Outskirts of the Town of Cavtat
Teutoburg Line, Actium
25 May 2545
1149
Brigadier General Berthier Chauchat
Headquarters and Headquarters Battalion, 112th Infantry Division
Southern Front – Cavtat Pocket
"Sir, I don't think there's any more room for us to retreat."
Berthier glumly lowered his binoculars, having seen what he needed to see: the icy waters of the North Euxine Ocean, lapping against the shore a hundred and fifty meters behind him. Beyond on that, nothing but water. No support, no reinforcements, and nowhere left to run.
"Damn," he whispered to himself. "I thought… I had hoped we would have been able to drag this out a bit longer. Tie down that much more Covenant troops for just a few more hours. Something. Anything."
"Sir?"
Berthier looked over at his senior enlisted advisor, Command Sergeant Major Tabuni, with whom he had served alongside for the last three years while they both had been with the 112th. A good man, Berthier had hoped to see him safely to retirement. But instead, it would appear he had led him to his death.
Morosely, Berthier looked around at the shattered remains of his division. Normally, an infantry division like the 112th consisted of two mechanized infantry brigades, an armored brigade, an artillery brigade, and various support elements, for a total of a little less than ten thousand soldiers.
But now? Now his division had been reduced to less than twenty-four vehicles – including the Wolverine halftrack he had temporarily been using as his mobile command center – and just shy of three hundred men. It was hardly enough to stand against the full might of the Covenant, and the only reason they had lasted this long was because of fire support from the Wet Navy ships of the Actium Colonial Militia. But now, even that was gone.
"General, sir?"
Berthier blinked and looked around, only to find everyone was looking at him, and it only then occurred to him how long he had been silent. He sighed.
"Well, this is it, I guess," he finally said. "This is where we'll have to make our last stand. Unless… anyone of you want to chance a surrender?"
He glanced at his men, but no one spoke up, to his complete lack of surprise. Even if twenty years of war against the Covenant hadn't taught the UNSC the futility of surrender, they had been fighting off waves of Covenant Drones all morning. And of all the aliens species that made up the Covenant, Drones were the worst ones to be taken alive by because while Elites would just execute you outright, Drones were more inclined to eat their prisoners alive.
"Right then," he distractedly began as he considered their tactical disposition. "Given our… situation… our objective has changed: no longer are to try and hold out for relief but instead, our goal is to cause as much damage to the Covenant as possible because anything and everything we can kill or damage here… well, that will be one less asset the Covies can use down the line."
He carefully glanced at his men's faces, but no one protested or showed any signs of disagreement and emboldened, Berthier continued.
"To that end… our artillery is the only remaining tool we have left to accomplish that objective. As such, all our defenses will be arranged around defending what's left of our SPGs."
"We'll start by having our Gaurs set up as far back into the surf as they can get," Berthier said, nodding at their two remaining 152mm self-propelled howitzers, "to get as much range out of them as possible. Layered defenses will be arranged outwards from that point. I want… all remaining Armadillo IFVs to establish a new MLR on the MSR seven klicks downrange with a picket line of dismounted mechanized infantry a hundred and fifty meters beyond that. Support personnel will establish a secondary line of defense two klicks back. As for our tanks… Sergeant Major, how many Grizzlies do we have left?"
"Three, sir," Tabuni grimly replied and Berthier barely managed to avoid grimacing.
"Grizzlies will be held in reserve to counter any breakthroughs," he said instead, "while Division HQ will establish themselves here, to act as the final line of defense for our artillery. And, uh… that's what we'll do. Any… questions?"
None of his men spoke up; everyone only nodded grimly as Berthier casted around for something else to say. He supposed he could give a farewell speech but… he was never one for speeches and honestly, what was there to say? The only he could think of to do was apologize for getting them all in his mess, but the words seemed to stick in his throat.
"See to your defenses," he finally said. "And… I guess I will see you all in hell."
