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Those Who Fought by Wandering Attention
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Those Who Fought: Capter 1
Date: 5 June 2006, 1:59 am
Those Who Fought: Chapter 1
Glory and Survival
Note: This story's timeline coincides roughly with that of Halo 2
Wings was lost somewhere in the dark ether of a nightmare, horrific images flitting past her mind's eye. Her comrades, fighting for their lives…Stepping over the bodies of Covenant soldiers…and other, less tangible things that fretted at the edges of her mind. At length, they settled on an alien, some eight feet tall and holding a bright energy blade. In the memory, Wings fumbled to reload her weapon as it stepped forward, laughing, and swung for her head. She jerked back at the last second, the sword's double tips raking across her throat just beneath the chin.
Remembered pain brought her halfway back to consciousness. She still saw the Elite standing above her, about to finish her off, when an explosion behind it drew its attention. It left at a run, leaving her to bleed. Wings recalled only fragments of what came after: her fellow marines finding her curled up on the deck, hand clasped to her ruined throat; being carried back behind friendly lines; Honorable Discharge papers made out for Corporal Mahar, Alexei S.…
"Wings. Wings . Get up, dammit, you're doing it again."
Consciousness asserted itself fully this time, and she blinked blearily up at her sister. Andrea Mahar (better known as Hotshot to those who knew her) was her twin's mirror image, minus the scars gleaned from fighting on the front lines. "So little time to fight the Covies you have to do it in your sleep?"
Wings signed something uncomplimentary and sat up. In that fateful attack so recently revisited, her vocal cords had been damaged beyond the help of reconstructive surgery. She had never acquired a voice synthesizer, repelled by the sheer falseness of their sound, and had instead taught herself sign language. What time is it? she asked.
"Half past nine, since you asked so nicely. Looking forward to tonight's festivities?"
Wings grinned wolfishly. Festivities was a good word for what was planned.
Wings assembled her squad in the main cavern, glancing about as the other groups formed up. The inhabitants of the ancient cave system were a mixed bag; civilians mostly, but with many former military folk like Wings and a number of self-trained fighters. They had all been driven underground by the invasion of the Covenant fleet, but were still fighting tooth and nail to keep the aliens from taking Earth. Raids like tonight's kept the Covies' forces stretched thin locally, at least, since a relatively small force had been sent to neutralize the city the guerilla fighters had abandoned.
With all three squads of five together, they moved out into the dim moonlight. Wings' team was armed with explosive charges, some stolen from abandoned arms caches, some made by closet pyros like Boomer, their resident bomb expert. After her squad had silently neutralized the sentries, the charges would be placed around the outpost erected by Covenant soldiers not too far outside the city. Wings considered it a compliment that this detachment of troops was formed specifically to deal with her fellow fighters. The second squad, led by a former thief nicknamed Pinch, was to sneak in and steal everything that wasn't nailed down. The third group was to hang back and provide cover for the first two. It consisted only of snipers, led by Hotshot.
In this outfit, everyone who earned a 'name-sign' from Wings was worth knowing.
It went on without a hitch at first, Wings' and Pinch's squads sneaking through the tall grass, rocks, and erosion gullies and into the camp in absolute silence. Once the well-laden thieves were clear, the explosives were detonated. The raiders hightailed it back to the caverns, while the other two teams hung around to deal with whatever alien SOBs had survived the blast.
Das 'Tiromee saw the flash and ordered his patrol to return to camp with all speed. Damn the human vermin! He had been expecting anything except a direct strike at his camp. The audacity of the creatures, to outsmart him like this…but that was why he had such an out-of-the-way detail to begin with.
'Tiromee had been promoted to the rank of Commander at a fairly young age due to his potential as a leader. It seemed his superiors had given his gleaming white armor too soon, however, as inexperience outweighed potential and he began to make mistakes. They had built up to the point that he was at risk of losing his lofty station. The only way to salvage his honor was to complete this disgracefully unimportant errand of wiping out a pocket of humans without any major screwups.
