It took many long nights...but here it is.
*Chapter Four
14th of October, 2553
UNSC HighCom, Russia
Earth
Lord Hood’s fist slammed on the table as he faced the ONI officer. “You told me it was a practice mission, damnit!”
The spook in question, a cadaverous-looking individual named Wertman, shrugged his shoulders. “You agreed, Lord Hood, that ONI handle all of the logistics concerning experimental projects and missions-”
“Yes, “growled Hood, his brows bunching together in his anger, “yes, but not send the test subjects into the heart of a hostile enemy! Insurrectionists for God’s sake! Who knows what kind of trouble they’re in now? Furthermore, the Elite commandos are there as well, and damage to the alliance is the last thing we need right now.”
Wertman’s eyes twitched. “Technically, they have no jurisdiction-”
“I don’t give a *** about what jurisdiction they have! Our marines are in a mess, and I intend to see the back here safe! And if I don’t, “said Hood, his voice dripping with fury, “you’ll be paying for it, Lieutenant-Commander.”
Wertman visibly blanched, and gave a stiff salute. “Yessir.”
Hood gestured to one of his assistants. “Go find Captain Tonley, and tell him to rustle up a quick reaction force-four Pelicans and gunship escorts. They’re to make all haste to these co-ordinates.” He handed the aide a sheaf of paper. “And I want them gone in no less than thirty minutes. Go.”
The assistant hurriedly left the conference room. At the same time, the imposing figures of R’tas Vadum’ and his bodyguards stomped through the entrance. The alien Shipmaster pointed a finger at Lord Hood. “What treachery is this, Lord? Word has reached my ears that our combined strike team has been sent into the lion’s den. You promised us there would be no betrayals.” Though his voice was level, R’tas’ fury was palpable.
Hood hid a smile as he nodded towards Wertman. “That’s the man you want, Shipmaster. He’s gone behind our backs and schemed up this plan. So what do you have to say for yourself, eh Lieutenant-Commander?”
Before Wertman could answer, R’tas moved forward with lightning speed and grabbed the intel officer by the throat. “Seek not to confound the Sangheili, little crow, “whispered the alien Shipmaster, “for you may not have the stomach for it. If any Sangheili dies due to your subterfuge, you will not live to see the dawn.” Letting Wertman go, he swung his lizard-like gaze to Hood. “This man has practiced deceit. Perhaps it takes a deceiver to know his kin.”
Hood held up his hands. “I assure you, I had no idea of what this man had planned-”
R’tas waved a hand dismissively. “Words only. Bring back our warriors, human. Know that we’ve not finished with you.” With one last venomous glance at Wertman, who was still coughing and lying on the ground, the Elite and his bodyguards left.
Hood sighed, and, running a callused hand over his face, eyed the ONI officer on the ground. “You bloody idiot.”
********************************************************
Horatio aimed his rifle down the narrow alleyway and saw one rebel guard with his back to him. An opportunity like this couldn’t be passed up. Horatio unstrapped his knife and threw it into the man’s unprotected back, sending him face-down into the snow. He turned back to the tiny courtyard in which the squad was situated. There wasn’t much here apart from the two ways out-just crates and barrels. Horatio gestured down the alley. “There was one, but he’s down.”
Kyle grunted. “Good. We’re still too far from the building, though. We gotta stealth it. Len, take point.” Len nodded his affirmation and hopped down from the crate on which he was perched. Gerun pointed to Dasa. “He is our scout. Let him accompany Corporal Len.”
Horatio snorted. “You’re not still following those rules they gave us at the start, are you? Face it, this mission’s gone to ***. We don’t need to play by the rules-”
“He was offering help, Horatio, “Kyle growled, “and you may as well get with the program. Fine then. Len, go with Dasa and scout ahead. The rest of us’ll wait here.”
The pair nodded, and they slipped away into the shadows. They had traversed two streets when Dasa tapped him on the shoulder. “What?” Len asked. Dasa pointed to their left, down a wide alley. It was not long though-about seven paces. “Footsteps. Take cover.” The pair huddled on either sides of the alley.
