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Remnants of Reach by Shinai Purugganan
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Remnants of Reach: Prologue
Date: 15 July 2003, 9:18 PM
Ship Master Napa 'Zanulee observed the status report displayed on his center view screen. As he scrolled through the report, he realized how bittersweet this victory over the humans was. An overwhelming number of friendly starships were decimated, and the rest of the fleet remained almost in shambles. He could barely attain the view of conquest in this region without recognizing the ghastly familiar debris of a Covenant warship. The most devastating detail that pertained to him embedded deep inside his consciousness. "The Vengeance of the Gods" underestimated one of the human fleet's small cruisers, and the human vessel fired destructive rounds into its hull, obliterating it.
"Our flagship," Napa thought, "my brother's ship."
He yearned for revenge, to shatter the sacrilegious, puny human warship, but it had escaped before he could dispatch it. 'Zanulee clenched his hands into fists. The Prophets promised ultimate victory over the human stronghold, the greatest honor of annihilating the best of the enemy. The Exalted Ones foretold the human resistance would dwindle and that their goal would be achieved: locating the human home-world of Earth. After this battle, it was Napa's faith that had begun to dwindle. All his energy came from the burning desire of revenge, whether it was from finishing the humans or even setting his sights upon the Prophets and their empty promises. But appending any of that was impossible for now; he returned his concentration to the report.
The report advised all remaining ships into a sector originally designated for the Prophet's "holy" purposes. The emergency was classified, no questions were to be asked unless proper identification had been given. Fortunately, the Prophets left him in command of the forces guarding Reach, until he discovered what had transpired. The same human starship that had destroyed his brother's ship entered a "holy" sector, and he was left behind. The Prophets ordered most of the warships in his armada to pursue, many Ship Masters, except him.
"Why, out of all the others, why me?" he pondered furiously, "Why me!"
His anger toward the Prophets intensified. Duty and fear held him back from claiming what was rightfully his hunt; however, that duty now was to finish the rest of the humans on this forsaken planet. He turned his head over to Canac, his assistant who stood by analyzing the readouts of their contingent of ships on the right screen.
"Canac, how many vessels have I been left with?" 'Zanulee asked.
"Mmmm, two… four… errmm, oops that one's us… three ships, Sir." Canac reported in his squeaky voice. He gasped for more methane.
"Three?" Napa grunted furiously, "Only three? What are their classes and designations?"
Canac reverted his viewscreen to the ship status section. "Uhhh, two frigates, the Judgment and the Prophecy, and the Carrier Fryer and Worse-ship… err, I mean Prayer and Worship, Sir."
Napa sighed and added, "Their status and ours?"
"Well… damage reports read minimal and we're still in one piece, Sir." Canac recollected the sudden thump and boom when a human starship fired a round that left a hole in their crusier.
'Zanulee remembered the incident as well, but set the memory aside. "Hail the Prayer and Worship," he requested.
The grunt fumbled with the pad in his hand, then managed to press the communication option. He chose the symbols for the appropriate vessel and mumbled, "Stupid thingy, they never make any we can use." He inhaled extra methane and returned to reading his screen. The left screen flickered and exposed an elite similar to Napa 'Zanulee.
"This is the Carrier Prayer and Worship at your command," answered the elite.
"Ship Master, what is the status of your ground forces and your reserves aboard?" 'Zanulee inquired.
"Sir, the troops that had landed successfully from the original carrier group captured the human's planetary defenses and heavily bombarded most of the human's major centers and targets," he paused and continued, "But the original task force lost its potency-"
'Zanulee interrupted, "What do you mean by lost its potency?"
"The human resistance appeared to be what was expected, until these other humans slipped past the armada and landed. They were all clad in emerald armor and stalled our advance. We overwhelmed them eventually, but few were left after ending their onslaught. The ground forces are still slowly purging human facilities and we are prepared to retrieve them to cleanse the planet," explained the Ship Master.
