Disclaimer: Refer to previous chapters. Thanks.
A/N 1: This is the second part of chapter 10 and focuses on one big titanic battle in the Sahara desert. Like its other half, it'll focus more on warfare than on heroes, so Fayt and Co are more or less out of this one.
A/N 2: You'll see many new original weapons in this chapter, especially melee weapons. Halo by itself focuses on urban warfare with guns. Bring those into old-fashioned army-to-army combat and you're asking for trouble. Besides, it'd be refreshing wouldn't it?
Chapter 10: Homecoming II
Within his tent, the Arbiter stared bleakly at the tactical maps of the Sahara. They lay in a sloppy stack across his field table. Once, they had been neatly stored, each in its own tube. Once, he had strolled his compass easily across lines of topography. Now, the maps bore fretful, fruitless scribbles of a commander in hopeless engagement. As he struggled to think, the scenes from the last battle visualized before him.
He could see long lines of Grunts, standing in ranks six deep, plasma pikes and shields ready for the oncoming Brute infantry. On the enemy came. The Covenant regiment closed to within a hundred yards, and then suddenly changed formation. From the rear, Jackal shield-bearers replaced the front most rank of Brute Berserkers, and the line shifted from a square with the flat facing them, to a diamond with the point threatening them. The point advanced.
The Arbiter did not know what to do. He knew the pointed formation of massed plasma pikes had far greater reach than his own, and it would split his line into two like a plasma sword through zoochberry jam. He watched in horror has his prediction came true. Human gunfire was repeatedly deflected by the shields and their legendary artillery bombardments could not be used for fear of hitting their own allies.
The Arbiter tried to plug the line with his own honor guard of fifty Elites, but they could not hold for long. Their fight, however, gave the rest of the line enough time to retreat however.
The Arbiter was trapped. His forces had been winnowed horribly by the last, disastrous assault. Fifty thousand warriors, Grunt, Hunter, Elite and Human, marched into battle behind him. Twenty thousand had fled. They had made camp here, twenty miles away from the Covenant encampment- out of reach from those monsters. Members of several localized human defense grounds slowly joined them. The field was lost. The alliance was in full rout.
He placed positioned paper troops in various arrangements throughout the broad map. Even with a four-to-one kill ratio, no Elite would possess the field. It would be suicide to attack now and swifter and surer suicide with each passing hour.
Over and over he replayed the moment in his mind. Should he have pulled back? Should he have enveloped? He ran the battle through his mind.
A sound intruded on the Arbiter's bleak reverie. He had blocked out camp sounds- crackling fires, conversation, groans of pain- and so the slow-mounting roar put him on alert. Lurching up from his stool, he caught his head in the peak of the man-sized tent. With a growl, he ducked and emerged. The flaps slapped angrily together beside him.
Mounting thunder filled the dusty sky. It was unmistakable- the approach of shuttles and airships. The Covenant had defeated the troops in space and were now bringing the remaining troops left up there to destroy them.
In the distance, the burning hull of a great Covenant carrier stuck from the dull landscape like a great skyscraper, with shuttles and other escort craft swarming around behind it.
The Arbiter shook his head grimly. I couldn't make a damned decision myself, and now they have decided for me.
All around, his troops stood stunned, staring upwards. Their commander's indecision had infected even them.
"To arms! To arms!" the Arbiter bellowed. "Train the guns! Wake! Hark! It's time to die!"
Soldiers snatched up their swords and pikes. They loaded and cocked rifles and carbines. The scrambled to rip covers off artillery pieces. Blocks of powder and artillery rounds slid down the barrels of bombards. Plasma charges mounted within ray cannons started to glow in intense light. Shouts of fear filled the air. It was a sound that heartened the Arbiter after days of silent fear and indecision.
"You might not want to fire on these," came a voice abruptly from behind. "These are your reinforcements."
The Arbiter whirled, plasma sword raking out, and found himself staring at the grim visage of the Praetor. The Elite's face was battle weary. His face was dishelmed and singed. From the Phantom behind him exited the Master Chief, the boy Leingod, and a host of ranking Human and Elite officers.
"My Lord," the Arbiter said breathlessly, stumbling to one knee.
"Call off your gunners!" the Praetor replied with quiet urgency.
"Gunners, stand down!" the Arbiter commanded, straightening up. His call went down the lines. To the Praetor, he said, "Reinforcements?"
