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The Phokian Wall Part IV: Batten Down
Posted By: Argonaut<PaladinHero@aol.com>
Date: 10 March 2005, 10:05 AM
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The Phokian Wall Part IV: Batten Down
Lieutenant Chiron switched off his com unit, bending down long enough to scrape away the wriggling orange goop that had caked in his greaves. Beside him, in the shadows of the rear hallway, stood Sergeant Ptolemy and Private Nyx. Still on the dangerous level of Deck Thirty-Four, the three had only moments ago watched as the daunting Hunter that threatened them have its stomach blown into a football-sized orifice of oozing innards. The monster now laid sprawled and lifeless a few meters behind them. About fifty meters beyond that, on the same floor of the commons room, the Covenant invasion of the ship raged with a harrowing cacophony.
"Was that the captain?" the still-bewildered sergeant asked, elevating his voice over the far distant noise.
Lieutenant Chiron nodded his head as he rose, holstering his sidearm and throwing a sidelong glace towards the entryway where his BR55 surely remained. "Yeah, apparently there's a Dark Arrow among us."
"Holy shit," exclaimed Sergeant Ptolemy. "Gotta love those NavSpecWar blokes, they always know just the right moment to make their presence known."
"Yeah, they're somethin' alright," the lieutenant replied sardonically. "This one's got a real knack for punctuality."
"That certainly would explain the dead Hunter," Private Nyx added. "Looks like our luck might change."
Chiron gave him a level stare. He moved to open his mouth but the CNI transponder at his waist began beeping furiously before he had a chance to issue any words of reproach. Gnashing his teeth he pressed the receiver and hunched his armored shoulders to absorb some of the noise from the still-raging battle.
"This is Grey Wolf, go ahead."
"Glad to see you three are alright," a gravelly heavily accented voice said casually over his earpiece. It was elegant, a slightly misplaced British tint to the hue of his tongue. His voice also sounded muted and hushed to Chiron's ear, as if the man were right upon him whispering his words in a stoic baritone.
"Most of us are, but I sure as Hell could've used you ten minutes ago."
"I'm here now," the voice came back. "Go to the maintenance stairwell at the end of the hallway."
Suddenly the voice ceased and the transponder cut off, leaving Lieutenant Chiron a bit taken aback. He searched the shadowy culvert beyond the hallway towards the rear of the floor. Beneath the overhang of Deck Thirty-Five lay the darkness-shrouded area surrounding the elevator. A few articles of mangled tables and chairs lie scattered in front of the shadowy realm providing more visual ambiguity for the SpecWarrior to crawl behind. All the overhead lights along the length of the overhang had been shot out or simply ceased to function; a product of the beating the BCS Aspis had taken. Chiron peered into that space of the floor as he strode over to the equally secretive stairwell, keeping low at a crouch with Ptolemy to his right two meters back and Nyx at his left in the same distance. For the moment they moved as a triumvirate; a three-man wedge used to enter rooms potentially swarming with hostiles. The typical snake formation was good as well, when there were four corners to attain and fields of fire to garner. But the stairwell alcove afforded no such geometry. It was oddly shaped like a rhomboid and the stairwell itself provided an obstacle that abolished the typical fields of fire approach. A triumvirate also allowed a minimalization of casualties should the place be mined or booby trapped with automated turrets. The one hazard to the standard snake formation was that a single turret could wipe out the closely-bunched string of troops. But hopefully this would not be an issue. Hopefully no Covenant had yet accessed the stairwell. There would be adequate protection there, so in case they were spotted since facing the Hunter they might stand half a chance at surviving whatever the Covenant threw at them.
Lieutenant Chiron made his way over there now, flagging the two Marines behind him to follow his lead.
"What'd he have to say, sir?" Private Nyx inquired as they raced for the safety of the stairwell.
"Nothing yet," the other replied.