He immediately cringed at his own callous words, but no one seemed to be bothered as they all turned away to see to their weapons, leaving Berthier standing there, feeling lost.
"Sir. We should get prepared ourselves."
Berthier glanced up at Tabuni, who continued.
"Sergeant Kang is moving the Wolverine into a hull down position; once they're in place, the crew will set up, and you' be able to direct the battle from there."
Berthier nodded in agreement before abruptly realizing that, with his remaining men digging in and preparing for their last stand, it was just him and his Sergeant Major. And, taking advantage the moment of privacy such an event permitted, Berthier allowed some of his insecurity to shine through.
"Koto," he mutely began, using Tabuni's first name to alert him this was an informal conversation. "I can't… I can't figure this out: how did I fuck this up? It had to have been me, right? I'm the commanding general, I'm in charge; I should have seen this coming."
Tabuni was quiet for a moment.
"I think, sir," he finally said, "we don't really know enough to assign blame here. Given the information we had… we did the best we could… but ultimately, we just got out maneuvered by the enemy."
"And as usual, the men are the ones who pay the price," Berthier bitterly declared, not willing to absolve himself of the blame.
"That's not true: you're here, now, in the trenches. And that goes a long way with the men, even the ones who might have blamed you for this situation. The fact you're paying the same cost as they are."
"Not on purpose though," Berthier argued, then tried to inject some humor into his voice, though he wasn't sure he succeeded. "Guess I chose a real bad day to go inspecting the frontline, huh? If… if we'd had been back at division HQ when this offense went down… maybe we could have lasted a bit longer. Or retreated in good order…"
Tabuni shook his head. "Sir, with respect, I'm not sure what you're trying to accomplish by beating yourself up. You did what you were supposed to do; trust me, I read the same inconsistent and confusing reports you did. You had to go out to the frontline to see for yourself just what the hell was going on. The fact it happened to be the same morning the Covies decided to launch their counteroffensive… that's not on you. Ultimately, sir, this is war: sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. And today… today, our card just happened to be punched. All that there is left to do is chose how we go out."
"General Chauchat, Sergeant Major?"
Berthier turned away from Tabuni - feeling strangely disappointed by the way the conversation had gone even he had no idea what he had even been expecting – to see head of his protective security detachment, Sergeant First Class Kang, approaching.
"What is it, Sergeant?" Berthier asked.
"Sir, Picket Line is reporting seismic movement. The Covenant, sir: they're coming."
Berthier glanced at Tabuni, who gave a grim nod. "Alert all call signs and make ready."
"Sir."
Without warning, Tabuni snapped to attention and fired off a crisp salute, keeping his hand just below the brim of his helmet long enough for Berthier to recover himself and return the salute.
"Brigadier General."
"Sergeant Major."
Then, without another word, Tabuni smartly turned around on one heel – as if he were on the parade ground instead of a battlefield – and steadily marched away, leaving Berthier with the sinking realization this was probably the last time they would see each other. But he quickly shook off his dark thoughts.
"Take me to the Command Center," he ordered, turning to Kang.
"Yes, sir."
They jogged the short distance over to where the Wolverine was parked behind a hill that was large enough to protect the vehicle from direct fire, but low enough its roof mounted automatic grenade launcher was able to clear the top. Rushing inside and wishing he was back at his Elephant command center – though only god knew if that thing had survived the rest of the division's retreat - Berthier nevertheless demanded, "Status?"
One of the two technicians working inside immediately spoke up. "Picket Line is reporting enemy movement, sir!" And without prompting, immediately activated the main screen, allowing Berthier to see for himself.
The image on the screen was a live feed from one of his infantrymen's headcam. The feed was showing that roughly three hundred meters in front of the line, the ground was churning, like when a sinkhole was about to form, but instead of collapsing, the ground exploded upwards, just like they had not even a full day earlier. And, just like they had this morning, the dirt and snow didn't come crashing back down onto the ground but instead smashed into a series of barely-visible blue energy shields that not only prevented the holes from getting refilled, but also prevented UNSC artillery from bombarding the Covenant when they were most vulnerable.