Napa sighed as he began his own explanation, "That emergency has ordered most of the remaining armada to another sector. We do not have sufficient firepower to effectively cleanse this world. We have to use your reserves and everything we have to systematically purge the human remains."
The elite presented a grim look, "That could take a week or even two. I would request we begin bombardment and request reinforcements to-"
"No, we cannot. Speed is vital in our operation. Remember the first human colony we destroyed. The humans retaliated with a force larger than expected. This was a human stronghold. They could send something we cannot handle. Orbital bombardment would require us to recharge, and the humans can appear at any moment. The Prophets deny any request of reinforcements. Your reserves have to complete this task and more than a week is unacceptable," demanded Napa.
"I understand, Sir. I will send reserves and the ground forces will be divided efficiently to accommodate your orders. There should not be any resistance but feeble survivors," he acknowledged. The screen dissipated and 'Zanulee paced along the command deck. He pondered frustratingly how he would coordinate the ground forces.
"I've got a baaad, bad feeling about this job," murmured Canac. He inhaled more methane again. "Mmm, well, at least I get all the fresh air I want on this ship!"
To be continued…
(Next: Remnants of Reach: A Key to Survival)
Chapter 1: Key to Survival
Date: 18 July 2003, 4:46 PM
The citizens of Reach had watched helplessly as their disparate defenders and the UNSC fought desperately against the overwhelming Covenant firepower. Confidence in the planetary defenses evaporated when drop-ships descended toward the polar ice caps. All chaos broke loose as civilians panicked attempting to decide how to defend themselves or hide. This man decided that hiding was the best option, and that defense, meant suicide. After what seemed like hours of horrifying bombardment finally ended, he resurfaced from inside the building where he had hidden. Luckily, the lower section of the structure remained intact; however, he notice the upper department had teetered off and fallen into a complex nearby. Plasma scoring emanated from nearly every structure he could recognize. The skies resembled the calm day it had once been, but the ruined city reminded him that that calm morning he woke up to vanished. The deafening lack of bustling noise that he believed the aliens would cause implied that they never landed.
"Maybe they never landed, or maybe they never came here," he wondered. Looking around he realized his assessment was false. The damage was clear evidence; they came, and they came with a terrible force. The streets were littered with wreckage and corpses, but that did not stop him from rummaging through them. He had hidden in a single place that presented protection from the Covenant ever since they began their battle over the planet's atmosphere. Now he needed to stay alive, to him it meant he needed a weapon and to find help. He wandered aimlessly, searching for other people that had tried to hide or shield the bombardment to no avail. The survivor decided to head to the star-port until he turned the next corner. An alien hunched over a car with its weapon pointed directly at him. He dove to the ground and hoped that he would life. He lay there for a moment when he realized nothing happened. Somehow he was spared. Cautiously, he crawled over to the car and looked upward. The alien's jaws were wide open and a gaping hole exposed the side of its head.
"It's dead. Thank somebody it's dead," he whispered. He sighed and slowly reached for its weapon. While prying it from the cold hands of the carcass, the body slipped backwards abruptly. Pulling the weapon close to his chest, he ducked and heard a thud as the body made contact with the road. Again, nothing happened. He peeked around the hood of the car and was not surprised. More corpses cluttered the road ahead of him, but this time the aliens had their own carcasses among them.
"At least they killed some aliens too. Better to see dead aliens for a change," he thought to himself. He surveyed the street behind the car while holding his new weapon out in front of him. The man discovered a military vehicle in the center of the road and reminisced the recruitment commercials that plagued the viewing of anything. He nearly jumped for joy until the vehicle's mounted gun swiveled around and opened fire on him. He flung himself backwards dismayed. He clutched himself in wonder until he felt the cold metal object in his hand.
"This alien thing, of course!" he exclaimed, scolding himself afterward.
The gun from the marine vehicle kept firing as the gunner yelled, "Die, you Covenant bastard, die already!"
