The 52 ships of the combined Reach, Cygnus, Luyten and Beta Hydri QRFs gathered in a staggered line. They faced away from the planet in the direction of the local space where the Covenant scout ship had been detected, and from which their guests were expected to arrive. Their ranks stretched well out of his view. So did the line of the 41 ships of the Daedalus Defense Fleet resting a good 20 kilometers below the first. Their formation mirrored the same zig-zagging pattern.

Together they were two long constellations set against the backdrop of the wider galaxy. They were stars, giants whose glow derived itself less from Hydrogen-Helium nuclear conversions and more from the atomic fusion of the Deuterium-Helium 3 reactions in their fusion drives. To a Navy-man like Hood, it was the same difference, other than that one went out with much more of a bang than the other. He didn't wish to see any proverbial supernovas among his fleet. Nevertheless, there would be casualties. He accepted that. Whatever those numbers might prove to be in the end, he hoped the ODPs would help lessen the damage. That was his second worry, and now that the fleet was in place it had become his main priority.

The organization of the planet's 10 orbital platforms was proving to be the hardest part of his job. Mostly because groundside operations were beyond his expertise. The best he could do was entrust the goings on there to the UNICOM elements currently in place as well as the ODSTs and Marines under his direct command. The infantry types were working together to get their defenses ready. However, the actual deployment of the ODPs was entirely contingent on the VOSPER developmental divisions managing the individual launch sites. He spoke to each of the Navy command echelons sent to man the stations. He pried every bit of information he could from them. Their updates ranged from launch time projections and defensive measures to infrastructural stability assessments and reports of depleted uranium munitions for the MAC guns. Things were getting hectic down there. The last-minute preparations were eating into his patience and on more than one occasion he'd had to get stern with an ODP captain. The task was so consuming that he had to have the Sevastopol's communications officer handle a rough call with a VOSPER system-branch official. The company receiving compensation for any potential risks to its staff was a concern relegated to the bottom rung of his mind.

Thus far 9 of the 10 platforms were in the middle of their final preparations.

The one exception proved to be Vallejo station.

He had overheard how heatedly that VOSPER rep spoke with his comms officer about compensation. Hood wanted to speak with him with double the vehemence about why one of their divisions wasn't in place. Instead of a rep, however, he was being briefed on the reason for that massive inconvenience by none other than the commander of the soon-to-be deployed station: Captain Edwards.

Edwards was a slick-haired blonde wielding a stern face that seemed devoted to carrying the full weight of his gaunt jaws. His crisp uniform and officer's bearing would have stopped any Navy DI from chewing him out on a routine inspection. But Hood was no DI and this was no trivial inspection. His respect was devoted more to ability than to looks, things which time and age had taught him were often mutually exclusive. Edwards was testing that theory as he stood on the bridge of the last station to begin its preparations. With hands folded behind his back he remained steadfast against Hood's scrutiny.

The Fleet Admiral paid just as much attention to the officer on his display as he did to the dozens of navy crewmen moving about the bridge behind him. He took special note of the construction crew personnel mixed among them, the bulk of whom were in front of exposed componential panels, their blowtorches flashing statically.

Hood's brow furrowed. "Just tell me this, captain. Will she be able to go up with the rest of the formation at the deadline?"

This time Edwards looked less confident in his answer. "We're projecting that we may need an additional 20 minutes due to the reactor complications. The heat-up procedures require that level of time compensation."

Hood's stare turned disapproving. "We don't have an 'additional 20 minutes'. I'm now aware of your setback, captain. However, that doesn't change our circumstances. What will be required of you is to meet the pre-established timeline. Anything more than that risks leaving a hole in our lines that we'll have a harder job trying to fill. Not to mention the Covenant could notice what we're trying to compensate for and focus on that weak-spot. One weak-link can break the chain of the entire defense scheme, captain."

If Edwards was starting to feel the pressure, he didn't show it. His countenance betrayed only his poker-faced determination. "I'll see what I can do on my end, sir. I-"

He stopped to turn to something off-screen. Or someone. He started talking to them. Hood looked closer. "Captain?"

After a brief exchange, Edwards returned to their conversation. "Sir, I've got the site manager for the station here. He says he knows a way to get the reactor ready in time for the deadline."

Hood's interest piqued. "Well, let's hear it."

The captain stepped aside. An older man Hood assumed to be the site manager stepped into his place. A cursory examination gave the fleet admiral the impression of someone who was an old deal-maker like himself.

"Fleet Admiral." He respectfully addressed. "My name's Martin Ellsworth and I think I might have the solution to your problem."

