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Ryan Caen: Ch. 3: The Games of War
Posted By: Myth
Date: 15 December 2008, 5:50 am
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August 2552:
SAN PABLO, TYRUS II: ERANADI XII
504th ODST Pathfinders
CS: Bravo
ATTACHED: ONI SOE Unit
A message alert streaked across Caen's HUD, he signaled to Mackenzie and Jones nearby with a downward motion. The Marines acknowledged and dropped to their stomachs while Caen unclipped the D-DACT to assess the new directive.
ONI SOE, PATCH THRU TO SQUADCOM, MISSION SCRUBBED, FURTHER INSTRUCTION ON MAIN CHANNEL.
Caen sat back against the hull of Alpha's crippled dropship. That was a severe breach of ONI protocol, opening classified channels to the attached units. The directive was also missing his handler's authentication code.
"What's goin' on, man?" Jones asked urgently watching the street carefully.
Fuck it. Caen patched through the ONI channel to the SQUADCOM channel and forwarded the instruction set to the ODSTs. A small window materialized in the corner of his HUD and filled with a bloodied face of one of the Valhalla 's bridge crew.
"Lieutenant Caen, this is Operations Command, ONI Op is scrubbed, Luechenko and most of crew here are dead, Covenant warships insystem have crippled the Valhalla , and as you probably already know, you have a Covenant Assault Carrier in your airspace. Teams Echo and Delta have been deployed to assist in recovering your boys on the ground…"
"Negative, Command. We watched two birds go down not long ago, crash sites are somewhere in the Northern Sector, low probability of survivors…We still haven't found Alpha, we'll keep looking. We'll be here when you need us." Caen replied, his mind racing towards the new developments.
"Acknowledged on Echo and Delta. I'll try and reach Alpha on the compressed beam…there are three AA positions in the northern sector that are keeping us from getting more birds in the air. Take them out and we'll get you some air support."
"Affirmative, Command. Moving on the nearest gun position." Mackenzie replied, relieving the deceased Sergeant Bradley of his SOPMOD rifle. The sergeant scavenged a few magazines and tossed the collection to Caen. He snatched the BR55 out of the air and snapped back the action.
"Time to move, guys. We need that air support if we're going to make it out of here okay." Mackenzie barked. He seemed to settle into his role as leader once he knew that the UNSC Navy in command of the op again.
The emplacement was roughly a kilometer from Alpha's crash site. Caen smiled grimly under his visor. The Marines seemed to grow more relaxed as the situation deteriorated. Jones took point as the trio trooped forward, deeper into San Pablo's ruins.
SAN PABLO, NORTHERN DISTRICT
'ECHO' CRASH SITE
CS: Uniform 9-8
ATTACHED: 504th ODST Pathfinders
Lance Corporal Eric Todd blinked the stars out of his vision, as the interior of the Pelican seemed to swim back towards him. Red hazard lights illuminated the cabin, bathing him in a crimson tint. Todd's arms felt heavy as his head lolled, looking down at a pair of blood-slicked hands.
"Ah, shit. That's great." He murmured to himself, blood dripping onto the interior of his visor from his slack jaw. The ODST ran his hands underneath the armor plates of his suit, feeling wet fatigues around his ribs, feeling a sharp point where he was sure the bone was broken.
Todd reached to his neck with no small effort and released the vacuum seal under his helmet, and tossed it to the floor of the troopbay, noticing the limp form of the crew chief for the first time. "Fuck." He breathed, reaching for the medical kit plastered to the bulkhead.
He rummaged through the package for a set of biofoam syringes. The thick needles would have given him the shivers any other day, but there were more prominent issues to worry about. He felt around the exposed areas of his wounds and jammed the needle just underneath them, immobilizing the bones in place and creating a patch that would hold better than any dressing. He would need to be able to move, and the Navy jocks upstairs were in no shape to send a CASEVAC bird to fly him to safety.
Todd struggled to his feet and retrieved his helmet, smearing the blood away from the spattered visor. The battered Marine staggered out of the troop bay and looked out the rooftop that the pilots had set them down on. Two darkened figures sat near each other, leaning over something.
"Todd, you look like shit, man." Corporal 'Dutch' Holland chuckled, his own face smeared with blood, and his left eye nearly swollen shut.
Private First Class Jack Haley sat silently, staring stupidly at his impossibly bent 99D. "That shit's broken, Hal." Todd observed.
Haley looked up and studied his teammate. "Where's yours, pal?" The PFC asked, tossing away the crooked sniper's rifle.