Nyx fumbled with the grip on his battle rifle, nervously checking to make sure everything was the way he liked it; a replaced clip of 36 rounds; rate of fire left at the standard three-round burst; shoulder strap wrapped around his left shoulder in case another Covenant bastard tried to get the jump on him. He only wished he had an Oracle scope to supplement. His had been smashed when he and Sergeant Ptolemy had leapt to the floor of Deck Thirty-Four in a frenzied attempt to save the lieutenant. It was a foolish move that somehow paid off, despite the crushing of his blessed rifle scope. But what surprised Nyx the most was that none of the other Covenant really seemed to notice their presence. Granted, they were a good forty meters back from the "frontline" but still, the area was well lit by the overhead lights of Deck Thirty-Five, the Covenant should have been gunning for them from the start. But perhaps it was best not to tempt fate; better to take a good thing and run like hell with it. Still, it irked him.
When they reached the stairwell they found nothing but shadows obscured periodically by a flickering overhead bulb. In the center of the oblong room the stairwell reached at a ninety-degree angel before wrapping around to meet the door four meters above their heads. A small bit of instacrete rubble littered the floor, a few sizeable chunks lying near the foot of the stairs themselves. Lieutenant Chiron moved cautiously, swinging his battle rifle up off his slung shoulder and into position. A split second later and Ptolemy could be heard cursing behind him before drawing his own rifle up and setting its stock in the crux of his armored shoulder. Nyx only had to wipe the sweat from his palm in preparation for the advance into what looked like a trap. Above the stairwell doglegged to a maintenance room and then a monitoring station before opening up to Deck Thirty-Five where the remaining two dozen Marines fought to suppress the Covenant ship boarders. Chiron could hear their cries and shouts over the booming thunderous clamor as weapons barked ballistic rounds down onto the lower level. It brought back thoughts of Sergeant Alexander and Corporal Telamon. Hopefully they were still alive, as he considered them the only two who would be capable of implementing a Phokian Wall defense.
"Where is he?" Ptolemy ventured angrily.
"Maybe he's like the Candyman," Nyx offered, "you have to say his name three times?"
"Five times," Ptolemy corrected quietly as they proceeded at a snail's pace.
"Huh?"
"You have to say his name five times." "It's the Bell Witch whose name you say three times."
"Oh right," Nyx nodded. "Candyman, Candyman, Candyman, Candyman, Candyman, Candyman."
Ptolemy scowled. "That's six, retard."
"Dammit!"
"Over here," rasped a quiet voice from their left. Immediately Chiron, Nyx, and Ptolemy swiveled where they crouched, rifle lamps popping on to expose the source of the voice. They found nothing but the geometric outline of the gravity plating walls of the Aspis's interior. A frantic search ensued as the three jerked their eyes in every direction trying to pierce the darkness with their rifle lamps. A second later the assassin appeared from beneath the first flight of stairs, moving the small chunk of an instacrete bunker that rested at its foot. He seemed to unfold from the shadows, birthing into the light from what seemed an impossibly obscure and miniature location. How he could have ever wedged himself into such a crevice was beyond all three of the Marines. But then again, that was why they loved the NavSpecOps guys. They were badasses.
"That color doesn't suit you," he observed, looking them up and down as he rose from the makeshift cubby hole. A sardonic smile crept over his angular features as he pointed casually to the orange matter staining their OD uniforms and Marine Armor.
"We have you to thank for the dye job," Chiron replied dryly. "I'm Lieutenant Chiron, that's Sergeant Ptolemy and Private Nyx." He threw a thumb behind him to indicate the two at his four and eight o'clock.
"Dark Arrow Loki," the other announced simply. "Pleasure to meet you three."
Nyx took a minute to take in the visage of the man before him. Even in the obscurity created by his oil-black suit covered by a matrix of blocky pressure armor and web gear, and the shadows that embraced him, the Marine could see that the soldier was somewhat less than imposing looking. He wasn't particularly tall, nor was he built. He did not resemble the SPARTAN IIs that he had seen once while on Reach. This man was short, lithe, and aside from the set, squared jaw that rested below an angular nose, he appeared no more intimidating than the average Navy deck officer. Perhaps that was part of the plan? Maybe his unassuming image was intentionally nurtured in order to promote his obscurity.
