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Beckoning to Doom by Nick Kang
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Beckoning to Doom: Prologue
Date: 7 April 2004, 7:48 PM
After a Rebel counter-offense goes terribly wrong, an elite regiment of ODSTs must face a renegade Covenant ship. The two sides meet on the same battlefield, ready for war.
Two sides waging a bloody battle.
Two commanders waging a private war.
One Alien, one Human, one victor.
2600 UNITS (COVENANT STANDARD TIME)
ABOARD THE COVENANT CRUISER BECKONING TO JUSTICE
ALTOYT 34, 27 YEARS AFTER HUMAN CLEANSING BEGAN (COVENANT MILITARY CALENDAR)
CURRENTLY STATIONED OVER ALASKA, U.S.A.
Ship Master Nolto 'Henifamee observed the frozen Human tundra through the Beckoning to Justice's holographic view screens. An invisible wind whipped up a hail of snow and cast it out of sight. A pack of strange, four-legged animals stood milling around eating what few frozen shrubs there were. The Ship Master clicked his mandibles in disgust. The scene seemed so primitive, though 'Henifamee was not sure why. Perhaps his hate for Humankind had spread to envelope the Human habitats and environments as well.
Nolto's mission was to hold the worthless real estate. That was all the Intel he had been given, and the Prophets had said they would give him more information once he reached the objective. His ship had been stationed there for half a week and still there had been no transmission from the Covenant high command.
Ship Master Nolto 'Henifamee was beginning to wonder
if he had been abandoned.
0200 HOURS (HUMAN MILITARY TIME)
JANUARY 2, 2553 (HUMAN MILITARY CALENDAR)
EPSILON-ERIDANUS SYSTEM
IN THE MIDST OF A REBEL COUNTER-OFFENSE
"Drop it! Drop the gun now!"
Master Sergeant Nicholas Tesler watched the rebel drop the MA2B and hold his hands up. He cautiously walked up to the cowardly insurgent and kicked the small assault rifle out of reaching distance.
"Get 'im in cuffs and drag 'im into one of the drop ships." Tesler said to Private George McDonald.
"Yes, sir!" McDonald responded in his heavy British accent. Slapping the heavy steel handcuffs on the rebel, he held his M6D pistol to the man's back and made him march down the titanium-A corridor.
"We've gotta capture the hangar," Tesler said to his Helljumpers, "If we can secure the flight deck, we can have reinforcements brought in at will."
The one-Pelican worth of ODSTs nodded, few saying anything other than a series of quiet grunts. Tesler turned back around, SMG held at his hip; ready to take on anything that may come around the corner. Walking slowly down the Titanium corridor of the rebel base, Tesler reached the corner of the hallway. Opening a pouch on his belt, he withdrew a fiber-optic probe from the small pocket and slipped it around the sharp ninety-degree curb. Through the small hole of view, he saw a pair of rebel guards ready to open fire whenever they had to. They stood in front of double-doors with a sign above it that read
MESS HALL
Tesler made a series of hand-signals to his squad and tossed a frag grenade around the corner. He heard the two men scream just before the explosion. Then all was silent. He peeked around the corner. Two burnt corpses lay in a jet-black burn on the floor. The Mess Hall doors had also been partly blown open, and Tesler could see movement through the small crack.
'Henifamee heard a beeping sound coming from one of the main console. He gently keyed a sensor, activating the sound message.
"Beckoning to Justice, we are the Covenant Cruiser, Cleanser."
Ah, good. News at last. 'Henifamee thought.
"The Prophet of Truth has declared you and your crew Unstable. Prepare to be eliminated."
What?! 'Henifamee frantically thought. Punching the in-ship COM button, he yelled into the speaker.
"All on-ship warriors! Prepare for battle! I want these halls patrolled by twelve-man groups! Go, go, GO!"
Looking out the aft camera view, 'Henifamee noticed the surge of Covenant warriors charging for the ship's gavity-lift. Punching the COM button again, 'Henifamee screamed,
"Five groups of twelve patrol the halls! The rest of you secure the gravity-lift loading zone! You will be fighting your own kind! Prepare to kill and be killed!
The Mess Hall door flew open with another well placed grenade. Before the smoke cleared, Tesler and his men were in, guns blazing. Five rebels were down before they even knew what was happening. The rest regrouped, shook off the confusion, and charged in at the ODSTs. Bullets hammered the walls on both sides as men yelled and screamed. Tesler felt the SMG shake violently after holding the trigger. He watched as three rebels ran into his hail of bullets. Blood spattered everywhere, from both the rebels and his ODSTs. The rebels had an advantage of sheer numbers, outnumbering the Helljumpers three to one. But the ODSTs had better weaponry, more efficient armor, and grueling training, making the battle easily slip in the Marines' favor.
With one final grenade, the last three rebels went flying. Tesler walked up to the door on the opposite end, stepping over the bloody bodies and spent ammunition cases. He touched the green button next to the steel barrier and it slid apart, revealing a large metal box. It beeped every second, and had several green lights lit up in a row. At the very end of the row, there was a single red light. With every beep, another green light lit up. Tesler realized what it was and started running.
Beckoning of Doom: Ch. 1: --Surprises--
Date: 25 May 2004, 8:32 PM
Authors Note: This series is mainly from the Covenant point of view, but at the beginning of each chapter there will be a short part on the Human POV.
NK
BECKONING TO DOOM: CH. 1: SURPRISES
0230 HOURS(HUMAN MILITARY TIME)
JANUARY 3, 2553(HUMAN MILITARY CALENDAR)
EPSILON-ERIDANI SYSTEM
IN THE MIDST OF A REBEL COUNTER-OFFENSE
Nick Tesler sprinted through the Mess Hall, bounding over the bodies scattered throughout the cafeteria. He only had a small amount of time before the bomb went off, which would most likely engulf the entire Rebel Base.
"Come in, Bravo-45! This is Master Sergeant Nick Tesler! Prepare to pick up my squad and I at rebel docking junction 7-E!" He yelled into the radio. He ran through the Mess Hall threshold, past the scorched floor where the grenade had gone off.
Roger that, Sarge. This is Bravo-45 en route to junction 7-E." the radio crackled.
Tesler rounded the corner where they had captured the single Rebel Insurgent. He heard the boots of his ODST comrades slapping the Titanium-A floor behind him. He had to get to the junction.
The weight of his SMG slowed him down too much. He dropped it on the floor, letting it clatter on the ground. Up ahead he could see the junction. He ran out onto the junction bridge and spotted Bravo-45 flying toward the airlock. He waved his hands, signaling the dropship to pick the squad up. There wouldn't be much more time until the bomb went off. The first set of airlock doors slid open. Bravo-45 entered the large chamber. The atmosphere regulated within a matter of seconds, and the latches on the entry door popped.
