The Rook

by Twisted Fate MK 2

On the way down to New Mombasa, Rookie falls into the Slipspace Rupture and ends up crashing down on Menae, high above Palaven, right in the midst of the Reaper War. From there, the war itself will shift and the fighting persists, but who knows what an ODST will add to the mix. (Redo of an older story)

36. Operation : New Moon - Four

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The heavy weapon emplacement shuddered as the charges placed on its legs and 'ammo sack' went off in quick succession, smoke and fire trailing up high over the wall. Weakened, the weapon tried its damndest to stay standing and fire at whatever target its computer had picked out, before its fuel sack exploded brightly enough John's visor polarized even watching from hundreds of feet away. It fell into the fireball of smoke and superheated fluids, contained by its own perimeter wall, and he nodded.

"Target destruction confirmed." He reported, broadcasting into the static in the hopes that if someone didn't note the lack of heavy fire, they'd receive his signal. Sighing, he added, "Repeating - target destruction confirmed."

"Still nothing, eh?" Wratch grunted, standing behind him with his heavy shotgun in his hands and sharp eyes on the low ground below the ridge they'd ascended to observe the destruction.

"Nothing." He sighed, standing and keying the line again, "This is John Doe, retasking my unit independently in lieu of orders. Repeating - primary target destroyed, and retasking independently."

"Retasking…?"

"Something is blocking comms." He grunted, turning to head along the ridge-line, keeping ust far enough from the edge to keep cover against any Reapers alive at the burning fortification. "I know where a signal-relay is, so…"

"We find it and fix it?" Wratch grunted, "Not a bad plan."

"If it's intact…"

"If not," the Krogan rumbled, "we kill some Reapers, make some noise, and look for the next thing to do."

"Yeah." John sighed, "Sounds about right."

"Finally got a damn plan?" Frenk grunted impatiently when the two rejoined them at a small, barely sheltered area surrounded by low rock up-growths.

"The plan is called 'walking'. Also, probably some shooting." John answered dryly, waving them vaguely in, away from the ridge and towards the old road he knew lead to his target.. "We're headed to the Primarch's old outpost. It had a comm-tower and system support attached so, if it's intact, we can use that to boost transmissions in the region. New orders, and supp-"

"Heads up!" Wratch bellowed, grabbing him and shoving him down behind one of the up-growths while the other Krogan took cover.

He looked up as a Turian warship rolled by overhead, trailing smoke and fire and Eezo as it went. A flock of Harvesters surrounded it, peppering its hull in fire that set off more explosions while life-pods launched all along its flanks. A good number of them went nowhere, either exploding from Harvester fire or simply crashing into them, but at least a dozen made it to ground along the ridge-line as the frigate listed to one side and came down, coming apart across miles of open moon far and away to their rough south.

"Guess they aren't doing terribly well…"

"Or they diverted to disperse life-pods along an area they know drop-teams are operating in." John grunted a touch more hopefully, standing and shouldering his rifle, typing at his Omni-Tool while he turned to walk. "Change in plans - Wratch and I will head to the signal-relay to get it up and running. You two divert to the lifepods that landed nearby, along the ridge-line. When you're done, head to the coordinates I'm forwarding you."

"That the signal relay?"

"No - the outpost near it." He answered, "Now move."

"Splitting up is a dumbass idea…" Frenk called after them as he and Wratch turned to leave. "Perfect way to get picked off."

"Someone needs to save the Turians, if possible." He countered quietly, turning to address the young Krogan. "We can't just give up naval crewmen. Not that easily. Now go, that's an order."

"...Fine." The young Krogan grumbled, "Whatever you say."

For a second, he wanted badly to say something…

But, ultimately, the young Krogan was doing as he was told. And John left it at that, turning to give Wratch a nod and heading up along a smoother bit of ground, back towards the road. He could feel the Krogan's eyes on his back as they made their way up it, carefully pacing around ruined wrecks of APCs, tracked trucks, and even a Kodiak that had cratered into the side of a cliff as it rose up on one side of the old access road. There were bodies, too - but they weren't in their vehicles, or where he saw their bloodstains and the bullet-impacts on the armor where they'd been taking cover.

They were piled in heaps, Reapers, Turians, Volus and even a handful of Human and Asari corpses, all left together.

"Gathering corpses…?"