Through the camera's speakers, Berthier could hear the cameraman letting out a loud hiss of fear as an entire swarm of Covenant Drones came pouring out from the tunnels like the insects they were, and he hastily reached for his radio. "All call signs, hold fire, hold fire! Until I give the order!"
He waited and watched as the Drones began forming up for their assault within direct view of the UNSC forces, secure in the knowledge they were safe beneath their shields. As for his men, they thankfully were following his direct orders; normally, as a division commanding general, he wouldn't exercise this amount of micromanaging, but with less than three hundred of his Soldiers left…
"Steady men, steady," he urged, and watched as the cameraman point their rifle skyward in response to the Drone swarm taking flight. The swarm rose, rose, rose until they had left the safety of their shields and their bodies had begun to blot out the winter sun, and Berthier was abruptly reminded of what the Spartans had famously said during the Battle of Thermopylae back in the ancient days of Humanity: 'we shall fight in the shade.' Well, fuck that noise. "Picket Line, OPEN FIRE!"
The cameraman immediately opened up, joining the rest of their fellow infantrymen in firing their rifles in bursts and emptying their magazines downrange, moving from one Drone to the next, each burst hitting on target. Body parts, blood, and gore quickly began plummeting from the sky and piling up on the ground, showering the earth in neon white blood that almost blended in the with the snow and reminding Berthier of a scene from Dante's Inferno or something similar. Through the camera's speakers, Berthier could hear the cameraman yelling and screaming all manner of vulgarities, though Berthier could hardly make out what was being said. At the same time, the pit pat of gunfire echoed across the landscape so much that, if Berthier concentrated, he could almost hear it through the Wolverine's walls.
The effects on the swarm were instantaneous: glancing at the tactical map, Berthier could see dozens of red icons indicating enemy units simply disappearing from sight as his troops continued to fire at the advancing enemy. But unfortunately, Drone swarms were known as just that – swarms – for a reason, as even losing that many troops in the opening volley hardly deterred the aliens; instead of halting or pausing, they simply called up more Drones and continued to slowly push forward through the barrage. Then, as they reached the apex of their flight –
"INCOMING!"
The cry immediately drew Berthier's attention back to the headcam feed just in time to see the camera operator diving to the ground for cover as the entire swarm seemingly opened fire all at the same time, their height giving them a much better vantage point over Berthier's troops than what they could have achieved from the ground. All manner of small arms fire began landing on and among his troops, and maybe it was just his imagination, but Berthier could just smell the scent of burning flesh.
"MEDIC!"
On screen, the cameraman had been able to avoid getting hit, but not everyone was as lucky because the screen went dark for a moment as an object landed on top of the camera operator, and it wasn't until said object was shoved away did Berthier realize it was one of his soldiers, a smoking hole in the poor man's chest. At the same time, a number of corresponding green dots vanished from the tactical map, and cries of medic began flooding the radio waves, making one of the technicians sitting beside him shuffle uncomfortably.
"Medic! Medic!" the cameraman screamed even as they broke out their IFAK and attempted to treat the wound themselves. Unfortunately, Berthier knew it was pointless; even though he'd been out of the field for decades at this point, he still knew a fatal wound when he saw one.
Grimacing and hating himself for having to do so, Berthier nevertheless grabbed his mic and roared, "All infantry: get up and return fire! FOCUS ON THE ENEMY!"
There was a clear moment of hesitation, but – perhaps reaching the same conclusion Berthier already had – a moment later, Berthier watched as the cameraman abandon their dead comrade in lieu of picking up their rifle and resume firing on the Drones.
