SCBM
patreon
Update and Halo
🕑 Added 2023-04-15 04:34:31 +0000 UTCBeen working on getting Battle of Folium Nebula up, just need to get the cover art all sorted out first. It's rearing to go. In the meantime, have the first chapter of my halo fanfic I shall call... Concurrence in War. Or, Sunset over Mombasa. Whatever you think sounds better, I'm not good with names. Its about 7200 words. Check for 'gravity alone' to pick up from the last post.
The Major
UNSC Broken Dreams
4 Hours After Rupture
“They’re gettin’ hammered down there,” Rebar muttered, the team’s sharpshooter shaking his head as they appraised the hologram. The render of New Mombasa shivered with static, the city tinted orange by the briefing table projectors. There were dozens of colour-coded dots sprinkled throughout the urban landscape, red for Covenant, blue for friendlies, the latter of which had been reduced to a few isolated pockets of resistance.
“That’s why they called for us,” Holiday answered, the soldier’s BDU creaking as she shifted her weight. Like Rebar, she preferred to travel light, her battledress sporting minimal armour plating in favour of pouches for extra ammo and grenades, the holster for her magnum strapped over her sternum. “ODST’s couldn’t do their jobs properly, so they send us in to clean their shit up.”
“Who backs up the backup?” another of their comrades added. The orange highlights on his armour, and the smiley face decal etched onto his opaque visor, gave the man away as Joker. The more experienced members of the Navy ended up customising their armour as Joker did, but unlike ODST’s, these privileges came from a lack of authority than seeing a lot of action, not that they’d been strapped for fights lately. “At least, that’s our cover, right Major?”
The last of their number was pulled out of his thoughts at that, looking down to appraise the shotgun in his hands. It was an M90 pump action, as personalised as the rest of the team’s gear was, with a flashlight mounted on the barrel, and ornate patterns laser-etched into the stock that could only be seen when the light caught it at just the right angle. A massive suppressor capped the weapon, adding around a foot to the gun’s overall length.
“We are helping, just not the way these marines might think,” the Major replied, stowing the shotgun on his back. “Time to get set, if there are no more questions?”
There weren’t. The Major switched the hologram off, walking with his team down the aisle, the ship’s winding corridors a mess of exposed cables and access panels. They had gone over the plan numerous times during the jump in, so they didn’t need much of a briefing this close to the drop.
Earth had been discovered. Despite humankind’s best efforts to keep the homeworld a secret, a Covenant fleet had jumped into orbit and had taken the port city after breaking through the orbital defences. Not even half a day had gone by and they’d overwhelmed the defenders, and intel suggested this was because the carrier that had spearheaded the alien fleet had been the flagship of a Prophet, who were the highest-ranking members in the entire Covenant.
Unfortunately, the carrier had jumped to slip-space before anyone could take the Prophet out, leaving a giant rupture right above the city that had wiped out most of the infrastructure, including the orbital tether that housed the city’s space elevator, which had hung like a loose piece of string above the outskirts before collapsing hours ago.
The Major and his team had boarded the Broken Dreams to join the next wave of ODST reinforcements, their orders coming straight from the top. The Captain of the ship wasn’t exactly pleased with having a bunch of spooks on board, but the Major couldn’t care less what a Navy officer that preferred to fly over a battle thought about his mission.
Shock Troopers turned to watch the Major’s team trundle into the hangar, adjusting their gear as they found their designated pods. The ones not wearing helmets didn’t look pleased to see the group of officers, quickly turning away when one of the specialists caught them staring. The ship was quiet, the only sound being the clunk of reloading weapons and troopers loading into their pods. The human/Covenant war had been going on for years, and now the aliens had set their hooves on Earth’s soil – there was no desire for chat at this stage.
Their pods were the last four along the aisle, the Major slotting his shotgun into the holster next to his seat. Single Occupant Exoatmospheric Insertion Vehicles, or eggs as they were nicknamed, were single-man transports launched out of the belly of a ship from orbit, dropping a soldier feet-first into any battle at incredible speeds. They were equipped with thrusters to slow down the descent before they crashed into the ground, but apart from that, the occupant just had to pray they didn’t get shot out of the sky before they landed.