Yes, he thought, I certainly would never see him coming.
His silvery blonde hair was cut in the typical military crew. Above it sat a strange looking mask/headgear resembling something out of a Norse mythology museum collection rather than a piece of military hardware. His blue eyes were more of a white hue than anything else; cold and utterly piercing. Private Nyx couldn't help but notice how casual he seemed to carry himself, nothing like the stark military aura of a SPARTAN or the grizzled, hard assed predatorium displayed by sergeants and the like. This man was unassuming, with a half-smirk on his square face and a look of jovial ambience. He stood with his hips half cocked to the side, his gloved and light-twinkling vambraced hands caressing what appeared to be a cross between a SRS99C sniper rifle and a BR55.
If I were an Elite, Private Nyx mused, I sure as Hell wouldn't be afraid of him.
"I guess a 'thank you' is in order," Lieutenant Chiron said suddenly, his throaty voice snapping Private Nyx back into reality.
Loki shook his head humbly. "Don't mention it, lieutenant; just tell me what the plan is."
The lieutenant turned around to face his two subordinates. He lobbed a gesture in the direction of the two corners abutting the entrance to the maintenance room. Nyx and Ptolemy replied with a pair of quick salutes before hopping over to the corners and crouching low, guns aimed at the open expanse of the commons room ready to pick anything off that made a move towards them. "Have you ever heard of a Phokian Wall?" the officer asked, turning back to face the assassin. The Dark Arrow nodded with an enlightened grin. "Well we're going to try and use it to push these puss-suckers back until their wiping their asses on the cut glass of their entry points."
"I like it," Loki commented. "But it won't be easy, lieutenant."
Chiron nodded resentfully. "I know, but until Captain Dytharimbos comes up with something it's the best we've got." With that he made a motion for the team to follow him up the stairs. Loki fell in beside him while Sergeant Ptolemy and Private Nyx continued to watch their rears as they advanced the stairwell. As they drew closer to the door leading to Deck Thirty-Five the sounds of hellish combat grew thicker and more sickeningly prominent.
"Nothing like using a three thousand year old strategy to beat a coalition of space-faring aliens, is there sir?" Loki commented excitedly as they reached the sliding titanium door of the maintenance room. His superior only shrugged. In moments they were all through the door and passing through the untouched sanitation of the maintenance room. At once the Marine officer turned around and motioned for Private Nyx and Sergeant Ptolemy to watch the door to the stair well. They took up firing positions behind a pair of floor-buffing zambonies that flanked the door to the monitoring station.
Lieutenant Chiron dialed his transponder while Loki moved to a shadowed corner and crouched low, the cubit-length meter of his rifle barrel barely poking out between a clutch of boxes and aimed at the maintenance door.
"Corporal Telamon," Chiron called, "this is Grey Wolf, come in."
"I read ya, boss," the other replied through the crackle and clatter of small arms fire.
"I need some C-7 in this room and a lockdown hack on this door." The demolitions officer replied quickly, adding that he would lock the door from the monitoring station's terminal before entering. Chiron gave his approval and ended the transmission. He took up a post near the right side of the monitoring station door, raising his battle rifle in case any Covenant managed to find their way to the stairwell.
In seconds Corporal Telamon was slowly entering through the door, crouched low and rifling through a large pouch on his web gear with his left hand. In his right he carried a titanium case roughly the size of an ammo box. When he saw that the room was clear he rose to his full height and turned to salute the lieutenant.
"I need a seal on that door and a contingency of explosives just in case," Chiron declared. With a quick nod the thin officer got to work. He produced a square object roughly the size of his fist from the pouch on his web gear and moved to the interface keypad to the right of the door. Placing the piece of gear on the keypad he went to work encrypting a lockdown separate from the encoded matrix of the shipboard systems. When he was finished he stooped low and unlocked the handheld case producing a spray canister labeled with the symbol for "High Explosives."
