Chapter II

Lightning and Thunder II – Doors and Corners

0405 Hours, April 11, 2563 (Military Calendar; Planetary Night)

Spartan Team LEVIATHAN
Hestia System, Planet Meridian

Grid 44Px26 - Target Area MOHAWK

Pentecost reloaded his BR75, checking the weapon's action for fouling as he slid a fresh magazine into the receiver. He cleared a fingernail-sized piece of debris from the action with a swiping finger - nanolaminate armor fragments, probably from when he'd sprayed an Elite point-blank. Satisfied, he checked the fit of the suppressor, charged the rifle's handle, then set it to safe, before replacing it on his back mount. Close-quarters battle was always risky, particularly when one's opponents made heavy use of energy swords. But Pentecost had made excellent use of surprise in the initial assault; none of the defenders within had even remotely expected his entry, and - though their numbers were great - they were caught so flat-footed that Pentecost had managed to dispatch a great number of the aliens by trampling them or quickly breaking their necks with hammer strikes from his gauntleted fists.

He was glad to have spotted Sage from his previous vantage. She could more than handle herself, but she was prone to her bloodlusts. He'd spotted her delve deeper into the base after the near-reveal, planting demolition charges as she went; methane tanks, unoccupied Shade turrets, portable communication notes - all targets worth a demolition cube. She was thoroughly trapping targets around the vehicle depot, but they both understood that as prelude to the Scarab.

Pentecost drew a pair of his own demolition blocks from a pack. Peeling-and-sticking a pair of them to the tower's central support beam, he linked each detonator to his HUD before climbing the ramp to the tower's roof. He'd already cleared it of hostiles, dragging their corpses out of sight from wayward aerial patrol. Pentecost magnified his view to peer at the next sentry tower - fourth in line. Though the exterior was solid metal-alloy, Pentecost could tell that it was similarly manned; the number of unique troops that walked up and down the exterior catwalk revealed at least 12 hostiles within, and likely half that outside - the same as he'd managed here.

Pentecost rolled his shoulders, muttering to himself within his helmet.

'No point standing around.'

Activating his active camouflage, Pentecost leapt from the top of the third tower, landing on the wall's walkway with an audible clang - a noise hopefully unlikely to draw attention in an armor depot. He raced towards the neighboring spire, his path intersecting a pair of Grunts'. The first was bowled completely over, knocked unconscious by half a ton of MJOLNIR armor colliding with it at high speed. The second fell to a neck-breaking backhand delivered at blinding speed.

Pentecost passed through the tower's threshold, Battle Rifle shouldered. The first target to appear, a Sangheili Major, reflexively reached for his hip-mounted plasma rifle. It took a pair of subsonic bullets to its unarmored face. When Pentecost watched a shimmering energy barrier flash to intercept the bullets, he thumbed his rifle's selector from semi to full auto, then sprayed a long burst at the target's midsection. The Sangheili dropped after the 13th bullet punched through his combat harness, but by then the rest of the enemies in the tower were aware of him - invisibility or no.

Pentecost knew he needed to move fast. He rolled past the Elite as it fell, rising to a knee with his BR held in his right hand, combat knife held blade-down in his left. A pair of Jackals descending the ramp squawked as they saw Pentecost's shimmer, knowing the telltale sign of active camouflage. He threw, then fired. The first was pinned to the ramp floor behind it, knife driven completely through its breastbone. The second fell limp, head split wide open.

Pentecost dashed past them, bounding up the ramp towards the roof. He struck another semi-aware Grunt with a running kick, shattering its methane harness and bouncing it off of a wall. Another Jackal fell to a bone-shattering punch to the head, and a second Grunt was simply shoved off of the side of the ramp, smashing fatally into the ground below it.

Pentecost reached the roof of the tower in another handful of seconds. At the top was a pair of Brutes in heavy combat harnesses, each wielding Shock Rifles. He was initially relieved to see that his estimate had been high, but felt that relief run cold when he spied the jump packs on either of the Brutes' backs; not only did they demarcate veteran warrior status - the unstable hydrazine propellant in the packs were more than likely to explode if Pentecost attacked either with gunfire.