Tesler tried squeezing the handle of his SMG, something he did when he was nervous, but realized he had left it in the hallway in his rush to get to the junction. The entry door slid open, and the Pelican slowly inched inside. Tesler bounded aboard before the hover jets were even activated. His squad was close behind him, running just as furiously as he had. Their gasps for breath echoed through the quiet hall. They appeared around the corner, nine ODSTs sprinting for their lives. A loud explosion echoed through the halls as the bomb finally detonated. Yellow fire swallowed the corridors and licked at the backs of Tesler's running squadmates. The slower ones were enveloped, and screamed for half a second before their pleads were silenced. The first three scrambled onto the floor plate and lay there, breathing heavily. Tesler kept his eyes glued to the scene as two more Marines got on. The last ODST disappeared behind the curtain of flame, never even getting the chance to scream. Tesler sighed and closed his eyes, tuning out the pilot's voice over the loudspeaker, and the humming of the ramp as it slowly closed. When he opened his eyes, the only thing illuminating the dark Pelican cabin was a small red light bulb screwed into the ceiling. The dark light cast shadows over the five other Marines' faces, making their features seem even gaunter than they already were.
"Okay people, brace yourselves, I'm gonna have to blow this wall open!" yelled the pilot through the loudspeaker. The Pelican shuddered as it fired an Anvil-II missile at the airlock. There was an explosion and then the dropship began to shake as the chainguns engaged. Tesler felt the engine kick in and sudden inertia as the Pelican shot through the hole it had made in the wall. Out the window, Tesler saw the cold grey metal junction turn into smooth black and white space. He was about to relax, when there was an explosion and the dropship violently pitched and tumbled through space. A missile streaked by the window, but Tesler couldn't see who, or what, had fired it.
Fanoon 'Farnasee crouched behind a purple supply crate and peered around the corner toward the humming Gravity Lift exit. Ship Master 'Henifamee had warned them that they would be fighting their own kind, so 'Farnasee planned on killing anything that came through the Grav-Lift. The large bay was filled with the clanking of armor and the thump of footfalls as more and more Covenant forces spilled into it, ready for battle. 'Farnasee's grip on his plasma rifle tightened as the upcoming battle grew ever closer. He felt sweat bead under his helmet and run down his forehead in slow streams.
The large, dark purple circle in the middle of the bay began to glow pink, then red, and then a dozen Grunts appeared standing in the middle of the loading zone. A hail of plasma and sapphire shards of light filled the air, and the loading pad was doused with blood before the Grunts could even focus their eyes on their surroundings. 'Farnasee got ready for another wave of enemy Covenant troops and raised the plasma rifle. Once again, the pad began to glow, and a circle of Jackals, shields pointed outward, materialized out of thin air. In the middle of the Jackal circle stood five Elites and another dozen Grunts. The Jackals immediately opened fire, downing a few Grunts, and the Elites inside the circle lobbed grenades over their protective wall. Blue explosions peppered the bay as 'Farnasee's comrades returned fire. A few lucky shots made it over the Jackal wall, but there were not enough to do much damage to those inside. The Jackals' shields made it too hard to take them out. You had to be patient and aim at unshielded pieces of them: hands, toes, parts of their legs, in order to get them to reveal their unshielded body.
'Farnasee fired at a Jackal, aiming specifically for the shields power core, the orange circle in the middle of the energy barrier. Blue plasma splashed across the shield and dissipated to nothing. The Jackal turned it's attention to 'Farnasee and fired. Fanoon ducked back behind the crate as green plasma bolts melted the front of it. He returned from hiding and fired a well-placed shot at the Jackal's hand, burning it straight off. The alien screamed and looked at it's arm where the hand had been melted at the wrist, and revealed it's head to 'Faranamee. The Elite wasted no time in firing a three-shot burst, which melted right through the Jackal's helmet and superheated the creature's brain. It fell with a thud on the purple metal and opened a firing point inside the circle. 'Farnamee lobbed a plasma grenade through the small opening in the circle. It stuck to a Grunt who had been prepping a plasma grenade. The small creature seemed confused at first, and ten threw it's hands in the air and ran around the circle, shouting cries for mercy in it's barking tongue. A blue flash of light rose up from the inside of the circle and sent several Jackals and an Elite flying. Several Grunts also shot out of the explosion with a wail.
'Farnasee ducked back behind the crate as an Elite targeted him with it's Needler. He felt the crate jerk as it took needle after needle, and then rise several feet off the ground as they exploded. He focused back on the inside of the circle, which was becoming more and more visible by the second, thanks to the constantly falling Jackals. Raising his plasma rifle, 'Farnasee gave a short burst at the Elite and watched it's shields flicker into view. 'Farnasee fired single shots to overload the shields, and then bursts to take out the Elite. It's heavy body thudded to the ground with a final scream. A plasma grenade landed with a clunk next to 'Farnasee, casting a blue glow over the smooth bay wall. He dove to the right and somersaulted just as the grenade went off. Cool heat splashed across his shields and drained them to half. He felt plasma hammer his shields, and realized he was without cover. Fanoon quickly scrambled behind another supply crate as plasma melted the section of floor he had just been standing on. An alarm blared in his ears as his shield meter blinked red and slowly began to recharge.
