His little discourse with Yervius completed, Ferradus gathered the rest of his chieftains together, inside a small, circular cave he'd discovered. The roof of it was hollow, and occasional bursts of starlight streamed in. None of them were paying any attention to that, however. The battle was imminent, and every single one of them were tightly drilled and focused upon fighting the humans. When they weren't busy fighting with each other.
He'd had one of his Unggoy servants, Kibtib, lug in a small but powerful holo-table that they'd managed to steal from a Sangheili detachment some units past. Although the intel they had on the valley itself was limited, it would have to be enough. As Ferradus presided over the meeting, the only other light being from the holo-table and the few wicker torches they'd set up inside the cave, Kibtib watched fearfully from the shadows.
Unlike most of his kin, Kibtib possessed some measure of intelligence, and could communicate in almost every language of the Covenant, save the Yanme'e's incessant chirping and the squeaks and whistles of the Huragok. However, he had not lived as long as he had by demonstrating it openly. His old teacher, a kindly old Deacon called Burtub, had advised him to keep to the shadows and appear less than he was. So far, this principle had worked well. Now, however, he was wondering if even that would get him through this war council. Here before him were some of the biggest and fiercest names on Gethrii, and all of them deserved. To them, a thing like him was an irritating swamp fly to be brushed aside in a moment.
Travalrus, the Alpha-Chieftain's majordomo and second, standing at attention beside Ferradus, his fur well trimmed and even his expression militant and uncompromising. It did not waver at any point; the man's self-control was legendary. Sometimes Kibtib wondered if he wasn't hiding some ulterior motives. A face like that certainly could. His own warhammer was pitiful next to Ferradus', with a simple, unfurnished black head. There wasn't a whole lot else to him. His clan would fight and be glad of it. His enmity with the other chieftains was minimal, making him an exception to the general rule. He carried a prototype double-barreled Type-25 plasma rifle at his hip. The shiny crimson surface caught his eye, but he curbed his natural desire for such things.
Sevakus Hotblade, his bestial face split apart in a rictus grin of pure violence. More beast than man, he couldn't keep still, twitching and shuddering like one of the benzene addicts from Bahalo. His own clan was little better, a wild mess of blood lusting apes that could barely restrain themselves from heading over the ridge and finding some humans to slaughter. In many respects, Kibtib thought, he was the easiest to control: Ferradus had but to point him towards a fight and he'd be satisfied. Politics and power games did not faze him. Apparently his champion, a monster from the Semk clan, had been lost at the annihilation of the third bastion. This had not improved his temper, and the notched, gleaming sword over his shoulder looked ready to kill. The fact that Tenways was a patriarch of his most hated clan did not soothe matters. Apart from a Type-25 brute shot grenade launcher over his shoulder, his armament consisted of sharp metal. And lots of it.
Strabus Ironhead, his visage as battered and weathered as a cliff face and about as happy. His colossal frown stood out like the sun, and Kibtib was petrified that it would be turned upon him. For Strabus, the war against the infidels held no pleasure, no sense of satisfaction; he was doing it for his own reasons. His loyalty was all for Ferradus, so there was no chance of an uprising there, but no fire lit his belly from within. However, he had the most experience out of anyone in the entire army, and thus Ferradus deferred to his expertise in many matters. But not, Kibtib suspected, this one. It was such a sense of tactics that spurred the venomous arguments between himself and Hotblade-they differed on strategy in all things, like a pair of young youngbloods brawling in the dirt. He bore a Type-25 mauler pistol on each hip.
And finally, one that could be hated by all comers. Mortius Tenways, his face uglier than sin, covered in moth-eaten patches of matted fur and leering like an old pervert. Kibtib wondered how such a towering intellect could be concealed behind a disgusting visage. Tenways was driven by his imagination, and a more perverse imagination was hard to find. His belief was that research had to be conducted in realistic a manner as possible, which had resulted in the deaths of many of Kibtib's fellows, as well as Kig-Yar-though their losses saddened him less. None could doubt Tenways' findings, however, and Ferradus often unleashed him as an unpredictable catalyst in battle. He made a point of threatening Sevakus with death at least once a meeting, something all had learned to take in their stride. He had been called fresh from testing, and bore no weapons, but was covered in cuts and burns from his "experiments." A luminous blue splatter decorated his arm. Kibtib's stomach twisted with unease.
Yervius Gorefist, hated by all, would not be attending. There was a small victory, at least. Ferradus leaned over the table, inputting tactical data. The holo-streams spluttered to life, and the rocky crags of Talmetush appeared. Red dots indicated the human positions as best they could determine, and purple dots indicated their own. He moved back a step. "Now, then." His head snapped towards Kibtib, and he flinched back. "Kibtib! Man the projectors, and make changes when I instruct you." He dashed forward and stood ready, but was unable to disguise a tremble.
Sevakus chuckled maniacally, his fangs bared. "The little rabbit quails, Excellency. Perhaps he would serve better as a meal?" He took a step forward, and Kibtib nearly voided his bowels.