"I'm open to anything right now, Mr. Ellsworth. I'd hope your plan is sound."

"You and me both, sir. I can get my team in charge of the reactor to withdraw 30% of the control rods from the core. That'll allow the fuel assemblies to accelerate the reaction rate to the level that can meet your deadline. However, there's a risk involved. With that acceleration comes a chance that the reactor might go beyond the criticality level that we know these things can usually handle on a maiden launch."

"Plain English, Mr. Ellsworth."

"Sir, we run a greater risk of possibly detonating before take-off."

"...What's your threshold between a possibility and a certainty?"

"About 35%, sir."

Hood stopped to consider it. He nodded. "Understood. Keep it at the level you recommended but decrease the reaction rate if you need to. It doesn't help our cause if you explode before you can even get into the fight."

"Will do, sir."

The site manager stepped out of the way and the captain returned. "Are we all settled then?"

"We are. Keep me posted."

Edwards snapped off a salute. "Aye, sir."

The feed from Vallejo winked off. The display switched to the ship's offensive software which portrayed the planet, the many green contacts representing the fleet and the numerous plotted lines protruding out from those ships into local space; firing solutions for the formation. He still hadn't worked them all out yet with the ship's AI, adding to the list of preparations he needed to complete. He glanced out the forward viewing screen to the ships themselves. Their forward sections were framed against the bright light of the distant star Daedalus, a little coin-sized thing in the upper right corner of the viewing screen. Their aft sections were illuminated by the reflected light of Ballast at their backs. For a moment he chose to enjoy the unusual beauty of human ships bearing the guise of the system's newest denizens. Then he switched his focus away from the scenery. He returned to the work of organizing the targeting solutions for those same ships and re-checking the exospheric rendezvous coordinates of the impending ODPs. As always, the beautiful view had to wait. He would have to enjoy it more later, if it was still there to enjoy and if there was a later.

:********:

The Fleet of Valiant Prudence had departed from the holy city with both the blessing of the Hierarchs and the excited candor of his commander. He didn't dare to deny the joy of Tartarus' announcement back in their feast hall. There could be no greater task assigned to a follower of the path than retrieving an oracle, and no glory more worthy of a Jirilhanae than bringing that oracle back to those for whom it was requested. Such a feat would launch his name and that of his fellow Bearers into the light of the prophet's praises as well as the good graces of the eternal ones. Perhaps even his species would receive the benefit of an appraisement of such magnitude.

Well, hopefully not all of them.

Not the one whose name he detested. Not the one that had proven to be a thorn in his side since the very day he became the chieftain of their pack. For that welp, glory was not a suitable reward. It would not be appropriate for him whose scorn for his leader was well known, whose derision and ambition were gradually growing a sect of their own within his pack. That Jirilhanae deserved nothing of gain, and Archoneus intended to establish that judgement today. Then none would doubt that disobedience and rebellion would not be tolerated, that he was their chieftain. They would learn that his word would stand and not that of a lesser warrior, even if he was his right-hand man.

For the invasion, the Bearers of Preeminent Sanctitude were granted a single heavy corvette by Supreme Commander Barutamee. The Divine Confession would be well suited to the requirements of their mission. Its relatively middling size and speed made it the opportune vessel for their operation. The smaller their contact signature, the greater their chances of accomplishing their task without detection. The ship was chosen well, despite that its crew were arguably chosen with far less consideration for what Archoneus liked to call 'compatibility'.

The Devoted Sentries, the Sangheili Zealots specially selected for relic requisitions were also onboard. Their presence was unwelcomed to Archoneus and his fellow Jirilhanae at least. The Prophets, however, in their infinite wisdom, had chosen to allow Barutamee to decide on who would be the ones to actually lay their hands on the oracle. That part Archoneus hated the most. But a Hierarch's word was sound and faultless in spite of any contentions he might have with it. The Bearers of Preeminent Sanctitude would simply have to grin and bear the fact that they would only gain the table scraps of today's glory.

That is if the Sentries succeeded without issue.

If.

Meanwhile, Archoneus planned to ensure the success on the Jirilhanae-side of affairs.

Now that they were well into their journey, he was making his move. One step after the next led him further down the corridor and deeper into the heart of the ship. The ceremonial armor of his rank was fully donned. Its sharp edges and red and black paint devoured the palish purple rays of the overhead lights. The heavy weight of the gravity hammer on his back shifted with each stride. His true face was hidden behind a mask of stoicism. The mask told the Unggoy and Kig-Yar walking in the opposite direction to keep walking, that there was nothing to see. Occasionally a handful of the cone-shaped cannon-fodder would stop, see that they were about to walk right into him, shiver at realizing their mistake and take several appropriately wide steps to the side. The avian scavengers did the same under the reluctance of predators trying to evade an even greater predator. They were among the wisest in the Covenant for that perception alone. If only his target was so wise.

