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"Good luck," Mar 'Garaisee called after his older brother.
He wished his sibling luck any time they were separated on missions, which wasn't often. He was a little stunned when Madiba didn't reply with his usual will not need it. The thought of why didn't bother him too much. After all, he was probably just in a very focused mind zone. What did bother him was the sudden emptiness that formed in the pit of his gut when Madiba disappeared down the ramp. Even with the young Elite Minor standing there beside him, he suddenly felt very alone.
The Phantom left the Scarab minutes later and arrived at the control room. The strike team was deployed, then the Phantom took back to the skies until it was out of sight.
Mar turned to the Minor and asked, "What is your name?"
"Itan 'Volcumee," the Elite answered.
"Alright Itan. Head down to the command deck and do a count of the weapons and ammunition. If those dirty mongrels have reinforcements coming, I want us to be ready."
"By your word, Major," the Minor said before trotting down the ramp.
Okay. What next? Mar thought and turned back to the cliff.
At the top, he saw the Hunter General hunkered down behind its shield, ready for battle.
Right.
The best option would be to turn the Scarab to face the cliffs, that way the plasma beam would be aimed in the right direction when the reinforcements arrived. Mar no longer held onto the possibility of if. The Elites and humans were gunning for Tartarus, the Chieftain of the Jiralhanae. The idea of no one coming to his rescue was mildly absurd at the very least.
Mar was headed down to the command deck to turn the Scarab around and saw a human that had stayed behind. It was one of the Imps, the dark toned one with the rope hair. The same one that kept calling him Three. The Imp was sitting near the mouth of the ramp that led to the command deck and with the condition and position he was in, Mar initially thought he was dead. He knelt down to place a hand on his shoulder, then noticed the human's body slowly rise and fall with each breath, the tight grip he had on the shotgun in his lap. The Imp slowly opened his eyes and turned to the Major.
"I'm...fine..." the Human grunted through heavy, labored breathing. "Just... resting my... eyes. I've still... got one last... fight in me."
Mar stared at the Imp in earnest. Humans weren't very strong or fast, but he had always held a respect for their undying resilience. True warriors to the very end. He patted the Imp's shoulder and stood up, saying, "Fight fierce and die well."
"I... ain't... gonna die."
Mar continued down to the command deck. The red-clad Major approached the Scarab control station and furiously tapped away at a transparent keyboard. The Scarab heaved and lurched as he steered it one hundred and eighty degrees.
Behind him, Itan was listing aloud all the supplies in the crates stacked along the left wall, "Three carbines, two needle rifles. Plenty of ammo for each."
Once in place, an image of the Hunter General on the cliff showed up on the digital viewport.
"Both types of plasma rifles, needlers, spike rifles. All in full supply," Itan listed off.
Mar tapped at a triangular symbol with bent lines and curved corners, which brought up a reading of the Scarab's hull integrity. 81 percent. Next, he typed in a four key code to gain access to the weapons system.
"A few grenade launchers, and about... six belts of HEAP grenades."
On the bottom half of the enormous split screen, below the viewport, a message scrolled across declaring that the weapons systems were online. Although the liquid plasma reserves were below sixty-one percent, they were hot and ready to go. The magnetic fields of the superconducting coils were nice and strong, key for the plasma to be formed in a straight beam rather than in bubble cased projectile form. All he needed to do was load the plasma into the cannon and fire.
Itan finished listing off the guns in their weapon cache, saying, "One beam rifle, fully charged, and a crate of spare fuel rods."
Mar was turning back to give the Minor an order when rapid movement on the screen caught his attention. On the viewport, the Hunter General was backing up, firing its arm cannon from behind its shield. All in vain. It was being rained on by all manner of plasma and explosives by an enemy further back on the cliff, out of the Scarab's line of sight. The barrage only got worse as more projectiles joined in on the salvo, and the colossal Hunter General was blown backwards off its feet, back first into the rugged cliff face, where it slid down and got torn apart by unrelenting plasma.
The enemy came into view and Mar felt a wave of nausea. At least a dozen Phantom troop carriers were on approach, along with nearly twice as many Banshee fliers zipping and zooming and looping in arcs between them.
Knew it. Well, Madiba always told me to be careful what I wished for...
These weren't reinforcements he was dealing with. This was a platoon. The red Major unhooked the shoulder mounted fuel rod gun from his magnetic back holster, turned and tossed it to Itan.
"Pass me a needler. Good. Now take this, and that crate of spare fuel rods and see what you can do about those aircrafts," he ordered.
The Minor, now shouldering the fuel rod gun, looked at the top screen and back to Mar. He then said, "I'm on it Major."
He tucked the small crate of ammo underneath his free arm, grabbed the beam rifle in the same hand, and headed back up the ramp to the main deck. Mar turned back to the incoming enemy onslaught, hands on the weapons controls.