Letting out a mute sigh of relief, Berthier immediately turned his attention back to his tactical map to try and decide what his troops' next step should be. Drones weren't capable of hovering in midair indefinitely, and already many of them were descending back to the ground and into cover. However, he knew once they caught their breath and allowed their anti-gravity boosters to recharge, they would resume both their flight and their advance, and he had to make sure his troops were ready to take advantage of that. Fortunately, the goal of causing as much damage to the Covenant as possible instead of preserving his combat strength made his next decision far easier to come by.
"Command to Picket Line," he barked into the mic. "When those Drones take flight once more, I want all machine guns hammering their flanks! Concentrate machine gun fire on the flanks! Force them to cluster up!"
He wasn't sure if his orders had managed to be conveyed with his troops distracted as they were, but he received his answer moments later when the Drones took flight once more, only to immediately see concentrated amounts of machine gun fire directed towards their flanks. The fire consisted of bullets from M247 general purpose machine guns, M739 SAWs, and even a bit of rifle fire as Berthier happened to glance at the feed in time to see the cameraman nailing a Drone Ultra that had been hovering just a bit too far out from the rest of the swarm on the left flank in the head, sending the body plummeting to the ground.
Over the live feed, it was hard to make out what sort of effects Berthier's orders were having on the swarm, but a glance at the tactical map showed the larger picture: as the Drones on the flanks were decimated, the ones who survived had instinctively started moving towards their still living brethren. It was exactly what Berthier had hoped would happen; one thing he had noticed after a full day of fending off waves of attacking Drones was that - despite the fact they were literally insects – Drones weren't any more eager to die than a human. Because of that, the moment they began taking effective fire, they would reflexively move closer to one another for support and comfort. But just as it would be for the UNSC, that was a mistake.
"Sergeant! Signal the Gaurs and have them target those coordinates!" he snapped, pointing at the tacmap even as the Drones continued to advance, heedless of the casualties they were taking. "I want DPICM in effect or if they don't have that, HE with VT fuzes and standby for my mark!" Without tearing his eyes away from the screen, Berthier grabbed his radio. "Picket Line, standby to break contact!"
There was a mute sound of acknowledgement that was overshadowed by the sight of the cameraman pulling out a grenade and hurtling it at the encroaching Drones, the Covenant closer to his troops than the tacmap seemed to indicate. It was at that point, he knew they had to withdraw. "Gaurs, fire for effect!
There was a dull boom from behind the Wolverine as Berthier's two remaining Gaur SPGs instantly began firing their howitzers, pounding out shells at a steady rate though no where near as fast as they could in order to conserve their limited ammo. The heavy six inch shells roared through the sky overhead and detonated right over the Drones' heads, raining down a deadly rain of shrapnel and submunitions - all of which further exploded upon hitting the ground – just as the Drones had landed again to catch their breath.
The effects on the highly concentrated, lightly armored aliens were devastating. A look at that tacmap revealed damn near half of the assaulting force was immediately wiped out, while the survivors were sent scrambling for cover.
Watching the destruction unfold, Berthier allowed himself to feel a moment of satisfaction; if there was one comfort he was going to be able to take with him to the grave, it the fact this battle was decimating the Covenant's entire force of Drones on this planet, preventing them from pulling the same barrowing maneuver that had taken the entire Teutoburg Line by surprise.
Letting the Gaurs work for a few more minutes, Berthier grabbed his mic. "Picket Line, break contact and fall back to the MLR! I say again, FALL BACK!"
"Alright guys, pull out!" he heard the cameraman scream (Berthier should really figure out the name of the Soldier whose perspective he was watching.) "Fall back, fall back!"
Berthier's line of picket infantry immediately began pulling themselves out of their holes and trenches and running back towards the main line of resistance while the artillery put up a wall of steel between them and the Covies. But, much to surprise and annoyance, they didn't seem to be moving with any sort of urgency.
"What are they don't?" Berthier demanded to know, gesturing at his withdrawing infantry. "Why are they taking so long?"