The survivor threw the weapon in the air without any regard of its eccentric design and waited for the gunner to stop firing.
"You aren't playing that trick on me again!" the marine screamed as he unleashed more bullets into the car. After the extra salvo, the mounted weapon screeched to a stop. "Damn thing, don't jam on me now!"
Deciding if he was ever going to get out of this planet alive, he'd better get through to this shell-shocked gunner. As the marine slapped the side of the chamber in frustration, the survivor leapt up and threw his hands in the air. "Hey! I'm just a civilian. Don't shoot me! Please!" he desperately cried.
"What the-well don't just stand there give me a hand over here!" the gunner bolted out. "I need a doctor, are you one?"
"No, I'm not," the man yelled as he ran over to the gunner.
"Just my luck!" the marine muttered. "Well give me some help here anyways!"
As the man approached the car, he noticed the marine holding the mounted gun with one hand. The gunner had bio-foam in his other arm, which clung to his stomach. After noting the gunner, he gazed at the driver hunched over the wheel. Hole in his armor exposed his back that had been filled with purple shards. He was dead. The marine in the back hopped out to the opposite side and gestured the civilian to come over. He rushed over and paused as he gazed at the body lying on the ground.
"Well, come on, help me get it into the passenger's seat," the marine demanded.
"That's a…" the civilian stood in awe.
"A Spartan, one of ours got it? Now, come on, help!" he demanded again. They struggled but managed to get the Spartan into the seat. "You'll have to drive to the hospital, my driver, Stevens, is dead. Put his body in the back with me. I'm not leaving him with these filthy bastards." As he finished his statement he climbed back to his post in the back.
"Okay," the survivor said as he placed the body in the back, "What if the hospital is gone?"
"Well, if there's no hospital… we'll get to that. What's your name?"
"Jason Ducati, what about you?" he replied.
"Corporal Matthew Porter, just leave it at Matt I guess."
Jason started the engine after placing Stevens in the back. Fortunately, he knew where the hospital was, but the Spartan's presence never left his mind as he began driving through the lower streets of the city. "Matt, what… I mean, who is that Spartan, are you sure its alive?"
"I don't know for sure, but you and I better hope it is. Give it some respect to, we'd be dead without it," Porter responded.
Jason understood. Without that Spartan they probably never would have met. If the Covenant returns to finish the job, they would need the help. With the Spartan they had a chance to survive, if it was alive. He remembered the wail of the banshees. "If only…"
To be continued…
(Next: Remnants of Reach: Dilemma)
Chapter 2: Dilemma
Date: 21 July 2003, 6:02 PM
Remnants of Reach: Chapter 2: Dilemma
The wind flared-up as an entourage of Grunts arranged the supply pylons in their proper position. Jackals began routine patrols along their assigned areas, closely watching for any human survivors. Field Master Soba 'Kalnoree had ensured that the remainder of his forces abided by the same conduct even though the main battle had ended. He knew the humans had been defeated, but this time he would not permit himself to underestimate the will of humanity. He retained the entire conflict as he attempted to communicate with the carrier assigned to retrieve him and his troops.
Earlier, his contingent triumphed over the defending marines of this human star-port and the adjoining facilities. The engagement resembled many others that ended in attaining a flawless victory; however, that flawless campaign shattered as his legion entered the city. A handful of the mythical human warriors disembark from a single human drop-ship and his companies were not prepared to fight them, especially in urban combat.
As the combined resistance of the human colonists and military retaliated, 'Kalnoree's offensive dawdled longer than the planned mission time. Wit h his troop strength abated, he maneuvered his remaining solders to overwhelm their fatal threat, the armored humans. After coordinating ambushes to assuage the human counterparts, he executed his plan to systematically eliminate his targets. By concentrating firepower solely onto the opposing humans, they fell prey to oncoming plasma discharge. For his soldiers, they finally had achieved victory at a high price. The daring tactic secured the star-port and the adjacent constructs, but left other targets unchecked and the assault team ravaged.