A few seconds later a small procession passed by. Eight rebel soldiers, all clad in body armour and wielding submachine guns, guarded a fairly large container which was situated atop a robotic dolly-or, as Len saw, squinting down the alley, several robotic dollies. They had all been cannibalized to form one large motorized platform. Wires were poking out everywhere. The container was matte black and was divided into three sections. The group looked nervous, as if they were in the middle of something that, if they were caught doing, would land them all in serious trouble. Len looked at Dasa. “Should be easy enough to follow them. You report back and-”
Dasa made a “shush” gesture with his hand. “Wait.” It was a good thing they did too-two more rebels brought up the rear, these ones carrying sawn-off shotguns. They waited half a minute, then followed their comrades. Dasa split his mandibles in a wide grin. “Those two are mine. Wait here.” Before Len could stop him, the black-armored Elite lay down his fuel rod gun, drew his spike rifle and lumbered off down the alleyway.
Len cursed inwardly. “What is it with Elites and trying to make everything a competition?” he muttered. He’d noticed that, among his squadmates, they were gradually letting their guards down and accepting the aliens as fellow soldiers. All except Horatio.
Len sighed and rubbed off some snow that had made its way through his broken visor. The man was bitter-God knows he was good at hiding it beneath an equable demeanor, but Len had known him long enough to see how things really were. Horatio wasn’t a forgiving person, and Len knew that no force on Earth or Heaven would change his viewpoint. Elites had glassed Madrigal, and no alliance would change that. So far, Len was prepared to put up with it. But if Horatio’s disdain for the Elites ever jeopardised a mission, then as his superior (and that wasn’t even including Kyle) Len would have to put his foot down.
He heard footsteps and he pointed his rifle, only to see his Elite teammate slinking back along the alley. Len stepped out from cover and faced him. “Did you get ‘em?”
The Elite nodded, and patted the Spiker at his belt. “They were unsuspecting. And I am far too smart to be lured close, where those weapons would have devastating effect. Shotguns, yes?”
Len laughed. “Yeah.”
Dasa nodded thoughtfully. “Formidable equipment. The Jiralhanae learned to utilise such firearms on Delta Halo. But now you are our allies, and so we learn.” He reached down to his belt and tested the sharpness of one of the jutting blades attached to his weapon.
Len voiced a question he had been hiding for a while. “Why do you carry a spike rifle? I thought you guys hated everything about the Brutes.”
Dasa looked almost coy, and his eyes turned shrewd. “I have always been a great believer in irony. My fellow warriors may frown on it, but I consider it to be a source of great humour. The expressions Jiralhanae wear when I slay them with this weapon are hilarious.” The alien laughed heartily.
Len grinned at Dasa. For an Elite, that had been a surprising admission. In his experience, the Elites had none of the natural gung-ho common to the marines serving in the UNSC. They had trouble understanding some of their remarks and jibes, but there, in that moment, a sense of humour had been revealed. Maybe this alliance wasn’t totally crazy after all.
They made their way back to the others and reported what they had found to Kyle. The hoary old veteran’s eyes narrowed through the visor. “So they were guarding a package of some sort?”
‘That’s right, sir.”
The sergeant flexed his gloved fingers and upholstered his battle rifle. “Then we check it out. It’s contraband of some sort, is my guess. Software, fissile material-who knows? Len, you’re back on point. Terry, rearguard. Move out!”
Gerun snapped out his own orders. “Dasa, flank Private Terry. Lazu, keep the vigil on those rooftops and watch for snipers.”
The nine-strong band cautiously made their way through the streets. But no-one was really worried-all opposition had broken. After some time, they abandoned stealth and increased their pace.
Within minutes they were crouched behind a low wall, eyeing the squat main building. A chain-link fence similar to the one surrounding the complex was present. Halogen lights cast white pools of light. The gate was a modest affair-only corrugated iron. However, computer-linked turrets-old M202 XP models-were situated atop the fence, four in all. Even now, they flickered back and forth, searching for potential figures. They would be difficult to bypass.
A garrison of five Insurrectionist troops stood guard, two outside the fence and the rest inside. They had basic assault rifles, of the old MA-4 variety. As for the building itself, it was typically ugly. A pair of massive sliding doors acted as the entrance, mounted on rollers. Frosted windows, rimed with ice, lined all sides of the structure, making it look like an office block. The roof of the battered-looking construction had been retrofitted into an air pad, and a derelict transport ship sat on it. It looked like it could carry around ten passengers-no more.
Kyle pointed at said ship. “If there are any rebel officers left, they’ll try and fly the coop in that. We gotta get up there and use it to get the hell out of here.”