Todd stupidly felt along his body for the M7S that should have been strapped to his chest. Was he that shaken that he hadn't even noticed he was unarmed?
Dutch held up an M6 toward him and Todd accepted it, checking the magazine and threaded the silencer into place. Haley stood as well, his MA5 carbine at his shoulder, setting off towards the stairwell that led into the building beneath them.
"He's checking the street below for a vehicle, we're sittin' tight here to see if we can get Command with the COMSAT in the Pelican." Dutch informed him, settling back down with his battle rifle across his knees.
Everyone seemed slow, rattled. Todd credited to the blazing decent through the clouds on their approach, but still, was this really that much worse than an HEV drop? Todd found himself seated back in the Pelican, facing out off the ramp, waiting for the radio to relay instructions.
TYRUS II ORBIT: ERANADI XII
UNSCN Valhalla
Dawes had had his wounds dressed by a corpsman that had made his way to the Command Deck. The bodies had been removed, and the blood had been washed down…but there was nothing to be done for the smell.
Ensign Casey had replaced the late Lieutenant Dyer at Communications, and was now reporting something to Dawes's screen. The woman's face appeared on the corner of his monitor.
"Sir, Echo has made contact and is requesting directive." Casey dictated, looking stressed and unsure of herself.
"Thank you, Casey. Transfer the report to TAC and send me the frequencies of the team to my screen." The information appeared almost instantly. Dawes punched in the codes and watched as static danced across the display.
Gradually the image cleared, and eventually filled with the viewpoint of the interior of the cockpit, depicting a pair of pilots lying limp against their harnesses. Dawes swore quietly and spoke into the microphone.
"Echo, please respond over." Dawes repeated the string of words a few times, and also sent text directives to the squad's Dismounted Data Automated Communications Terminals. Dawes had long ago overcome the feeling of awkwardness of directing ground forces from hundreds of miles above, but the feeling of emersion in the battlefield never left when you were responsible for men's lives.
SAN PABLO, TYRUS II: ERANADI XII
504th ODST Pathfinders
CS: Bravo
ATTACHED: ONI SOE Unit
Caen lay only a few yards from Jones, but both only whispered only their COM. Mackenzie was to Caen's right, lying quietly, observing the gun battery through his visor's magnification.
"Soft target…moving left of the motor pool, two-hundred-meters." Mackenzie rasped.
Caen twisted the knob on the crown of the 2x Magnification scope on his SOPMOD BR55HB. The Jackal patrolling the perimeter of the battery snapped into clarity. The ONI lieutenant squeezed off a pair of silenced rounds.
The Jackal only heard what he mistook for a breeze rushing towards him. Caen watched as the bird-like alien's skull shattered from the high-powered slugs ripping through its cranium.
"Down."
"Two more, one of each. Four yards apart, Brute's got chieftain markings…" Mackenzie reported, watching the Covenant mill about.
Both marksmen fired simultaneously, Caen dropping the unarmored Jackal, and Jones perforating the Brute's head with the higher caliber.
"Outer perimeter is clear." Jones said, a hint of satisfaction flavoring his voice.
"Moving." Mackenzie was already advancing with his M7S up and ready, closing on the battery. Caen followed a few yards behind and apart, so one burst could not cut them both down. Jones stayed back clearing out any survivors and watching for snipers.
Mackenzie's SMG flashed and a pair Jackals flew into pieces. Caen dropped one of the gunners with a six-round burst to his chest. Contrails of smoke whipped past him as Jones felled hostiles before Caen could even detect them.
"Your clear, guys." Jones acknowledged, moving towards them.
Mackenzie looked down at a wheezing Jackal, whose chest was shredded by a burst of his M7. The ODST Sergeant lifted his boot and crushed the skull beneath it with a sickening crunch. Jones vaulted the last few barricades and went to work rigging a mass of explosives to the massive antiaircraft battery.
The Marines led the way to the security of the shadows as the charges went off. The gun structure groaned and protested, and with its supports altered to shrapnel, promptly collapsed to the ground.
Caen was developing a fondness for the grunt work, and was sure Mackenzie was grinning under his visor as the flames licked at the wreckage of the Covenant battery. The next gun was a thousand yards to the east, seated securely on the beach overlooking the Tyran Ocean.