"It's the snow, sir!" one of the techs replied. "The Picket Line was dropped off by the 'Dillos, but now they're falling back on foot, but the snow is waist high in some places."
"Shit," Berthier muttered to himself ,staring intensely at his screens. The tactical map showed nothing of that nature, which was a rookie mistake on his part; he should have gotten eyes on the ground before sending his troops though that mess. And unfortunately, the Drones were beginning to recover from their shock of the artillery barrage, meaning his troops were at risk of being cur down any moment.
There was only one thing he could do. "MLR! Covering fire, covering fire!"
BOOBOOMBOOM!
A different camera view abruptly appeared on his screen, this one depicting the Armadillo IFVs that made up the bulk of his main line of resistance as they fired their autocannons in support of the retreating infantry. Firing 40mm airburst shells, with liberal bursts of general purpose machine gun fire mixed in, the 'Dillos made short work of whatever Drones the artillery had failed to eliminate, allowing the surviving infantrymen of the Picket Line to complete their withdraw in peace.
But in doing so, the did the one thing Berthier had been hoping to avoid: by firing, the Armadillos revealed their positions just as the main Covenant attack was beginning.
"INCOMING!"
An entire wall of scarlet-red plasma mortars began plummeting from the sky and landing all across the MLR, and Berthier watched in horror as one of the mortars – either through fate or design – somehow managed to score a direct hit on the roof of one of his eight remaining Armadillos, right where the armor was weakest. There was barely a flash as the plasma melted through the armor so quickly, none of the crew had any chance of escaping.
"Where'd that come from!?" Berthier demanded to know.
"Covenant reinforcements emerging from the sinkhole!" one of the techs yelled as they frantically hit a few buttons, and another feed appeared on Berthier's screen – this one from a long-range scope because he didn't have any other way to get eyes on – revealing an entire line of lightly armored, open-topped Covenant mortar carriers bombarding his line from beneath the safety of their energy shield. All the while, an entire battalion's worth of Covenant Grunts, Jackals, the remaining Drones, and a few Brutes advanced on his position.
"Gaurs, load HE-quick and fire on the infantry!" Berthier ordered as the Covenant attack wave slammed into his MLR and a fierce exchange of plasma and gunfire began.
All morning, the Covenant had been exercising economy of force in order to keep his troops pinned down and unable to break out from Cavtat, so aside from the light mortars saturating Berthier's entire line, the Covenant infantry wasn't supported by any armored vehicles heavier than a few Ghosts and a couple of Prowlers. But that didn't mean they were helpless against his IFVs as the attackers were equipped with an absurd number of anti-armor weapons; it seemed like nearly a third of the Covenant's force was armed with either a fuel rod gun, Brute shot, or concussion rifle!
For the next few minutes, all Berthier could do was sit there and watch. With their backs against the wall, there was no maneuvering to be done, no strategic objectives to plan for, nothing that he, as a brigadier general, could do. At beast, he could pick up a rifle and join his soldiers in their fight, but one rifle wouldn't make a difference. So, all he did was sit there, watching and listening, as his men fought and died.
"Gunner, target front: fire on that Prowler!"
"- more ammo on the left flank, go - !"
" – take out that Brute with the fuel rod – "
" – turret is jammed, gonna have to abandon – "
"INCOMING!"
In the distance, there was the dull thud of an explosion as abruptly, one more of his Armadillos disappeared from existence.
"2-2 is down, 2-2 is down!"
"2-4, push to the right and fill that gap, me and 2-3 will cover!"
"No can do, we've been tracked!"
"General, sir!" one of the techs yelled, catching Berthier's attention. "SPGs report they are down to five shells apiece; they want to know if they should expend all rounds?"
"Negative, save it for direct fire where they can achieve guaranteed hits," Berthier instantly decided. "The MLR isn't going to hold out much longer. Berthier to Tabuni."
"Sir?"
"Get the Grizzlies over to the secondary line of defense and have them on standby to provide covering fire, break. Command to MLR."