"Allies from beyond the stars. Dire enemies of the Covenant. Friends of the human Nox," the Praetor said simply.
"We will see what they are worth," said the Arbiter.
"They are worth more than it appears my friend. Now rally the troops. We strike together."
A/N: At the Lesiri rendezvous point
Albel strode at the head of his army, Trandoshan, his ranking officer, at his side. He wore the armor and livery of his Glyphian Black Brigade, rejecting the more advanced Lesiri combat armor, worn by the tens of thousands of Lesiri legionnaires that were assembling before him. Their belief armed him, for it was belief that had made him the commander of the Black Brigade, belief made him ally with Fayt and the party, belief had helped him survive against the Flood on the Delta Halo. And now, belief gave him command over an entire army.
Lifting the Gunblade aloft for all to see, he instantly got the attention of the crowd. Then, pointing the barrel of the Gunblade to the other side of the desert, where the Arbiter and Praetor had already started doing battle with the Covenant ground infantry; he gave a shout, "Look at that!"
Pausing for a moment to allow his words to sink in, he continued, "Our allies are already wading in the blood of our enemies!"
He surveyed the troops. All the troops gathered before him had murder and bloodlust in their eyes, "Are we going let them have all the glory?"
A loud cheer started from the centre of the assemble troops, quickly spreading outwards. "Are we going to let them rob us of our honor as warriors?"
The cheer grew louder.
"Are we going to leave this slaughter unanswered?"
The cheer was deafening.
Albel smiled. He was no ship captain despite his father being a pirate captain and then a fleet admiral. Up in space he was glad to let Thaddeus do all the word. But down here, he was back in his own comfort zone. Manipulating the mood of the gathering like a master, his few words prepared them better than several years of training.
"Then charge!"
Without looking back, Albel spun around and dashed towards the Covenant formation a score away. He heard a war cry, and his pounding footsteps were joined by others. Tens of thousands of others.
Lifting high his plasma pike, the Arbiter shouted, "Charge!"
His troops took up the shout. It became a fierce war cry, mortals storming the gates of hell.
But those gates were well guarded. The desert before the Arbiter swarmed with Covenant troops. For a mile in every direction, monsters ranked. In deep trenches lay Jackals waiting to ambush anyone who wandered too close. In cannonades and bombard embrasures, Covenant gunners tested aim and range. In lookout towers, rapid-fire plasma cannons and fuel-rod cannons were loaded. Behind ramparts, artillerymen prepared tanks and cannons. They waited eagerly.
Not all waited. Other beasts marched forth. In side-by-side phalanxes, they advanced, their claws and hooves flung up shimmering clouds of salt-dust in their wake. The vanguard bristled with Jackal shield-bearers, their shields gleaming under the merciless sun. Next came the Berserkers, their hulking bulks churning up the ground. Brute shock troops filled up the main body of the army, the most vicious fighters of them all, armed with plasma scimitars and carbine alike. They advanced, not marching, but charging.
The Arbiter leveled his plasma pike. His jaw clenched. His eyes gleamed like twin poniards.
The Praetor flared his plasma sword into life.
A whine rose behind the Arbiter's division. The noise suddenly intensified to a shriek. The air directly overhead thronged with gleaming forms- Banshees. They cut the sky to ribbons. Readying plasma cannons, they dove towards Covenant lines. A manifold crackle followed as the plasma bolts found their mark and punched easily through the Jackals' shields. From the hole they made in the shields emerged burning flesh and macerated meat.
The Covenant lines crashed down. Over their scaly backs, Berserkers galloped eagerly. They bore no shields except the adamite armor on their chests and shoulders. They bore no weapons save the scimitar claws that sprouted from their fingers. Their fangy throats were filled with roars as they smashed against the Arbiter and his army.
Plasma pikes rammed into Berserker bellies. The weapons clawed their way up the shaft that impaled them. Pikes chewed through spines. Their hind legs went limp, still, they clawed forward. They sank scimitar claws into Human faces and Grunt necks.
The Arbiter himself was nearly torn to pieces. He released his pike- mired in a Berserker's midsection- and ducked under a pair of swiping claws. With a roundhouse kick, he flung the claws back to stab their owner. The Berserker impaled its own eye and tore its neck wide, glistening ichors sprayed in a golden cloud.