"Probably to… Graft them." John sighed, frowning behind his mask. "Check the vehicles for fuel? We should burn them."

"Funeral," Wratch grunted, "or asset denial?"

"Both." He nodded, headed towards an APC. "And look for Cclips, too. We could use 'em."

"That takes time…"

"I know." He nodded, "We only need to top up. And asset denial is important."

"Right…"

In the end, the asset denial was harder to do than they'd hoped. Most of the Turian machines ran on fuel-cells which didn't help them at all. Almost ironically, the very same safety the fuel-cells offered by lacking liquid-fuels meant they couldn't protect themselves against the Reapers' plans to swell their numbers. He made a note in his Omni-Tool to carry incendiaries going forward, and suggest the same to drop-teams, and they kept moving, still looking for any different vehicles to look for fuel that might be able to burn the heaps of bodies they were passing.

Heaps that were growing more frequent, and larger, as they advanced towards the old outpost…

"It would have been one of the last hard-points in the area." He grunted as they left the road behind, climbing up a steep hill towards a high point he was sure would overlook the old outpost. The top of the hill was painfully open, but empty, and they advanced slowly towards the edge.

Until the outpost came into view…

"Well…" Wratch grumbled, "I don't think the signal-relay is intact."

"Mhm…" He nodded, "Intel dropped the ball on this one.

Long walls of heaped-up stone, rubble and overturned APCs surrounded the old outpost, curving out along the edge of the cliff and airfield alike. Towers of stone and scrap were placed all along it, with rough cover along the edges of the tops that Marauders took cover at while they kept watch over the surrounding, rough landscape. Beyond the wall were two of the massive weapon emplacements, with smaller walls curving out away from the sturdier outer wall that enclosed them. The rest of the inside was relatively bare, with Cannibals meandering between piles of corpses while lesser Husks hauled more bodies in and added them to the piles, looked over by more Marauders. The abominable wall ended on an open side, broken up by large outcroppings of rock, where the moderate airfield had been, now turned into a series of low-resting meaty masses where he could see a handful of Harvesters being tended to.

The outpost had clearly fallen a lot longer ago than had even been suggested as possible…

"I have a few charges left." Wratch grunted as they slid back, to stay better out of view of the Marauders on look-out duty. "We set enough on those sacks and we can at least clear the air… Probably wreck the place, too."

"Mhm." He nodded, turning to look out towards where the signal-relay had been. In its place was a short, clearly Reaper thing, like an obelisk with two smooth, curved sides, broken up by long spires reaching out from it intermittently. The two sides had an opening between them but, from his angle, he couldn't see into it. "That was where the signal-relay was…"

"And…?"

"And unless I misremember, we got reports from this site as of a week ago." He grunted, "If the relay is active, and in there, and co-opted somehow…"

"Bad intel…" Wratch growled, "Bad intel that was part of the founding of this whole damn operation."

"We can salvage it." He rumbled quietly, "We take that out, and get the word out. The fleets can adapt from there. With the artillery down along the ridge…"

"It's a gamble." The Krogan warned, "A bloody one, too."

"Worth it, though." He nodded, "We need Menae to get to Palaven, and we need Palaven to get to… To win."

"To get to Earth, you mean." He grimaced and Wratch clapped him on the shoulder gently, chuckling. "You may act like a Krogan, Doe, but you're Human. Everyone knows you want to save your homeworld."

"Yeah…" He murmured, thoughts a universe away, for a moment. "My homeworld."

"Yeah…"

"I shouldn't have sent the others away." He murmured absent-mindedly, already plotting their route up, along the cliff-side towards the Reaper relay. There were a dozen places he was sure they'd be spotted, and far too many hostels to feel confident on their approach. "We need their firepower…"

"We need the Turians, too." Wratch grunted, "You weren't wrong back there."

He was less sure than the Krogan seemed about it, but… Arguing wouldn't do them any good. Right or wrong, they were there with the two of them against about forty Reaper infantry in an entrenched position. And every moment that they waited was one the artillery in the base used to fire on their ships closer to the moon, or whatever else took their attention.

As if prompted by his thoughts, both the massive batteries opened fire, lighting up the dark rock of the moon in vibrant violets and reds and blues.

"We're moving for the relay." He grunted, turning to sidle back, low and out of view of the base. "If it's jamming us, we can call this in. And an orbital bombardment, messy as it is, will sort it out."