'Farnasee checked his plasma rifle battery core and realized it was almost out of energy. He ejected the core and retrieved another from the pouch on his hip. Depositing it into the core-operating device, Fanoon resumed firing and quickly took down three Grunts. By now only three Jackals, four Grunts, and an Elite remained. The Jackals quickly regrouped and overlapped their shields while the Elite stood behind them and the Grunts stood in front of the Jackals, firing their plasma pistols. A hail of green plasma rained down upon 'Farnasee's dwindling forces, killing four Grunts and two Elites. Fanoon lobbed his last plasma grenade over the purple crate and heard a Grunt yelp for mercy. He peeked behind the crate and saw one of the four Grunts running around with a blue blob attached to it's chest. The grenade detonated, sending the other three Grunts and a Jackal flying. The two other Jackals flinched, moving their shields away from their bodies. Fanoon fired a burst at one, and it screamed in it's alien tongue. 'Farnasee covered his ears at the sound of the shrill shriek, grunting in pain. He was so occupied with blocking out the sound, he didn't notice the enemy Elite raising it's Needler. He suddenly saw his shields flicker to life and quickly drain. Bright pink explosions surrounded him as the needles popped on his depleting shields. He was confused at first, but his mind regrouped just in time to see his shields fade. Hot pain suddenly washed across his thigh, spreading up to his hip. He gripped his leg and clenched his mandibles in an act of severe pain. Looking down, 'Farnasee saw four glowing pink needles protruding from his upper leg. All at once, they popped and sizzled, sending small bits of flesh and globules of blood up from his leg. He screamed with extreme agony as dark purple blood poured from the gaping hole in the middle of his thigh. The scream attracted the attention of the two Jackals and they opened fire on his crate. Fanoon couldn't even here the sizzling of burning metal over his own screaming. But the next thing he knew, he was on the ground, his leg still oozing blood. Fire ate at his back and consumed his right shoulder. With nausea, 'Farnasee realized that he had been shot in the back by plasma. With all his strength, Fanoon pushed himself up and crawled back behind the crate, where he curled up, preparing for his imminent death to come. But he never heard plasma sizzling on his armor, nor the popping of needles, or even the quiet hiss of a plasma grenade. Well, actually he did, but it wasn't right next to him, or anywhere near him, for that matter. Using his failing strength, Fanoon peered around the crate and saw a plasma grenade resting next to the enemy Elite and behind the last Jackal. It exploded, bathing the horrified faces of the two enemy warriors in blue light for a moment before they disappeared behind the curtain of flame.
The victory over the enemy squad gave 'Farnasee's forces a chance to rest, check the wounded, and count the dead. Fanoon felt relieved as a pair of medical Grunts waddled over to where he lay on the cool floor and propped his head up with a salvaged pack of raw meat. The two Grunts pulled out medical tools and got to work patching up Fanoon's injuries. 'Farnasee felt something cool pass through his veins as the medics injected him with a painkiller/anesthetic mix. The pain suddenly disappeared. Soldiers had begun to shout out casualties. Fanoon almost choked on his own saliva when he heard it: forty-eight dead. A single squad of enemies had inflicted severe casualties on his Company. Nearly one third of the total soldiers were dead. Who knew how many more wounded there were. But Fanoon's thoughts were cut short as the Grav-Lift again began to hum and turned purple. Then red. Suddenly, out of nowhere, six Hunters and a pair of Brutes, supported by two dozen Grunts and ten Elites materialized out of thin air. Fanoon was astonished. He had no idea a Grav-Lift could support that much weight.
The two medical Grunts saw the armada-worth of enemy firepower, and began to grunt and bark nervously to each other. They quickly and sloppily placed a body-heat activated adhesive cooling-plasma pack to his left thigh where he had been wounded by the needles. They completely forgot about his wounded back and ran screaming out from behind the crate. 'Farnasee looked out at the new enemy. Eerie green light collected on the tip of the fuel rod cannon wielded by one of the Hunters. In the blink of an eye, the light turned into a green fuel blast, which arced through the air and exploded right in front of the two Grunt medics. They were sent screaming into the purple wall, where they hit with a dull crack, leaving small globules of glowing blood on the smooth purple metal. The Hunter ejected the empty fuel rod, and another automatically loaded into the breach of the powerful weapon. Fanoon's comrades stayed where they were for a moment, dazed by what had just happened. Suddenly, before 'Farnasee could even realize what was happening, two enemy Elites were down, thin tendrils of smoke drifting from their twitching corpses. This was the only motivation the enemy needed. Every single opposing warrior opened fire. Almost instantly, purple and blue blood stained the walls where his comrades had been standing moments before. The bodies of another third of his company littered the ground. They were fighting a losing battle, and most of them knew it. Plasma bounced off the shields of the Hunters, ricocheting up to the ceiling where they burned small craters in the metal. Molten rivulets of liquid metal dripped down and sizzled on the enemy Elites' shields.
One of the Hunters, a smaller one, took continuous fire from the defending forces, and bright orange blood poured from the numerous wounds in it's midsection. Finally, after half a minute of continued fire, the small Hunter gave up with a guttural wail and thudded to the ground, it's heavy armor clacking on the blood stained floor. 'Farnasee raised his rifle and targeted a Grunt, but when he squeezed the trigger, nothing happened. He squeezed it again. Not even the familiar click that meant the battery was depleted. He inspected the rifle, and realized that somewhere in the confusion of battle, a stray plasma bolt had melted the battery core. Great. Now he was defenseless, and, having used up all of his grenades, without weapons. He felt a spark of madness kindle in his stomach. He threw the useless weapon as hard as he could at a Grunt. The weapon hit the creature's head with a crack and clattered to the floor, the small alien's body thumped to the floor next to it, blood oozing from it's lifeless eyes. The Grunt's plasma pistol clanked to the deck next to 'Farnasee. He quickly grabbed it and checked the battery core. It was eighty-six percent operational. Perfect. He fitted one of his two trigger fingers into the small trigger guard and gripped the weapon with both hands. Holding down the trigger, Fanoon waited for the blob of green light to form on the tip of the weapon before standing up and firing. The large green plasma bolt sailed through the air and knocked an Elite off it's feet. The Elite got back up, sparks shooting from it's personal shield generator. 'Farnasee finished it off with seven more single shots and then focused on a Grunt. It went down easy with green bolts of light hammering it's chest.
Now Fanoon noticed how few of his fellow soldiers were left. Three Jackals, six Elites, and nine Grunts remained from the 160 eager warriors that had entered. 'Farnasee took it upon himself to sound the retreat, seeing as how the Field Master was laying in a pool of blood on the other side of the bay.
"Retreat, comrades! Do not let these infidels cleanse you from the battle! Fall back to the Command Center!" his deep voice bellowed over the zapping and wailing of weapons fire. He stayed just long enough to see his fellow soldiers begin to run and then took off towards one of the doors. The smooth, silver metal parted with a silent hiss and revealed a lit, purple-metal corridor. Fanoon ran, fueled by the need to live, until a fuel rod blast, fired by one of the Hunters, exploded right in front of him.
Beckoning of Doom: Ch. 3: --Escape--
Date: 5 June 2004, 11:20 AM
"Hang on! We got multiple contacts! They've arranged in a V-formation! This is gonna be a bumpy ride!" the Pilot's voice was broadcast over the loudspeaker. Tesler held onto the support handles as the dropship bucked and rolled through space, blossoms of fire sprouting all around them. He still hadn't gotten a sight of what was shooting at them, but whatever it was, there were lots of them.