Predictably, he had made one in not defending his camp well enough.
'Tiromee knew he had one chance left: kill or capture the humans who had done this, now, before they escaped and made him a laughingstock.
He ordered half of the patrol to circle around the remains of the outpost and ambush any remaining humans. He revised the orders a moment later to capture instead of kill, if possible, seeing a partially hidden trail. It was fresh, and had been left by a number of the creatures, presumably leading back to their warren. He knew it would disappear almost as soon as he began to follow it, but it meant that there were more of them in hiding. So he needed at least one live human to tell him the way back.
Wings didn't know what hit her. She had been chipping away at a group of Jackals with a hunting rifle when something smashed against the back of her head. Once the stars stopped playing across her vision and her sense of balance returned, she realized an Elite had snuck up on her, whacked her over the head, and was now half-dragging her to the center of the camp. Five others waited there, all held captive by the aliens. Scanning their faces, she saw the rest of her squad and one of Hotshot's snipers.
A white-armored Elite swaggered up, looking his prisoners over. He seemed to be enjoying himself hugely, taking his time as he sized the captives up. He paused as his gaze swept over Wings.
She only recognized a few words in their language, gleaned from overhearing commands in the field. Thus she didn't realize what he had said until the other five humans had been executed on the spot. Alarmed and angry, Wings tried to break free of her captor's grip. She succeeded only in making him grasp her arms hard enough to bruise.
'Tiromee grinned to himself. He had seen this human before, leading others into battle. What good fortune, to find it waiting so patiently for capture…Perhaps his luck had finally changed for the better, and he could finish this menial task at last.
"Return to the city outskirts," he ordered, "'Rakurolee's outpost will do. Confine the human to a cell so it can be dealt with later."
'Tiromee had almost finished briefing the red-armored Zolos 'Rakurolee on the situation when a Minor Elite approached, waiting politely to be recognized. 'Tiromee beckoned him forward once he was done speaking with the Major.
"It was carrying this, Excellency. I felt it should be brought to your attention."
The young commander didn't really care what his subordinate had felt, but his annoyance was banished by surprise when he accepted the tiny object. Its core seemed to be made of stone, but upon closer examination it was etched with delicate symbols. Thin spires of violet crystal jutted from it at regular intervals between them. Wordlessly, he handed it to 'Rakurolee. His face hardened when he recognized its origin. "They defile the holy relics with their very presence. But to claim them as their own…"
"If the foul thing will not tell us the location of its base, we can still force the location of the relics from it," 'Tiromee thought aloud. That will also be a mark in my favor. I may remain a commander yet, he added silently.
The two Elites entered the makeshift cell, ducking under the doorframe. It was a small price to pay for using pre-made structures. The human lay on the floor, seemingly dead to the world. It had been knocked unconscious, making it easier to bring in but, obviously, more difficult to interrogate.
"How hard did you hit it?" 'Rakurolee asked.
'Tiromee shrugged his mandibles. "Not very."
"They're fragile, this species. One hard blow to the head can damage them permanently, if not kill them. I don't know how much this one will be able to tell us." The Major stooped to have a closer look. He had interrogated dozens of humans in the past and had learned something of their physiology in the process. "It's fit enough, I suppose," he said after a moment. "Its skull isn't cracked, no other broken bones…" 'Rakurolee made a face. "Female. And you said it not only fights, but leads others? Barbaric." 'Tiromee rolled his eyes slightly. 'Rakurolee was a good soldier, but tended towards meaningless monologues. "Ah, but look at this." 'Tiromee leaned forward as the Major pulled the human's head back by its scalp. A puckered scar ran across its throat. "That passes right over its vocal cords. I believe it may be mute."
'Tiromee's luck hadn't changed after all. Of the six captives, he had picked the only one unable to communicate.
Yet he couldn't let that stop him.
Those Who Fought: Chapter 2
Date: 22 June 2006, 2:18 am
Thank you to those who overlooked the uninspired title of this fanfic and read it anyway. Comments and criticisms are welcome from anyone who does so.