Gerun held up a massive hand. “Hold. We will have to plot our advance. I see defense turrets and guards. And who knows how many more could lie concealed within the building? This attack must not be a mindless charge.”
Kyle inclined his head in agreement. “Fair point. Right, our first priority is to disable those turrets. Ollie?”
The tech specialist tapped his chin thoughtfully. “If I could get into the circuitry of one, I could spread a virus along all of them. Assuming they’re all linked-and I’m guessing they are, in order to conserve power. But I’ll need to get close-and those guards aren’t gonna let me. Who’s up for that?”
Horatio unlimbered his sniper rifle. “I’ll take them out.”
Kyle snorted. “You think you’re that quick enough? No, son, you’re gonna need help.”
Lazu stepped forward. “I will aid Horatio. Hopefully we can dispatch all of the soldiers before they realise they are under attack.”
Horatio rolled his eyes-the *** alien was poking his nose in again! “I can handle this without you-”
“I insist.” Lazu’s voice was even, but his eyes hardened. Horatio resolutely folded his arms.
There were a few seconds of awkward silence, then Kyle scowled and thumped Horatio on the shoulder. “You got a sniping buddy, Private. Get used to it. Now then, deployment. Horatio and Lazu, circle around to the other side and find a good angle. When you have, send us two squawks on the radio. I want the guards on the inside down first-we’ll handle the ones at the gate. Ollie, you take this-” he handed the marine a small arc welder- “and cut through the fence. Once their attention’s been diverted, kill the turrets. Let’s go-”
“Sarge, hang on a minute.” Len had spotted something. He motioned for quiet.
The eight rebel escorts appeared. They had apparently noticed the loss of their rearguard, and were making all haste to the gates and safety. The container bounced on its robotic platform as the Insurrectionists approached the gates, and gained access. They formed two lines, one to either side of the container. From the building, the massive doors opened with a screech that cut through the hissing snow. A figure emerged. He was wearing URF fatigues, with their emblem on the chest. However, a captain’s insignia adorned his ***, and he wore an olive green cap. His features were sunken and gaunt, and a small grey moustache covered his upper lip. He looked to be in his seventies.
Horatio heard a sudden intake of breath-he glanced to his left and saw Kyle staring at the figure in shock. “What’s wrong Sarge?”
Kyle was silent for a few seconds, then composed himself. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Keep quiet now.”
Horatio knew something was up, but he did as he was told. One of the rebels, obviously the ranking officer, saluted the new arrival. A brief discussion ensued, which ended with the pair entering the building, and five rebels taking defensive positions. Three others attended the container, and brought it inside. The light from a halogen lamp spilled onto it, illuminating its surface. Strange, spiky symbols were etched on it.
“By the Gods….” Horatio turned, to see Gerun, this time, surveying the container with consternation. “What is it now?”
Gerun didn’t answer for a moment, then turned his attention to Kyle. “Sergeant, we must secure that receptacle. At all costs.”
Kyle cocked his head. “What’s so important about it?”
“The container itself? Nothing. But the symbols on it are Jiralhanae.”
That got their attention. Kyle tore off his helmet. “What the hell? Why would the Insurrectionists have any Brute inventory? The Brutes hate all humans full stop.”
“Maybe they stole it, “suggested Xavier.
“Or, “said Gerun in a bass rumble, “they have opened negotiations with the Jiralhanae. Just as we have done with you. The Brutes were ever willing to break the rules, as I recall.”
Len snorted. “I dunno. Sounds kinda flimsy. These bastards can be sneaky-God knows they gave us enough hell in Epsilon Eridanus.”
Kyle made a decision. “Alright then. If that container evidence for a possible Brute-URF alliance, we seize it. But only after that building is ours. Understood?”
‘Yessir, ‘chorused the marines.
Gerun looked back at the aforementioned building. “Our task is doubly hard now. Their ranks have swelled. Those escorting the container have returned. The doors have been locked. This will require more planning.”
Kyle rubbed his stubbled chin. “Even so, I didn’t see any bodyguards with that…..person that came out. We could take them down in our own time.”
Gerun stayed resolute. “Nonetheless. We must not risk lives in a foolhardy attempt.”