SAN PABLO, NORTHERN DISTRICT
'ECHO' CRASH SITE
CS: Uniform 9-8
ATTACHED: 504th ODST Pathfinders
He slipped in and out of consciousness, lulled to a semi-awake state by the still humming engines and static of the COM channel. Dutch was still sitting outside, the rain pelting his armor, washing away the blood. Haley had returned now, fresh blood on his armor, from a Jackal patrol, he said.
"Echo, please respond, over." Todd's eyes shot open as his brain fought to bring his body up to speed. His hand shot to pistol on his lap, releasing the safety and leveling it out the rear of the Pelican.
"Echo, please respond, over." He was terrified that he had drifted into unconsciousness and berated himself for the risk he inflicted on his team. Haley and Dutch were inside the troopbay now, peeking outwards towards the skies, where the shriek of Banshee fliers filled the air.
"Don't." Dutch warned him as he moved towards the COM console. "Banshees are listening for outgoing. Probably a team moving towards us now."
Todd nodded, sliding the action of the M6 back until it clicked. The hauntingly familiar hum of Phantom drop craft replaced the Banshee whine. Two of the violet-hued bulbous ships coasted through the storming skies, one of them orbited the rooftop, its plasma turrets swiveling around, searching for targets. The second craft descended to a few meters off the surface and dispatched a small contingent of Jackals to scurry towards the fallen Pelican.
"Uh-oh." Two black-clad Elites splashed to the rooftop as well, plasma rifles sweeping towards the crashed dropship.
"Hit 'em!" Dutch cried, firing his battle rifle at full-automatic, dropping a trio of Jackal point troopers. The Elites behind the Jackal lines barked orders and motioned the remaining six to charge the humans.
Haley fired in two-round bursts, blowing apart his nearest target's skull. Todd fired at the Elites, missing several shots as the warriors danced in and out of cover. Finally a pair of slugs landed on one of their chests, illuminating its shields and dropping him to the floor. It was still alive, of course, bleeding hopefully, but alive.
Another Jackal wondered into his field of fire and dropped, clutching his gut, writhing in the rain. One of the Elites sprung up and strafed the troopbay with plasma fire. Dutch leapt clear of the dropship, avoiding the lethal barrage. Haley, however, was shot through the head and crumpled to the deck. Todd fired the last of his magazine and released the empty, reaching for another. A bolt of energy flew through his shoulder, spinning him around and dropping him to the floor.
Blood pooled on the deck of the troopbay, making it slick. The Covenant were advancing now, Todd noticed he couldn't hear Dutch firing anymore. Eric Todd crawled towards the cockpit, hoping to reach the COM unit before—
His eyes widened and his mouth wide slack. He could have sworn he had had more time, he didn't even hear the Elite approach. It was over now…the pain began to dull as his vision darkened.
The Sangheili infiltrator withdrew his blade and looked down at the dying human. There was honor in these adversaries if nothing else. The alien had been badly wounded before the battle and still tried to accomplish his mission with his dying breath. The Elite sighed and turned to leave the human ship. The Jackals lay strewn about the rooftop, torn apart by the human's projectile weapons. His fellow Sangheili stood a few yards away, inspecting the corpse of the Jackal lieutenant.
A hail of gunfire tore his comrade apart before his eyes as the third human sprung from the shadows and attacked. The Sangheili's lightning reflexes did little to avoid being sprayed down as well, his shields dying with a flash as the heavy caliber rounds slid through his armor and skin.
He collapsed to the ground with a splash, paralyzed. He assumed that several of the bullets had hit his spine, rendering him as good as dead. The human, however, did not deliver him the courtesy of executing him, but instead rushed to the cockpit where he friends had died. The Elite growled in agony as his blood pooled around him, cursing himself for his arrogance as he slowly died.
SAN PABLO, TYRUS II: ERANADI XII
504th ODST Pathfinders
CS: Bravo
ATTACHED: ONI SOE Unit
"Contact comin' around the bend, one hundred meters." Jones whispered into their SQUADCOM, causing the team to drop to the stomachs and train their rifles on the street corner ahead.
A different voice breathed across their channel a second later. "Bravo, hold your fire, friendly coming out…" The mystery soldier ordered, and appeared a few seconds later, dressed in a ODST body suit, the name 'DUTCH' stenciled onto his helmet, along with red paint on his shoulders. His faceplate was shattered along the left side of his face, revealing an emerald eye reddened with grief.
Jones swore and jogged forward to meet him. As Dutch advanced his steps began to falter until he finally crumpled to the street. Jones skidded to a halt and looked him over, noticing a bloody hole just under his ribs. Zero-Six drew a syringe of biofoam and stabbed the needle in just above the wound, injecting the cocktail of chemicals that hardened and formed a artificial skin over the opening. Next came the adrenaline, injected into the interior of the elbow.