Blanketed in the monster's gore, the Arbiter ignited his sword from its handle. With one chop to the neck, the Berserker fell before him. His plasma pike clawed its way out of the monster's back. The Arbiter clambered past the beast to retrieve it.
Then another Berserker reared before him, this one bigger than the first. It grabbed the Arbiter with both hands and bear-hugged him, lifting him from the ground. Biting back the agony, the Elite warrior hurled his plasma pike at the thing's back, but it cracked off the adamite armor and rattled uselessly down amongst muscles legs.
The hug tightened and the Arbiter felt his hip pop. He hacked at the Berserker's joints. The sword tip got embedded between some shoulder plates. Yanking sideways on it, the Arbiter levered the Berserker's hand slightly. He could not escape, but burdened by pain, the Berserker could no longer crush him.
A Jackal foot soldier climbed the Berserker's back to hew the Arbiter's head off his shoulders with a short plasma sword.
Sudden fire blazed from the sky. The Jackal was gone, dismantled by a sudden energy blast. The adamite armor of the Berserker was also being eaten away, its guts being revealed from under that protective shell.
He turned back to see the Master Chief blasting another group of Jackals with a salvaged fuel-rod cannon. The huge Spartan paused to give the Arbiter an encouraging nod, before proceeding to melt a Brute.
From behind came another welcome sight, the roaring hulls of human Longsword fighters pelting the Covenant formations with hailstorms of missiles. The nimble fighters easily evaded poorly-placed anti-aircraft munitions whilst their continuous onslaught ploughed furrows through the ranks of monsters. Following the fighters were other human craft he had only read about. The whirring blades of helicopters drowned out the noise of the battle. Some shot missiles of their own, whilst others peppered quarreled bolts down atop monstrous heads.
Clambering out of the charred body of his captor, the Arbiter lifted his sword high and let out a battle cry.
In Human and Elite throats, the shout echoes across the bloody field.
The Covenant ground troops assigned to face the oncoming Lesiri horde had taken up their usual formations with Jackal shield in front and Brute warriors at the back. They were not specialists in such close combat, but they made the most of it, and this formation, used for boarding ships, was the most effective.
The Lesiri on the other had had adopted a rather strange formation. They were charging like any other army, but their commander was several yards ahead of them. There were some traditions amongst Elites were the commander always had the right to draw the first pint of blood, but a commander outpacing his army by this much was utterly ridiculous.
The Covenant's troops had their queries answered as soon as Albel was just a few meters away. Materializing from the shadows, his entire honor-guard of black-clad Deathdealers lunged forth and pounced onto the Jackals. Using their superior height and weight as an advantage, the Deathdealers kicked aside the shield-bearers and rushed into the softer ranks of the Covenant formation.
Blades made out of pure energy easily sliced through plasma-enhanced shields and thick armor. The Covenant troops were put out of their element. They depended on the shield-bearers to protect them from oncoming munitions, and had perfected this technique against the humans' projectile weapons, but having an alien race here charging at them and decimating their shield-line like a shotgun through beef steaks had them caught totally off-foot.
Over a hundred had fallen before the rest of the line had time to react. In urban warfare, the Covenant and Lesiri might have been equals, but in such close quarters, the Lesiri were definitely the superior.
Four Lesiri legionnaires easily strafed a Wraith tank, evading its deadly plasma bolts. Two then disabled it by slicing at its repulsorlift units with the other two wrenched open the hatch and descended into the belly of the beast. The two warriors then emerged and scurried for cover as charges left behind reduced the tank to hunks of scrap metal.
Elsewhere, Lesiri Triage tanks, lifted off the ground by four spider-like limbs, traded blows with Wraiths on a distant sand dune. The anti-matter ordnance fired by the Triages created sparkling blue lines in the sky across the path which they took, a beautiful, yet deadly, display of sheer power.
Nidhogs soared past overhead. They bled fire down onto the Covenant warriors. Cannons glowing, destruction bloomed from all sides of their fuselage, prow, amidships, stern and keel. Fire raked over a Covenant contingent. The flesh beneath the armor flashed away in gray smoke. Armor and bones stoop upright a moment longer as bodies fled in sooty ghosts on the wind. Hundreds of Covenant fell, their superheated bodies crumbling to a fine white powder.