"Retreating and establishing this outpost was a necessity, the risk proved too great to send his subsides forces into unknowns." Soba reminded himself. He had been the fortunate of his peers. The humans possessed a horrific weapon that some secretly feared. Field Master Musa 'Filrasee, whose orders were to disable a few human generators, accomplished his mission, but an entourage of his elite and himself disintegrated inside the wake of the flames. Anguish ensued every moment he had to think over the situation. After the long, deep reminiscence, a low-bass beeping noise invaded his train of thought.
The communications signal on his command pylon finally flashed. He had requested for the official extraction at the end of the successful operation, but to his dismay, the request was denied. He tapped the panel sending a signal back to the carrier. The screen displayed a lesser elite shouting orders in a colossal shuttle bay.
"Release the docking clamps! Open the bay shields! Now! We've got many orders to finish!" he roared. Finally, he answered as a drop-ship blared past behind him. "Yes, Sir, what is your request?" he rapidly replied in an impatient manner.
"My request for departure was denied. Are you to explain?" Soba interrogated.
"Forgive me Sir, but as I have informed many others, no one will be retrieved under Ship Master-" he pointed and yelled, "Be careful! If you grunts drop that container again, I'll cut your food nipple break!" Several squeaky yelps emanated from the background of the view.
"Would you transfer me to your Ship Master," 'Kalnoree asserted.
"The Ship Master is occupied at the moment. The Prophets appointed Ship Master Napa 'Zanulee in command. His orders are attached to a dispatch sent to all Field Masters. I will transfer you to the message-" the lesser elite screamed again at the background, "That's it! You grunts are on the next transport to the surface!"
Soba 'Kalnoree blatantly ended the transmission and uploaded the communiqué. The receiver displayed the official orders posted by Ship Master 'Zanulee. The orders read: "All Field Masters are to reinitiate cleansing the human planet. Reserves will be sent to each Field Master on the planet-side. There will be no more orbital bombardment. Further specific orders are being processed at the moment. No inquiries accepted; this is the will of the Prophets."
"Apparently I have to take that risk," he feared. The bulletin scrolled to reserve assignments. Only three drop-ships and a pair of banshees were issued to bolster his forces. "Reserves are run thin throughout the planet-side. We should be departing and burning this foul human world." He pounded on the pylon panel, and then pressed for a communication directly to the Ship Master.
A gold-clad elite like himself stood conversing with two other screens concurrently as his assistant huddled in fear. Soba examined the other two screens. Two other Field Masters also hailed as he did. Both of them stood in shock as the Ship Master rained frustration upon them. Soba began to open his mouth when the elite spun abruptly and squared a dread look straight into his screen.
"What is it? Are you another incompetent subordinate who has come to question orders?" Zanulee bellowed at him.
"Sir, I-" Soba was interrupted as if he had already told his case.
"Want an explanation? Your orders have been posted. Do what is necessary to purge the human planet. Understood or do I have to arrange everything for all of you?" the Ship Master questioned. He had chastised all three of the commanders that had requested him.
"No, Sir." Soba answered in unison along with his fellow leaders.
The connection severed and left the screen with the official mandate that he already read. The orders left him with the discretion to devise his own plan to cleanse the remaining humans. He cursed the human military and their specialized soldiers. Soba paced around the landing pad designed to be the command station as he developed his strategy.
After much consideration and thrashing of the command center, he decided on his next move. He returned to the command pylon and issued the troops guarding the remaining generators, which supplied the inert orbital human defenses, to be diverted to join the scouring of the human metropolis. He pondered on an objective point to begin the operation and then remembered a perfect area to start.
"That human building with a large red symbol," he agreed with himself, "Humans seem to gather there, and that is where I will begin this ridiculous venture." The Field Master assembled his soldiers after the pilots unload the reserves. He issued the order to converge onto the massive target. "We will cleanse the humans by ourselves, beginning with the complex they call the 'Hospital'."