The Major had used a drop pod before, he remembered all too well how he’d wet himself on his very first time, his fellow cadets back then had never let him hear the end of it.
He turned and secured himself into the seat, seeing his team doing likewise, hooking the straps and belts over their thighs and arms. A one-minute countdown blared over the intercom, the pod door sliding shut as the vehicle began to twist in place. There was a small window directly in front of him, the Major looking out over the horizon of Earth. At least they had a good view.
He powered on the monitors to either side of the glass, the helmeted faces of his team showing up on one, the navigation controls on the other. The status of their four pods lit up in green, the Major flicking the button that would allow him to remotely control their heading. It took a lot of guts to let someone else glide your pod in for you, and he respected his team’s trust in him.
“The rest of the troopers will be dropping in to assist with the evacuation,” he announced over the shared radio. “We’ll stick with them until we get close, then we break.”
“The Covvies are all over the place,” Holiday said, her helmet turning about as she read her tactical displays. “Why haven’t they nuked the city yet? Save us the trouble?”
“They want data recovered, not destroyed,” Rebar answered. “And don’t talk about wiping Mombasa off the map. I grew up here.”
“Ten seconds,” the Major announced. “Time to drop into hell, everyone. Duty Calls.”
The pods launched from the underside of the ship, shooting out like bullets as they angled towards the surface. The Major felt his pod’s main engines ignite, his stomach flying up into his chest as he was fired. He gripped the joystick controls, watching his height indicator tick down.
Through the window, he could make out the dozens of other pods joining the formation, the egg-shaped vessels framed by damaged ships listing in Earth’s low orbit. What looked like a frigate had been shredded to hundreds of pieces, turning the world up here into a floating graveyard of scrap.
Beyond that, the orbital tether rose from the clouds below, trapped in the gravity well. It should have been connected to a shipyard in orbit, but the rupture had sent its lower struts crumbling to the ground hours ago, wrapping over most of the surrounding country and leaving a line of destruction. To see such a huge project reduced to rubble sank the Major’s heart.
They dropped by the burning pieces of scrap, the world turning into milky whiteness as they passed into the clouds, turbulence making the Major’s stomach lurch. They streaked through the clouds until the city could be seen below. The sun was slipping beneath the horizon, but the raging fires caking the city illuminated the urban expanses, casting it all in a blood-red glow, the winding mazes of the streets framed by the black, sparkling waters of the ocean.
“Everything’s burning…” Rebar muttered, clearly troubled even though his expressionless helmet was all the Major could see. Nobody consoled him, there would be time for that later.
“Ten clicks,” Joker reported. “Are we going or… wait. Incoming!”
The Major winced as a bright ball of energy speared up from somewhere in the city sprawls below, travelling like a comet towards the falling drop pods. The concentrated orb of gas impacted one of the pods in front of the Major’s own, the vessel turning into liquid metal as the plasma slagged it.
More plasma fire joined the first, dozens of thick energy bolts sailing into the air from the ground, another drop pod off to the left engulfed in the superheated gas, its occupant no doubt cooking alive inside his metal coffin.
“AA!” Holiday warned. “They were waiting for us!”
“Adjusting,” the Major muttered, pivoting the joystick to the side. His pod narrowly dodged out of the way of a plasma bolt, three other pods following his movements as they engaged evasive maneuvers.
The ground was rapidly closing in, the height indicator slipping from kilometres to meters. His feeds shook with static as more anti-air fire flew past their pods, the sky cocked with plasma as the barrage continued. The team streaked past the very tops of the highest skyscrapers, well off their original heading as ground fire forced them off course.
“Pop your chutes,” the Major ordered, his pod beginning to shake as it engaged the brakes. As the stabiliser panels began to extend, he watched in horror as a plasma bolt tracked his slowing pod, missing him by mere inches, but crashing into the building directly behind him. The splash damage was enough to rock him in his seat, the belts digging into his limbs as he was thrashed around, his pod spinning wildly out of control. He reached over and disengaged the autopilot guidance he had over his team, giving them manual control, gripping the handholds on the door as the g-forces began to stack.
His BDU was flashing red with the internal warning lights, alarms blaring at him as his pod bounced off another building like a billiard ball. He could feel the pod slowing, his engines were still working, but the city was rising up to meet him all the same, his body freezing up as he prepared for a hard landing.