"Go Command!"
"Prepare to pull back to Secondary Defenses. Grizzlies will provide covering fire."
"Sir! Alright guys, get ready to fall back to Secondaries!"
Berthier anxiously gnawed on his lip as he considered his situation. The MLR had been where the bulk of his forces were located, manned by all of his remaining Armadillos and mechanized infantry. In contrast, the Secondary Line of defense consisted of lightly armored Warthogs and Wolverine halftracks, while manned by whatever support personnel that remained. While his three remaining Grizzlies would help, without much of his screening infantry remaining, they weren't going to last long either.
"Gentlemen," he said out loud, catching the attention of the two techs. They both glanced over at him.
"Sir?"
"Get your weapons and prepare to be engaged," he said simply.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them exchange a grim look, before they nodded, grabbed their rifles, and darted out of the Wolverine, leaving Berthier alone at his station.
"All Grizzlies: covering fire! Covering fire!"
The booming of his tanks' dual 120mm cannons was quickly added to the conflagration of noise, and what remained of the MLR began to retreat. Despite the relative brevity of the battle, the fighting had been costly to Berthier diminished forces, as the tacmap showed that of the original eight Armadillos manning the line, only three were able to withdraw.
"We're not going to hold for much longer," he murmured to himself as, on the tacmap, a wave of red dots smashed into the Secondary Line, the Covenant refusing to let up.
Deciding to take his own advice to his men, Berthier reached down to his drop holster and pulled out his sidearm, making sure it was loaded with a full mag. Then he did the same with his rifle. He couldn't help but feel slightly awkward: he may have started his career as an armor officer leading a platoon of 19Ms, but he hadn't needed to carry a rifle since he had been a major, seven years and three promotions ago. Yet, like riding a bike, his hands hadn't forgotten as he quickly did a press check, verifying his weapon was loaded and ready to go.
"SIR! THEY'VE BROKEN THROUGH!" Sergeant Kang abruptly yelled out and startled, Berthier glanced at his tactical map, only to find the Covenant had somehow outflanked the Secondary Line, isolating most of his remaining armor in a sub pocket and leaving the way open for a direct path to his artillery.
And himself.
"Stand to, Troopers!" he roared as he dashed outside and threw himself into the snow. "Prepare to defend your positions!"
It was him, the five soldiers of his PSD, and the two Wolverine technicians against who knows how many Covenant warriors. He'd be lucky if this firefight lasted longer than five minutes. "Hold out for as long- "
FWOOZ!
A Spiker round abruptly embedded itself into the snow nearby, cutting Berthier off and he instantly returned fire, unloading half a magazine in the direction it had come from. His firing signaled the rest of his troops to start shooting, and pretty soon he found himself embroiled in a full on firefight, the likes of which he hadn't been a part of in many years. And it showed.
Berthier rapidly and frantically tapped his trigger, firing as fast as he could as Covenant gunfire saturated the area around him. Plasma, Spikers, Needlers, grenades, and more flew at him, creating such a dazzling light show, so much that he wasn't sure he was actually shooting at people, but muzzle flashes. But he didn't let up; if he was going to die, he was going to die with his mag pouches empty and surrounded by bullet casings.
His rifle let out a shriek as it ran out of ammo and tossing it aside, he pulled out a grenade. "FRAG OUT!"
WHOOMP WHOOMP!
Two grenades from a Brute Shot went flying by his head. One disappeared into the nether, the other slammed into the front of the Wolverine, showering the area with sparks but doing little to no damage.
THUNKTHUNKTHUNK!
"BRUTES WITH HEAVY WEAPONS ON THE LEFT FLANK!" he heard Kang scream out from the top of the Wolverine where he was manning the halftrack's automatic grenade launcher.
