Chapter 27 – Volucres
August 19th, 2552 - (13:24 Hours - Military Calendar)
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach
Viery Territory, Eposz
New Alexandria
:********:
The circular targeting reticle of the M247H danced across the visages of passing skyscrapers as Duncan scanned the area. The reticle remained an impassive blue for the most part. Every so often it flickered to a hostile red or a friendly green as the intermittent dogfight bolted by.
Nothing was coming their way yet.
Previous experience had taught him to remain vigilant. Even if the assault wave was yet to arrive, the tram was still a juicy target for those that were already here. Banshee flyers could be stalking the skyline like opportunistic crows. Seraph fighters could be lurking above the clouds like patient buzzards, waiting for any sign of weak prey. Duncan wasn't about to let anything have an easy time of it. If they were chugging into a turkey shoot then he would rather have the enemy on the receiving end of it.
He could only see so much of the skies to begin with. His position on the bottom floor at the back of the rear coach meant his view was restricted, confined mostly to parts of passing buildings and the streets below the railways. These regularly dipped out of sight beneath scattered remnants of the morning cloud cover. Even then, he could only see where they'd been, not where they were going.
To see the latter required him to peer over his shoulder just to catch a glimpse through the other windows. The heads of everyone sitting behind him were a constant obstacle. The sounds of chatter, which had grown from scared whispers to simple wariness, was nonetheless a distraction that he struggled to ignore.
His own comm-chatter with the rest of the platoon helped him to stay focused.
"Catching a lot of air up here." Nova said. "My visor's fogging up. How much further to the first objective, sir?"
"We're still one klick out." The Staff replied.
"Which building is it again?" Hector asked.
"The High Octavia Hotel." Renni reminded. "I hear its nice around this time of year."
"Nice? Ep-10, have you looked, oh I don't know, up recently?"
"I'm talking about before now. I did some speed reading on the specs of this place as well as the other one. Octavia's five star, one of the best hotels in the city. One of the biggest too. Good pools, good rooms, good food-
Yuri's motley laugh interrupted her. "Thanks, Ms. Travel Agent. Think they'll let me pig out in their buffet after this, maybe crash in their penthouse? I mean, we are saving lives here."
"A little gratitude goes a long way." Mito harped in a Zen-like monotone that confirmed his heightened focus.
"I think I see it." Mackley said as the railway curved at a deepening angle that marked the most northwesterly turn of their journey. "Confirming visual. High Octavia hotel 800-meters out."
A Nav point appeared on Duncan's HUD which showed the rapid approach of the tram to its destination. At that point he knew for certain they, as troopers of Bravo, had dipped into Alpha Company's area of operation. The first major indication came from below. While the tram's curve finally leveled off into a straight shot westward, the streets became less populated with the stagnant waters of civilian traffic and more with the bubbling puddles of debris fields. The ruined corpses of dismembered Ghosts, decapitated Revenants and disemboweled Wraiths became the norm. Whether it was a squad of Ghosts slain on a street corner or a Wraith pair sitting where they had met their end on a highway, their smoking pyres lent their tallies to Alpha Company's kill count. Nothing less could be said of the patches of dead Covenant soldiers that appeared at random, some here, some there, others splattered everywhere.
"Looks like Alpha put in some serious work on this side of town." Dalton admitted. "Hate to say it but, not bad."
"You shouldn't have said that, sir." Lang cut in.
"What?"
The reason why became obvious when several dissenting voices rose over the frequency simultaneously, all of them from Epsilon. They fought to be heard. Yuri's skeptical tone eventually won out.
"They only got this far because they got help from Army guys and flyboys."
"But didn't we get their help too?" Daz asked, nonplussed.
"I don't know what you're talking about, woman. Your memory's as cloudy as yesterday's Borscht. Who saved Army guys trapped at that park?"
"Bravo!" Zack proudly declared.
"Uhuh, who called in that air strike that finished off the Covies in said park?"
"Bravo!" Zack repeated, becoming Yuri's unofficial yes-man.
"And who piloted Falcon when that AA unit showed up?"
"Bra-"
"Kilo-9-2 and 9-4." Renni interjected, her matter-of-fact tone falling like rain on their parade.
"The one that got the most kills?" Yuri countered.
"Bravo!"
The comms were filled with a collective sigh from the women of 1st Platoon.
Rico gave his five cents as well. "Not to mention two of our own was all we needed to solve that little problema at Császári, wouldn't you agree Whiskey-4?"
Lang grumbled uncertainly. "Please don't drag me into this, man. I don't-"
"Don't forget the colonel." Hector pointed out. "We lost him right from the start. If their CC hadn't broken his legs, we'd still have Neptune. Don't get me wrong, 4-Actual's doing better than most, but the colonel's the best when it comes to this sort of stuff. If we still had him, we'd be further along."
Yuri chuffed. "And would you look at that, their company commander stubbed his pinkie toe. See that Ep-10, that's proof Alpha can't handle heat like we can. They've got Neptune holding their hand while we're still cooking with one tied behind our back."
"Why are you singling me out?" Renni bit back. "I know what we do, I'm in Bravo too you know."
"Then act like it."
"You're such a child."
"Speaking of the colonel," Mackley said, killing their quarrel in the crib. "I think I see him."
Duncan checked the Nav point again: '160m'.
"Hotel's coming up." The Staff said. "Get ready."
There was a metallic click before Duncan both felt and saw the tram switch course via a small junction, slipping over from the main railway to an exit rail. The transport continued another 50-meters before the conductor engaged the brakes. Their momentum slowed to a crawl as they fell under a large shadow.
The subtle scream of the braking mechanisms ended their forward progress. Duncan felt his decision justified once he stopped his own inertia by holding onto the turret. It remained stubbornly in place, maintaining his balance. He glimpsed the corner of a white building looming on his right. He did a double-check on the skies behind them then turned away, using one of the other windows to sneak a glance at their destination.