Seela
Above the Streets of New Mombasa
1 Hour Before Rupture
She hated dropships. She hated them ever since she’d joined the Covenant, they were too small to have so many aliens crammed into the compartment bay, and the combined stench of the various species sent her sensitive snout into a twitching mess that further irritated her foul mood. This wasn’t to mention her body’s poor tolerance for inertia, a thing her male counterparts chuckled about behind her back, as if she had more reason to be perceived as the weaker gender.
There weren’t many females serving in the Sangheili ranks of the Covenant, but Seela had slogged her way through a training program that had been rife with intolerant fanatics, and she liked to tell herself that being so resilient as a recruit had made her one of the strongest warriors to serve the Prophets today.
As she rose through the ranks and survived her many deployments, she’d eventually been assigned a squad to lead, giving her the same command as an Ultra, though she’d never held authority over a fellow Sangheili or Jiralhanae. They’d been assigned to reinforce some squad pinned down in the city below, a trivial duty, but at least she would claim some honour in the process and prove she could handle being in a proper Sangheili squad.
She fiddled idly with her white power armour, grumbling at how it pinched the creases in her leathery hide, particularly around the elbows and armpits. There was no female-specific armour, fitting her just like her brother’s oversized hand-me-downs she’d been given when she was a child back on the homeworld.
She glanced over at her squad beside her. She had a mix of Unggoy and Kig-Yar at her disposal, numbering about ten in all. The Unggoy were squat, fat little creatures with methane tanks strapped to their backs, with rebreathers connecting their mouths to the gas which they needed to breathe. She’d seen many of those tanks explode under sustained gunfire, only cementing their role in the Covenant as cannon fodder and lowest standing among the races. She’d never seen one wield anything larger than a pistol.
The Kig-Yar were a little more capable than the Unggoy, though that was like comparing two piles of differently coloured excrement – with the scent to match. The avian creatures stood on a pair of backwards legs, their quills flittering in agitation as they chewed on their wrists and arms with their needle-shaped teeth. Their eyes were too big for Seela’s taste, always flicking about like they were two seconds away from lashing out at the nearest thing. Some of them had shield gauntlets strapped to their arms, others had long needle rifles strapped over their shoulders. Their armour covered their thin bodies in pitiful amounts of plating, the creatures so visibly lacking in muscle Seela wondered how they didn’t crumble under the planet’s gravity alone.
“The heretics will be waiting for us, expect a fight as soon as we land!” the only other Sangheili present shouted, backhanding one of the Unggoy that whimpered at the news. They were sharing the dropship with another squad, much to the chagrin of Seela’s poor nose. She didn’t know her kinsman’s name, but as someone who knew what it was like to be abused by her leaders, she went easier on her charges than most would afford the pitiful warriors.
The Zealot was wearing the golden armour reserved for only the most devout of the Covenant, his suit catching the light of the overhead fluorescents as he shot her a snarl. As his rank suggested, he probably thought she was just as lowly as the runts surrounding them, but that wasn’t exactly a new development for her.
At least he wasn’t a Jiralhanae. Those apes were covered in sweaty, muck-ridded fur that reflected their attitude towards her, seeing Seela’s presence in the elite ranks of the military as just short of heresy. Combine that with the infighting that already divided the Sangheili and the Jiralhanae, and Seela had been forced to stay up countless nights for fear of an attack by fellow forces of the Covenant.
She lifted her carbine from its holster, checking the ammo count as the dropship began to slow. She could feel the ship rocking beneath her hooves as the nose-mounted cannon fired at something below, the primitive Humans still putting on a brave fight even as their world crumbled around them.
Although she was grateful for the respect the Covenant had given her, and the modicum of honour and renown she’d managed to create over the years, the war was not so back and white as she had been led to believe in her youth. Even her kinsman respected the ferocity the Humans showed in battle, and yet the things she’d seen and the things she’d done to them only dampened her faith in the cause.
Her squad bumped into each other as the Phantom slowed to a halt, the vertical doors sliding open on either side of the craft. Wind and sunlight slipped inside, Seela raising an arm to block her eyes from the harsh light. Air choked with smoke and burning flesh met her nose, Seela not sure if she preferred the smell inside the Phantom or out of it.