To be continued…
(Next: Remnants of Reach: Chapter 3: Adversaries of Annihilation)
Remnants of Reach: Chapter 3: Adversaries of Annihilation
Date: 5 August 2003, 7:56 PM
Remnants of Reach: Chapter 3: Adversaries of Annihilation
Jason Ducati slammed on the brakes of the vehicle and banked right to avoid the recent renovation of rubble blacking the highway. "What kind of car is this?" he barked and then stepped on the gas.
"They call it a "Warthog" and I think that explains just enough about it. It's the only thing we have so work with it," Corporal Porter explained to the civilian while trying to hold tight to the gun handle. "You do know where the hospital is right?" he asked. Matt glanced at the passengers seat.
"I never use the low-roads, but trust me. I know where it is," he assured the marine gunner behind him. Jason slowed down and turned the vehicle around the next corner.
"Well, I hope you're right. I've got a bad feeling and I'm never wrong about it," Porter nervously responded.
Jason decelerated the warthog to a full stop. "Don't worry," he paused and leaned back, grinning at Matt. " I think that huge red symbol seals the deal."
The both sent blithe hoots concurrently. Dead silence answered their call. Just as many other streets they had encountered, this one reeked with the stench of corpses.
"You know that bad feeling? I'm getting that vibe right now…" Porter whispered as he placed his finger on the trigger.
"Maybe we should leave the warthog and sneak in," Jason suggested.
"And you think you can carry the Spartan that far?" Matt replied.
"So you propose that we just roll in like an ambulance?" the worried driver joked. He heard a click ping from behind him.
"Locked and loaded," the gunner cockily replied as he leveled the chamber.
"Well, here goes nothing," Jason remarked and then tapped the gas pedal. The Warthog slowly rolled closer to the hospital entrance. He noticed the front had been barricaded and some marines attempted to stall the invaders from reacting the interior. Surprisingly, the barricade held and the aliens only phased a small portion of the eclectic wall. There was hope that people were still alive; however, bodies lay sprawled across the defenses, marines and hospital personnel alike. "We're here, so now what? I suppose we should knock," he implied.
"Heh, grab Steven's rifle, then give me a hand with our passenger," the Corporal said. He hopped out of the rear and grabbed an assault rifle.
Jason acquired Stevens' rifle while he turned off the engine. He rushed around the vehicle and helped Porter lift the armored soldier. They each grasped one of the body's sides and approached the sealed entrance. A sheet of scorched metal bent backwards into the doorway, revealing a portion of the inside. No one appeared to be inside the lobby. They both nodded to each other and walked up to the weakened barrier. The two men dispatched swift kicks into the alloy, bending it enough to squeeze through. Porter sidestepped through first, followed by the Spartan and Jason. The entire lobby was silent and dim. The hospital seemed abandoned. "I don't think anyone's here. Let's get out of here. This place is creeping me out," Jason pointed out.
"No, there's got to be a doctor or a cryo-tube in her somewhere," Peter suggested. A rattling noise clamored from down the left wing corridor. The Corporal raised his assault rifle in the direction of the din. "I'm not getting a Friend or Foe signal, must be a civilian or something," Matt whispered. The two men inched toward the noise with their weapons leveled. They discovered a drying machine rattling in a clinic laundry facility.
"Well, we found those doctors. At least, their uniforms," Jason joked. He turned his head and shook it. "I'm telling you there's no one here. They all probably tried to escape. Who wouldn't?" he insinuated.
"Great, all right. Well let's-" Matt began to turn until an object struck him in the tactical readout of his helmet. "Arrgh, jeez! What the hell?" he screamed as he dropped his rifle, trying to remove his helmet with his hand. Another blow knocked Porter out cold.
"Matt!" Jason yelled while he swung the rifle's flashlight to expose a figure. He made out a shadow and tried to press the trigger, but another object impaired him from behind. He blacked out and the Spartan's and his bodies fell to the floor.