The characteristic white-gray walls of an Alexandrian skyscraper stood tall and proud. It went so far up that he lost sight of it beyond the few floors above and below the tram stop. A seeming latticework of row after row of diamond windows reflected the sunlight that bounced off the arriving tram like a rogue wave. Looking closer, he saw that its cobalt blue panes rose even higher in the form of a downturned spade whose base stopped where a gap began. The hotel itself had an opening in its midsection that passed from its northern wing all the way through to its southern wing, narrowing halfway up before widening again. It was as if a giant had carved a perfect hourglass shape into the heart of the building. It had then finished its work with another spade-like arrangement of windows that pointed skyward. Still not satisfied, however, it went out of its way to add an artificial waterfall that cascaded all the way down from the top of the opening before disappearing back into the structure. Sunlight passed through the aquatic wall, casting a faint array of rainbow refractions that spiderwebbed across the area, creating a piece of architectural artwork.
Zack broke the moment of silent awe with a surprised whisper. "So...that's High Octavia?"
"Guess so." Hector laughed, equally stunned. "How'd they even put a waterfall in there?"
"It's a hydroelectric plant." Nova corrected. "This hotel's running on its own power. The company must have decided to turn it into an art exhibit to boot."
Yuri groaned wistfully. "I know I was joking before but I'm definitely bunking here sometime. How about it, boss?"
Duncan heard a commotion behind him. He watched the quiet crowds get up out of their seats, throwing backpacks over their shoulders, taking children by the hand or simply pulling themselves to their feet.
"Negative." The Staff said. "We've got a job to do."
"What if I want to quit?" Yuri asked snidely.
He was answered by the Staff's terse and honest response. "What about it?"
The doors to the coach slid open, as they did for the other three. The onboard contingent of soldiers and engineers got to work. They organized the disembarkation process, allowing the civilians to shuffle down the central walkway one row at a time. Once they passed through the doors, they were met by a net of Army troopers that waited for them at the boarding platform. Of the ODSTs sprinkled among them, Duncan counted at least two squads of an Alpha Company platoon. They formed a defensive wall around the civilians and directed them to the building's entrance on the other end of the tram stop.
As their human charges drained out, Duncan spotted an ODST standing at a commanding view on the steps to the entrance. He quickly recognized the colonel by his prominent left shoulder pauldron. On it was borne his personal crest of a white death's head, ensuring there was no mistaking him for anyone else.
He seemed to recognize them as well as he looked past the oncoming masses to the tram behind.
"This is Neptune-Actual, is that you, 1st Platoon?"
"The one and only, sir." The Staff replied.
Zack joined in. "Don't worry, sir, your Bravo's here. Sorry we left you all stressed out with these Alpha guys."
"They didn't raise your blood pressure too much, did they?" Yuri kidded. "Word on street is they missed a Spec Ops Elite the other day that tried to take swing at you. Is that true?"
One of the Alpha squad leaders rose in protest. "Why don't you mind your own business, Bravo. Some of us are actually trying to save lives out here."
"Not the colonel's."
"Listen, we-"
"Tango-1," The colonel interrupted. "Let me handle this."
"...Sir."
Garrison's visor depolarized to expose the half-amused, half-concerned smile on his face, like that of a father trying to stop his sons from fighting. "Word on this side of the street is that you guys had a rough time of it yesterday. What's this I hear about a Grunt suicide charge?"
"We...might've walked into that one." The Staff explained.
"And 4-Actual?"
"Him too."
Garrison shook his head. "And what about the Jackal snipers playing 4D chess?"
Mackley chimed in. "We took care of them, sir. We might've taken a few scratches but at the end of the day we're still in one piece."
But they weren't. Duncan knew for a fact that they weren't. Mackley knew that better than he did, as did the rest of Whiskey, but he said nothing. Neither did anyone else.
"Glad to hear it, son." Garrison replied. "Not that I was worried. I've learned not to bother when it comes to you guys, it's counterproductive. The guys here in Alpha?" He shrugged. "I worry a little. That story about the Spec Ops Elite is true but it's not like they haven't picked up the pace with security ever since. I'm in good hands here and so is Alpha. I'm not worried about you, so don't you go worrying about me, understood?"
A few steadfast replies of "Yessir" answered him in full.
Duncan saw the last civilians on his floor pile out of the coach as well as the others. A new wave of passengers came down from the second floor. They filtered across the now empty seats and settled down, finding more room instead of the packed existence that had come to define their trip upstairs. They had already been divided into groups before they came aboard. The situation at the individual landing sites had become strained over the last day and night. More survivors had flocked to them in the wake of the 83rd's first pass over the city. The result was that some of them were too full, presenting a logistical nightmare of thousands gathering without sufficient care or supplies to sustain them. Command's decision had been to more evenly disperse those civilians looking to transit from the Maglev station. That way they would alleviate the dilemma of overcrowding which the station had, incidentally, transmitted to those same places that were supposed to help.
Seeing the tail end of the first group passing him by, Garrison turned again to 1st Platoon. "Looks like you're about to head out, troopers. Go on, we can't have you late for your next drop off. Just do me a favor though."
"What's that, sir?" The Staff asked.
"Make sure to watch out for 4-Actual, have his back whenever you can. I always appreciate it and I'm sure he does too."
"Already on it."
Garrison paused. "And another thing."
"Yessir?"
He flashed them a knowing grin. "This place looks even better on the inside. I'm planning to setup an HQ here for some on-the-job R&R once we secure the city, but I don't think my pockets can afford the place. Think you could spot me?"
Duncan could hear the smirk in the Staff's reply. "How much?"
The colonel's grin grew even wider. "Pretty sure the brochure said a couple thousand creds".
"That doesn't sound too bad."
"Per night."
At that, the Staff went silent.
"Can you still front me that, Ep-1?"
"If I can sell everyone in the platoon, sir, sure."