"Why wasn't that on the table beforehand…?"

"Battery fire on one position would draw concentrated fire from the others, and Reaper warships on a distracted ship." He explained quietly. The bombarding ship would need to get low in orbit, lower than they were now, and shift position to fire on the planet. This would leave it painfully vulnerable to any attackers coming from above, and mean that half the ship's weapons were entirely out of position to defend it. Shaking the thoughts off, he said, "You take the lead."

"I am a bit less allergic to bullets…"

"We don't fire bullets." He answered dryly, "But yes. Yes you are."

They retreated to the road and back a few yards to a narrow pass that he knew led around to the ridge-line the landing zone had been built at and down, following a narrow and winding footpath that led down to the lowlands the base overlooked. Instead of heading that way, though, they stopped at a decent looking scale-site and got to work clambering up the rock. It was slow going, made worse by their desperate need for utter silence to avoid being spotted, but fifteen minutes later he peered over the edge of the top.

A Cannibal was standing a few feet off to his side, staring absently at the lowlands - on lookout, most likely - but it was listless and inattentive.

He leaned against the rock and planted his feet on a good outcropping below himself to free his hand and held up one finger, then pointed at it. Tapping his wrist, he nodded. 'One target, there. I'm going to deal with it.'

Wratch just nodded, hanging on the rock and looking rather like a turtle he'd caught mid-climb.

Pulling himself over, he pinged his VISR and looked around the uneven ground, scanning for traps, sensors, or anything else as he slowly approached the Cannibal's side. It blinked and turned to him just as he got into reach and he lunged, Omniblade hissing to life and carving through its throat before it could raise the alarm. It swung its arm regardless, though, trying to bludgeon him and make space to fire. He ducked under it and drove the dull-lit blade into its knee, wrenching it to the side and ruining it at the same time as he stepped in, driving his shoulder into it and sending it stumbling.

Right off the edge, which it fell from, bouncing off the edge of the poor path they'd taken up and falling the rest of the way to die a gorey death on the ground far below.

"Good kill." Warcth rumbled lowly when he joined him, drawing his heavy shotgun and pointing at a low bit of rock cover mostly between them and the relay twenty feet ahead of them. "I'll cover. Krogan ain't the best sneakers…"

"Fair."

It took more time than he'd have preferred to pick his way across the eighty feet or so between their emergence point and the signal-relay, but he made it safely enough eventually. For all the advantages their abominations granted them, the Reapers didn't leave them enough room to think on their own. He could see more Cannibals meandering along the ledge further along, but none were smart enough to recognize one of them had been taken down. They had one task, and saw to it to the exception of everything else.

Which let him get close enough to see the Reaper relay up close.

Up close, it was dark violet metal, curving around a tiny gap that ran along its center. Veins ran out along its outside, curving along it and snaking into the thin gaps running along the tiny indent in the center while the veins at the bottom curved around little cylinders of fluid, meat, and viscera. Drawing his Omni-Blade, he cut into the surprisingly soft metal, peeling away enough space to fit a charge so that he could be sure-

He nearly shouted when a Turian face turned to meet him, muttering under its breath.

A Turian face, that was. Not a Marauder. The Turian inside the signal-relay was emaciated and pale and, when he looked inside, packed in with two others. They were glassy-eyed, and he couldn't see their legs in the darkness and the mass of cables, tubes and more below them. And it smelled fetid, like the blood tray back home after a bad engagement - iron and ammonia and cooking meat all soaking together. He almost gagged, choking in a short breath and shaking his head while he smeared adhesives onto the shaped charge in his hand.

"A-firm." One spoke suddenly, voice… Horrifyingly clear and clean, unaltered in any way, as it spoke into a little Reaper microphone protruding from its chest. "Status is troubled - but we're holding. Reinforcements are needed."

"Well…" He murmured, attaching the charge to the inside of the tank. "That explains a few things."

He took half a step away from it before a pressure slammed into him like an air wave. It was heavy, and made him sag against the side of the Reaper construction with a low groan. It passed in a heartbeat, though, and he pushed off the curved hull of the tank with a shake of the head and a sigh.

Part of him wanted a second look, to see if he could spot what might have done that. But…

Eventually, he just turned and muttered as he left, "To hell with that…"

As they withdrew, heading back along the narrow path they'd used to come up, John took the last two charges they had and planted them along the path. It wouldn't destroy the base, of course, but… It would do some damage, at least.