The hard way then.

In the last seconds of his active camouflage, Pentecost lunged at the Brute closest to him. The great alien flinched as it saw the semi-visible blur rushing him, and attempted to bring its Shock Rifle up as an improvised shield. It was sent gurgling to the ground when an armored fist struck cleanly in its throat with the kinetic might of a shotgun blast.

Pentecost was on the second less than a second later. He brought his elbow down on the top rail of the alien's weapon, bashing the rifle from its massive paws. But the alien was a veteran warrior, and would not be taken so easily. Eschewing its energy shields altogether, the Brute waded into melee with the infiltrator. It wielded its tree-trunk thick arms like enormous clubs, one swing catching Pentecost before he could put up a proper guard. Head ringing, Pentecost watched his shields drop by a third, and watched his camouflage field dissipate under the impact.

A full head higher and a hundred kilograms heavier, the veteran Brute was more than a match for Pentecost in hand-to-hand combat. Now able to see the Spartan unobscured, it seized the initiative. It lashed at the Spartan with swift strikes, but Pentecost was faster. He wove between the swings, leveraging his superior speed to close the gap into the Brute's reach. Pentecost stunned the alien with a pair of vicious torso jabs, before ripping a strong uppercut that snapped the alien's head back.

Before Pentecost could deliver a final blow to the dazed warrior, the first Brute - still gasping its last on the ground below - latched its paws onto Pentecost's armored calf. In the time it took for the Spartan to right himself and deliver a crushing stomp to the downed warrior's skull, the second had regained composure, and bowled Pentecost over with a clumsy shoulder charge.

The Brute savaged the downed Spartan, raining furious blows upon him with armored hands and boot-shod feet, blood from its mangled jaw splattering over the two of them. Pentecost felt his head fill with cotton, fighting his slowing reflexes to block each concussive hit. Shields depleted completely, his armor blatted out a warning tone in his ears.

Pentecost blew bloody snot from his nostrils, eyes narrowing. The Brute reeled back to deliver another devastating hammer blow, but Pentecost threw himself out of the way, letting the alien's fist strike the tower roof with an ear-ringing gong. Placing his hands behind him, Pentecost pushed off from the roof. He launched himself up towards the Brute, then latched onto the larger alien like an enormous armored spider-monkey. Surprised, the alien tried to batter the Spartan off, but was unsuccessful; Pentecost was latched on barnacle-tight. Weathering a pair of non-commital punches to his helmet, Pentecost reached a hand to the Brute's back, fingers probing for what he couldn't see, but knew was on every model of Jiralhanae jump pack: an emergency secondary activation switch.

Pentecost struggled for a span of heartbeats, weathering hit after hit, climbing the Brute like a wrestler of old. The Brute seemed to suddenly realize what the Spartan was doing, and his strikes shifted from furious to frantic. Pentecost felt his gloved fingers find purchase - an activation lever. He pulled, and felt a wave of heat blossom out from his fingers - a jet wash of fire from the Brute's jump pack. Pentecost let himself fall away from the alien as it rapidly gained altitude, wrenching the switch from the jump pack as his back struck the roof.

The Brute, now in an uncontrolled ascent, yowled helplessly as it rocketed skyward. It screamed vertically 20 meters into the air, clearing the tower parapet, and soaring long, out beyond the perimeter wall. When its jump pack sputtered out, expending all its fuel, it fell with all the grace of a stone, and collided with the ground in much the same fashion.

Pentecost rose to his feet with a groan, feeling the cold prick of combat pharmaceuticals enter his undersuit IV drip. He dismissed his suit's warnings of contusion and concussion with a thought, taking a moment to look out to the base around.

Infiltration would always be a game of when you were detected, rather than if. He noted the flurry of activity within the base; infantry patrols moving with flashlights bobbing wildly, and his suit COMM intercept antennae noting a spike in Banished electronic activity - likely frantic communication. Detection, however, was not always entirely bad; an enemy in panicked disarray was often just as vulnerable as one caught unawares. He pulled his rifle from his back, swapping the magazine of subsonic bullets for super-sonic armor-piercing rounds. Speed, rather than stealth, would now be his greatest tactical advantage. He eyed the last of the sentry towers, manned with warriors who seemed to be slowly awakening from a daze. Then looked at the base, down towards Sage.