The squadron banked up steeply and ran another strafing run, all in perfect formation. They unleashed a second firestorm, cratering the battlefield. Anti matter beams lashed out to wrap whole platoons in searing blankets. Rockets pelted the menagerie. Flesh was scoured from bodies. Other blasts laved acres of sand in flame. Covenant troopers marched as far through the holocaust as they could. At last, their cores reached the combustion threshold. They exploded, one blaze igniting a second, igniting a third. Where once had been a whole regiment, now lay a highway of soot.
Albel charged onto that highway. He clutched his Gunblade in both hands. The sleek blade fell with angry vengeance. It clove into the mouth of a Brute footman. The blade bit into the throat, splitting jaw and pallet. The beast fought on. Its claws rammed beneath Albel's breastplate, punching holes in his side. Fingers clenched. Organs severed and bled.
Letting go of his Gunblade, Albel gripped the impaling claws with one hand and the Brute's elbow with another. Twisting quickly, he rammed the elbow, breaking the joint. It popped loudly, and bone and gristle separated. One more yank, and the arm came off, streaming blood.
Undeterred, the Brute lunged with its good arm.
Albel drew the dead arm from his side and thrust its gory claws up before him. The Brute grabbed its severed arm, giving Albel the chance to yank his Gunblade free. He swung it in a broad circle and lopped the thing's head off. The body jigged a moment more, uncertain it was dead, before flopping onto the ground.
Albel trod over it, lifting high the Gunblade. It streamed the life of the Covenant, anointing him and his troops with oil.
Covenant Banshees plunged in a thick cascade ahead.
Kyp Durren banked his Longsword sharply into the smoking air. His fleet- Banshees, Longswords, Seraphs and Nidhogs- followed.
Plasma cannonades hurled blanketing fire toward them. It seemed crimson silk unfolding on the wind. In moments it would slay them all. Kyp led his fleet in a steep dive towards a Covenant division below. The cannonades ceased their fire. Even the Covenant would not destroy their own troops. Kyp did it for them anyway.
Spitting lead and missiles onto the Covenant vanguard, he took a while to admire the many twitching bodies on the ground, still unaware for their demise, before taking up positions for a second run.
The combined fleet shot out over the main body of the Covenant army. Missiles baked Brutes in their armor. Grade-A titanium rounds cracked skulls. Shockwaves hurled monsters like leaves.
There were bombers too. Fleets of heavy human bombers freshly flown in from distant areas like Australia and Brazil spread destruction and carnage in their wake. Fiery hunks of napalm whistled as they fell. They stuck onto armor and flesh alike and burned their way through.
Jackals shuddered, struggling to throw off the burning things. Brutes thrashed as the burning liquid sank between their ribs. Berserkers slumped dead and smoldering on still-charging legs. Wherever napalm and air and flesh met, beasts exploded.
This was no Reach. The Coalition was winning this time. Kyp could feel it. The Lesiri armada and the frontier fleets were dominating orbit. The pilots of the combined squadrons were ruling the heavens. The Coalition's infantry were ruling the ground. Heroes were leading their men, cutting bloody swathes through the already-thinning enemy ranks. All the while, the Coalition closed the circle around the remaining Covenant fighters.
With a hiss of steam, Kyp flared his afterburners and vaulted skyward. His fleet coiled like a deadly veil behind him. As plasma mounted up from cannons, Kyp and his pilots plunged in another strafing run.
Fire belched down. Covenant warriors rose in ash.
This was no Reach.
Albel and his forces fought forward down a path of soot. Kyp's fleet had paved the way. Burning beasts in fields of glass led to the Tibesti Mountains. Lesiri marched with grim fury. They owned this highway, and cleared Covenant warriors like weeds. Albel's Gunblade grew dull- it had split so many skulls, so much armor. Still, it was a deadly club, and Albel's rage made it a lightning bolt.
The Gunblade smashed a Brute's skull. The helmet of that sorry beast caved inwards. The monster staggered before collapsing to the sand with a dull thud. Albel kicked its belly, and then strode over it in a confident sign of victory.
Another hailstorm of plasma bolts from distant mortars began. The menacing projectiles cracked against helms and shoulder pieces. They fell in treacherous fields before the Lesiri, who ran in irregular zig-zag patterns to throw off the Covenant gunners. Any who were too slow increased the already-towering pile of bodies.
"Forward!" Albel shouted above the carnage and explosions.