“I know that, *** you!” Kyle seemed fed up. He faced the gilden-armored Elite. “Today’s been bad enough without your dithering. Don’t annoy me, Gerun. Just let me think.” The sergeant rubbed his eyes, sat up against the wall and sighed. “My head’s killing me.”
Gerun’s craggy features turned into a snarl, but before he could say anything Dasa stepped forward, hands spread. “Let us not fight amongst ourselves. It is the surest path to ruin.” The gangly Elite looked like he was about to say something else, but then fell silent.
Then Horatio laughed, a hard sound cutting through the quiet patter of snow. Kyle turned to face him, brows raised. “Care to share the joke, Private?”
Horatio looked at each member of his squad in turn, including the Elites. “We missed the obvious. We were put together for our skill in all areas. Why don’t we put it to use-all at once?”
Terry was intrigued. “What are you getting at?”
Horatio depolarised his helmet and smiled, his white teeth a startling contrast against his dark skin. “I’m suggesting we launch a frontal assault.”
***************************************************
The frontal assault went something like this.
The thirteen rebel soldiers were mostly recruits, disillusioned colonists who had joined secret privateer groups after fleeing their destroyed homes. Four were veterans, and had fought the UNSC and Covenant alike. They had orders to stave off any attacks until the Captain could complete his task.
The lieutenant in charge, Higgins, was understandably nervous. He had seen the routing of their forces at the shack, and had no desire to clash with those deadly marines or Elites again. But they had the turrets, and superior numbers. It should have comforted him, but it didn’t. He shifted uncomfortably, as the snow pooled around his boots. His men did much the same.
Higgins noticed one of his men inspecting a turret, and he walked over. “What’s the problem?” he asked, yelling to be heard over the wind.
The soldier, a technician, scratched his auburn hair and shrugged his shoulders. “One of them’s stopped targeting. Don’t know why. I’m thinking of prying off the panel.” The turret in question was stuttering, stopping and starting.
Higgins shook his head. “No. We can’t risk having them off-”
The turret exploded in a shower of metal, lacerating the tech’s face. The man screamed and dropped to the alabaster ground, hands clutched to his face. Higgins whirled to face the smoking remains of the turret. What the hell-
The gate guards had sighted something amongst the warren of cluttered sheds and outposts beyond the main building. They opened fire with their rifles, but Higgins couldn’t see anything.
The gunfire slowed, and ceased. Silence.
From beyond the front gate, a sphere of green energy arced its way towards the gate guards. They tried to dive out of the way, but they were too slow. A roiling, emerald explosion consumed them, and blew a massive hole in the front gate. Higgins stared in shock, then snapped out of it. “Pull back, everybody back!”
He keyed his radio. ‘Captain, we’ve got hostiles-”
His radio was filled with static. He couldn’t get a signal. Swearing, he turned to run backwards.
A sniper’s bullet penetrated his left temple, sending a fountain of blood and brains into the air. The corpse of Lieutenant Higgins fell, and sprawled on the snow.
The rebels were down to ten men now. A corporal assumed command. “Stay low, everyone. Griggs, Filiad, get the heavy weapons.” Two soldiers sprinted towards the eastern side of the building, searching for rocket launchers buried there.
They dug about in the snow, as the sniper fire continued, taking down two more before concerted fire at the location of the white trails had the desired effect. Scrabbling in the snow, they uncovered a cylinder of black-
A white figure emerged from the snow next to them, impossibly blended in. It carried a knife, which it used to lay open the throats of both soldiers. The turrets turned to track it.
More energy projectiles and-now-frag grenades hurtled towards the turrets. Two went up, but the last escaped the attack and opened fire at the figure, along with five other rebels.
They had, unfortunately, forgotten the order to stay down.
Up on the rooftop of a concrete block of a building, Horatio, Kyle and Lazu opened fire. Horatio’s sniper rifle was the better weapon, but Kyle’s battle rifle and Lazu’s carbine did the job. Four rebels went down. But the fifth jammed down the trigger on his rifle, and bullets lanced towards Terry.
Back at the building, Terry grunted in pain as a bullet cut through his shoulder, and threw the knife. It missed, but the rebel had to dodge aside, and he fell to a burst from Terry’s own weapon. He turned-and saw the turret targeting him.
Then Ollie, who’d slowly snuck up, his body covered with a harness designed to deflect simple sensor arrays, leaped forward and thrusted a data spike into the turret’s workings. The spike, crafted by Ollie, sent a series of viruses into the turret and completely shut it down. Snickering, he drew his SMG and waved Gerun, Dasa, Len and Xavier forward.