Those Who Fought: Chapter 2
Betrayal and Escape
Wings' first thought was that she had one hell of a hangover. Her head throbbed hideously and her mouth tasted like old socks. Her eyes popped open as she recalled what had happened: the raid, the ambush, her capture…Wait. Capture?
She sat upright, and her suspicions were confirmed. She was in a cell of sorts; perhaps a storage room by the lack of windows, and it was definitely a human-made building. The only change that the aliens had made was to replace the door with a buzzing energy field, produced by a small generator on the floor.
Resisting the urge to touch what must have been a spectacular goose-egg on the back of her head, Wings stood to inspect the 'door.' It felt solid and unyielding under her hand, which stung slightly for a while after she removed it.
A Grunt had noticed movement in her cell, and came over to investigate. Seeing her awake and moving, it chittered over its shoulder before turning back to Wings. The human's face was contorted in an insane snarl. The Grunt bolted, uttering little shrieks of terror.
Wings dropped her 'rabid-dog' expression and grinned at this very minor win. But that faded, too, as a pair of Elites stepped up to her cell. She made the brief, futile attempt of slipping past as the barrier dropped, but only got a swat across her lump for her effort. She was hauled back into the room by the red-armored Elite while white-armor stared her down.
Das 'Tiromee faced the Human, idly inspecting it. The sheer variety found within this race was astounding. For example, this individual was of medium build, with a slim frame. Its face, too, was sharp-planed and angular. It had a mane of brown-gold hair clipped short over its skull, and stared at him fearlessly from greenish-brown eyes. Interesting, that Humans were unafraid in captivity, yet seemed terrified on the battlefield.
"Human, you have two options: tell us what we ask or face the consequences. Where is your base?" he said via a translator. No response. He nodded to 'Rakurolee.
It felt worse, ten times worse, than when Wings had stuck her finger in a light socket as a child. Her whole body spasmed madly and her legs gave out from under her. She hung from Red's grasp, slightly surprised that she wasn't smoking.
"For every time you refuse to answer, that will be the result. So tell us: Where is your base?"
Wings, though dreading what would come next, spat at the monster's feet. Red, without any prompting, pressed something into her back and the pain returned.
"You are loyal to your cause," her interrogator noted, "so perhaps it would be easier to tell us the origin of this." He held up her stone-and-crystal pendant by its cord.
Wings' felt her face betraying her surprise as she reflexively glanced up at him. Still dazed by the last shock, she inconsequentially noticed that the creature had one blue eye and one green eye. She had apparently paused too long in her response, as a third jolt ripped through her. This time she screamed, a back-of-the-throat hiss.
Odd-eye looked at Red as though confirming something. He produced a tiny handheld computer, which projected a three-dimensional map of the surrounding countryside. "Perhaps it would be simpler for you to indicate where you found it on this map. I truly did not have much hope that you would be intelligent enough to respond verbally." The remark stung slightly, and Wings briefly wondered why it irritated her more than the actual interrogation.
It was strange that they would be asking about her necklace, though. It was just a trinket she had found in the caverns. How could it be important?
'Tiromee only had the patience for a few more questions. He left the Human huddled in the corner of its cell, cursing his luck silently. Of all the Humans he had had to pick from, he had taken the only one incapable of communication.
"It may yield information yet, Excellency," 'Rakurolee offered, trying to placate his superior. He could tell that 'Tiromee was getting desperate in his quest to retain his rank. "Eventually it will realize that cooperation is easier than fighting-"
"Silence!" 'Tiromee barked. 'Rakurolee was about to mumble an apology when he heard the change in the battle-net chatter that had alerted the Commander. The two Elites stared at each other in shock and horror.
"So you're telling me we're just leaving her to die out there?!"
"What would you have me do? Order all our fighters to charge in and likely die just to save one person? They aren't fools, Hotshot, and neither are you nor I."