He reached a forking split in the corridor where two doors stood in his way. Their indicator lights highlighted the four hexagonal locking mechanisms on each of the doors. The one on his right was dimmer than the one on his left, indicating it was sealed for maintenance. He went left. The locks retracted and the door slid open for him.

He entered into a larger chamber with a matching incline that made his progression to the other side both a trek and a climb. This was the gun deck. To his left was a raised walkway whose rib-like design sloped down into the lower section he was on. On his right was the vastness of slipspace. The dark, featureless void stared back at him from the other side of a razor thin envelope of energy shielding. This close he could see the watery shimmer of its surface as well as the main armaments of the corvette. The three Melusean-pattern heavy plasma cannons extended into the dark realms of slipspace like patient gargoyles. They were ready to lay waste to any target in real space. So were their gunners who didn't look patient enough to wait for such things. A white-armored Sangheili Ultra stood at the helm of each cannon's cylindrical firing station inside the energy barrier. They appeared to have been on their guard when Archoneus stepped into their domain. Several Unggoy and Kig-Yar were passing through at the same time. Still, the Ultras focused exclusively on him. Their hands never left from the holographic projections of their stations. Their fingers never stopped typing away at the plasma recycling functions crawling through their screens. Their 'eyes' never left him. Those beady visors always managed to unnerve him, making the aggravating Sangheili seem much more menacing than they ought to be.

Archoneus fought down the urge to growl under their gaze. He could feel that their stares remained on him as he passed.

His ear perked up at an opening door. He looked to the upper walkway in time to see who it was.

Red armor. Blue accents. Digitigrade legs. A laterally elongated helmet whose horns pronged forward. Black eyes that looked upon his own with disgust. Then the figure disappeared through a door that led in the opposite direction.

Archoneus gritted his teeth. He knew what he'd seen. It was his first glimpse of one of those Sangheili that would soon be stealing the glory from those who rightfully deserved it. He wondered if the miserable four-jaws had chosen to use the upper walkway simply to avoid him. Whatever the reason, Archoneus brushed off the near run-in. That was one nail he wished to hammer down but could not. He settled for taking care of the one that he could and carried on his way, ignoring the stares that remained on his back until he reached the next set of corridors.

He travelled through a minutia of sliding doors and curving paths before turning down a final corner. He came to a stop at another trapezoidal doorway. Unlike the rest, the indicator lights on this one glowed a stable red. He took a step closer to the threshold. The door sensors immediately detected his biometrics. The locking mechanisms chimed, glimmered and retracted. The door slid away. He walked inside with his mind set on the work he'd come to perform.

The chamber he entered was closer to the size of the gun deck. Divided into two levels, this part of the ship's 'armory' was a large oval-space just below the hanger. To Archoneus it seemed more prison than armory specifically because that's exactly what it was, or used to be. The Divine Confession's brig had been transformed into a makeshift armory for the Bearers. The real one was somewhere in the aft section. What was given to the Jirilhanae instead was a prison dissected into four different quarters by a crisscross of energy barriers. The part of the brig that belonged to his pack was merely one section of the larger, petal-like hall. This way the four packs chosen from the ranks of the Bearers for this mission would each have separate stations. There was wisdom there. Jirilhanae from different packs had a higher likelihood of killing each other before a mission than at any other time. Such casualties were primarily wrought from arguments over who got what equipment. He had a sneaking suspicion that said wisdom hadn't come from the shipmaster. More than likely Tartarus had put in a word with the supreme commander to have such conditions met. He had to admire his superior's willingness to ensure their success. Now it was his turn. After all, Tartarus's actions may have addressed the tension between the packs but not the tension within them.

On the walls to either side, even on both levels, were open prison cells that they'd filled to the brim with weapon crates and armor containment units. A dozen Jirilhanae were there. Half of his pack were dressed in their under-suits. They were checking over their weapons as well as their armor sets. They looked to be preparing to break in their new gear along with their new weapons...but not on his orders.

Archoneus had never called for such an armament. He could see past the energy barriers that separated them from the other sections of the brig. The other packs weren't there. None except his own had come to acquire their equipment; an act he hadn't ordered...but someone else had.

He kept walking.