The alien street was a long drop below, the Phantom’s pilot not deigning to get any lower, and for good reason. It was chaos down there, the roads full of strange, blocky vehicles that were not armed or armoured in any way. Their doors were open or blasted off, some still rumbling quietly as though abandoned only moments ago.
Trees of alien origin spaced parts of the asphalt, their leaves shaking in the breeze. Metal structures built in right angles flanked the roads leading out of a circular intersection of some sort, the sunlight casting harsh shadows over a battle in progress.
On the island in the centre of the intersection, Covenant troops were trading fire with aliens hiding in the buildings across the road to the north, the black, primitive weapons of the Humans flashing as they fired through the broken window frames. Unggoy and Kig-Yar cowered behind the abandoned vehicles and planters, firing blindly over their covers as they were picked off one at a time.
Seela braced herself, her squad waiting behind her as she readied her carbine. She leapt, gliding through the second-long jump and landing in the middle of the routing forces, cracking the ground like it was made of glass. She dropped into a crouch, shouldering her weapon as she aimed at one of the muzzle flashes. She fired twice, the weapon rocking into her shoulder, a muffled cry of pain reaching her ears as the Human dropped from view.
Her squad dropped down behind her, the Unggoy stumbling over themselves as they found cover, while the Kig-Yar leapt onto any high ground they could find. The Zealot’s squad likewise dismounted from the transport, the Kig-Yar covering the reinforcements as they fanned out.
Seela was washed in the backdraft of the retreating Phantom, the dropship gunning its engines and flying over the tops of the metal buildings, disappearing from sight. If she had to board another one of them again, it would be too soon.
“Push them back!” the Zealot commanded, raising a pointed finger at the Human holdout, while igniting his energy sword in his other arm. Energy hardened into two ornate blades sprouting from the metal hilt, Seela feeling a surge of confidence upon seeing the holy weapon. She’d never held a sword before, if she were to, Zealot’s like this one would have her head.
She spied a dead kinsman just off to the side, his purple blood splattered across the ground. She dashed over and lowered to a knee, checking his pulse despite the gunfire sailing over her head, only for her fingers to touch cold skin.
“Get some rounds on those windows,” she ordered to her Kig-Yar, the avians scrambling onto the larger vehicles nearby, laying on their bellies and providing suppressive fire. She murmured a prayer for the fallen Sanghieli, there was no greater honour than to die in battle.
She turned to the surviving Unggoy and Kig-Yar she’d been ordered to reinforce, the runts cowering under her gaze. “If you do not wish to die, get on your feet.”
She didn’t wait for them to answer, vaulting over the front of a vehicle, the chasis denting under her weight, dashing to the next one along, her heavy hooves thundering across the tarmac. A wild spray across her front ignited her energy shields, the barrier going bright white as the rounds melted on contact. She put her back to the door of the next vehicle, the thing bouncing on its suspension as she collided with it. She peeked over the side of it, gauging the Human’s holdout a couple more lanes in front of her.
They crouched behind pieces of rubble on the first and second floors, the walls scorched black by plasma fire. She counted six of them, watching as one of the Humans levelled his rifle out of the window, sending a three-round burst into the face of a Kig-Yar trying to flank to the right, the avian crumpling without a sound.
She took aim with her carbine, her superheated rounds finding their marks in the Humans chest, the armoured alien falling to the pavement below with a clatter. She could see the Zealot’s team was advancing on the right, while her team followed her on the left, a tried and tested maneuver.
The surge of numbers boosted the morale of the survivors quickly, the little aliens following after her as Seela advanced on the holdout. The Unngoy were too slow for her taste, even if their job was to be out front, Seela leading the charge while her squad covered her.
She could hear the Humans shouting from inside, the tide quickly turning as they abandoned their firing positions, Seela too close for them to get an angle without exposing themselves. She ducked into the low doorframe of the entrance, sweeping her carbine around as she checked the corners. She had to lean down to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling, the overhaning wood shaking as the Humans up there started moving.
“Secure those rooms!” she ordered, pointing at the doorways leading deeper into the building, keeping her eyes on a stairwell leading towards the next floor. As her Unngoy waddled inside, they were knocked aside as the Zealot charged through the doorway, his sword swinging by his side, the blade lighting up the shadows.