The dropship jerked slightly as a pair of HE Anvil-II missiles launched from under the Pelicans wings. Tesler felt his harness strain as the ship did a barrel roll and dodged a missile that streaked harmlessly past. The faces of the other ODSTs, revealed now that they had their helmets off, were scenes of pure terror. The dropship began to shudder as the heavy 90mm chin-gun fired. His teeth rattled in his head from the jarring of the machine gun. He felt helpless. All of his long, painful, and arduous training was worthless inside a ship, leaving his fate in the hands of a pilot he hoped had an equal amount of training.
Once again, the Pelican pitched and rolled as rockets silently streaked by. Finally, Tesler caught a glimpse of what was shooting at them. Ten small maintenance crafts, fitted with three HE Anvil II missiles and what looked like a 15mm chaingun each flew at them, leaving the charred hulks of three others in their wake. One by one, they fired their missiles at the dented and scuffed Pelican. The pilot detonated the starboard thrusters. A wall of inertia slammed into Tesler, pressing him against the cool metal wall. The pilot's frantic voice could be heard through the cockpit door, calling for backup from their carrier, the Liberty. The dropship shook as a barrage of 15mm bullets harassed it. A small hole sprung from the wall next to Tesler. He sat wide-eyed as the atmosphere began to vent through the 15mm hole in the Titanium-A.
The other ODSTs immediately sprang to life, one grabbed a scrap of Titanium-A battle plate and plugged the small hole up, while another grabbed a portable welder and held it up to the small hole. Sparks shot from the spout as the ODST turned the nozzle. Within seconds, the metal had been grafted over the breach.
The next thing Tesler knew, a squadron of Longsword Interceptors appeared out of nowhere and went to work at the stubborn rebel vessels. The 110mm rotary autocannons on the Longswords activated immediately, punching right through the two-centimeter thick armor on the engineering single ships. In the blink of an eye, five of the ten makeshift fighters floated dead in space. The other five regrouped and came back at the Longswords, firing all of their missiles. There was a silent explosion in the void and two Longsword hulks drifted away, their hulls breached in dozens of places. The remaining four fired a combination of 110mm ammo and ASGM-10 missiles. The bullets cut down three of the five rebel fighters before the missiles even reached their targets, but when they did, it was all over. One final, huge explosion cast shadows through the carrier section of the Pelican as the missiles impacted the last two rebel ships. Hunks of scrap and frozen blobs of molten metal lazily floated through space. Tesler gave a soft sigh of relief and knew that he would live to fight another battle.
'Farnasee shielded his eyes from the blinding green light and felt his feet lift off the ground. Hot pain shot through his back and up his spinal cord. He heard a cracking sound. Opening his eyes, Fanoon realized that he was temporarily adhered to the wall with his own sticky blood. His back felt like someone had just hit it with a blunt plasma sword. Imaginary fire licked up his sides. He felt his back peeling off the wall. He landed on his stomach with a hollow thud, where he moaned and kept his eyes closed, waiting for the second time for death to come. He heard footsteps coming from the bay. Surely it was an enemy Elite coming finish him off. But before he could open his eyes and thank the gods for taking him out of his misery, he felt something scoop him up. He opened his eyes and felt the dried blood around them crack. That was when he noticed for the first time that his shields were down. It hadn't even occurred to him that such blunt force from a fuel rod cannon would take down his shields. He must have been suffering from shock.
But in any event, he was being carried. One of his comrade Elites had picked him up and draped him over his shoulder. He looked back and saw a big bloody smear on the wall where he had hit it. The bloodstain was quickly obscured from view as a pair of Hunters lumbered down the hallway after them, their fuel rod guns charging. The Elite carrying Fanoon realized this and sped up. Walls carved with religious symbols raced by as the two Elites ran from their pursuing enemies. With a cataclysmic bang, the two Hunters discharged their loaded fuel rod cannons and ejected the empty rods. The two green blobs shot past 'Farnasee's vision and exploded further down the hall. A Jackal, two Elites, and six Grunts went flying as they ran from the marauding enemy. He raised his plasma pistol to fire at the advancy enemy, but realized that he had lost it in the explosion.
The surviving party rounded a corner and was confronted by a door. It slid open, revealing a blockade of Fanoon's comrades. All of the soldiers in it were Special Operations operatives. Fifteen Elites in well-polished black armor crouched behind a wall of overturned supply crates while twenty black-armored Grunts, ten armed with fuel rod cannons, took up positions in the middle of the hall. The survivors leapt over the wall of crates and continued their retreat. The two Jackals stayed behind and decided to shield the Grunts, as did two Elites. Fanoon's group rounded another corner and through a door where four Hunters had taken had taken cover in smaller off-branch hallways and were calmly awaiting a fight. The survivors ran past the Hunters and through a door, and were confronted by a large, smoothly lit room. Blue light reflected off the shiny walls and refracted to the top of the Control Center where it erupted in a cascade of blues and reds. In the center of the large chamber was an upraised platform, held up only by the ramp connecting it to the floor. Standing on the platform, his figure distorted by the hemisphere of holographic control panels, was Ship Master 'Henifamee. His polished gold armor reflected enough of the light to give him a godly shine.
The Control Room was heavily defended. Cleanser plasma turrets had been mounted along the edge of the control platform. A layer of supply crates blocked off the platform to invaders. Brutes carrying small grenade launchers patrolled the circular chamber in groups of three while Grunts carrying Fuel Rod Cannons guarded the entrance ramp to the control platform. Ship Master 'Henifamee carried a plasma rifle and had a deactivated plasma sword hilt strapped to his hip while he checked and re-checked the optical cameras stationed through the ship. A pair of Veteran Elites wearing scarlet-hued armor stood at attention on top of the upraised platform. Six Hunters had crouched down behind another wall of supply crates and were ready to lob fire at anything that came through the door. As if this wasn't enough, ten Jackals had overlapped their shields and were facing the door that Fanoon and his savior had just entered through. Six Elites heavily armed with Needlers ducked down behind them. The calm faces of Elites and Brutes could be seen above the trench-like structures to the right and left of the control platform. It seemed as if one fourth of the total forces on the ship were stationed in the Control Room.
The Elite carrying Fanoon stumbled across the room and stepped down into one of the trenches. There, a large cushion hooked up to a medical stand had been placed on the smooth, blue floor. Four medical Grunts accompanied by two Elite and two Jackal body guards waited to heal his wounds. They removed the sloppy plasma pack and injected him with a dose of a tissue-rebuilding liquid called Faybronum. He instantly felt his cells working harder to rebuild the damaged muscles in his back and leg. The feeling was a relief. The medics injected him with more sterilizer and anesthetic before neatly placing more cooling plasma packs on his wounds. 'Farnasee instantly felt battle-ready and lifted himself off the cushion to go join his comrades. After picking a Needler off the makeshift armory, Fanoon walked over to the door and crouched behind the wall of protective energy shields made by the Jackals. Making sure his own Needler was fully functional, 'Farnasee made a foreward glance over at the other Elites crouching behind the Jackals. Sweat once again ran down his face in salty rivulets.