The two of them let out a hearty laugh as the doors of the tram slid shut and the transport began its slow build-up of acceleration.
"Good luck, colonel!" Zack shouted. "Don't let them work you too hard over here!"
Duncan finally spoke up. "And if the Covies come back to take a crack at you, remember we're just a call away! Don't want to make it too easy for'em!"
"Same to you, Helljumpers!" Garrison waved them off as the tram got underway, taking them further into the city.
Duncan watched him grow smaller as the tram slipped over another junction and returned to the main rail. Soon he could barely see him at all, a dot among many other dots. Like everyone else, he was glad to know that despite yesterday's incident, the colonel was doing just fine.
The growing distance subsequently showed him a fuller scope of the building as well as the area.
He looked out to get his bearings. Bravo Company's positions were somewhere further north of them, off to their right. Charlie Company's positions were somewhere to the south, off to their left. He added a more westerly heading for the latter since they had reportedly gotten further along than either Bravo or Alpha. He took another chance to marvel at the sight of the rapidly diminishing High Octavia. It wasn't every day that he got to see buildings like it, at least not until recently. Seeing it firsthand, it was no wonder that Erica often complained about them. They were the Csillagos' main competition after all. However, that way of thinking was his undoing. It got him wondering again about his family. It got him worrying again. Remembering that there were plenty of other families behind him that were relying on his protection, he regained his sense of mission, of immediate purpose, though not entirely.
:********:
The Vigadó Building was their next destination. According to the details they received from the UNSC detachment stationed there, it was a corporate megaplex. It was not the only one in the city either, but it was one of the largest, not in height of structure but in width of property.
Their time was running short. They were racing for Vigadó at top speed. Having dipped further northwest, they had effectively left Alpha Company's area of operation and returned to Bravo territory. Rarely would they have to slow down to allow another tram to pass by on its way to a different evac site. Friendly and hostile air traffic was always present though the entities above never paid much attention to what was going on below them. The numbers of Covenant aircraft were noticeably low compared to the first day of fighting. These were the dregs of their forces. The deluge wasn't far off.
Duncan heard the reports as they trickled in over the UNSC Battlenet. Forward observers had gotten visual confirmation on the approaching assault wave. It was massive: a virtual tsunami on wings of Seraphs, Banshees, Phantoms and Spirits. The exact forecast was worrying. Estimates placed their numbers between 900 and 1,000.
There were easily twice as many aircraft as the first waves that had crashed into New Alexandria the day before.
Radio-chatter was reaching fever pitch. Battalions of the Army's 109th and 145th Infantry Divisions were hunkering down in their positions. Back at NA Central, the 77th Armored Division was tightening its defensive cordon around the station and its surrounding blocks. Even their own guys in the 7th and 22nd Shock Troops Battalions were battening down the hatches, preparing themselves for anti-aircraft operations.
In the clear afternoon sky, Duncan got to see a spectacular and worrying sight. Stationed in the airways a few kilometers above Alexandria, still firing its point defense guns at the stragglers of the last wave, one of the UNSC frigates was slowly turning to starboard. It was rotating out towards the northern fringes of Alexandria. He heard the others call out what they were seeing as they spotted the other two frigates also turning about, one to the southeastern limits and the other to the southwestern. They were covering each other's backs. The maneuver had granted their guns a full field of fire in the directions that the enemy were expected to come from. Consequently, they were aiming in every direction.
The city was bracing itself.
So was 1st Platoon as well as those aboard the tram. But unlike everyone else, they were still on the move. There was no rest for the weary. The saying applied doubly for the evacuation effort as well as those who were its backbone.
"Hey," Zack said. "You guys hearing this?"
"I hear it." The Staff said grimly.
Duncan didn't, not right away. He listened out. Across the city the sounds of war wrung out, distant echoes of gunfire, the whine of plasma weapons, the dull thump of explosions. But these were swiftly becoming the supporting instruments for a greater, more disturbing orchestra. A new noise was rising. The louder it grew, the clearer it became until he could fully recognize it.
A hum passed through the air.
It was like the sound of an immeasurable choir of the departed, one that had returned to haunt the living world with a wordless curse. Duncan could feel it causing the air itself to vibrate so that he could barely breathe without it shaking his guts around. It became louder. It was getting closer. They were getting closer.
Suddenly the ghostly warble of impulse drives was suppressed by an opening salvo from the frigates. Their point defense guns lit up the air, ripping through the clouds themselves with an overwhelming barrage on every side. But new clouds quickly appeared in the skyline: clouds of purple metal and scintillating plasma.
Hordes of Covenant dropships, starfighters and other attack craft poured into the world above Alexandria like the eye of a hurricane, an eye that was quickly bearing down on the city.
The assault wave had arrived.
As more of them entered the local airways, the aerial countermeasures of the three frigates seemed to become more and more meaningless. Their crews must have figured that out as well. Multiple silos opened along their hulls. Archer missiles flew out of them and screamed towards the approaching storm, casting a crisscrossing net of exhaust trails across the skies of Alexandria. The projectile fusillade spread far and wide as the missiles darted after their targets like catfish after minnows. They slammed into the densest formations of the encroaching swarm. Bursts of orange-blue explosions ploughed through their numbers, creating fertile conditions for dozens of flowers of fiery smoke and spiraling debris to bloom. Multiple thunderclaps echoed through the streets and off the walls of buildings.
It didn't so much as slow down the assault. Rather, it accomplished the opposite effect of seemingly enraging it. Like hornets defending a sundered nest, the fastest of them closed the distance to the frigates. Plasma weapons were unleashed, creating a downpour of blue and red raindrops that cascaded over the three ships. Strafing runs scored the hull and broke the unity of the point defense guns, each turning here and there to track a different target. The mosquito bites of the passing strafes were shown to be just that as a Seraph squadron brought out its stingers. Their diamond formation zipped westward across the northernmost frigate. Behind them an invisible hand clawed several luminous rents that tore their way through the sky and into the ship. Plasma charges erupted on its hull and slashed across the bow. Though the consecutive blasts didn't break its titanium skin, one of the charges napalmed directly into a defense gun. In a flash, it blew out wholesale from the top of the frigate like a failed rocket.