Dutch jerked as the manufactured hormone raised his blood pressure and heartbeat. His visible eye snapped open and searched the faces looking down at him.
"Dutch. Dutch, you with us, man?" Jones asked him, shaking him a bit.
"…Whole team…pilots…everybody." He said quietly, a tear cutting through the blood staining his face.
"Dutch, get it together, man. It's over. There ain't nothin' we can do for 'em now." Jones assured him, pushing the Marine's rifle back into his hands and pulling him to his feet.
"Yeah…" Dutch breathed, settling and regaining his composure. "Sorry, man."
"Nothing to apologize for, Marine. Let's move." Mackenzie ordered, slapping Dutch's shoulder plates and moving into the downpour.
Caen watched as an outsider to the camaraderie and friendship these men shared on the field of battle, something that he had never had with any other agent he had worked with in the field. ONI hadn't taught friendship, or the value of watching another's back. That was most likely why the Covenant had been so efficient in weeding out ONI teams and dispatching them during covert operations.
During the Insurrection Wars, ONI had known its enemy better than it had known itself. Now that the agency could not rely on the OPFOR's reactions, they had suffered high causalities in the field. That was the purpose of the ODSTs on this mission in the first place. Caen had no doubt that without them; both he, and his counterpart in Alpha, would both be lying dead on the streets of San Pablo.
They were closing on the 'B' battery now, and witnessed something especially surprising. The antiaircraft gun was slumped over, its barrel buried in the concrete floor. Delta's Pelican had gone down and skidded into one of the supports of the cannon, bringing the entire structure down on its crew's heads.
Caen and the Marines looked in sadness at the crumpled, blackened hulk of Delta Team's Pelican, V-048, its occupants surely buried inside. Bravo advanced into the area, cleaning up the survivors of Victor 4-8's final assault.
Caen strode to the rear of the Pelican, finding a pair of Jackals searching the bodies in the troopbay, oblivious to the UNSC presence due to their silenced weaponry. The ONI lieutenant approached quietly, slinging his M7 across his chest. His right hand drew the M6 at his hip, his left, the KBAR knife at his shoulder.
The nearest Jackal didn't even turn around and Caen jammed the knife's blade into the base of the creature's skull, provoking a blood-curdling screech as it convulsed on the edge of the blade. The farther one turned and squawked furiously at him, reaching for the plasma rifle at its waist. Caen fired twice, low. The Magnum recoiled silently, and delivered two fist-sized holes in the Jackal's stomach, doubling it over, its rifle skittering to the deck.
The gun battery was clear, and the Covenant gun crew was dead. Another achieved objective that could not have been farther from the initial directive from Colonel Luechenko. Caen reminded himself that he did not even know the entirety of ONI's operation here and shrugged as he crushed the Jackal's skull slowly, savoring the pressure he applied to the animal's cranium until it popped with a wet splash.
He reverently collected Delta Team's dog tags, regrettably leaving the charred bodies in place. Mackenzie was waiting for him outside, and Caen surrendered the six sets of tags to the Sergeant and walked past him.
He was learning the ways of this war for the first time. A war where nothing went as expected, and to know your enemy was only to be surprised by him with greater consequence on your next meeting. The ODSTs understood that, but it did not make it any easier to watch your squadmates die, or to find your friends burned to death simply owed to bad luck. At that moment Lieutenant Ryan Caen understood that Intelligence was a game played by an old world that had long ago passed into extinction. A game where there were only kings and pawns, and where the pawns played the kings' games, paying for the extension of the game with their lives.
There was no explaining the Covenant. ONI had sent them here to discover what the Covenant were interested in at Mount Aires. Caen couldn't give a damn about what holy artifact the bastards were drilling for. The only thing that mattered now was surviving to fight the Covenant as a true warrior, not buying information with the lives of dozens of professional soldiers.
Caen looked into the sky at the Assault Carrier that had swatted the Valhalla away like a troublesome insect. The Covenant ship hovered serenely over the mountain, squadrons of aircraft soaring down into the city from its swollen hangers. Caen wondered hopelessly if they really could continue to fight this war. He pushed the thought away as soon as it had come. He was asking the wrong question because it wasn't a question at all. It was simply to fight, or to die. With every few minutes devoted to decoding the little things about this war; he identified with the Helljumpers standing by him, more and more with each passing thought.
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