Ripping out his empty magazine and slamming a fresh one in, Berthier stood up to fire in the same direction. Spotting the Brute Major with the Brute Shot, he hurriedly flipped his giggle switch to full auto and emptied his rifle in the Brute's direction. The Brute let out a roar of pain as it was struck several times in the head and upper torso, toppling over backwards and out of sight, only to almost immediately be replaced by three more Brutes, each one welding a fuel rod gun.
"FUEL ROD! GET DOWN!" Berthier yelled in warning, just in time as three individual fuel rods exploded all around him. He saw one of the Wolverine techs go down with a shout, and Berthier was just about to dash over to help when the tech rolled upright and continued to fire, seemingly unharmed.
"Sergeant! Are you alright?" Berthier yelled.
"We need more firepower, sir!" the Tech yelled, ignoring his question. "They're massing! They're massing on the right!"
"Sergeant Kang!" Berthier immediately yelled. "Shift fire right! Sergeant Kang! Sergeant- !"
Berthier glanced over at the Wolverine, only to see Kang slouched - facedown and motionless - in the turret ring, and Berthier let out a curse. "Sergeant, cover me! I'm going for the gun!"
He didn't wait for a response, he just took off in a crouch-run for the Wolverine. He could hear the hiss of Spiker rounds as well as the heat from the various plasma bolts passing within centimeters of his head as he ran, wondering just when he had gotten so far away from the halftrack before he abruptly found himself in its shadow. Ducking to the vehicle, he grabbed Kang's leg and pulled him out of the turret ring. Kang was dead – obviously, as he had been able to figure that one out from where he started – having taken a stray spike through his face, so he just laid his body on the halftrack floor and grabbed an ammo can of forty millimeter grenades.
Scrambling up into the turret ring and taking up position behind the M460 automatic grenade launcher mounted there – flinching as a plasma bolt struck the edge of the gun shield – he quickly reloaded.
"Come on you sons of bitches!" he screamed as he cycled the ghost round, before chambering a round proper. "Let's go!"
Challenge properly issued, Berthier promptly opened fire. Spotting a cluster of Covenant soldiers amassing, he lobbed over a dozen high-velocity HEDP grenades in their direction, sending body parts scattering and ending the threat before it could emerge. Spinning the turret around, he spotted another Brute running from cover to cover and without any regard for ammo conservation, he fired, nailing the Brute in the head with his first shot, and destroying the rest of the body with his second and third.
"RAHHHH!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "112TH!"
Ridiculously, he was suddenly reminded of his soldiers' alternative meaning for the word Gimpy, and he found himself screaming, "Come and get some, you damn Apes! I'm the general, using this machine gun, with fucking purpose!"
He let out a wild cackle, knowing that if anyone was to be looking at him now, they would have thought he had lost it and to be fair, maybe he had. This was not just his last stand, but also his division's; even if some of his men elsewhere on the battlefield survived, the Army was never going to rebuild the 112th, given her relatively average service history compared to other divisions. No, he would fall today and within, so too would the colors of the 112th Infantry Division.
"INCOMING!"
A fuel rod shot went screaming by his head; Berthier spun the turret around and squeezed the butterfly triggers, but the weapon let out a shrill, indicating a jam. Without hesitation, he lifted his rifle and fired it one handed at the Grunt, tossing it aside when it ran empty and yanking back on the grenade launcher's charging handles, letting the dud round fall out from the ejection port at the bottom of the weapon. Then he was back up, lobbing grenades in all directions, and the Grunt that fired the shot disappeared in a messy explosions.
"… -neral, come in! You -… - py!?"
The sputtering of his radio yanked Berthier from his euphoria, and he quickly grabbed the mic while keeping his other hand on the trigger. "Chauchat! Go ahead!"
"…-is Tabuni, we're tr-…. get to you… status?"
It was hard to know exactly what Tabuni was asking, given the poor connection, but Berthier figured he could guess. He quickly glanced around his position, only to find while he had been busy firing off grenades like there was no tomorrow, the rest of his men had been killed, leaving him the last man firing.