Most of the city's original air defenses were down. The first wave had accomplished that much. The bulk of the city's major air support now came from the frigates. The small battlegroup had been responsible for maintaining their control of New Alexandria's airspace, and one of them was already reeling.
The newest wave didn't stop there either. It dove into the city itself and flooded its streets, turning what were once one-sided dogfights on their heads.
Duncan watched a Longsword shriek over the tram on a trail of smoke as two Seraphs chased after it. The human fighter nearly crashed into the railway, instead raising its burning wing at the last second to avoid the hit. It was trying to recover from its dive when a stream of plasma from the Seraphs finished off its engines. The fighter fell into a fiery twirl from which it would never recover as it stabbed into a nearby skyscraper. Flames and twisted metal blew through the wound, gutting several floors in the explosion.
The Seraphs went on their merry way. They ignored the tram. He soon found out why.
"Whiskey-3 to Ep-1, we've got movement further up the rail." Mackley said. "Got eyes on three-, no, make that five Banshees to our west, 300-meters and closing."
Daz spoke up, anxiousness dripping from her tone. "Six Banshees spotted at equal ranges, three to our north, three to our south."
The moment she finished; Duncan witnessed a similar number of the sleek attack craft coming into view. The Banshees peeled out from behind several passing buildings with the air of wolves waiting in ambush. They soared towards the tram in a loose formation.
He tensed and called it in. "Ep-8 here, I've got five Banshees closing in on us from the east, 200-meters out. We're surrounded, sir. Should we open up shop?"
There was a commotion behind him as the engineers and soldiers shouted for the civilians to get down, all of whom crouched within their rows and covered their heads.
The Staff's response was firm and releasing. "Our kitchen's in business, 1st Platoon! These guys are looking a little hungry! Let's give'em something to eat!"
In unison, the platoon opened its doors to their newfound customers. They immediately began serving them nutritious appetizers of ASGM-4 missiles and 25-millimeter rounds accelerated at Mach 40, balancing the diet of their battered hulls with side orders of hot lead.
The air around the tram lit up with exhaust trails and tracer rounds. Banshees dipped, weaved and rolled about in an attempt to navigate through the shower of ordnance. Not all got very far. Some had their fuselages consumed in an inferno of missile pods. Others had their wing canards blown off by the pinpoint precision of the Gauss cannons.
Duncan saw an example of the latter as an accelerated round ripped off the starboard wing of one of his targets. Another Banshee had to roll aside as its comrade twirled past in an unrecoverable dive. He inwardly praised Nova for the shot but focused his words on his fellow machine gunner.
"Ep-9, take the two on the left! I'll handle the other two!"
"Copy, right side's all yours Danzo!"
Duncan ignored the jibe and gave the two rightmost Banshees his full attention. They were coming towards him at a steep attack angle. The closest opened fire at the same time as him. He homed in on the furthest Banshee, having recognized their tactic of one coming in close to distract from the other.
His gamble paid off. After a bullet storm gouged a burning wound in its side, his target rolled skyward a split-second too soon, its effort to evade causing its discharged fuel rod to soar away into a building.
Its partner wasn't idle. It stayed the course, boosting forward to within 30-meters of the tram before letting loose. Duncan ducked from the plasma bolts that splashed the backdoor. The Banshee barreled left and suddenly Duncan found himself face to face with it. It fired again, the burst catching a passing building as the tram sped along another curve.
The Banshees disappeared around the bend then reappeared in hot pursuit, boosting themselves up the corner. But the farthest left of them hemorrhaged flames as it came within sight. It was one of Mito's, the ODST quickly claiming its life upon raking its fuselage. The vehicle vanished in a bright blue spray of heat. The other three steered around the tumbling wreck including the one Duncan had wounded. It hung back, waiting for another opening which its partner was ready to provide. It swooped in again for a close encounter.
This time Duncan stood against the deluge of plasma that sparked off the walls around him. A stroke of genius caused him to strike out at the tip of a wing canard: its weakest point. A few good shots scraped a fire across the propulsion drive that immediately destroyed its housing. The attacking Banshee lurched left at a sharp tilt, exposing its underbelly. He readily tore into it. Bullets sparked and stabbed through its armor until the whole frame ignited. Its flight devolved into that of a meteor as it crashed and exploded across the rail, casting its burning halves into the street below.
The second it was out of the way; Duncan spotted its wounded partner lining itself up for another fuel rod. He wouldn't be fast enough to stop it. Nova was, striking it out of existence with a single shot like the wrathful lightning of a Grecian god.
Duncan restrained his relief for later and repositioned, swiveling his turret to join Mito in battering the last Banshee. They tore into it with the acoustic fury of a lawnmower, riddling its bulbous face until it caught fire. The craft couldn't split its attention between them both. Its return fire went wild, zipping here and there though never hitting either of them.
Duncan pulled at the trigger so tightly that he could feel the blood draining out of his knuckles. He could likewise feel the boiling exhaust that leaked from the weapon's heat shield. He'd fired for too long and the M247 protested, shrieking from the pain of its building fever until it broke into a scream. Both the sound and his rate of fire ended abruptly as its overheated mouth finally shut off.
"I'm jammed!" Duncan shouted, grimacing at the dull red glow of the barrel as he reached for his canteen.
"No worries, I got it!" Mito assured. His much more disciplined trigger finger worked over the flyer with short and accurate bursts, the last of which caught it in one of its plasma cannons. The resulting blast rebounded off the neighboring cannon to silence them both. The Banshee persisted all the same. Despite its flight being reduced to a wobble, it flew unsteadily skyward then dove down, boosting itself into an attack run.