Terry was in strife-the remaining rebels had tracked him down, and he’d taken another bullet, this one to the ribs. He could still feel it, pinging off his ribs, and he stifled a scream.
He fired his rifle, but it was no use. The wounds had robbed him of his aim. One rebel snorted and stepped forward, smashing the butt of his rifle into Terry’s helmet, breaking his nose. Terry dropped to the ground, cradling his head. The rebels grinned at each other and all aimed their rifles.
With a phip one rebel took a flurry of needles to the chest and was torn in half by the ensuing explosion. Two more were killed by Dasa, and Len killed another. The cavalry had arrived, and the rebel force was shattered. Len knelt and held out a hand to Terry. Grimacing, the stealth expert shakily got to his feet. “I got hit a coupla times.”
While Len called for Xavier, who carried the first-aid kit, Ollie trailed in, a disappointed expression on his face through the helmet. “I didn’t even get to change magazines. Wimps.” He kicked the corpse of one lightly.
A clanking noise was heard. They all turned, to see the rebel that Terry had supposedly killed, a rictus grin on his bloodied face, holding a tube on his shoulder, aimed at them. “Move!” Len cried, and everybody dived for cover. The rocket whooshed out of the tube, knocking the rebel onto his back.
Gerun was still standing, motionless before the incoming rocket. At the last second, he bunched his shoulders and sidestepped. The rocket plowed into the snow and exploded harmlessly. The golden Elite grunted derisively, and drew his sword. The rebel tried to draw his sidearm, but didn’t even manage to clear the holster before the gleaming blade removed his head.
Horatio gave Gerun a hard look as the Elite deactivated his sword. “You didn’t have to do that.”
The alien snorted dismissively. “What difference is there, when your enemy lies dead?”
“You seem to be taking this very calmly, is all.”
“There is no point in posing unreasoning concern in such matters. It is how I was trained.”
Horatio turned away, disgusted.
The rest of the squad approached. Terry looked pale and shaky, but otherwise alright. Kyle shouldered his battle rifle and eyed Gerun appraisingly. “*** quick moving there, Gerun. That’ll come in handy.” Inwardly, Horatio choked back a scornful laugh.
The Elite inclined his head. “My thanks, Sergeant. Now, as to our next move.”
Kyle turned to face the tower. “I can’t imagine there being many more inside. Even so, we should proceed with caution.”
“Agreed.” The team made their way to the doors of the building. Horatio and Len lagged behind, and the corporal pulled him aside. “He did a good job, Private.”
Horatio looked away. “I know.”
Len grabbed his arm with surprising force, and he faced him. “Don’t mess this up. Understand? The rest of the squad are willing to put hostilities aside-why can’t you?”
“You know full well, “said Horatio, his voice trembling with barely concealed rage. Madrigal.
Len stopped, gave him one last look of warning, and kept walking. Terry dropped back to Horatio. “What was that about?”
“Nothing.”
***********************************************************
The quartet of Pelicans rocketed through the racing winds, with a pair of Hornets angling behind them. Inside the dropships were, collectively, ten squads of UNSC Marines, ready for anything.
Except, Captain Tonley mused, an attack on a group of long-defunct insurgents. The officer was strapped into the co-pilot seat of the Pelican. Times were tough and to make sure transport was efficient, most airmen were running skeleton crews.
Captain Tonley mused,
an attack on a group of long-defunct insurgents. The officer was strapped into the co-pilot seat of the Pelican. Times were tough and to make sure transport was efficient, most airmen were running skeleton crews.
The pilot in question was the oldest serviceman Tonley had seen-around seventy. His hair was white, and blue-green veins looked like knots on his arms. But his hands were quick and sharp-obviously he still had skill. Another mark of desperation-the careful ignorance of age-retirement codes. But experience was irreplaceable.
Idly, as the Pelican jerked, encountering some stiff resistance from the winds, Tonley wondered what his story was. He doubted he’d receive an answer if he asked-the old man was a silent ***. He’d said but two words-”Lifting off.” Besides, something in those milky eyes of his suggested that the man had seen some terrible things. And at that age, who wouldn’t have?
He looked at the mission timer on the inside of his helmet-they should be close by now. Tonley turned to the pilot. “How much longer?”