They had almost reached the foot of the mountain range. The place was already a charnel house. Whoever had beaten them to it had been brutal. They slaughtered hundreds. The black blood of Brutes mingled with the crimson of Jackals, forming a shallow marsh. Bodies lay like flagstones in a vast floor. Even now, a platoon of humans guarded the entrance to the mountain range. They cheered Albel and his troops as they broke through.
The Arbiter, the Praetor, the Master Chief, and what remained of the coalition of Humans, Grunts, Elites and Jackals approached form the opposite highway of death. The pincers grew inexorably together. The Covenant caught between those two claws would be sliced to death. Those outside, even now, were being mercilessly hammered by aircraft.
After so much killing, after such impossible legions of fiends, it seemed strange so suddenly to rush up beside his own allies. Arms that spent hours wielding swords and rifles now opened in glad greeting. The long parted halves of the coalition's army were not reunited before the gates of hell.
Albel did not allow himself the luxury of joy. Neither, he noted, did the Arbiter. The two commanders approached astride, approaching the head of the human contingent at the entrance to the mountain range. At last Albel was able to identify them. They bore the insignia of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, and must have been deployed to capture strategic points at around the same time he had landed. After all, he had met some of these squads along the way and they had more than willingly joined him in his charge.
The ODSTs were ragged, bloody and battle-fatigued. Nonetheless, grim smiles filled their faces.
"Welcome to the Tibesti mountains commanders," the shaggy ODST leader said, "The rest of our brigade had infiltrated the mountain range and confirmed the main Covenant stronghold lies within. We have so far been successful in scouting out the main Covenant bunkers and positions, but be weary- the mountains are treacherous and ambushed will be abundant. I now gratefully relinquish command to you."
"Thank you," Albel said with a level nod. Turning to the Arbiter, he said, "And I relinquish my command to you. Lead this army in. We need every sword we can muster."
The Elite commander stared amazingly at Albel, "I was just about to offer my command to you."
Albel shook his head, "I have more pressing business, lead these troops. I will return when I am finished."
With no further word, Albel marched past the soldiers back towards the desert, accompanied by only two of his elite Deathdealers. He was looking for the one person who he returned to Earth for.
"Uh…Orders sir?" Trandoshan hesitantly asked the Arbiter. He had no problems with taking orders from another species, but the abrupt change in leadership stunned even this battle-hardened veteran.
The Arbiter had seen plenty of this before. Trandoshan was a good soldier and a competent leader, but going up against uncertainties was always tough. Give a soldier a weapon and a target and he was good to go. But tell him something vague like "Prove your worth" or "Defend this land" and he'd run into trouble. Soldiers needed specifics, who, what, where and when. Unfortunately the Arbiter didn't have that to offer. He'd have to think on his feet and work with loose definitions and create his own specifics. He could do that.
"Divide you men into squads of no more than twenty. Group these squads into groups of three. Get each squad in each group to look out for each other. Ambushes will be rife and we can only help each other by watching each other's backs. Travel light, ditch all heavy equipment. Armor and artillery are to form mop-up squads to kill all Covenant still prowling the desert. We attack in an hour."
Trandoshan gave a quick salute, glad that the commander already had formulated a plan, and it sounded concrete and sound.
Meanwhile, Albel had also found what he was looking for. He'd passed that area several times, but only this time was he able to catch a hint of that angelic voice. Whirring around, he dashed towards a makeshift hospital.
It seemed the Covenant knew no compassion. The entire field hospital was littered with craters and plasma burns. The canvas roof even had a giant burn through it, allowing the sun to enter. Inside, it was a buzz of activity, with human medics and Elite healers scurrying to and fro, frantically calling for more medicine or extra manpower.
It was a victory no doubt, but at a terrible cost.
In the middle of it all, there she was. Nel, an expert at not only offensive symbology, but also healing symbology, was assigned to the most critically injured. Her magic did in several seconds what regular treatment did in days, but it was limited – very limited. As such she tried to use it sparingly, but with such a huge war, even sparingly became an overwhelming flood.
Observing her from behind, Albel watched as she chanted an incantation, and then touched a bleeding wound on a Grunt, healing it immediately. However, her magic reserves were running short. The runes on her thighs and arms, which normally glowed brightly, were now shimmering weakly.
Her task completed, Nel spun around, only to ram head-first into Albel's breastplate. She starred at him, stunned for several seconds, before collecting herself and relaxing.