"Good job, you idiot!" a man yelled, "That was a damn Marine! You could at least not destroy the motion sensor!" he scolded the man beside him.
"Yeah, yeah. How should I know? It was your idea to ambush anything, and what if they were aliens?" the other attempted to excuse himself.
"Whatever, let's just get them to the doc," he responded. The two figures dragged the bodies of the Spartan, Jason, and Matt to an elevator concealed from the rest of the lobby. They removed the metal plating, carefully placed to disguise the elevator as a utility door. One of them pressed the button on the disclosed panel also previously hidden from anyone's sight. The Spartan's body armor scrapped across the floor along with the bumping of Porter's outfit. "You're making too much noise you idiot!" the man harshly whispered. The lift opened.
"Stop calling me an idiot! These guys are heavy!" the other explained. They compacted everyone into the elevator and closed the doors. The man activated the lift, sending them a few levels underground. The doors opened again, exposing them to a room congested with medical and military equipment.
A handful of men and women had aggregated inside the lower wing of the hospital; however, very few certified medical personnel survived. The few who did worked around the clock to keep their patients alive, regardless if the Covenant were still at large. Cryogenic chambers lined the walls behind operating beds, many of which were either inoperable or already serviced. A young woman strived to maintain the consistency of the medical staff while slowly pacing about.
"Doc! Hey Doc!" the man yelled across the hallway.
"I'm busy!" she shouted in reply. "Hurry up and stitch that wound. We've got another one here who's more serious." The lady told the nurse next to her.
"Ugh, great. Well, we might as well lay them down somewhere." The other said and then dragged the bodies beside an elderly woman. She wore professional attire, yet she lay on a medical bed herself. The two men sighed and shook their heads, and then they approached the woman in charge and followed her orders, leaving the men they discovered behind.
The incapacitated woman awoke and leaned over to the side. She surveyed the room that they had placed her in and eyed a few bodies lying next to her. She gasped in shocked and scurried to put her glasses on and nearly fumbled them. The surprised nearly overwhelmed her, yet she managed to cry out. "Somebody help me up!"
A nurse rushed over and placidly told her to settle down. "Please, you're in a hospital. Everything will be all right, just calm yourself."
"Look, if you help me, we might just have a chance here," the woman attempted to cajole the nurse.
"Ma'am, please listen to me. Relax and-" the nurse offered to calm her but was abruptly interrupted. She laid her hands on the deranged woman's shoulders. The lady brushed them aside and managed to pull herself to sit upright.
"I need some help here Marisa!" the doctor requested. The nurse deemed the crazed patient hopeless and rushed over to aid the doctor.
The woman crouched beside the abandoned armored body and felt for the mechanism to release the helmet. She discovered it, but something hindered her from unlatching it. About to call out for help, she remembered that everyone was occupied and obviously not willing to help her in this seemingly mad endeavor; therefore, the woman searched for another candidate. She decided to knock on the helmet of an unconscious marine lying beside her. After a couple knocks, he groaned and he jolted his head around with his fists raised.
"All right, I'll take you all on!" he bellowed.
"You aren't fighting anyone yet, marine. You know what this is?" she asked pointing to the armored heap.
"I'm not sure you'd understand ma'am," he replied, shaking his head and glancing over at Jason.
"Look. I would know any one of my Spartans with my eyes closed. Now, just forget it and help me get her helmet off," she demanded.
"This isn't what I thought hell would be like; they must be torturing me a whole lot extra with a task like this, did you say her?" he joked, looking confused and chuckling at the same time. He leaned over and forced free a shrapnel wedge lodged into the helmet latch. The woman unlocked the helmet and revealed a female behind the armor of the Spartan. "Nah, I'm in some twisted version of heaven. Wait, just how did you know?" Porter asked, dazed.
The lady answered with a smirk on her face, "I told you. They're my Spartans. My name is Doctor Halsey."
To be continued…
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