The old man was silent for a few seconds. Then he said, “Not long. About ten to dirt.”
Tonley nodded his thanks, and unstrapped himself and entered the troop bay. “Alright, boys and girls, LZ is close. Check your gear and get ready for action.”
“Hoo-rah” came the reply, and the marines immediately twisted in their seats, making last-minute adjustments. Tonley returned to his seat, and prepped his own equipment.
In a few minutes they dropped through the clouds, and the group of aircraft slowly descended. Out of the Pelican’s window, Tonley could see a haphazard collection of grey buildings, surrounded by a fence. The surface of the ground was complete slate-no wonder it had escaped attention. But the buildings were very messy-most of it looked constructed from plastacrete and duracrete. Others were made from scrapped materials.
Tonley squinted. “Is that a landing zone?”
The pilot shook his head. “No. Just a space cleared.”
As they came closer, Tonley could pick out individual edifices. There were maintenance sheds, workshops, and a makeshift barracks. It was a complete military installation. And we let it grow under our noses? Pathetic.
The pilot’s tired eyes slid over the various buildings, then suddenly became wide. Tonley looked at him. “Something wrong?”
The pilot frowned. “That reactor there. I recognise it.” He indicated a square building with blue cylindrical smokestacks.
“You do?” Even though it was a completely innocuous matter, Tonley felt a shiver up his spine.
“Yeah. It’s an old version.”
“Nothing new about that, “said Tonley. “Insurrectionists’ll use anything they can get their hands on.”
“But that’s not it.” A note of anger, of bewilderment, had entered the pilot’s voice. “It’s from a ship. I recognise the seal on it. A ship I thought had…” A few seconds of silence passed. “Don’t worry about it. I’m probably wrong.”
Tonley took the opportunity to ask, “What’s your name?”
“Alexander.”
“Is that your first or last name?”
The ancient pilot looked at the captain and, predictably, said nothing.
“Hey, “said Tonley, squinting at the top of a particularly large building, “what’s that?”
*****************************************************
“Can you hack it?” Kyle asked Ollie.
The tech rubbed his hands. “Sure as shooting, sir.” He rummaged through his satchel, and removed a spoofer. Attaching it to the massive door, he tapped a few keys and stood back. The twin steel doors groaned as hundreds of electrical “bugs” infested through the locking system, and slowly pulled apart. Lazu, who was on point, aimed his plasma pistol through the shadowed portal. “I see nothing.”
Kyle waved his men forward. “Advance in double file. Stay sharp.” Cautiously, the team made their way inside.
The interior had the look of a big warehouse. Large packing crates, placed one atop another, were stacked vertically, creating a room of pillars. At the far end, a flight of metal stairs led upwards. A few side doors led to offices and other antechambers. Each corridor was about fifty paces in width. Horatio immediately didn’t like it-an entire legion of enemies could be hunkered down in this room. The hairs on his scalp prickled. His teammates shifted uneasily as well.
The room was silent. Nothing moved, and that added to the feeling of menace.
Gerun shook his head, and cursed silently in his native language. “Would that we had an infiltrator. This place reeks of an ambush.”
Kyle peered amongst the boxes. “I don’t see anything. But we’d be idiots to chance going through there. I want a solid wall on our flank. Let’s move through that way.” He indicated the path to the utmost left, where doors lined the wall. “Then ascend the stairs. Move it.”
In single file the nine-strong team proceeded along the path. Doors that lay ajar gave view to bare rooms, with plaster, metal and light fittings the prominent decoration. Len theorised they had been for yet more storage, but it was impossible to know. Horatio aimed his rifle down the next corridor on his right. “Clear.” The group kept moving.
As they reached the halfway point, the ambush struck.
A hail of gunfire poured from their right flank, and five rebels popped up from a tangle of steel beams and heating coils, firing their rifles. The Elites fortunately took the brunt of the enfilade, but the marines weren’t so lucky. Len roared with pain as two rounds caught him in the arm, and Kyle received a bullet to his right thigh, dropping him to his knees with an agonized grunt. The pair were pulled away by their comrades as bullets raked their position. Horatio aimed his rifle around the corner and fired, but to no effect. He swung a gaze to Gerun, who crouched behind the next crate. “Do something!”