And, he hoped, obscure why they had come into the base in the first place, at least long enough for the fleet to drop something on it.

Laying on the raised up-crop of stone once more, John turned to his Krogan companion and asked, "Ready?"

"For the show," he rumbled, "or to run after?"

"Yes."

"Heh, fair." Wratch chuckled, shouldering his shotgun, "Let's get started then."

Nodding, he triggered the charges.

Fire erupted at the end of the base and Harvesters screamed in surprise or pain as the rock gave way, pulling some down by the same cords and cables meant to sustain them while others lifted off, trailing blood where they ripped their own connections free. It was only a handful in a larger nest near the edge, but a handful of dead and wounded Harvesters was a gain. Not to mention the Cannibals that had gone with them.

Rolling over, he cued up his comm-line as soon as he'd confirmed the relay was gone and called out, "This is John Doe, strike team on-ground. Fleet-control, do you read? Priority call - fleet-control, do you read?"

"We read." A twanging, feminine voice answered, "This is the carrier Enduring Spirit of Arctos - what us the situation?"

"A carrier? Perfect." He grunted, punching their coordinates in and transmitting them as Wratch rumbled and raised his shotgun in a warning gesture, waving it at the base. Nodding, he waved the Krogan off and explained, "Primary assist target one is a Reaper base, control. I repeat, it is a Reaper base. They've been using indoctrinated Turians to broadcast bad intel. Request you atomise the site."

"Spirits…" The woman answered quietly, "Atomise? Very technical, Strike One."

"Strike One?"

"Temp designate." She answered, "Strike One, you are to hold position - we have fighters coming in to bomb the site, and two fireteams coming in to take it."

"Negative." He grunted, "That is a bad plan. They still have anti-air and we cannot neutralize it."

"Command wants intel before we move on Palaven." She answered, sounding as exasperated as John felt with the decision. "Hold position - assets inbound have been informed of the anti-air. If you have a designator, I can relay the targeting information."

"I have something similar."

"Awaiting input." She answered, "Assets are eighty five seconds out."

It took a second of doing, but using his VISR he ranged the two weapon emplacements while Wratch snatched his rifle and opened fire on a squad of Cannibals rushing them. Two fell while the rest scattered among the rocks and a Marauder came to join them, waving a hand that had a pair of Harvesters looping towards them. Ignoring the Reapers, he wrote out the ranges in his head and calculated them against his present coordinates on his 'Tool, using them to come up with a rough set of coordinates.

"Coordinates are by hand." He grunted, folding them together into the line and sending it through. "Best I can manage - we're taking heat, too. If some could stray approximately ten yards towards my coordinates, I wouldn't complain."

"Passing them on." The Turian answered while Doe took his whining, overheated rifle back and shot the Krogan a glare.

"What?" He snorted, "Your fault for losing your damn gun."

"In fairness," he grunted, ducking as a burst of automatic fire raked over them both, scraping off the Krogan's barriers before he could move his bulk out of the way, "I fell."

"What, from orbit?"

"Yeah."

"Smart ass…" Wratch growled, standing and firing off a heavy concussive round that sent the Marauder reeling while Doe stood to pour rounds across its chest. As it fell, the Krogan grunted and pointed, "Air power, coming in!"

He turned just in time to see six sleek-bodied fighters scream by overhead, raking heavy auto-fire and missiles across the base. The missiles were incendiary, exploding in splashes of liquid flame that melted and burned at metal and meat across the base while the heavy mass accelerator rounds filled the air with dust from pulverised rock. Four heavy Kodiaks came in behind them, door-gunners opening fire on Harvesters as they lowered and let Turians and Krogans drop out amid the smoke and dust.

"Friendly forces deploying - link up with them and hold the area while rescued crew are brought in for evac." The Turian answered, "A second wave of drop troopers will be canvassing further south ahead of a second wave."

"That wasn't the plan…"

"Ground commander will appraise you of updated plan layouts and goals." She answered, "Enduring Spirit of Arctos out."

He sighed but let it go, standing and turning to grunt to the Krogan beside him, "Well… Sounds like the others found some of the survivors, at least. But we're going off script down here."

"Always fun…"

"Yeah." He nodded, "That's one word."

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