“Do not waste time,” he growled. “I will push them out, go and wait by the exits and cut them off, do not let them escape!”
The Zealot dashed by, leaping up the stairs three at a time and vanishing from her view. There was a cry as the blade met its first victim, Seela grumbling under her breath as she reloaded her weapon.
“How far does this building go?” she asked one of her marksmen, the Kig-Yar leaning around the side of the structure and looking through the scope down the street.
“Not far,” the avian hissed. “It ends at a wall, but there are exits everywhere!”
“There are more on this side too!” another said, looking down the opposite street.
“Then we split up and cover each one, you five take the right, the rest of you with me. Move out.”
Her squad split into two, filling onto the streets, Seela in the middle of her own as they moved down the street, sticking close to the building. As her marksman said, the structure stretched on for a bit before terminating at the wall of another structure at the end of the road, and their were three archways built into this face, each one cutting straight through where one could see the road on the other side.
She had little idea of what such an odd structure’s purpose could be, but each archway provided an exit for their quarry, with staircases leading into them from either side of the arch, so Seela ordered a few of her underlings to guard each one they passed, while she would cover the last by herself. From somewhere inside she could hear her kinsman roaring in anger, the procession of gunfire slowly working its way up the building as the Humans were pushed back.
She dashed to the end of the street, skidding on the pavement as she turned to face the very last archway, her squad readying themselves as they set up their ambushes. The Zealot’s team was methodically pushing the humans through the building, wherever they came out, Seela or her team would be there, waiting.
She glanced to her right as one of her Kig-Yar fired a plasma bolt into an archway, the rest of her squad following suit. She could not witness the slaughter from this angle, but she could tell the Humans had been caught out.
Seela didn’t have to wait long until someone stumbled into her archway, a Human running out into the daylight. She aimed her carbine, but as she scoped in, she hesitated.
It was not a Human soldier like she expected it to be. This one wore fabrics that might have had some ceremonial purpose, with pieces of jewellery slipped over the fingers on its hands. As her reticle hovered over its face, she noticed its complexion was different to other Humans she had fought. It looked small, weaker, with long, flowing hair trailing down to its shoulders rather than shaved short. It looked at her with wide eyes as it clutched something closer to its chest. A weapon, perhaps?
But it was no weapon. As she aimed lower, Seela saw it was holding something bundled up in a white cloth, something moving. The sliver of a head peeked out from the folds of the blanket, a pair of tiny, curious eyes meeting Seela’s own. They were blue, like the oceans surrounding the city, surrounded by pudgy skin with a little button nose in the middle. It was an infant. She’d never seen a Human infant before, they must be very brave creatures to not be making a single sound.
The mother, or at least Seela thought it was the mother, turned away, putting herself between Seela and the infant. At least she knew now the reason these Humans were fighting so desperately for this unremarkable piece of the city. Just as Seela let her scope drop, another Human stepped out from the staircase, and this one was clad in the weapons and armour she was familiar with. It raised a rifle in her direction without pause.
Before she could lift her weapon, Seela’s shields flared as the Human unloaded all his ammo at her. Her shields were strong, but couldn’t stop sustained damage, the barrier flickering away just as she stepped out of the alley back into cover.
She waited until the gunfire ceased, Seela peeking round the corner to see more unarmed humans filing out into the passage, the infant and mother disappearing with the group into a small opening between two walls, some kind of escape passage she guessed. The human with the gun stood valiantly between Seela and his charges as he reloaded.
She reached for the plasma grenade on her belt, her thumb hovering over the triggering mechanism. The eyes of that infant, so innocent and studying, was burned into her vision like the afterimage of a bright light. Had they not evacuated the innocent yet? Or rather, the Heretics that didn’t fight, she mentally corrected herself.
Sighing, she stowed the grenade away, peeking round the wall to see the Humans falling back, their sole defender covering them before turning to run after. Seela aimed her carbine at him, but steps against the pavement nearby drew her attention away. Her squad was coming up behind her, it seemed all their exits had been covered, and they’d come to investigate the shooting. An Unggoy at the front cocked its head at her.
“W-Where Humans?” it chirped, looking over her shoulder down the archway.
Once again, someone else stomped their way down the stairs, Seela and her squad lowering their weapons as the Zealot snarled at them, his sword still ignited in his hand.