The sounds of battle had already begun echoing down the empty halls as the barricade that Fanoon had passed engaged the enemy forces. The sounds of whining plasma and fuel rod explosions ripped through the air, accompanied by the screams and grunts of both sides.
'Farnasee listened for the several minutes it went on, his face a portrait of grim determination. Even down the corridors, Fanoon could hear the sounds of sizzling plasma as it melted flesh and metal as if it were evaporating water. There was one final, large explosion and all was silent. The sounds of fighting immediately ceased and the air became calm again. The sound of thundering footsteps was also absent from the eerie silence, which also meant that the blockade had held.
But for how much longer? Fanoon's mind raced. Surely, the last attack had severely crippled their forces. How many casualties can my brethren endure before they are forced to give up and retreat, same as I was enticed to do?
Fanoon was dragged back to the dangerous situation as the ship began to vibrate. All of the color instantly drained from 'Farnasee's face. The Grav-Beam had kicked back on, and the enemy was receiving reinforcements.
Beckoning of Doom Ch. 3: The Last Stand
Date: 9 July 2004, 1:47 PM
I realize that the last chapter of this series had been titled chapter three even though it was chapter two. That's what I get for submitting at two in the morning. Please note that this is the actual chapter three. Enjoy.
Nick Kang
The Pelican rumbled as the anti-gravity hover-jets ignited. The small, battered ship slowly drifted down to the rough brown floor of the shuttle bay of the UNSC carrier Liberty. The second the descent ramp dropped open, Tesler stumbled out, dropped to the floor, and vomited. The inertia and uncertainty of the last battle had scrambled his stomach. He pulled himself together and got up, wiping the last bits of bile off his chin. He followed his surviving squadmates back to the dorm, where they caught a quick three-hour rest.
The loudspeaker emitted a deep rumbling tune, arousing Tesler from his sound sleep. He walked over to the speaker mounted on the wall and spoke.
"What is it?" He groaned, his mind still half asleep.
'Sergeant Nicholas Tesler, you and your squad are to report to the amphitheater for briefing on your next mission." The man's voice on the other end was deep but firm.
"Already?" Tesler asked hurriedly, "We just got back from the last one, lost half the squad!"
"Sorry, sir, but I have strict order from Captain Anderson to scramble his Company and be ready for their next mission, somethin' about a Covie Cruiser. So, you better get there, Anderson doesn't like to be kept waiting.
"Roger that." Tesler responded. He rubbed his eyes and groggily donned his uniform. After he had secured his boots, Tesler pulled the door open. It slid with a metallic screech and a burst of artificial light flooded the small room. Outside his personal barracks was a room lined with bunks. The soft snoring and shifting of the sleeping ODSTs filled the air. Tesler picked up a long, thin metal rod from the desk near the door and banged it against the wall. A loud, hollow thud echoed off the walls and met the ears of the ODSTs. They were instantly sitting bolt upright in bed, their thin covers drooping over the sides of the bunks. Their eyes were wide and their heads swiveled, looking for what had caused the noise.
"Wake up ladies!" Tesler shouted, "We gotta job to do!"
"Oh yeah!" Yelled Private Parker, one of the recruits replacing the soldiers that had died during the rebel counter-offensive. "I just got here and I'm already goin' to kill me some Covies!"
"There's always a first time for something, soldier! Now alla you, move it out! I want you in the main Amphitheater for briefing five minutes ago!" Tesler responded using his strict drill sergeant voice.
"Sir, yessir!" Twelve voices sounded in unison. They began dismounting from their bunks and putting on their uniforms. Tesler walked past them and pushed the Titanium-A dorm door open. It easily slid open and revealed a lit hallways bustling with personnel and Marine Security. Tesler strode out of the dorm and down the hallway, his boots clanking on the hollow deck.
The sounds of battle comenced again as the new enemy reinforcements charged down the hallway. Only the blockade knew what kind of warriors were in this new wave. Fanoon tightened his grip on the Needler and clenched his mandibles. All he wanted to do was get off this ship. The past half-cycle had become a living eternity, and it was shown on the faces of those who had survived the Grav-Lift bay. Fanoon closed his eyes and wondered what would have happened that day if the Cleanser hadn't proclaimed them 'Unstable' and attacked the Beckoning of Justice.
Down the hall, another Grunt screamed. Elites wailed and shouted battle cries, and Jackals screached. There was no sound to prove that Hunters or Brutes were in the new Enemy force. Fanoon sighed and relaxed a little. He wouldn't die.
Not yet, at least.
After several units, the battle ceased, and a slow, steady marching pulsed through the ship. The enemy had broken through. The only thing separating the enemy from the Control Room, were the four Hunters that had taken cover in the hallways. Once they were gone, the forces in the control room would have a battle on their hands. Without knowing, Fanoon clasped his hand even tighter around the smooth handle of the Needler.
For the first time since he had been carried to the Control Room, he noticed the condition of his comrades. They also seemed to be nervous. The Elite next to Fanoon shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to another, while the wall of Jackals ahead shakily conversed with each other in their raspy, screeching tongue. Ship Master 'Henifamee, having completed his checking of the ships monitors, paced in circles on the control platform, his hooves clacking against the metal floor. The reflected rainbow of light at the top of the room no longer seemed beautiful and amazing. Instead, it looked dangerous and malignant.
The sound of a fuel rod explosion suddenly cracked and rebounded off the walls. The Hunters had engaged the enemy. Three more explosions followed quickly. A host of Grunts and an Elite screamed as the unseen explosions tore at their flesh and sent them flying. The Hunters grunted from the enemy resistance, but from the continuing sound of explosions, didn't give up. Fanoon heard at least three more Elites, a Jackal and a score of Grunts go flying before one of the Hunters wailed and a heavy thump echoed into the Control Room.
Three more explosions came. A Jackal screamed. A Grunt wailed. An Elite warbled. And in the middle of it all, the never-ending sound of plasma bouncing of the Hunters' shields dominated the shouts of pain from both sides. Within two units, Fanoon heard two more Hunters fall, and the last scream of the enemy force sang a hollow tune in his head. Ship Master 'Henifamee quickly called back the remaining Hunter into the Control Room for medical attention.