"This should stop anything short of a Hunter," Telamon noted as he administered the spray. An acrid stench filled the air as he emptied the canister's contents on the floor. "You did say that they were below deck, right lieutenant?"
"Yeah," Chiron replied. "And I don't even want to think about how they got those damned things on board."
The Marines squinted their eyes as the explosive foam was discharged onto the floor surrounding the door and up along the walls of the frame. Thankfully it was empty before the stench became unbearable. No doubt suffering the worst from the odor, Corporal Telamon quickly reaching into the case and extracted the firing stick for the C-7. He jammed the thing into the portion of sticky substance that lined the part of the doorframe closest to the encrypted keypad. With an even swifter motion he latched up the container and retreated to the olfactorial sanctuary on the other side of the small room.
"There," he said rubbing his nose furiously in an attempt to free it of the congealing snot. "The bitch is locked down from a remote encrypter. And if anyone tries to decode it the electrical signal will register in the firing stick sending those bastards straight to Hell."
"Good work, corporal," Chiron thanked. "Now we have a bigger task ahead." Without another word he turned around and went through the monitoring station's door. The quad of Marines was right behind him. In seconds they were back on Deck Thirty-Five with their embattled Marine compatriots.
Chiron leapt straight for the central bunker where the survivors of Fire Team Zulu remained huddled making a pathetic attempt at return fire. Their protection was a half-melted combat barrier and a collection of metal table slabs. It looked like a scrap heap in front of them. But it seemed to do the trick. Four meters to their left another more substantial table protected Fire Team November and beyond that Fire Team Bravo clustered around a square column, MA5B assault rifles jutting out and sputtering to life at odd intervals. Grenades were still being thrown intermittently down into the ever-growing formation of Covenant boarders. And each time one was through a fresh concentration of plasma fire would shower that area in homicidal replies. Ordinance was sparse; Chiron noticed this at once as he looked across the floor below the Marines' huddled feet. Scores of MA5B and BR55 ammo clips littered the titanium ground like strewn candy bar wrappers amidst the spent casings and shells of their respective weapons. Discarded ammo boxes and empty M19 SSM Rocket Launchers lay carelessly tossed onto the ground not two meters behind them creating a veritable border of foot-high orchestrated -yet empty- metal. In between this collection of useless munitions were the lifeless bodies of those who had perished. Those few who survived lied writhing in pools of their own grime-clouded blood. Bits of carrion and charred flesh dotted the ground near them, more prominent around those who had black and crimson stubs for limbs. The two medics who were left moved at a crawl from those still moving, most of them resigned to looking for shock-induced shivers as their only signs of persevered life. Smoke still obscured everything, and the acrid stench of Telamon's C-7 was opined for once Chiron's senses beheld the noxious spectacle that clouded the air around them.
"Holy succulent shit," cried a boyish-faced Marine as he turned in shock to behold the image of Chiron not a foot behind him. "I thought you were dead, lieutenant! What happened?"
"We had a Bagrada below deck," he replied, ducking down to avoid the overhead arch of a thrown plasma grenade. The thing sizzled the air above him like a trailing comet before bouncing off one of the stacks of combat barriers left in the corner abutting the rearmost wall. It exploded harmlessly, meters behind them. "We've got a plan, Sergeant," Chiron said to Alexander, gritting his teeth as he regarded the combat barriers. "But it's not going to be easy...or pretty."
"At this point, sir, I'd be happy just to do something. Captain Dytharimbos hasn't issued any orders and I'll be damned if we're going to make it playing death volleyball with those squid-faced fuckers below us. We need some semblance of strategy."
"Good, then spread the word: I need two teams of three men to gather up those racks of barriers and bring them to the fore. We'll lay down suppressive fire as they get them set up along the area directly in front of our battle line..."
"-In front, sir?" Alexander repeated disbelievingly.