“Where are the Humans?” he demanded, red blood staining his otherwise flawless armour. His sword was clean, the energy had burned all the stains away.
“That’s what I say!” the Unggoy squeaked, Seela pushing him around the corner, away from the fuming Zealot’s view.
“At least five of them escaped this way,” the Zealot continued. “Surely even youcould not have missed them, sister?”
Trying not to snarl at him, Seela pointed over his shoulder. “They fled that way, I could not get a shot before one of them destroyed my shields.”
“I do not care for your excuses, find them! My team will stay here and hold this ground.”
“Only one of them was armed,” she replied. “There is little honour in chasing down those who do not fight back.”
“There is even less in letting them go,” the Zealot snapped. “You had one task, now carry it out, or shall I call the Penance and explain to the Prophet himself of how you shirk your duty to the Great Journey?”
Seela turned her snout up at the Covenant assault carrier, the bulbous ship hanging low over the city, casting its shadow over the Human dwellings. The Solemn Penance was the Prophet of Regret’s flagship. She had only met him face-to-face once, but she had never forgotten the encounter.
“Very well,” she mumbled, turning to her team. “Check your gear, we have a hunt on our hands.”
The Kig-Yar clicked their beaks in glee, the two Sangheili letting them pass as they chased after the Humans, the Unggoy waddling after. Seela followed them out into the street, feeling the eyes of the Zealot on her back. It would do her no good to hesitate further in front of the devout warrior, she had no idea if he had a line of communication with the Prophet or not, but wasn’t about to test him.
She worried for the mother and her newborn, sparing a worrying glance at one of her Kig-Yar who had picked up their scent, the bloodthirsty aliens scurrying into the next street as they gave chase. Hopefully, the Humans knew the city well enough to escape, or Seela would have to take matters into her own hands…
The Major
Occupied City Center
5 Hours After Rupture
A crack of thunder jolted the Major awake, the man blinking his blurred vision clear as he took in his surroundings. The interior of his pod was a mess of broken electronics and twisted metal, the Major slowly recalling the AA fire that had botched the drop. Had his team managed to reach the ground safely? He tried reporting in through his radio, but all he heard through the link was static.
The glass of his pod window was completely gone, the Major looking though it to see a frame of broken wood and metal cutting a hole into the side of a building, his pod must have slammed straight through the wall just before hitting the ground, it was a wonder the Covvies hadn’t found him and put a plasma bolt through his head.
He pulled the manual release on the door, having to tug on it three or four times to dislodge some internal component. The door opened with a hiss of air, the Major kicking it open with his boot. It banged against the roof of the pod as it swung out, the Major thankfully finding his shotgun hadn’t been damaged during the crash.
Clutching his weapon to his chest, he leapt from the pod, lowering to a knee as he took in his surroundings. It seemed he’d landed in the foyer of a mall, his pod landing right in the middle of some kind of food stand, bits of paper drifting across the cracked tiles. It was discouraging to see what should be such a busy place devoid of life and sound. Shopping carts and tables full of food had been left discarded in every direction, everyone had been going about their business when the aliens had turned up.
He stalked over to the big, glass entry doors, his boots echoing loudly through the vaulted space. The sun was gone, bringing with it the night and the beginning of a storm, the sky above dark with broiling clouds, another rumble of thunder sounding off in the distance.
Some of the street lamps were still working, casting the twisting streets in a white glow, flickering advertisement boards flanking the sidewalks still displaying their products in bright colours. Against the darkened backdrop, it was difficult to make out much else, the Major flicking on his onboard visor with a tap on the chin of his helmet. His targeting systems rolled across the world around him, upping the brightness so he could make out objects in the gloom.
He checked his comms again, but he got no response from his team. The street on his right wound up a slight incline, maybe some high ground could help establish communications with someone.
He moved through the clogged street, the cars here abandoned with their lights on and their engines still running. They were piled up against a line of barricades that had been built into the road, the way they were positioned hinting at the mass panic that had gripped the city.
There was no sign of the Covenant or the city occupants, every car he peeked inside of empty of bodies. Perhaps the Covenant ate the dead, or the marines had managed to get most of the people out. He hoped it was the latter.