As the chamber doors silently slid open and the Hunter unsteadily jogged out, Fanoon caught a glimpse of the hall. Bile almost immediately rose into his throat. The corridor was almost completely destroyed. Orange, purple, and blue blood was spattered throughout the entire passage. The walls were blackened and dented from the magnitude of the fighting that had taken place. Bodies were scattered everywhere, sprawled, broken, and bruised. The floor was black and some of the overhead light fixtures had been shot out, giving the Hunter and Grunt blood an even more sinister, glowing color. Time slowed down. The five seconds in which the door was open became units. The units became cycles. Fanoon waited.
When the door finally did close, after the harrowing short wait, Fanoon averted his eyes from the now-symbolic door. The door was a symbol of resisance, showing that it blocked the path, but in time would crumble to give way to the enemy forces. Fanoon also supposed the door could symbolize the Covenant Empire, strong and imposing, but there was always something else at the top of the meat ring. The Empire would eventually fall to a greater foe, possibly the Humans. The Veteran Elite suddenly realized he was getting sidetracked. In the short time that he had been thinking, Fanoon hadn't noticed the sound of marching that was coursing through the ship.
He gulped, and an ice-cold sweat trickled down his already moist skin. His heart leapt into his throat, but he gulped it down and gathered his courage. He made sure his Needler was functional again, and checked to see if his three plasma grenades were still strapped to his hip. They were. The marching continued outside the door, a harmless pulsing rumble, but the makers of the sound were everything but harmless, including determined.
The Ship Master noticed his troops' nervous appearance, and quickly whipped up a sloppy but still morale-raising speech.
"Fight well, my brethren, die for the Gods, die for the comrade next to you, but above all, die and take a dozen of the infidels with you!" At least forty voices rang out in response to 'Henifamee's speech, but the Ship Master wasn't finished yet. "We were abandoned by the Prohets, we were attacked by our own brothers, but I swear this on the God of War's resting place, we will not give in to their attacks!" Another cheer rose from the defenders, but 'Henifamee continued without stopping. "You see, my brothers, this is our last stand, and we want to make it clear to the enemy that we will not give up without a fight!" The loudest cry of all echoed through the chamber as the Ship Master crouched down behind a supply crate and aimed his rifle at the door. Fanoon, along with the rest of the defenders, did the same.
The marching had grown much louder now, and the footsteps were right outside the door. They quickly ceased, and Fanoon braced himself. It happened so quick the Elite became confused. The doors blew open in a rush of yellow flames, lazily tossing the two halves across the Control Room. Before the smoke cleared, before the attackers could even be seen, Fanoon and the rest of the defenders were up, and a plague of plasma and needles were already flying at the threshold.
Beckoning of Doom Ch. 4: Overwhelmed
Date: 8 October 2004, 10:55 PM
Author's Note: Okay, I got the internet back at my mom's, but my online time is now very restricted because of school. Luckily I have several chapters of BOD already typed up, so I can post this one. I'll try to continue my Ahead of Schedule series, but with the amount of homework I get, I'll just have to see. I'd also like to say that this story gets the point across much easier if you listen to 'The Game' by Disturbed while you read it. Enjoy.
NK
Beckoning of Doom
Chapter 4
Overwhelmed
"The Covenant cruiser is stationed here," Lieutenant Colonel Anderson growled, and the American state of Alaska faded into view on the giant screen, "based on intel from recon units stationed in the area, it has settled here, near this peninsula." A yellow square appeared and focused in on one of the upper peninsulas of the Alaskan tundra. It zoomed in, showing the gargauntuan Covenant battle cruiser. But something was different...there seemed to be a constant flow of dropships coming from off the screen. The U-shaped personnel carriers continuously landed near the ship, dumped their contents, and took off in the direction they had come from. The Covenant warriors, once deposited on the ground, would go under the ship out of view, most likely up the gravity lift.
"Any questions from here?" Anderson asked. Tesler stood. "Sergeant?" Anderson sounded annoyed.
"Sir," Tesler said, "there appears to be a flow of enemy aerial personnel carriers coming to the ship."
Anderson looked up at the screen, and checked a clipboard that he was carrying in his hands.
"Ah, yes. Our latest reconnaissance report indicated this factor. We believe that this particular cruiser has suffered severe damage and crew loss, perhaps becase it was part of the original attack fleet that hit Earth and was able to slip past our defenses. These dropships could be carrying replacements and engineers to repair any damage it may have sustained. The only testament to this theory is that the ship has sustained no damage to the hull. Which leaves the only remaining hypothesis as to an attempted mutiny or, on a more imaginative note, a Civil War." Anderson chuckled.
After reloading his spent Needler, Fanoon looked up at the still-smoking threshold of the recently-destroyed door. Through the dark red smoke and small flames, a large figure stumbled. A lone Brute staggered into the room, blood fountaining from the dozens of wounds on it's body. It tripped and fell to the floor, exhaling it's last breath, and died. No sooner had this happened than a score of enemy soldiers were charging through the doorway, their fingers restlessly jabbing at the triggers of their weapons.
Fanoon ducked down behind the Jackals as a salvo of blue and green plasma burst overhead. One of the Jackal's shield overloaded form too much abuse. The creature looked with bewilderment at the useless instrument strapped to it's wrist, before taking an entire clip of needles in the chest and flying back from the ensuing explosion. The small pink blast also killed the two surrounding Jackals. Fanoon stood up from cover and held down the firing tab of his needler. He swept the doorway with the weapon as he felt it rumble in his hands. Three Grunts and a Jackal flew back from the pink bursts. A volley of fuel rod blasts soared overhead and detonated in front of the door, scattering the enemy soldiers.
As the smoke began to clear, five figures, enough to fill up the hall, stirred within the gray mist. Seconds later, dozens of sharp snapping sounds echoed down the hallway, and five faint blue circles appeared illuminating the smoke. Five lines of five Jackals, ducked down behind their shields, came marching out of the doorway, plasma rifles firing. Two lines of three Elites each stood up from behind the Jackals and fired their Carbines. Numerous Beckoning warriors fell from the sudden onslaught.
"Plasma grenades!" Yelled 'Henifamee from his perch atop the control platform. "First Group, arc them over to the Elites! Second Group, throw them in front of the Jackals! Third Group, try to get them inside the Jackal ranks!"
The three Battle Groups obeyed the orders, and the Elites were quickly taken out. The frontline Jackals saw the grenades in front of them, and were about to turn back when the blue explosions ballooned inside their formation. The few survivors were quickly cut down in a hail of grenade projectile fire from the Brutes.
As Fanoon was relaxing, a mixture of plasma grenades and projectile grenades appeared out of midair in the hallway and soared into the control room. Dozens of his Brethren were tossed from their posts with effortlessness.