Duncan had screwed off the cap of his canteen and was about to pour water on his gun when he saw the flyer zooming towards Banshee went up in smoke a second later though not before getting off one last fuel rod.
It was heading straight for him.
Thinking fast, he reeled back and hurled his canteen out the door. It flew past the rails of the rear platform and out into the open, right into the rod's path. The green comet hurtled into it, exploding upon contact with matter into an emerald pressure wave that cracked several of the tram's windows.
Recovering from the punch of air, Duncan stood dazed. He wasn't sure if he had just survived or if he was seeing things. The canteen had saved him but not in the way he had expected.
"Ep-8, you good down there!?" Mito called.
"Y-...yeah, I'm here!"
"Anybody ever tell you you've got a good arm!?" Mito laughed. "That was insane! What'd you throw just now anyway!?"
A touch of momentary insanity made Duncan laugh as well. "My canteen!"
"Nice! Try a frag next time!"
Duncan relaxed a bit, shaking his head at the idea of tossing a grenade at a fuel rod. His thoughts regathered and he felt his knees turn to jelly. He was forced to rely on the M247 to keep himself upright.
"Ep-1 to 1st Platoon, report."
"Forward area clear." Mackley replied. "Doubt we've seen the last of them but we're green for the time being."
"Flanks are clear." Dalton said. "How about our six?"
Duncan searched the tumultuous skies and saw nothing close enough to cause them any trouble. He was glad for it too. The automatic cooling mechanisms of his M247 were only just kicking in. He no longer had his canteen to cool it down faster. If he didn't get another, he would have to use more restraint and risk more close calls going forward.
"We're clear back here too." Nova said. "No major damage to report."
"Let's keep it that way." The Staff replied. "Alright, 500-meters left to the target. Eyes up, guns out."
:********:
The megaplex of the Vigadó Building came up swiftly. To Daz, it was like a strange combination between the characteristic arsenal of offices found in a modern corporate hive and the tall walls of a medieval fortress. Perhaps the architects had constructed it with something like the events of the last two days in mind.
It was built in such a way that it appeared as a giant letter 'H', two towers joined together by a bridge of elevated walkways and executive offices.
The tram passed beneath the shadow of the 'bridge'. It ultimately slid to a halt between the twin boarding platforms of its U-shaped tram stop. Small terraces of well-gardened lawns and manicured magnolia trees girded the inner edges of the platforms and stood guard beside the various entrances. Their presence created a beautiful aisle of pink and white flowers from one end of the building to the next. That beauty now stood in sharp contrast to the orange blazes that clung to the frames of nearby buildings like hellish parasites. Less had to be said for the swarms of Covenant airpower that cruised past them.
From her post on the roof of the third coach she could see the other rooftop positions. Mackley was set in the lead cockpit. He stood halfway out of the conductor's emergency hatch from which he kept an eye on the busy skies with his SRS-99, the casing of the powerful Stanchion Rifle still on his back.
The Staff was posted on one of their Gauss cannons atop the first coach. The gun's support pedestal was anchored down to the roof by the work of the engineers. Two UNSC-issue defensive barriers stood out from the pedestal on his left and right. They rotated in conjunction with whichever direction he turned the cannon.
Sergeant Dalton was atop the second coach. Unlike the Staff, he was wielding one of the two LAU missile pods. Like the Staff, it was surrounded on either side by the movement-capable defense barriers of its pedestal. Its positioning as well as his own made him seem like a one-man mortar team.
She looked the same way with her own LAU atop the third coach. The weapon's 45-degree slant meant she had to lean backward a bit just to get a proper hold. She grasped the support handle further up the gun with one hand and the trigger handle lower down with the other. Most of the strain went to her knees. She had to maneuver about at a slight squat. It was a tad uncomfortable, but she could bear with it so long as the pedestal's defenses rotated automatically, keeping her covered.
Behind her, Nova was stationed at the second Gauss cannon on the last coach. She had her back. Down below, Mito and Duncan had hers. The four rooftop guns were setup in such a way that they could work in teams of two: the Sarge and the Staff in the front and her and Nova in the rear. One's missiles would weaken a target so that the other could finish it off more quickly. It was solid tact for the aerial crowd control they would have to perform going forward.
She heard the moment the doors of all four coaches slid open. The remaining civilians poured out of them and across the expanse of either boarding platform. Army troopers and ODSTs of Bravo's 2nd Platoon were there to greet them. The crowds were led along secured walkways to the doors of Vigadó's eastern and western wings. With the last civilians trickling out, Daz listened to the comm-chatter of the personnel still onboard. The Army troopers and engineers were going from row to row through the tram, ensuring everyone that needed to leave had done so. It was a smart move too. Their last firefight could have gone a lot worse for their passengers. Sure a few children had screamed but no one had gotten hurt. At least here they had a solid place to bunker down. The tram, however, would soon be making its return trip to NA Central. From there, God only knew where else.
One by one, the doors slid shut.
"That's the last of them." The Staff said. "Ep-1 to 2-Actual, we're heading out."
2nd Platoon's captain walked up to the edge of the right-side platform to give them an encouraging salute. "Roger that, Ep-1. Before you go, you should know the 83rd's second wave's been delayed. Their holding off for now."
"Figured they would. What'd be the point of transporting these people if they got shot down anyway."
"Let's hope Command says the same thing for the trams, wouldn't want you getting mobbed out there. Hopefully we'll see you when you make your next run, show you how much real estate we've got on our hands."
"Not as much as us." The Staff prodded.
The captain shook his head mercifully. "Good luck, Ep-1. Be sure to keep your umbrella up out there."
"Bet on it, sir. Platoon, we're heading out. Watch your sector-"
Sudden activity drew everyone's eye back to the right-side platform. The dregs of the civilians heading into one of the doors were forced aside as Hotel-6, Hotel's radioman, rushed through them.