The others in the chamber noticed him first through scent. Their nostrils flared. They smelt his anger, and looking up to meet his eyes, he could see the fear in theirs. They immediately ceased from arming themselves and checking their armor once they caught sight of him. None moved to speak. They too were wise. While he could discipline them for obeying an order that wasn't his own, he knew that wouldn't solve the problem. He needed to cut out the root of their rebellion. The instigator. His punishment would be their example.

Archoneus stalked past the lanes of crates and open cells, past the rebellious Jirilhanae and towards their leader. Their false leader.

Ahead of him stood a Jirilhanae dressed in the golden armor of a Captain Major. The horns of the helmet bent back. The limbs and body were guarded in an ornate protection that, to any other officer, would have pronounced them to be deserving of it.

Here it was a shame. A waste.

The Captain Major was about to pull out a grenade launcher housed inside a supply crate when he sniffed at the air. Archoneus stopped a short stretch behind him and patiently folded his arms over his chest. He waited for the Jirilhanae to stiffen at the realization of who was behind him, relax somewhat in acceptance of his fate and yank out the weapon from the crate.

He would need it.

Archoneus let him turn so that he could see the black-furred, red-eyed creature that had done more than any other to deserve his hatred.

Karagim, his second-in-command, was slightly taller than his chieftain but he stretched himself out as though he were the more dominant one.

Archoneus stared unwaveringly at him. Karagim impudently met his gaze, not showing any sign of backing down. He went so far as to tilt his head to look down on him, exposing the scruff of his beard. Archoneus sniffed at the air. There was no smell of submission wafting from his subordinate. There was only rebellion.

The Chieftain's eyes shifted left then right, gauging the expressions of the others without moving his head. They were either gathering closer to the sight or distancing themselves from it to watch from the far walls. The tension was so palpable that he could bite into it. His strong jaws shifted open like an empty grave.

"Who among you summoned this meeting?"

None of the others answered. They kept their heads down in displays of submission, a behavior Karagim proved intent on resisting by pushing his armored chest out even more.

"I did." He said matter-of-factly.

Archoneus expected the answer. But he wasn't sure which he hated more, the way in which it was said or the fact that he didn't add 'Chieftain' at the end. Which was the greater disrespect?

"Explain yourself."

Karagim's fiery pupils swelled with a disgusting pride. "I know we are nearing the human world. It is only a matter of time before Tartarus gives the order for us to prepare. So I-"

"You circumvented the chain of command." Archoneus finished. "Because I gave no such order."

Karagim's teeth, razors like his own, clenched into a smile. "But I did."

The two stared each other down for a moment whose length bared a glimpse into what was soon to unfold.

Then Archoneus sighed. His arms returned to his side. He looked to a nearby bench on his right that rested beside an ammo crate. He pointed to it. "Do you see that bench?"

A hint of confusion broke through Karagim's mask of hubris. He warily looked to the bench, scowled then turned back to him. "What of it?"

"Hmm." Archoneus pinched at his own beard and slowly stroked it in thought. He nodded in approval at his final decision. "I will put your arms there."

He pointed next to another bench on their left. "Do you see that one over there?"

The earlier pride had now drained from Karagim's face as his scowl deepened. He spotted the next bench. "...What of it?"

Archoneus nodded. "I will put your legs there."

He pointed past the captain major to the far wall. "Do you see that wall?"

This time, Karagim didn't move. He didn't answer either. His face hardened. He gave a low growl that Archoneus ignored as he explained further.

"I will mount your head there."

Archoneus pointed lastly to Karagim's groin. "And those I will serve to the thorn beats as feed." He met his subordinate's stare. "Do you understand?"

Karagim's growl rose to a more audible volume. His fangs bared themselves.

Archoneus remained relaxed. He'd been waiting for this for a long time.

"I take it you've finally accepted my challenge." Karagim grinned bitterly. "Took you long enough."

Archoneus shook his head. "Far too long."

He reached for and grasped the handle of his gravity hammer.

Karagim did the same with his grenade launcher.

A voice on the intercom stopped them both. Its authority was familiar, its demanding undertone undeniable.

"Addressing all Bearers, I repeat, addressing all Bearers. This is Tartarus. Begin your final preparations. The mission is soon to begin. Once you are finished, meet me at the hanger. Move quickly."

The bloodlust ebbed from the frames of the two Jirilhanae. Archoneus retreated his hand from his hammer. So did Karagim from his grenade launcher. They shared another long stare.

"It seems I was right to give the order." Karagim smiled.

Archoneus ignored the statement. He looked to the other Jirilhanae in the room who were still frozen in place. None of them were dressed yet or looked ready to move from where they stood. He seized upon that uncertainty.