He followed the LED lights marking the lanes further up the hill, the street taking a bend to the left after levelling out. A couple of park benches sat close to the edge of an artificial balcony, the Major peaking over the railing at some sort of plaza below. The view above was mostly unimpeded, the horizon filling up with the burning skyscrapers of the City Centre, the plumes of smoke merging into the dark sky.
Despite the added height and the open air above, still his comms failed to work. He needed to link up with his squad, if they were still alive, or find their bodies if they weren’t. As for the mission… he needed to know where he was if he wanted to get anything about that done.
“Need directions? Please enter the name of your destination!”
The Major flinched as the synthetic voice blared to his right, raising his shotgun towards the source of the noise. There was a kiosk against the far end of the railing, and he walked over to it, seeing the face of the city’s superintendent on the angled screen. The logo flickered away, replaced with a supersized keyboard. He let his shotgun hang by his side as he tapped at the letters and hit the enter button, watching curiously as the screen slowly zoomed out into a wide, birds-eye view of the city. The words you are here flashed at a point near the top of the screen, and a red travel line began to draw away from it, curving through the streets until stopping at a point.
Strangely, that wasn’t the destination he put into the computer, the kiosk directing him to some random building to his east. He tapped at the back button and typed in where he needed to be, but again, the kiosk plotted a course to that meaningless spot again. It was on the way to where he needed to go, but he was still suspicious all the same. Maybe there was another kiosk he could use on the way, this one was probably busted.
A raindrop plinked off the front of his visor, the Major looking up to see lightning streak across the sky, the rain slowly growing in frequency as the seconds ticked by.
After committing the roadmap to memory as best he could, he raised his weapon, moving off to the left where the road twisted down into the plaza beyond, moving around a bus stop and scanning the alleys for threats. The wet asphalt reflected the shining neons of the city’s overhanging mega screens, the rain making everything look slick. He stuck to the outside lane as the road curved lower, the balcony with the kiosk now up and to his right in relation to where he was facing.
Staying close to the wall, he peeked round the corner, his shotgun at the ready as he checked the open area. In the middle of the plaza was a raised fountain, the sprouts still dribbling water into the surrounding bowls. The ceramics had been cracked and weathered, but if this was due to fighting or the rupture blast, he couldn’t be certain. The water spilled out of the more damaged recesses to flood the surrounding stairs, sinking into the cracks in the ground. Park benches and seats where people could sit by the water were still standing nearby, planters placed around to give the place a more rural appearance.
His visor outlined something in red, and the Major focused in on it, cursing under his breath as he recognised the figure. Standing next to the fountain was a towering Elite. The creature was over eight feet tall, the reptilian warrior wearing red power armour that glinted under the flashes of lightning. He could see its skin on the three-fingered hands and the neck, its hide dark and smooth, covered here and there in fine bumps, not unlike the skin of a turtle. Where the chin and mouth would be on a human, instead two pairs of thick mandibles jutted out from the front of its open helmet, leaving the throat open to the air. Despite its size, the alien was slim, its powerful arms moving with an odd grace as it checked its weapon. The Major recognised the needle rifle, a long-range precision weapon that fired red crystals at subsonic speeds, the Covenant’s equivalent to a sniper rifle.
Two Grunts were moving around nearby, he could make out the tops of the pointed tanks they wore just over the fountain and the benches. He could see the telltale mark of a plasma burn on a part of the Elite’s chestplate, they must have come from a fight. Was one of his team nearby? Had the Elite killed them?
The Elite waved at his two underlings, his voice lost to the distance as he ordered them around. The Grunts started moving his way, the Major quickly ducking into the building just round the corner, finding himself in a small shop. Although he had suppressed weapons, he didn’t like his chances facing off against an Elite by himself, Grunts or not. They were called Elites for a reason.
As he ducked behind the counter, he decided he’d take his chances and let them pass. He didn’t know how good Elite sense of smell was, but he guessed he was about to find out…
He steadied his breathing as he held his shotgun at the ready, peeking over the countertop as the alien troops walked closer and closer. They were making their way back up the ramp he’d come from, travelling in a line with the Elite at the front. He held his breath as the Elite trundled past the shop, its giant feet ending in two hooves that strangely did not make much of a sound as they hit the pavement, the thing could be quiet when it needed to be.