He hustled over to the side of his captain and stood at attention as he spoke hurriedly. "Sir, I just got an urgent communique over GROUNDNET. NA Central's under attack."
For a moment the world froze, or at least everyone within comm-distance did, creating a pocket of shocked silence in a world of distant rumblings.
The captain broke his surprised paralysis, glancing concernedly at the tram, at the Staff and at the sky before rounding on Hotel-6. "Why didn't you save yourself the jog and tell me over squad comms?"
"The news broke just a few seconds ago, I was already on my way here. I saw you were still with 1st Platoon, figured they might need the update too."
"He's right." Zack comm'd, his voice carrying a palpable worry that matched Hotel-6. "I'm just getting it too. GROUNDNET's getting lit up right now with emergency broadcasts, air support requests-" He paused. "This sounds bad, real bad. They're calling all UNSC personnel within 5-klicks for assistance. Sir, we should get moving."
"Get on it, Ep-1." The captain agreed. "See what you can do."
"Copy." The Staff said adamantly. "Driver, let's go."
The tram started back up. The gradually building acceleration took them further down the furrow of Vigadó's boarding platforms and out through the exit on the other end. They left the shadow of the bridge and emerged from the southern face of the building. They traded their exit rail for a main railway that leaned them on a southeasterly course, taking them back in the direction of NA Central.
Daz didn't know what to expect. The Maglev station was absolutely massive. Its defenses hadn't been anything to scoff at either. The good part of an entire armored division was stationed there. Her stomach fell and her heart threatened to clog up her throat at the thought of what could make them call for all nearby reinforcements. Still, she had a pretty good idea of it that boded ill for everyone.
The comm-chatter was kept to a minimum for the first few minutes of their journey. Everyone was set on observing every shadow that passed them by. Seraph squadrons kept their distance as they zoomed overhead to release plasma charges further into the city. Banshees swooped in on distant buildings held by isolated UNSC forces, strafing those positions that offered the least resistance.
None came for the tram.
The pattern was not to last.
Daz was the first to notice them. Movement in the corner of her eye drew her to a set of skyscrapers off to their right. Through the dense metropolitan tree-line she caught glimpses of Banshees. There were multiple. They were boosting by on a flight path running parallel to the railway.
Before she could call them out, Nova sounded off. "Contact, six o'clock! Banshees, four!"
Daz saw her swivel about to face a group of flyers that were diving in from high above.
As her Gauss cannon thundered, Mackley also reported in. "Five more up ahead, 50-meters!"
The sniper ducked back into his hatch as the Banshees, having slipped out from cover, strafed the length of the tram.
The Staff twisted about to meet them. "Engage!"
Dalton joined him in putting up an umbrella of ordnance against the raking plasma fire that surged along both ends of the tram.
Daz winced from the superheated shower that struck at her defenses as she swiveled her LAU to the rearward threat. She forgot what she was going to say in the heated scramble to provide Nova, Duncan and Mito with the support they needed.
She had to lean back even more to get her sights right. The diamond eye of her targeting reticle switched from blue to red, producing another smaller diamond that locked onto one of the Banshees. Right then the lead flyer, already wounded, went up in a blast of blue flames as a shot from the Gauss speared it from end to end. The one behind it was her target. She squeezed the trigger and held it for a full second. Three missiles went out, the muffled noise of nails on leather heralding their passage from ground to air. They shot straight up before immediately flying down on serpentine vectors. Each was a hit. They interrupted the Banshee's plasma cannons as they pounded the canopy above the pilot, gifting the craft a fiery tail.
Daz didn't bother finishing it off. Leaving that to someone else, she quickly switched to the next one that came zooming along the length of the rail like a Shortfin Mako.
Her goal wasn't to kill them outright. That would cost too much of the hour-like seconds that made up the fight. Instead, she settled for the less expensive option, weakening as many targets as fast as she could rather than destroying them as soon as she could. The benefits of having a team would come into play from there. Hence her newest volley of three punched out the momentum of the next oncoming flyer. It slowed enough for Duncan and Mito to get a better bead on its flight path. It maneuvered left, dodged right, but disappeared in a flowering inferno as it succumbed to the wrath of the twin machineguns.
She was no longer paying attention to it, having already switched to the next. Her last two missiles raced out towards it as it tried to break away from the attack. Both delivered a fiery uppercut to its underbelly and knocked it off course. Her LAU fell silent while the reloading sequence commenced.
At that moment the first Banshee that she had wounded arced up from its hiding place beneath the railway. It passed through the machinegun fire, soaring high above the tram then arcing back down on an attack run. It flew out of the range of the machineguns, above the range of the Gauss cannon and into Daz's crosshairs.
Her gun had yet to reload.
The steep angle at which it came made her think it was aiming for her. Rather than a volley from its plasma cannons it let loose with a fuel rod. Daz saw her life flash before her eyes as the green comet raced down, not into her, but into the fourth coach. The explosion rocked the tram and nearly threw her off her feet.
The Banshee barreled up and away from one of Nova's spearing rounds. Daz flinched when, without warning, her world lit up with a shower of plasma bolts from behind, sparking off the gun as well as her defenses. There was an explosion and the onslaught ended just as suddenly as it began. Something crashed behind her and the sound of Dalton's command reached her.
"GET DOWN!"
She instinctively threw herself to her knees. The space around her brightened up before she glimpsed a flaming Banshee spiraling directly overhead. Half of it was on fire. The heat washed over her as the other half nosed down in front of her, pirouetting across the roof as its engines flickered like the wings of a dying insect. It was heading straight for Nova. In a rush of heat and wind Daz saw several missiles zoom overhead, chasing after it. The latter were faster and caught the wreck mid-spiral. The Banshee exploded, leaving its ruins to skip harmlessly around Nova's post. A major part of its canopy still cartwheeled ahead until it flew off the rear of the tram, causing the closest of her last two targets to dodge back.