"I see you brought some friends," she started, breaking the silence.
"Who, them?" he gestured at his bodyguards, "Yeah, I guess you could call em' that. You've been here all along?"
"Yeah, the place got hit by a mortar," she pointed at the gaping hole in the roof, "Wiped out several medics, placed dozens more in the sickbeds they once attended to. I decided that saving lives was more important than taking them, so I wound up here."
"We're about to go give the Covenant in the mountains a holler. Care to join us?" he smirked.
"In fact, yes. I'm more or less done here. They can handle the rest," replied Nel, as she reached for her Blades of Ryusen.
"What are we waiting for?"
A/N: An hour later
This felt good- killing them like this. Leaving them in pieces behind. Somehow, when the monsters were chopped up and sloppy on the cave floor, the seemed cleaner than when they breathed and scuttled and walked. That's how he thought of it – cleansing the planet.
Weapons primed, The Arbiter and his contingent rounded a corner. Two monsters launched themselves from the darkness beyond. No longer did they fight in phalanxes. They fought like trapped dogs. The Arbiter dropped his carbine, gripping his sword in two hands; he rammed it into the rushing chest of one. Plasma seared through obscene ribs, sinking deep and rupturing the heart. Blood boiled around the edges of the blade.
Even in dying, the thing fought on. Its knobby arms clamped down on the Elite, its claws piercing him.
Roaring, the Arbiter pried his sword sideways. The blade snapped ribs and tore clear. The beast slumped, leaning drunkenly on him before it tumbled sideways. The Arbiter batted its arms away.
The fight was finished. Three Grunts had slain the other beast, a Berserker, at the cost of their own lives. Their corpses sprawled on one side of the valley. The Arbiter stared hard at the two dead Berserkers. Their flesh was rotten, grey and shabby. Gritting his teeth, he hacked down with his sword. It clove the face of one dead monster. The blade rose. It fell again. He cut the thing's skull into half. The sword slashed down again. It opened the beast's face along the jaw. The Arbiter lifted his sword for another strike.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder- the Praetor's hand. "Save your hate. We've plenty more ahead."
Woken from his blood rage, the Arbiter nodded. "Let's go. The main command post cannot be far now."
He scaled a rock formation to survey the landscape and plot a new course. He glanced at a neighboring valley. Lesiri columns advanced, under the protective fire of human machineguns. Covenant bodies littered the floor, with the occasional Human, Grunt, Hunter, Elite, or Lesiri corpse among them. The bunkers were burned out, guard stations smashed, the nooks scoured. The coalition had been thorough – furiously so. He approved.
Coalition columns of mixed units marched down the winding, twisting valleys of the Tibesti mountain range. It lasted for miles, even spiraling, ever meandering, until it finally lead to one vast plateau. On the other side of the plateau lay a pair of heavy iron gates. And on the other side of the gates, no doubt, lay their target: the rest of the Covenant forces.
There, the Arbiter and his Elites, Grunts and Hunters, the Master Chief and his Marines and ODSTs, Albel and his Lesiri, joined up. The advancing columns had been bombarded by ambushes, but thanks to the Arbiter's tactic, casualties were minimal. Together, they formed ranks, waiting for their foe to show up.
Slowly, the gates lumbered open. A horde of Covenant warriors charged out. Battle would be joined for the last time.
Covenant fighters poured out of the gates to the plateau, like visions through rising heat. Beyond those iron gates, hundreds more filed forward. Rank on rank, they filed onto a meat grinder.
The Arbiter was one blade in that meat grinder. He and the Praetor led the Elites in a furious charge forth, towards an imposing artillery position. The Arbiter's sword rang like a deadly bell as he hewed his way through. The Praetor's pike whirled around him in deadly circles. The Elites did their vicious best, fighting for their ancestors as if the Arbiter was an avatar of them. For all their fury though, the Arbiter and his troops could do little more than slay. Covenant bodies made walls before them.
Across the plateau was another blade in the meat grinder. Albel's Gunblade opened the belly of a Brute. Entrails cascaded out. The beast trod on them and slipped. Albel turned and chopped down into the head of another Brute. The steeled helmet and thick skull was no match for sharpened steel. The First Deathdealer wrenched his weapon free, simultaneously driving his steel claws into the eyes of a third Brute. It fell onto the flood and skidded before Nel.