Then, Pentecost leapt down to the walkway, a translucent blur running to the last tower.

At the center of the main armor yard, an invisible Sage placed a block of C10 on the rear of a Wraith tank, concealing it behind the primary exhaust fan. She cautiously took in her surroundings before skulking out of the open, slinking low into the armored vehicle's broad shadow.

Feeling the weight of the final demolition cube in her satchel, she set her sights on the Scarab above; the massive war platform only seemed to grow larger and more imposing every time she looked. Automatically her HUD highlighted it, the distance display reading less than 150 meters away. Most of that was open ground, interrupted only by the occasional Wraith or Marauder sitting in wait.

Work crews were scattered amongst Scarab's legs, performing hurried maintenance. At this range, seeing the platform free of fueling umbilicals, and with armed crew scuttling about the carapace, Sage knew that they were in the 'final check' portion of their launch process. The gravity lift had been deactivated; a significant setback. The Scarab's height was a major deterrent for all but the most determined of boarders.

Fortunately, Sage was especially determined.

As her camouflage's timer drained on her again, she reviewed her back-up entry plan. She looked down at her weapons; her combat knife, the length of a shortsword in any unaugmented human's hands, was forged of an ultradense alloy that made it capable of piercing all but the thickest Banished armor.

The distance between her and the closest leg shrunk in a heartbeat. When it was right in front of her, Sage took two bounding steps, flaring her MJOLNIR Armor's integrated maneuvering thrusters. With a massive push, Sage launched herself from the ground knife-first, aimed directly at the Scarab's knee joint.

Her camouflage timer read 15 seconds.

Driving her arm as hard as she could, she felt her knife blade sink hilt-deep into the softer metal of the leg-joint. The rest of her armored frame smashed against the knee joint loudly enough to draw the attention of all who surrounded. The closest - a Grunt - squinted up towards her, seeing nothing but a faint shimmer.

Sage couldn't stop now; hanging on the Scarab's leg made her a vulnerable target - worse when her camouflage went down. If she moved now, she'd almost certainly be spotted and struck down with plasma fire. If she didn't move, the Grunt would likely stare until her camouflage dropped altogether, and she'd be caught nonetheless.

Slowly, her hand slid down towards the handle of her katana, determination welling up in her like boiling water.

Sage dimly heard a terrified screech in the distance. Her head turned with the rest of the Banished in the Scarab yard to track its source: a Jiralhanae Battlejumper had launched - seemingly unwillingly - into the air from the roof of a nearby tower. A handful of heartbeats passed, the aliens seemingly forgetting Sage's noise as they all keyed into their communication devices. All squawked or chittered, communicating fear. Confusion.

Sage sat still, weighing her options. If she descended now, she could likely kill all around her in one - maybe two - slashes of her sword, and still have ample time to board the Scarab.

Her question was answered for her when the closest Grunt's head exploded in a splash of vibrant blue. Three more aliens in the yard crumpled with missing anatomical features before the first supersonic crack of Pentecost's Battle Rifle reached her.

She couldn't help but laugh aloud, almost reassured by the lifting of the veil. Unburdened with camouflage management, she finished her climb. As she drew her M90 from her back, yells from the yard could be heard, activity below churning into a terrified whirlwind as crews boarded vehicles, hurriedly buttoning up hatches.

Sage was spotted quickly as she sidled along the Scarab's starboard catwalk.

It didn't matter.

Her shotgun led the way, a booming roar bisecting a Grunt at the waist. A nearby Brute manning a plasma cannon gunner had only a second to turn, face twisting in terror at the Spartan approaching. She fired twice, the first round dissipating its shields in a shower of sparks, the second sending the Brute down to its knees. Sage tore past the dying alien, shoulder checking it off the side of the war-walker and plummeting to its death.