"My status is I'm fucked!" Berthier bluntly replied and as if on que, his grenade launcher fell silent as the last grenade left the end of its barrel. He pulled out his sidearm. "No point in worrying about me, Koto! Just kill whoever you can, you hear? Kill them all!"
The only response he heard was static.
FWOOZFWOOZ "GAH!"
A volley of Needlers embedded themselves into his gun shield, but one manage to slip through the firing port and find it's way into his chest. Berthier fired his pistol in the direction the needles had come from even as he slipped out of his harness and dropped back into the Wolverine. Sitting on the floor, he glanced at his wound, only to see blood streaming out from the hole. He lifted his pistol to reload, only to find he was completely out of ammo.
Outside, he could hear the calls and footsteps as the Covenant took advantage of the break in fire to get in close. If they were smart, they would either fire a couple of fuel rod shots into the side of the Wolverine to blow it up completely – with him still inside it – or toss a bunch of grenades inside. Either way, it was all over for Berthier. There was only one thing left to do.
"General Chauchat to Gaur SPGs," he said clearly into his radio, hoping there was someone still left alive to answer him.
Fortunately, it seemed someone was still smiling down on him. "Go, General!"
"How many shells do you have left?"
"One, sir!"
Berthier nodded to himself. "Requesting line-of-sight fire, my position. Over."
There was a moment's pause.
"Understood, sir. On the way."
Berthier left his mic slip out of his hand as he leaned his head back and waited for the impact. As the shell hit, one last thought flashed through his mind:
Hopefully the other fronts were holding out better than they were.
General Notes
For this chapter, I was trying for a "real-time strategy" style of action, instead of my typical "first person shooter" viewpoint. It was harder than I expected, to be honest.
M200 "Gaur" self-propelled howitzer: this is not a canon vehicle. It is intended to be a 152mm, self-propelled "medium" howitzer, analogous to that of the real-world K-9 'Thunder' SPGs of the ROKA, or the Panzerhaubitze 2000 of the Bundeswehr.
A "gaur" is a type of bovine native to Southeast Asia, and is the largest species of the Bovidae family (which also includes the buffalo, bison, and antelope, among other animals.) The name was chosen because of the two artillery pieces named in canon (the M145D Rhino and M400 Kodiak,) the gaur sits between the two animals in terms of weight.
In my headcanon, the difference between the three systems is:
- the Rhino is a heavy tracked SPG with two main types: the 'D' model that carries a 320mm plasma howitzer (canon) and the 'A' model which carries a 203mm conventional howitzer (non-canon.) Used by armored divisions.
- the Kodiak is an 8x8 wheeled medium howitzer analogous to the IRL CAESAR or Archer artillery system. Mostly used by Colonial Militia cavalry divisions and UNSC Army Reserve infantry divisions.
19M: the UNSC MOS code for a mechanized infantryman, in my headcanon.
A one point in the US Army's history, they used to have multiple infantry MOS codes, including one, "11M – Fighting Vehicle Infantryman" which were riflemen trained not only to fight from Bradley IFVs, but also crew them. In 2001, most of the infantry MOSs include 11M were consolidated into one, "11B – Infantryman." This was considered a mistake by many military members as it resulted in the loss of specializations and institutional knowledge, a mistake the Army seems to be partially correcting because in 2024, they introduced a new MOS "19C – Bradly Fighting Vehicle Crewman," i.e. soldiers specifically trained to crew the Bradley IFV.
However, I've read some comments on the internet not only is this not enough, but the Army should go even further and do something similar to how the German Army does it: wherein, mechanized infantrymen belong to the Armor Branch/Armor Force, while light infantrymen (paratroopers, motorized infantry, etc.) are retained by the Infantry Branch. I don't really have an opinion on the matter one way or another, but given how large I think the UNSC Army would be (see chapter 8 for some of my ideas,) this felt like something the UNSC would do.