The Elite grinned maniacally, primed a plasma grenade and threw it. Three seconds later it detonated, taking four of the enemy fire team with it. Lazu went down the corridor to finish off the last rebel. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
“KYLE!” a voice rang out, and the team swung their gaze to the source of the voice. It could be found on the stairwell.
a voice rang out, and the team swung their gaze to the source of the voice. It could be found on the stairwell.
The old man in fatigues, who wore a captain’s bars, stood on the landing, legs planted defiantly. In his still-muscled arms he held a Jackhammer rocket launcher. Within a heartbeat he pulled the trigger and a warhead whooshed towards them. Horatio’s eyes widened as he saw the rocket heading straight for him.
With no time to think, Lazu, legs pumping, tackled him sideways, sending the pair skidding along the floor. This courageous act had brought Lazu too close to the blast, however.
The rocket hit the stack and blew a sizeable hole in it, and sent Lazu flipping through the air end over end, until he hit the wall and bounced off. The Elite lay motionless, his shields sparking and blood oozing from a nasty chest wound.
With a snarl of fury Kyle fired his rifle at the figure on the stairs, until he ran dry. The man fled upward, and disappeared from sight.
Lazu came awake, groaning in pain. Kyle knelt, breathing deeply, and then turned his gaze to Horatio. “Break out the med-kit, Horatio. See if Lazu’s alright.”
Still in shock from what had happened, Horatio sat unmoving. Kyle’s temper snapped. “Do it, Marine!” he snarled. Horatio snapped out of it and fumbled for the med-kit.
The other members of the squad came together. Horatio tossed Len and Kyle canisters of biofoam, and then attended to Lazu. The Elite had broken ribs and internal bleeding, but he was going to be OK. Suddenly his eyes flickered open.
Horatio cast his gaze downwards. “Hey. You alright?”
The Elite’s voice was soft, and strangely childlike-in a formidable way. “I will live. And you?”
“I’ll be fine.” After a moment he sighed and said reluctantly, “Thanks.”
Lazu’s mandibles cracked into a smile, and he coughed up purple blood. “We are comrades, are we not?” Then he sank back into unconsciousness.
After a moment the squad reassembled. Kyle turned to Horatio. “How’s Lazu?”
The Marine shrugged his shoulders. “He’s bleeding but he’ll be fine.”
“Good. Dasa, Gerun, can you carry him? None of us are strong enough to carry him.” The pair acceded with nods. “Let’s keep going upward. We need to reach that transport before that man does.”
“Who was he, Sarge?” Terry interjected. “He called out your name.”
Kyle glared at Terry, and said shortly, “No-one.”
“He was wearing captain’s bars. Is he someone from Admiral Cole’s battle group? That’s where you started, anyhow-”
“I got no idea who the hell that was, Private! Now shut your face! Is that clear?”
Terry subsided. “Yes sir.”
Kyle gave him one last glare and then continued. “As I was saying, we need to get that transport, else we’re stuck here. Let’s move people.”
The group resumed their progress.
After some climbing, which was prolonged due to Lazu’s incapacitation, they reached a small attic-like room. The only way out was a trapdoor in the roof, which hung low. But it was sealed by a panel. Welded on, by the looks of it. Ollie went to inspect it, and scowled. “Christ. This thing’s titanium. How’d they get that?”
“Doesn’t matter, “Kyle interrupted. “Xav?”
“On it.” The Japanese soldier reached into his sack and extricated a miniature satchel charge. He stuck it on the panel, pushed the ignition handle and stepped back quickly. The charge detonated, spraying everyone with debris. But when the smoke cleared, the panel remained. “Damnit.”
Kyle punched the wall in frustration. “Haven’t you got anything bigger?”
“Yeah, I do, “Xavier shot back. “But it’d take us out as well-”
“Enough of this foolishness, “growled Dasa. He let go of Lazu’s legs, and strode over to the panel. With a grunt, and a snort, the Elite ripped the panel off the wall. Dasa dropped the square of metal and clambered upward, fuel rod gun rattling.
No-one spoke. Then Len whistled in amazement and followed. The rest of the squad followed, Gerun pulling Lazu up by the scruff of his neck.
The top of the building was being completely subjected to the frenzied weather-the wind screamed in their ears and snow pelted their visors like raindrops. At the other end of the roof, the dilapidated transport stood. Its engines were active. The access ramp was open, and a figure climbed out.