"Whiskey-2!?" Dalton called, already returning to his own fight.
Daz used the LAU to pull herself up. "Don't count me out just yet, sir!"
"Roger that!"
Dazed and irritated, she channeled her aggression and her missiles into the last two Banshees. She switched from one lock-on to the next, sparing four for each. The closest had its plasma cannons hammering into the coach but fell prey to the combined fire of the machineguns before she could reach it. Her missiles pounded its falling remains into a spray of flaming debris. The farthest Banshee was less fortunate and a quartet of explosive blows cracked it in the nose, the last cracking it to pieces in an ear-splitting chain reaction.
There were no more Banshees in the rear. The brief lapse in the fighting gave Daz and Nova the chance to survey the damage.
The fuel rod hadn't missed. Flames now gathered around the glowing wound where it had struck the roof of the last coach. Wires sparked and caught alight. There was a hiss from the inside as the sprinkler system went off.
"Ep-4!?" Nova called.
"On it!" Hector replied and yelled for someone to take his turret.
A second later a jet of aerosolized retardant sprayed through the hole from the interior. The flames wavered yet refused to wither.
The memory of what she was going to say hit Daz at the same time as the realization that she was too late. She swiveled to their right in time to see what was coming. Having waited patiently in the wings of the assault, half a dozen Banshees swooped into visual range from the south. The neighboring buildings had hidden their advance up until the last possible moment and Daz suddenly found herself in the sights of all six.
The machine gunners below her began to open fire.
Her gun finished reloading.
The enemy still beat her to the punch.
"Banshees, three o'clo-"
Her cry was silenced by the impact of a fuel rod, by two more then three more. Her head knocked into one of her defense barriers. Her body shook. Her teeth threatened to rattle their way out of her skull. It was the only reassurance her fading consciousness had that she was still in fact alive, for however long that would be.
The rush of wind from passing drives broke her out of her spell. Self-preservation forced her awake and she clawed her way back behind the gun. Her vision hazy, she blinked away the stars in her eyes to see what had happened.
It wasn't pretty. After the first fuel rod, each successive hit had done increasingly greater damage. Six had been fired. All six had found their mark on different levels of the third coach which was now, as far as she could tell, burning.
A thick wall of smoke billowed up on either side of her. The tram's speed kept it tempered and was the sole reason that she wasn't choking on it. She could see enough to perceive that the bulk of it was coming from the mobile oven that was the first floor. Most of the smoke was wafting from the right side where the fuel rods had struck. Through the roaring of the flames below she could hear shouting. A man was yelling for others to help someone. Somebody else was screaming their head off.
She swung her gun to search for the Banshees, speaking desperately into her comms. "Whiskey-4!? Whiskey-4, do you copy!? What's the situation down there!?"
There was no response. She finally found their assailants flocking through the skyscrapers to their left. Two of the six were wounded, the machine gunners in the coach having returned fire before she could. The flyers were no longer coming towards the tram but were banking away from the battle to join another, one of many in the area. She quietly cursed herself for forgetting to point them out.
"Whiskey-4!?"
Still nothing.
"LANG!?"
This time the ODST answered her though not directly at first.
He was barking over at someone else before speaking to her, the sound of pained sobs coming from somewhere close. "Hang on, Whiskey-2! The situation's bad down here!"
"How bad!?" The Staff asked as he finished his last Banshee.
Lang stopped to shout at someone running past him. "We still got guys on the first floor! They're trying to keep the fire under control! We've got three casualties down here! Two of the engineers are dead and one of the-"
The sobs in the background turned to screams.
"Put him down! Put him down!" Lang said. "I've got an Army trooper here, sir! That last run barbecued him!"
"Can you casevac to Coach-2!?" Renni asked. "I can take it from there!"
"Negative! Not an option!"
"Why!? Need more guys for a stretcher!?"
"Negative!" Hesitating, Lang spoke through gritted teeth. "His skin keeps coming off, we can't move him!"
More screaming, deeper and harsher.
"Alright, I'm on my way!" Renni said.
Daz felt a razor-ship guilt stab her in the gut. She wanted to go, to leave the gun and head below to see how she could help, to see how she could make up for her mistake. But logic dictated otherwise. If she left her post it would put a dent in their defenses. It would make another attack that much more successful.
She stayed put, watching the skies through her LAU with a vehemence fueled in equal measure by rage and regret.
:********:
The Staff remained ever mindful of a second attack. The last one had caught him off guard. What he thought was a two-sided pincer was in reality a three-pointed trident. The result was visible whenever the tram rounded a particularly wide bend in the railway. He could then peer back at the third coach. Four smoldering craters had been punched into its first floor, two more into the second. The right side of the coach was pockmarked in wounds that had bent the walls inwards, each like a black eye. In some places they still burned as Army troopers and engineers contended with the most stubborn of the flames. He could see them moving past the holes themselves, past pieces of steaming debris such as seats that had been blown out of their sockets. They unleashed their extinguishers on the fires with the same desperate wrath they would usually reserve for Jackals or Elites.
The latter had undoubtedly done this to them. The Staff made it his mission not to let it happen again. Nevertheless, he knew all bets were off once they reached the Maglev station. They might have to abandon the tram altogether at that point.
Sighting another incoming wave of Banshees made him reconsider that timeline.
He spotted them flying in a similar formation to the kind they had used on their first attack, four coming from the front, four from the rear. His ODSTs called them out and engaged. The Staff did as well. However, he did so with the wariness of a man who wished for eyes on the back of his head.
There was another ambush force waiting for them out there. There had to be and he had a pretty good idea of where they would strike next. He spared searching glances to look for them as he fired at the approaching enemy.