Hotshot glared, shoulders heaving, biting back an injudicious reply. David Behr, the closest thing the cavern-dwellers had to a governor, stared back levelly with only a faint spark of irritation in his deep-set eyes. He had known the Mahar twins for years, and excused Hotshot for this rare display of anger.
Though it's almost as much despair and fear as anger, he thought sorrowfully. It's almost as like one twin can't function without the other's presence. "Wings, too, is wise enough to see that a rescue would be suicidal," he added after a moment. "And would she die without telling you first?"
Hotshot gave a bitter half-smile, but not even a ghost of her usual good humor returned. "Only if death surprised her."
It wasn't the answer Behr would have liked, but she left his 'office' with that remark before he could respond. He just sighed. The twins' interdependence cut both ways: they were remarkable fighters and leaders, and made an exceptional team, but injuring one in any form affected the other deeply.
Deeply enough that one would die to follow the other?
Lying on the hard floor was painful, but less so than moving into a more comfortable position, so Wings just remained where she fell. Her captors stood right outside her cell, apparently speaking to one another. She signed a few nasty things at their backs out of spite, knowing it was useless and still not caring.
They both stiffened suddenly and Wings froze, thinking they might somehow have seen and understood. However, they both ran for one of the computer terminals, activating it in haste. A holographic image appeared, and she squinted, trying to make out what it was.
A floating space-pope with bad teeth, was her eventual conclusion. It spoke in an odd singsong chant that she, unsurprisingly, couldn't decipher. The Elites' reaction, however, was emphatic as they began racing about and shouting orders to the other beings in the room. But before long the image flickered and faded out to be replaced by that of an Elite. Its armor was unusually intricate and stylized, and a mostly spherical machine floated behind it. Wings' captors skidded to a halt to hear what this new apparition had to say.
This transmission was interrupted as well. But unlike the last time, it was by something happening in the room itself. A group of massive, apelike beings all but tore the front wall down to get inside. There was a brief pause, broken by a roar from Odd-eye. He leapt towards the intruders, an energy blade appearing in his hand. His surprised victim didn't stand a chance.
Wings had no clue what was going on as the two groups opened fire on one another. The only thing she could make out is that things had gone to hell in a handbasket.
'Tiromee was practically blind to everything except his blade and his opponents. There was NO WAY that he could let these filthy beings usurp the Sangheili so easily! Between his frenzy and the support if his troops, the Jiralhanae were cut down in moments.
"Commander," 'Rakuolee said, just a little frightened by 'Tiromee's rage, "more Jiralhanae are being sent by the Prophet to subdue the city. Too many for us to stand against if we remain here."
'Tiromee paused to recover himself before replying. "Then we find a more defensible position. Our ships are overrun, and cannot escape into space. The city is not an option, even if we rejoin other units there."
"That leaves only the rural areas, where we have no supplies or resources…"
'Tiromee looked directly at the captive human. It stared back, face unreadable. "We may yet." He turned to the remaining soldiers under his command. "Do any of you wish to remain pawns of the traitorous Prophets who would kill us all? Or will you stand with the Sangheili under the Arbiter for survival?" 'Tiromee felt invoking that personage would turn more in his favor. The Arbiter had his information directly from the Oracle, a source of irrefutable knowledge. The Prophets, too, had this information, yet pursued the fallacious 'Great Journey' to its genocidal conclusion.
All of the Sangheili there gave assent. The Unggoy, trained for blind obedience to their Commander, did the same. The Kig-yar, though more independent-minded and having less integrity, agreed…hesitantly. No Lekgolo or Yanme'e were stationed here to take a side, so their loyalties would remain a mystery.
"Then we will make our stand…Elsewhere." 'Tiromee ordered two Minors to remove the Human from its cell and bring it along. The unit moved out under his command, but as it entered the maze of broken ground, 'Tiromee found his attention drifting to the captive again. His own idea repulsed him, but more than his pride was at stake.
He would have to ask the Human for help.
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