Tenways chuckled insidiously, his eyes dead as he cast his gaze over Kibtib. "Only a primitive like you would think in such limited terms, Sevakus. An Unggoy is far better as weapons practice." He idly fingered the stain on his arm suggestively.
Ironhead chuckled dryly. "With any luck, the Unggoy will serve both purposes. Sevakus, you will choke to death on his scrawny hide. And you, Tenways, your weapon will misfire and consume you in the blast." Nothing about his tone suggested he was joking.
And Travalrus did not chuckle at all, but fixed each of the trio with fierce glares. "We have more pressing concerns, Chieftains. Restrain your petty squabbles for the time being!"
Glaring sullenly at each other, the trio of war chieftains grumbled their way into a silence. Ferradus gazed at them with a faint smirk of approval. "You have the battle lust upon you, brothers. That is good. But mind that it is concentrated upon the proper foe." His tone was jovial, yet it said, in no uncertain terms: pay attention.
He spread his paws upon the holo-table's surface. "Now then. As far as we know, the human forces and their Sangheili auxiliaries have already dug in on the other side of Talmetush. They possess considerable infantry strength, armor, air support and the help of their specialists in the form of the Imps and the Xonnel operatives. Needless to say, this battle will be close. I believe our best method to win will be through attrition. The humans have been on this planet for far too long and grow weary. We, on the other hand, have been marshalling our strength for many cycles now. There will never be a better time to strike than this.
"No doubt that the humans have already seeded our side of the ridge with all manner of traps and devices-it will be some effort to ensure that these do not unduly impede our progress. However, I will leave these duties to the Huragok and Yanme'e, rather than removing honest warriors from combat. Those not crucial to the battle that is." He smiled briefly. The pit in Kibtib's stomach lessened slightly. More of his kin would survive, perhaps. Better removing traps than being cannon fodder.
He realised just in time that Ferradus was pointing at him. "Initiate scheme one!" Hastily, he punched the sequence of buttons that he had memorised, and watched the projectors flare. A clutch of purple dots moved away from the main host and across the riverbed. "Our esteemed colleague, Yervius Gorefist, will commence the attack-"
"That runt?" Hotblade spat, smashing his fist into the wall and causing several surface cracks. "Does he even know how to fight a battle? It would seem his talent lies in staying towards the back-"
Ferradus turned to him and arched a single eyebrow. This gesture was enough to cow the savage chieftain into silence. Impressive.
The Alpha continued to speak. "Gorefist may be a coward and a runt, but his skill for stealth warfare is worthy of note. I don't care if he fails to return from his mission, and all his lackeys die with him. If nothing else, he will sow some mayhem in the enemy ranks. Who knows, he may even earn himself some glory in that instance. Though I expect the Prophet of Truth himself to appear in a vision before that happens." A round of sycophantic laughs went up around the cavern. Kibtib remembered that only one megacycle ago, Ferradus had been one of many Alphas kneeling to the Covenant Hierarch during the conquest of the human homeworld. Now he spoke openly of blasphemy. How times change. Ironhead had not joined in with the joke."Now then. Gorefist will be receiving some backup during his incursion, though the nature of this support remains…" He sniffed and spat to one side. "Classified. The less anyone knows the better. I will oversee it personally. We need not fear counterattack, as the humans will be too busy shoring up their own defenses in the aftermath. While it is still dark, the host will bivouac on this side of Talmetush. When dawn occurs, the first wave will commence and the battle will be joined. Travalrus?"
The second-in-command nodded intently. "Alpha-Chieftain?"
"You will lead off with your clan and the Impalers, with artillery support to pave the way for your advance. Establish a position near the riverbed and assault the trenches, but do not over-commit. I want your position to be solid and secure. If you require assistance, get word back to me and I will send levies; else, contact Hotblade or Tenways if you find yourself hard pressed. Hotblade?"
"To the slaughter, Chieftain."
Ferradus shook his head. "Keep yourself in check, Sevakus, or the humans will make you pay for it. If we press the advantage, I will give you and your clan free reign, but until then, merely guard Travalrus' flank and provide a good fight. You may not get to bloody your sword in this instance. Do you understand?"
Sevakus seemed put out by this, but nodded stiffly. "I do, Chieftain." He made to sharpen his skinning knife, but settled instead for grinding his fangs. Kibtib knew that look. It was the look of a Jiralhanae holding himself back. A beast like Hotblade will not remain like that for long."If you require assistance, Gorefist can provide something. Ironhead?"
The sober old Jiralhanae leveled his gaze at Ferradus, meeting him eye to eye. No sign of servility, but no defiant fire in the eyes either. "Chieftain."