He maneuvered his Gauss cannon from target to target. Dalton softened up two of them before his rectangular targeting reticle framed in his first victim. He fired once to silence its plasma cannons then fired again, killing it in a flash of heat and metal. A second flyer strafed him in an effort to avenge its comrade. He rewarded it by pummeling away a wing with a round from the Gauss. The Banshee still had enough strength to barrel away from a follow-up that sliced the air beside it. It fired off a fuel rod in reply. At the same time a third flyer arced into his blind spot and tried to fire into his back. Pure grit allowed him to ignore it as he lined up his sights with the roiling comet, blocking out the bolts of blue that splashed over the cannon for the green sun heading straight for him. He fired once then twice. The first missed. The second was a bullseye and the falling star blew into a mini supernova. His visor polarized too late to spare his eyes from the sting.
The Banshee behind him abandoned its attack after Dalton administered one-too many missiles to its side, shewing it off. The Staff didn't let it get far. Turning to face it, he let it bank into his first shot. Set aflame, it rolled aside in a bid to escape only to boost directly into his reticle, entering it whole and leaving it in pieces.
He swiveled back to the Banshee that had launched the fuel rod. He found it already trailing flames from its wings. A tracking shot clipped the last of its canards and it twirled headlong into a passing building.
He searched for the fourth. Dalton had gotten to it first. His missiles hammered it into blazing chunks.
There was fighting going on in the rear. Two more flyers were left to pester the last coaches which Nova, Daz and the others readily defended.
He knew they could handle it. What he didn't know was where the expected third attack would come from.
In the middle of his tense observations, he began recognizing the buildings they were passing by. They were getting close to the Maglev station. He risked checking his TACMAP and discovered that they were 700-meters to the west of it. Their easterly heading on his HUD confirmed as much.
Before he could inform the platoon, he heard the distinct hum of impulse drives. His reaction was fast and so was Dalton's. Both pivoted in time to see half a dozen Banshees slipping out from the buildings on their left. The enemy had timed it perfectly so that they emerged with a direct line on the first coach. However, fortune had allowed the Staff to immediately frame his first target at the end of his pivot.
The flyers descended as his finger twitched. An accelerated round caught one in a weak spot, instantly transforming it into a small galaxy of pressurized debris. He quickly shifted to another and sliced off its wing, not even giving it the chance for a death spiral as a follow-up impaled it on a shaft of light. A third was vaporized as a barrage of ASGM-4 missiles tore it out of the air and out of reality.
By then the three survivors had closed the distance and gotten within range. They fired their fuel rods and banked off, rolling up or swerving away from the incoming fire. One of them turned only to have its drives shut down as Dalton's LAU laid down the law, delivering a blazing one-two punch until the Gauss could provide the finisher.
But the damage was already done.
Three fuel rods were on their way.
The Staff didn't even have the time to attempt what he had before. Still, he tried, scoping towards the growing comets even though they bolted through the air faster than he could track them.
He could only watch as the first crashed into his coach, nearly knocking his feet out from under him. He locked his joints to keep himself upright through the tremorous shock of the second. He braced for the third but it never came. The last fuel rod howled past the railway before smashing into the street below: a near miss.
Six Banshees had come. Three had fired. One had missed. Now he moved to subtract even more from their number. The two survivors had split off from each other. One had gone a few dozen meters before combined fire from the machineguns blew it to ribbons. The other was luckier and got much further. The Staff zoomed in on it and dished out one punishing shot after the next. Though two connected, the third missed. By the time he was ready for a fourth, it was too far out for him to land a proper blow. It wasn't too far however for Dalton's LAU. The sergeant completely emptied his gun. All eight missiles vaulted skyward before pursuing after the heat signature like a pack of bloodhounds. They moved faster than it could flee. They overtook it as it was about to pass over an apartment complex. The first three missiles briefly birthed a small star over the building. The last five chased the remains of the flyer down into a sparkling oblivion.
The Staff nodded a silent thanks to Dalton which the sergeant promptly returned.
He looked down and eyed the tails of yellow flames that trailed from his coach. "Ep-6, what's the damage!?"
Rico's reply came through bursts of static. "Not good, but honestly, it could've been worse! Both floors got hit! The second isn't as bad as the first!"
"Casualties!?"
"Nada! Like I said, it could've been worse!"
The Staff thought of the situation in the third coach and knew exactly what he meant. He didn't feel relief though, more like a dispassionate sense of reprieve. The grim reaper's scythe had been stayed for a minute longer.
"Alright, keep me updated!" He peered down the tram towards the last two coaches. The Banshees that had been tormenting them were gone. "Ep-2, Whiskey-2, how're things back there!?"
"We're in the green, sir!" Nova replied. "No additional damage to report!"
"We're starting to get the fires under control in Coach-3!" Daz added.
The Staff could see it. The flames were lessened, the last of which were still being worked on.
"Alright, copy that! Listen, keep your guard up! We're almost-"
The sudden hum of multiple impulse drives made him turn left and right.
They were surrounded before he even knew it.
His ability to respond momentarily froze at the sight of a host of Covenant aircraft. There were so many of them that his mind struggled to get an accurate count. When it did, he came away with between 80 and 100. To their left and right, Banshees, Seraphs, Spirits and Phantoms flew through the airways some 50 meters away, spanning across the sky even a kilometer off.
So many so close made him hesitate. He unfroze when he realized that none of them, neither fighter nor dropship was looking in their direction. In fact, none of them were heading towards the tram. Quite the opposite.
Across the board they were all flying in the same direction as the tram itself, rushing on ahead of it at varying speeds, none of which the magnetic transport could match.
"NA Central, twelve o'clock!" Mackley shouted.
The Staff picked up on the horror in his voice. He looked ahead, past Mackley and beyond to where the surrounding skyscrapers gave way to an urban clearing. There was something bright in the middle of it, or rather many bright lights within proximity.
For the second time in that minute, the Staff couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. He struggled to make sense of it, to disprove it, but from what his eyes were telling him, both the Maglev station and the skies above it were on fire.
Volucres – Birds