The Elite disappeared round the bend, but the Major kept his breathing in check, the waddling Grunt’s following behind their leader. The first one walked on by, but the second stopped, raising its masked face to the sky, sniffling loudly as it scented the air.
It stepped gingerly into the shop, dropping to one hand as its eyes scanned the shelving units. Even with its mask, it was still smelling him out like a damned bloodhound, the Major’s heart pounding in his chest as he weighed his options.
He clutched his weapon tighter, the plastic barrel creaking audibly as he held his breath. The Grunt wasn’t losing interest, so he decided to act first, leaning up over the counter and lining up the iron sights with the alien’s head.
By the time the Grunt noticed him, the Major had already fired. A narrow spread of buckshot broke apart the thing’s rebreather, the four-foot alien flipping head over heels at the point-blank shot. By the time it landed face-down on the floor, the Major was already moving, dashing out of the shop and into the cover of the fountains.
Behind him, he heard the Elite grumble in its alien language, gesturing for its remaining underling to go after the Major. The Grunt fired its pistol at him, but the bolt went wide, the Major returning fire over the ceramic bowls, hitting the Grunt in the back as it tried to run away.
His visor outlined the Elite, who had doubled back to put itself behind a derelict car. His shotgun wouldn’t do much at this range, so the Major drew his sidearm, unloading the silenced rounds at the Elite, its shields flaring as a couple found their marks.
He reloaded his pistol as he moved up, stowing his sidearm as he reached for his shotgun sling. He crouched behind one of the smaller fountains, the thing bubbling noisily as he looked over it. His shotgun would work better than his pistol, but he needed to get close, and the Elite seemed to know this, giving up ground as it retreated, firing its needle rifle blindly behind itself as it sort cover behind another vehicle further up the ramp.
Crystals bounced off the water as the Major ducked, the strange ammunition leaving small contrails that quickly disappeared. He let his weapon hang in its sling as he reached for his belt, grabbing one of the grenades and flipping the pin. He didn’t want to draw more attention, but it was better than letting the Elite drag on the fight, he couldn’t risk it calling in for backup.
He tossed it over the fountain, the grenade rolling to a stop by the wheel of the car the Elite was behind. The Elite loosed a bone-shaking roar as it noticed the explosive, but rather than dodge out of the way, it threw something back. A ball of blue flame came hurtling from the Elite’s hand, the Major recognised the plasma grenade. Those things were covered in an adhesive substance – if you got stuck by one, you would be vaporised the second you tried to get it off.
The Major fell into a sprint as the plasma ball stuck to the lip of the fountain he’d been hiding behind, falling to the ground as his and the Elite’s grenades detonated. The decorative, ceramic plates of the fountain hurtled in all directions, spearing into nearby walls as the water flooded the surrounding area. His own grenade ignited whatever fuel was left in the car, the fireball coalescing into a giant explosion that rocked the ground. Windows of the nearby vehicles shattered as shrapnel was sent flying, the hood of the car tumbling into one of the second storey windows as the engine tore apart.
The smoke slowly cleared as the Major sat up, knocked away by the blasts but none the worse for wear. He crept up on the Elite’s location through the swirling dust, seeing it laying on the ground, prying at the asphalt as it tried to crawl away, its armour scorched black. The tough bastard was still alive. The Major pumped his shotgun and pulled the trigger, the silenced hiss of the suppressor sounding off as he executed the alien.
Sighing behind his helmet, he took a second to collect himself as he reached for his chest sling, fishing out the spare slugs there and inserting them into the receiver. He’d been so close to getting stuck, his heart beating against his chest as he realised how close that had been. He was down a mag with his pistol and two slugs, minus a grenade, the pair of explosions no doubt drawing the attention of any Covenant nearby. All in all, not amazing. He had to get moving.
He checked the Elite’s body, finding that one of its sticky grenades was still intact, while the rest of its weapons were too damaged to be used. He clipped it to his belt, moving to one of the dead Grunts and ripping its pistol from its cold hands. Most marines were familiar enough with alien weapons to use them, since the UNSC never had enough spare ammo for every trooper, not even for specialists like the Major.
Hooking the plasma pistol to his hip, he continued on, hoping there were other kiosks around that would actually work.