Chiron nodded. "We'll focus on grenade funneling and cover one team at a time. If we do it slowly we can maximize protection."
"Better not do it too slowly," Telamon chimed in. "We're running low on ammunition."
"Right," Chiron said. "Better get to it then." He ordered Corporal Telamon to relay the words to the rest of the platoon. Seeing its completion he turned around and searched for Sergeant Ptolemy and Private Nyx. The two were in the far right hand corner behind a warped metal slab that laid slanted atop the floor. Chiron called to them as Nyx poured battle rifle fire into the enemy while Ptolemy scrounged through the dead body of a Marine, plucking all manner of ordinance from his web gear. "Get over to those racks and start deploying the barriers!" he yelled. Private Nyx replied with a muffled curse while Ptolemy stood up behind a nearby column glaring at the officer with a look of stark defiance. "We'll give you cover you bastards, now move!" he said as he plucked his sidearm out from its holster. Chiron watched the two exchange looks before reluctantly rushing over to the racks of barriers.
"Why do we always get the shit jobs?" Private Nyx shouted to his sergeant as they raced, hunched over, for the safety of the rear wall and the combat barrier rack.
"Hell if I know, but I'll tell you right now, if this doesn't get me killed I'm going to beat the living hell outta that bastard Chiron!"
"Can't argue with you there," Private Nyx replied. "And here I was thinking it was going to be you that got me killed!"
Lieutenant Chiron didn't remain stooped for long. In seconds he put the two young bucks out of his mind and made to face the engagement before him. "Cover fire!" he shouted as he turned around and opened up with his Magnum. A fresh storm of bullets punctuated by a pair of grenades followed on the heels of his words as those around him answered the call. When his pistol ejected its last cartridge Chiron dropped down behind the protection of his bunker and dialed for Loki on his CNI transponder. Half a heartbeat later the Dark Arrow opened up the frequency.
"Can you give us cover while we distribute the combat barriers?" he asked into his com unit.
"My pleasure," the other replied softly. Chiron had no chance to answer before the transmission crackled to a close. Gritting his teeth he popped in the second of four clips for his Magnum and rose to take aim at the Covenant below. Fresh streams of plasma rounds scoured the air above him, drumming into the titanium surfaces like a hell-spawned snare. Globules of charged plasma pistol fire weakened the metal barricades with a sickly splattering of acidic accuracy. Through the mist and haze before him the blue orbs of plasma grenades arched into existence only to land in front of the bunkers, blasting into the air whatever loose bits of ill-fated protection had been chipped or melted off.
Over the next three minutes the Marines worked in orchestrated efforts to maneuver the combat barriers into position. They had to leap frog the enterprise: one fire team laying down suppressive fire while a triumvirate of Marines hastily placed a barrier in position. During this ordeal Corporal Telamon went from bunker to bunker with a dolleyed tank of instacrete that he had found in the maintenance room, filling in whatever weak spots he could amidst the barrage of enemy fire. It afforded them little advantage, though, and in time the bunkers were in place, despite the constant exchange of homicidal salvos.
Chiron looked over the line of fresh combat barriers and the twenty or so Marines huddling behind them. Four fresh casualties littered the slick crimson floor of Deck Thirty-Five. Their sacrifice meant that seven of the vertical breastworks were erected; each with three Marines crouched down behind them. Behind his own barrier Corporal Telamon and Sergeant Alexander stooped waiting for orders. He eyed them both as he opened up a broadband channel on his transponder.
"All UNSC Marines, this is Grey Wolf, commence advancement of the Phokian Wall on my signal." He looked down the battle line of wearied, battered troops. All eyes were on him, and if they weren't they were momentarily looking down at their weapons or wincing under the oppression of fresh Covenant proximity assaults. This was it. The hatches were battened down. The storm was upon them. He exchanged a look of confirmation with Telamon and Alexander. The two barely held back expressions of concealed terror. He touched them both once on the shoulder.
"Advance! Advance! Advance!"
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