"Begin your preparations." Archoneus growled. "You know our commander has little patience for the slothful, and so do I. Move."

His words triggered the warriors to action again. They moved swiftly to the armor units in the prison cells, leaving the two almost-combatants alone. The door to their section of the brig opened and the last dozen of his pack stormed in. They didn't stop to take notice of the pair standing in the middle of the brig.

Archoneus turned back to Karagim. "We'll settle this after we have secured the oracle. No sooner and no later."

Karagim huffed but nodded in agreement. "By your word...Chieftain."

He walked away. So did Archoneus. The two drifted to their own sections of the room where those most loyal to them were in the greater concentration. The air of division remained, as it always did, though Archoneus swore that it wouldn't remain so for much longer. Not if his anger and his hammer had anything to say about it. He stayed patient throughout the process. He'd held in his rage for this long, so he could hold it in a little longer. He could wait. The divine could not.

:********:

The hanger of the corvette was nothing short of busy.

Unggoy auxiliaries ambled about by the dozens hoisting and moving aside crates and plasma batteries to prepare the way for aircraft. Huragok swarmed here and there to the batches of Seraph starfighters hanging from the ceiling. They ran their cilia-covered tentacles over the hulls in order to complete their final maintenance checks. Every weapon and vehicle needed to be readied for the time when their use would be required. The same applied to those that would wield them, hence why Tartarus had assembled the Bearers of Preeminent Sanctitude at the center of the hanger.

His expectant eye traced along the seven long lines of ten Jirilhanae each. They were dressed from head to toe in their power armor, creating a sea of blues for the lesser ranks, the fringes of gold for the higher officers and finally the shoals of black and red for the chieftains. Their proud stances were perfect, their bodies erect, their fangs hidden for the time being. Restraining the ferocity in their blood was a discipline that he'd personally instilled in them. Today he would reap the harvest of his labors.

Tartarus came to the edge of the platform, one interlinked to two others that the wall and a quartet of pillars helped to uphold. The pale light of the room fell upon him in a luminous baptism so that none of his appearance was spared.

The look of confusion that dawned over some of his subordinates was understandable. After all, compared to them, he was practically naked. His usual grenadier sash, his belt and shoulder pauldrons were all he wore and all he would need. He'd chosen not to wear the power armor because he wanted to meet the oracle in his purest form. In Jirilhanae culture, the less armored one was for a battle, the more glory they gained when they ultimately defeated their opponent or claimed their prize. If the opportunity was given then the Bearers would gain the glory of acquiring the oracle. But he planned to gain all that and much more with much less.

"Brothers, welcome to the edge of glory." Tartarus began, his voice booming unassisted throughout the room. "Where we stand now is not the spot where our generations will praise us and our Gods will honor us. That is yet to come. Where we stand now is simply the threshold. The door is soon to be before us. But the divine will only show us the way. It is we who must tread the path to ascension. And we will tread it, us and all our kin." He stopped to look among their faces. He spotted Archoneus on the third line, and next to him, Karagim. "Now brace yourselves. Earn that armor. Prove yourselves worthy of the prophets' appointment. Prove yourselves worthy to be my Bearers, to carry the burden that will be set before you and upon your shoulders. The eternal feast that is to come will be far greater than any other that has come before. So eat, tear and devour. Gorge yourselves on the praise that will be due your names."

An announcement from the bridge came over the communications. "All hands prepare for immediate reentry in five..."

Tartarus saw a wild anticipation flash over the gathering.

"Four..."

Fists were tightened.

"Three..."

Fangs were bared.

"Two..."

Tartarus grinned. Their time had come.

"One..."

All at once the hanger was filled with a flash of brilliant light. A second later it dimmed to where those within could look to the energy barriers on the port and starboard sides. The uninteresting monotony of slipspace was gone. Reality was now repainted with a display of stars, the closest of which shined warm sunlight into the hanger that divided his face, leaving the other half hidden in shadow. His grin widened as his attention settled on the distant sphere of greens and blues.

"If any of you dares call himself a warrior, let him shout!" Tartarus reached back, grabbed the Fist of Rukt and with one powerful swing he pointed its stony head at the planet. "THERE IS YOUR GLORY! TAKE IT AND FEAST!"

The hanger erupted in bellowing howls and riotous chants as the Bearers raised rifles, grenade launchers and gravity hammers high overhead like war banners. They roared even louder as the flashes of new stars suddenly appeared by the handfuls, then by the dozens as the ships of the Fleet of Valiant Prudence exited slipspace and emerged into the human system.

Conventus – Assembly