The Infidels were using cloaking technology!
"Fuel rod carriers, hit the hallway!" 'Henifamee's voice rang out through the hazy air. Green explosions peppered the hallway. Ten Elites materialized and screamed as the fuel-plasma combination ate at their flesh. Fanoon sighed and emptied the rest of his clip into the bodies. He slumped down against a crate and surveyed the damage that had been caused. Casualties were much higher than he had expected. Four Brutes lay crumpled against a wall, a purple puddle of blood slowly spreading on the floor. The entire population of Grunts had been decimated, and at least fifteen Jackals were spread throughout the chamber. Four Elites were also dead, and three Hunters were down. But before he could really accept the extent of the damage, an enemy Elite warbled down the hallway, and a volley of fuel rod blasts soared out of the smoky threshold. While the Beckoning forces were still confused and disoriented by their sudden casualties, dozens of Elites howled and at least thirty plasma blades snapped on in the air. The next thing Fanoon knew, thirty cloaked Elites wielding glowing blue swords charged into the room and hacked the defensive wall of Jackals apart.
Fanoon fell back as a blade slashed the air a mere unit from his face and decapitated the Jackal in front of him. He felt the heat splash across his visor. He fired half a clip from his needler into the shimmering air ahead of him and heard the Elite wail as ten pink needles dug into his skin and lay suspended in the air. Fanoon dove into one of the trenches next to an Elite just as the projectiles detonated and sent the Elite screaming overhead. Fanoon turned and was about to run for the ramp out of the trench when a cloaked Elite dropped from above with a heavy clank. In an instant, Fanoon's needler was split in half and still glowing with blue-green plasma scoring. He discarded the useless weapon and dropped himself onto his back as the enemy Elite swiped at him, his sword leaving pink contrails in the air.
Fanoon kicked back and landed both of his hooves on the enemy's chest, sending the Infidel into view as the cloaking device overloaded temporarily and left the Elite visible for a brief moment. The Vermin stumbled back and clutched his chest, running straight into a Jackal's overcharged pistol. The cloaking machine permanently failed and let Fanoon see the enemy's shocked expression as the green ball of plasma, still attached to the weapons tip, burned into his back. Seconds later, the Jackal discharged it's weapon and the ball of light incinerated the enemy's insides and went rocketing out his chest. The painful expression of horror was forever printed onto the Infidel's face as he sunk to the ground. His plasma blade clattered to the ground next to Fanoon and lay burning bright.
Fanoon picked himself up and stooped down to scoop up the formidable weapon, said his thanks to the Jackal who had killed the Elite, and charged back up to the ground floor, where the Beckoning forces were struggling to hold back the invading enemy. The cloaked Elites had breached the entrance ramp to the control platform, where the Cleanser plasma turrets were firing relentlessly into their formation. The enemies fell in droves. Ship Master 'Henifamee discharged his plasma pistol multiple times into the Swordsmen, but the plasma bolts did little damage against the armor of the rapidly advancing enemies.
Fanoon jumped, caught hold of the bottom of the control platform, and hefted himself onto the deck next to a bucking plasma turret. The enemy had carved a pathway out of the wall of overturned supply crates, and were attempting to advance into the heavily guarded control platform. Fanoon charged at the narrow passage in the wall, and swung his blade as hard as he could. The sword encountered resistance quickly, and tossed away the force with a scream of pain. A headless Elite materialized out of the air, fountained a spray of blood, and fell. Fanoon heard a clatter behind him and looked to see that 'Henifamee had discarded his plasma pistol and withdrawn his plasma blade. He squeezed the handle, and the blue-green sword grew out of the black hilt. He deflty charged into the enemy formation, swinging the blade left and right, and four dismembered enemies appeared and screamed before dying.
Fanoon followed his leader into their ranks, striking out at the cloaked Elites. He impaled one, the blade passing all the way through it's stomach, and kicked it off the ramp. He saw 'Henifamee, horribly distorted by the light-bending technology of a dozen Elites. He noticed a nasty purple gash running across his back.
Fanoon turned and sliced an Elite in half, adding it to the growing pile of enemy bodies on the ramp. Suddenly, he felt a white-hot pain running across his chest. He looked down, and saw a trail of blood running down his stomach, coming from the deep, long gash that spanned his entire chest. He sunk to his knees, looking up towards the reflected spectrum of light that took up the ceiling. He turned his head to the right, grunting as he felt another slash run across his back. Another nick of pain arose from his left arm, where a blade had slashed halfway through his flesh. He automatically dropped his blade and swiveled around and fell on his back as another bout of pain ballooned in his shoulder. He saw a blade, floating in the air, rushing down towards his face, where it would deliver the final blow. He was conscious just long enough to see 'Henifamee's blade come out of nowhere and block the attack...then all went black.
Beckoning of Doom Ch. 5: Crumbling Supports
Date: 24 November 2004, 1:28 AM
Beckoning of Doom
Chapter 5: Crumbling Supports
The HEV shook as it entered the atmosphere of Earth. The temperature inside slowly began to rise. Tesler felt tiny beads of sweat form on his neck and forehead as the Human Entry Vehicle quickly made its way down towards the ground.
Fifth squad, rendezvous at this area once you land." Tesler spoke into his mike and highlighted a section of the landing zone, sending it to the rest of his squad. Eight acknowledgement beacons quickly blinked on his HUD.
Tesler checked the temperature gauge on his Heads Up Display and realized that it was nearing ninety degrees inside his armor. That was what he hated about the new ODST battle armor. It was usually about ten degrees hotter inside the armor than it was outside. It may have been good for arctic conditions such as the one he was about to enter, but not ideal for insertions.
Snapping his brain back on subject, Tesler quickly hugged his standard-issue Battle Rifle close to his chest and snapped back the bolt. It was possible that their LZ would be hostile, and Tesler wasn't about to die when the campaign had barely begun. He looked at the optical camera-viewed monitor in front of his face, and quickly forced his eyes shut as the bright orange-yellow light flooded his vision.
The HEV once again shook as the protective skin around the small craft peeled and burned away, quickly raising the temperature of the interior. The heat almost instantly balloned on Tesler's thermometer, and strived to reach 120 degrees. Several seconds later, the atmosphere cleared, and the temperature slowly began to decrease. A light started blinking on the computer, and Tesler pulled a lever, releasing the para-canopy above the HEV. The craft bucked as the canopy suddenly stopped the flow of air, and the HEV slowly sank down to the Earth for several minutes, before jarring as it impacted the frozen ground.