She fought beside him with equal valor, though less battle lust. An efficient sword swinger, Nel had enough time to defend herself, strike out at foes, and patch the wounds of casualties around her. All around them fought Lesiri legionnaires, armed with glittering blades, shining armor, and steely resolve.
The defenders of Earth brought death to hundreds upon hundreds of Covenant fighters, but there were more waiting beyond the gate. For half an hour they fought in this breathless, hopeless battle, and had not gained an inch towards the iron gates.
In the next moments, the battle grew worse. The Covenant appeared to be lessening, but fought with a sudden, unanimous purpose. They pushed back the coalition forces several dozen yards back.
Roaring, Nel clove the head of a Brute foot soldier. She climbed his fallen body, a ramp up the wall of fiends. Claws and plasma lashed out at her legs. Nel slashed the limbs away. A Jackal shield-bearer reared up to block her path. She merely vaulted over its shield before sinking her blade into the thing's eye. The female warrior scrambled up the bleeding form. Albel brought up the rear.
Valiant charges like this, initiated from all over the coalition lines broke out, with brave warriors gaining some hard-fought ground, and leading their fellows behind them. The Arbiter was one of them. Swinging his sword with a great cry of might, he sent four beasts flying from the blow. Two were plucked off by human riflemen whilst still in the air. The other two were impaled onto the massed pikes of a Grunt platoon.
Before the Arbiter could swing again, another beast slumped forward across his path, its torso shattered as though by some incredible force.
Gabbling, the Arbiter raised his eyes to see the incredible force. "Chief!"
The Spartan answered with a nod. He swept out the butt of his rifle and smashed the torso of another Brute before launching a volley of rounds that smashed through armor like a nutcracker.
As he slotted in another clip, he rumbled, "Let us fight together."
The Elite nodded back, hacking his blade through Jackals. Side by side, Spartan and Elite fought the minions of the Covenant.
The Grunts lifted their pikes up high, and brought them down in a killing hail. Covenant fighters fell in scraps. A human war cry ululated throughout the plateau. Marines fought with a renewed vengeance. Lesiri blades carved monstrous flesh.
Surrounded on all sides, Covenant warriors died. There were no more reserves. There was no escape. Coalition forces marched in through the iron gates, and they gave no quarter.
Blades and pikes splashed into glistening blood. Severed arms twitched in gore. Veins pumped the last remnants of blood from sliced arteries. Skulls were hacked in two. Spines squirmed from dying bodies.
Nel repaid her hard knocks by lopping the head off a Brute foot soldier. Albel sliced monsters as though he was hacking cane. The Praetor whipped his pike in a killing arc. The Arbiter split a beast through its crown. The Master Chief was a silver tornado, spinning around and blasting scores of Covenant fighters without a moment's pause.
In brutal moments, every Covenant warrior's head fell. One by one, the last of the invaders died. One by one, swords ceased in the air, pikes froze, and rifle chambers were left to cool. There was no more flesh to cleave, no more targets to shoot.
Could it be the battle of the Sahara was done? Could it be the battle was won? Coalition troops flooded into the Covenant stronghold, seeking a foe to slay. But there were none.
"We did it," the Arbiter whispered breathlessly, "Chief! We did it!"
The Chief studied his bloodied bayonet and overheating rifle. "Yes," he said heavily, "It is done."
Standing beside the two warriors, Trandoshan let out a celebratory cry, which was carried over the battlefield by all who were present.
Albel stood, gazing grimly at the wreckage and corpses all around. He was then jolted out of his trance-like state when his Deathdealers lifted him on their shoulders and carried him around, surrounded by throngs of Lesiri legionnaires and other coalition warriors. This victory belonged to all, not just to the Lesiri.
A plateau that, moments before, had echoed with battle, suddenly rang with jubilant celebration.
Nel managed to squeeze her way past the horde of revelers to get to Albel, before embracing him, tearing.
"I guess sometimes the good guys do win."
A/N: It's done. The first epic battle sequence in this fic is done. If you liked it, spam the review button. Who knows? There might be another one just around the corner.
Master out.
A/N 2: Oh, and sorry if you were expecting to see more of Fayt's Destruction Gene, but unfortunately we were unable to squeeze it in. There'll be much more in future chapters though.
Chief out.
P.S.: By the way, the Tibesti Mountains are a real mountain range in the Sahara. Do Google or Wiki it if you have the time.