Other members of the crew turned their personal weapons on her, and she traded fire with them two or three at a time. She decided that she'd eliminate all control personnel onboard before cooking the entire goose with C10.

Her shotgun came up, spraying-down a Grunt and Jackal pair hunkering behind the same handheld shield gauntlet.

As she slammed shells into the tube four at a time, Pentecost's voice crackled to life over TEAMCOM.
"We've been made, kid".

He sounded like he was fighting; plasma whines and muffled gunfire fighting for airtime over his microphone. Sage replied as she racked her M90's slide, ducking down the ramp into the interior of the Scarab.

"I am aware!"

Now inside, Sage ripped down a narrow corridor muzzle-first. A pair of Elites managed to drop her shields to half with a barrage of concentrated plasma rifle fire, each Elite firing with rifles held akimbo. Ducking into an alcove, Sage plucked, primed, then tossed a scavenged plasma grenade at their feet. As immense heat and a pressure wave washed across the hall, Sage whirled back around, cutting the shield-stripped Elites down with 00-buckshot and HE-Frag.

Sage pushed into the command deck as Pentecost's voice crackled back.

"Oscar-Mike to you, kid. Situation under control?"

"Affirmative!"

Four more shells banged down the tube before the shotgun was empty and dropped. A pair of Elites in scarlet combat harnesses raced towards her, their plasma swords alight. She cursed as her sword rasped out of its sheath, barely coming up in time to parry a probing jab. Forcing the Elite's sword away, she stepped into its too-wide stance.

Inside of its guard, Sage snapped the four-jawed alien with a stunning headbut, then lashed out a knee-snapping kick. The Elite went down in a heap, warbling in anger and pain. It drew and overcharged its plasma pistol, and - despite seeing the attack - Sage was too occupied by the second swordbearer to evade.

Magnificent heat blossomed on her chest as the overcharge shot drained her shields completely, the alarm in her helmet screeching as automated medical systems administered full-body painkillers. The swordsman lunged at the downed Spartan, and Sage managed to evade the swing by only a hair. Wincing from the searing heat of a near-miss, Sage dove over a center control console, clattering on the ground in a heap. But as the Swordsman pursued, it failed to note the olive sphere that Sage had dropped behind her.

The M9 grenade exploded with a cacophonous roar, shredding the first Elite and stunning the swordsman, who was only saved from the direct explosion and wave of slashing shrapnel by his now-depleted energy shield. Armor smoking and pride wounded, the infuriated warrior surged forward, but by then Sage was already standing with sword raised.

Sage noted that the Elite was moving predictably, its sword burning in the same pattern it had opened with. Avoiding a decapitating strike, Sage's augmented eyes narrowed as time seemed to slow, and in the moment between heartbeats, she chose her moment to strike.

When the Elite dedicated itself to a vicious downward cut, Sage's sword filled the gap in his guard. The Elite was sent spinning to the bulkhead in two pieces, the single cut splitting him from hip to shoulder.

Sage took a moment to catch her breath, feeling the pain from multiple burns numb with analgesic cold. She winked three green lights on her and Pentecost's HUD - all clear.

Rounding the corner towards the main power junction - a critical weak point of the Scarab battle-walker, Sage noted the peculiar pattern of flashing lights emanating from the control console. Replacing the last C10 charges on her back, she walked towards the plinth, reaching towards the shimmering control holographs. After a few moments of parsing alien sigils, Sage grinned.

Perhaps their luck had held out.

She spoke over TEAMCOM "If you're not on the Scarab yet, you should be."

Pentecost's response was confused. Behind his voice, Sage could hear the dull roar of a Wraith mortar thumping; apparently, Pentecost had commandeered a Banished vehicle. "Do we both need to be onboard? Just blow the fucker and let's rattle on outta here."

She experimentally pushed on a control sphere. She felt the floor beneath her lurch, the sound of enormous limbs actuating at her command.

"You do if you want to join me on this Scarab joyride. They left the keys in the ignition, Captain."

She heard Pentecost laugh in her helmet, gravitic accelerators humming as he glided towards their improvised ride.

"Alright, kid. If the shoe fits, let's wear it."