Tesler waited for his eyes to focus and shook his heads to rid himself of dizziness. He grabbed his battle rifle and popped the latch on the HEV, listening to it hiss as the pressure regulated. Once out of the vessel, Tesler watched as at least fifty more HEVs landed around him, all of them digging five-foot ruts into the frozen ground. In the distance, Tesler could see scores more of the landing crafts slicing red-hot incisions into the gray sky.
Crouching behind his lopsided HEV, Tesler held his position with his battle rifle leveled and waited for the call to come in. Minutes passed. The wind howled. Nothing moved on the frozen Alaskan tundra, and, besides the hollow swoosh of the wind, the only sound was the steady pulsing of the Covenant cruiser, several miles away.
Blackness surrounded him. No sound penetrated the endless darkness. Just black. Time twisted through this other dimension, obscuring any thoughts that cared to enter his head. But quickly...something took form. Fanoon wasn't quite sure whether it was a sound or a shape...his head throbbed with such unholy pain that he really didn't care.
A light burst through the darkness. He would have had to squint, had his eyes not been closed. It wasn't like the purple-blue artificial light that was used aboard ships like the Beckoning of Justice, but a gold-silver light, one that pulsed with Holy meaning and godlike seniority. At the source of this light was a patch of blue light, however, the same shade as used on the ships, and it grew and expanded until Fanoon found himself staring at the metal ceiling a story above him. A remnant of pain still remained in his body, though it was merely a shadow compared to that which he had experienced while fighting the cloaked swordsmen.
He realized that his right hand had been placed against his side, and his left had been folded upon his stomach; a gesture that had been entitled 'The Mourning Hero'. It was given to only those with the highest recognition. Fanoon felt a surge of proudness that someone had taken the time to present him with the gesture. He moved his head, but encountered resistance as he did so. He rolled over, and saw that someone had rested his head upon the hilt of the sword he had wielded. The battery reading indicated that the blade had little power left. If he didn't use it sparingly, he would end up beating enemies to death with the empty handle.
Fanoon took a quick search around the room for weapons and ammo. The only operational weapon he found was a battered Carbine. The large rifle was weak against shields, but he supposed it was better than nothing. There was no sign of 'Henifamee's body, so the Shipmaster must have survived the attack and had been able to pull back the survivors to somewhere deeper within the ship.
Just as he was about to depart on the search for 'Henifamee, a quiet beeping caught his attention. It was continuous and almost nonexistent, but it was definitely there. It sounded like the alert for a radio system. Fanoon tracked it up the command ramp, careful to avoid his comrades' bodies and careful to trample the enemies. The beeping was coming from the main command platform personal speakers, but the body of a headless enemy Elite covered it. That was why it had been so quiet. Fanoon picked up the body and cast it aside, paying no heed to the clank that the body made as it impacted the hard floor. He punched the 'Receive' switch, and sound instantly flooded the control platform.
"This is Ramma 'Krominee, fifth Battle Group leader under Prophet Jarock' Toth. We have been holed up in Detention Station Three, and his Excellency is growing impatient as to when we may be able to receive reinforcements to help quell these Heretics. If anyone is receiving this, respond."
Fanoon winced. He had completely forgotten about the Minor Prophet onboard. Had the Heirarchs had condemned him as a Heretic as well? He depressed the Transmit switch.
"This is Veteran Fanoon 'Farnasee, Second Battle Group Warrior under Late Juroo 'Darmsee." He spoke into the transmitter.
"'Farnasee, let me speak to your Next to Commander. Is it possible to do that?"
"Negative, Excellency. I'm all that's left."
Interlude
Covenant Holy City, High Charity
Ninth Age of Reclamation
Private Attendance of the Heirarchs and leading Elite Masters
Several Human weeks earlier...
The Elite Master slammed his fist into the floating table. "I will not condemn those of my kind and those of other races to death because of a gut instinct, albeit one that was developed by the almighty Heirarchs!" His gold armor seemed to flare with his anger. On the far side of the table, several dozen meters away, The Prophet of Truth shook his head sagely.
"There is proficient evidence that these individual warriors, though many of them are treasured Instruments, will, sometime or another, break from the Covenant empire to join Heretic bands and Rebels. We cannot allow those events to take place. Action against them must be taken. Heretics are already a big enough problem about this Heirarchy. If we hadn't been enticed to reserve nearly a third of the Covenant warriors to handle rebellions, the Humans would have been crushed long ago. So if you are looking for a specific individual to divert your anger towards, Heretic leaders would be much better targets than me or the other Heirarchs." His voice never rose above a calm drone. The Master sat back into his seat and became silent. The Prophet of Mercy steered his throne in beside Truth and spoke.
"We too regret sacrificing nearly fourty Battle Groups of every species, but if you look at how many warriors have been slain by Humans since the war began, a mere shipful will not tip the numbers drastically. Besides," the Prophet glanced at the Elite Master and leaned back in his throne, "it will give your Warriors a good name for themselves, 'Coranee. Charging into a ship full of heavily armed Heretics and slaying them all will certainly give you the recognition you deserve. Am I right?"
The Master looked down at the table and clicked his mandibles for a moment before responding. "Yes...Excellency."
Mercy retreated back into the Shadows cast by the four artificial lighting conduits in the ceiling. Only the glow of the contra-gravity jets on the belly of his throne gave hint that he was present anymore. Truth continued the briefing.
Tesler peeked over the snowdrift and was instantly captivated by the gargantuan Covenant battlecruiser. The thing was easily three times as big as a UNSC carrier, which was really saying something. The shiny purple armor that coated the vessels guts reflected every bit of light from the Alaskan sun. The deep purple grav lift was needle-thin at this distance, driving from the belly of the ship into the ground, where the Covenant had set up a reciever dock to absorb the gravitational forces.
Tesler withdrew his binoculars and focused them on the dock. Around the black slab was at least a platoon of Grunts and maybe ten rookie Elites. Those warriors presented a small threat to the large ODST force that now occupied the region. But as Tesler watched, a gold-armored Elite, flanked by twin veterans, walked out from behind a pair of command tents that had been set up. Following the trio were several Hunters, walking in double file. Tesler counted three in each line. Six walking tanks. Those might be a problem. Unless swift force was used, attacking the behemoths on foot would be useless. It also exluded hitting them with a Scorpion, since the tanks were bulky and slow, and would be easy to hit by the Hunters and their powerful fuel rod cannons.
Tesler looked back at the eight other Marines in his squad.
"Radio back to HQ. Tell them that the Covies have reinforced their position with armor and an inflated platoon of infantry." He said to Corporal George Faines, the long-range radio operator.
"Hoorah, sir."
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