It was the old man. Upon noticing the soldiers, he scowled and spat. “You bastards just won’t leave me alone, will you?”
Kyle stepped forward, his voice terse. “What are you doing here?”
The man’s eyes shifted to the sergeant. “Private Kyle. Or is it Sergeant, now? I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long. I thought you’d be enjoying your winter years in peace.” The man barked a short, bitter laugh. “But duty calls, doesn’t it?”
“That it does. And my duty is to stamp out any rebellion, and trading with the Brutes.”
The man became evasive-his eyes flickered. “So, you found out about that.”
“Yep. And now, I’m arresting you for consorting with the Insurrectionists.”
“Oh, don’t be so naïve, Kyle, “the old man snapped. “You won’t catch me today nor any other day. But keep your eyes open. We might see each other sooner than you think.” The man bolted into the troop bay.
“Stop him!” Kyle thundered. The group opened fire and the ship shuddered as it took damage. But it held, and the back hatch closed. It wobbled, and took flight into the air, heading east.
Then Horatio noticed something left behind. It was square, and about the size of a backpack. “Xavier, what’s that?”
The demolition expert went over to the object, and he went very still. The team walked over. “Well?”
“It’s a bomb, “Xavier said in a choked voice.
Everyone collectively reeled back. Kyle found his voice first. “Can you-”
“It’s timer is already active, “Xavier snapped. “And I can’t defuse it. I don’t have the right tools. Or time.” The bomb’s timer read 1:50, and was counting steadily down.
“Then we have to get out of here, “Kyle said decisively.
Xavier removed his helmet and stared at his sergeant. “This bomb’s got enough C-12 in it to turn the entire base to smithereens. We won’t make it out in time.”
As soon as he finished with those words, six blots appeared from the clouds. Four Pelicans and two Hornets accelerated their engines and sped towards them.
Kyle snapped out orders. “Len, set off the flare! Dasa, Gerun, set off some plasma grenades, we need those ships to see us. Hell, wave your sword in the air. Terry, Ollie, get Lazu ready for transport.” Kyle keyed his radio. “Pelican dropships, if you can hear us, please respond. There are UNSC marines and Elite commandos on top of the main building. I repeat, we’re on top of the main building. We need extraction now!”
A pilot’s voice came over the radio. “We read you, marine. Approaching for extract. What’s the rush, anyway?” “We’ve got a bomb here. It’s gonna blow the entire base. I’d advise you get the other ships out of here.”
“Roger that. Hang tight, we’re inbound.”
“We’ve got a bomb here. It’s gonna blow the entire base. I’d advise you get the other ships out of here.”
“Roger that. Hang tight, we’re inbound.”
The bomb’s timer now read 1:00. The group silently willed on the dropship. Behind it, the other ships pulled up, and around.
Eventually the Pelican, jets roaring, manoevred itself over the building. The back ramp opened, revealing a crush of confused marines. Evidently they’d expected to be deployed for fighting. Sorry we cancelled the party.
“In, in, in!” Kyle said urgently. The bomb read :40 now. The hatch closed, and the dropship rocketed away.
Thirty seconds later the bomb exploded, sending a white torus of flame billowing outwards, devouring buildings like an apocalyptic demon.
Horatio’s head fell against the back wall and he closed his eyes. They’d made it. Beside him, Kyle held his head in his hands. “I’m getting too old for this ***.”
Now that the mission was over, Horatio’s thoughts turned to the so-called “practice mission.” Had HighCom known all along? Did somebody want the squad dead? Or the alliance destabilised? He could think of no shortage of contenders for that aim. He looked at his sergeant. “You think Hood knew about what happened?”
Kyle swung a bleary gaze to Horatio. “He better not have.”
Horatio voiced one of his private questions. “Do you think someone wants us dead?”
Kyle sighed, and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know, Horatio. But times are grim and there aren’t many we can trust. But I think the answer will be found in this alliance. God knows the Elites are more honorable than most humans.”
Horatio snorted-he couldn’t help himself. Kyle’s brows narrowed. “Yes?”
“Nothing.” After a few seconds, he asked yet another question. “Who was that man?”
Kyle was silent; for a moment Horatio thought he wouldn’t answer. Then-
“Someone who’s’ supposed to be dead.”
EDIT: Sorry about the doubling of sentences, it does that for some reason.