Ferradus returned his almost-blank stare. "You will have a portion of the artillery in your command. The humans will not expect a flank commander to make any sort of concerted push, and that is where we will surprise them. Keep them in reserve, initially. Then when I give the signal, form a spearhead with the wraiths and push forward. Destruction is what I want. Make their flank a mangled thing which can be exploited. But do not be reckless! Take what ground you can, and get across the riverbed if possible. If you require reinforcements for such a task-"
Strabus cut in tersely. "I won't."
The other adjutant-chieftains started at this, but Ferradus continued unfazed. "-then send word back to me. I am willing to give you the entire air wing if we can break their backs this way. Especially if the bastard Sangheili are unfortunate enough to find themselves there!" A brief, lusty roar sounded from their throats. By far, this was the part of the battle they were looking forward to most. The humans rarely gave them a challenge worth fighting, but the Sangheili were traitors and heretics to be punished. A most worthy foe.
Their leader turned to the last adjutant-chieftain. "Tenways."
The brute grinned lecherously, exposing yellowed fangs with black gums. 'Made for glory, O wise and fearless leader." It was unusual for a subordinate Jiralhanae to make such facetious remarks, but Tenways produced results, so Ferradus allowed it.
"You will hold the bulk of your forces in reserve until Travalrus and Hotblade have established their positions. Make it seem as though you are no real threat to the humans; even send a few decoy teams forward to gauge their own strength, and they will scorn you and your efforts." Mortius huffed at this, though he knew what was coming. "Then, when their attention is reduced, strike!" Ferradus banged his hand on the holo-table for emphasis. "Outfit your warriors with your new prototype weaponry, form a spearhead like Strabus and make them pay for their gullibility!" Tenways brayed with laughter, a horrific noise. 'If you can, co-ordinate with Ironhead and attack simultaneously. It may just tip the battle in our favour."
Tenways glanced aside to Ironhead, who gave him his fiercest frown. The two had never been on the best of terms, mostly because Mortius thought of Ironhead as an outdated relic and he considered Tenways to be an unstable, insubordinate maniac. The Drinjan clan leader leered. 'I'll see what I can rustle up."
"Good." Ferradus nodded at Kibtib, who began his work again. Now that the tension in the room had lessened somewhat, he felt a lot better. "Our forces, therefore, will be arrayed like this." The purple mass spilled forward, over the blue crest of the ridge, and onto the slopes. Five pulsing orange icons, each at the head of a triangular segment, glided cross the holographic surface and halted at the riverbed. Ferradus' own sigil remained at the top of the ridge, where his command post would be located. Smaller green dots along the length of the ridge indicated artillery positions. However, there were many gaps in the landscape owing to lack of intelligence, and these remained a blank criss-crossing of blue lines. The Alpha-Chieftain spread his hands expectantly. "Your scouts have been deployed; what news can you tell me?"
Travalrus cleared his throat. "We intercepted a human transmission from one of their advance squads. It concerns the dimensions of the riverbed in Talmetush. Thirty metres wide and five metres deep, that translates to…" He frowned as he parsed the human measurements. "Three units wide, half a unit deep."
"Interesting, "Ferradus mused. As he did so, Kibtib input this new data, and the riverbed became more distinct. "The humans could easily bog us down in such an area. Fill it with explosives and attritional warfare until we lie dead in droves. But on the other hand…" He consulted a datapad on one side of the table and nodded decisively. "Travalrus, you have five Mgalekgolo pairs at your disposal, yes?" Travalrus nodded in confirmation. "I am sending you three more bond-mates, but keep their general number back until you are in a position to advance across the riverbed. Nothing can best their might in such a confined space."
Here, Kibtib watched closely, though keeping one eye on his duties. A curling of his left fist indicated he was not pleased with this new development, although the Unggoy could hardly understand why. Then it hit him: without the Mgalekgolo, he would be hard pressed to defend against the humans. Of course, his status as second-in-command left no room for doubts. Travalrus smiled thinly. "Perhaps now the humans will have a chance of winning, Chieftain?"
Ferradus chuckled. "Perhaps, old friend, perhaps." The Alpha returned his attention to the datapad, and missed the flash of resentment in his subordinate's eyes. "Anything else?"
Tenways coughed audibly, sending phlegm across the cave. "I sent forth a few of my new spy drones. Modelled them on the human design, but more stealth ablative coating so they won't be detected as easily. Also layered them with the hide and feathers of Gethrii's desert birds. They've evolved to fly unseen in the night, you see, fascinating evolutionary trait-"
"Get to the damn point!" Ferradus barked.
Tenways looked a little hurt, but took a deep slobbery breath and continued. "Anyway, they found the human artillery positions."
"We already know the location of those-"
The scabrous Jiralhanae lifted a finger and winked, his trademark leer once again in place. "Ahh, Chieftain, but I was referring to the ones we didn't know about. Yonder on the human side of Talmetush, there are two outcrops near the riverbed. Foothills. Seems that they've put a few of their cannons in place there. I also think the Sangheili have reinforced these places by now. Certainly, at least a hundred per position. Those hinge-headed shits don't make anything easy by half, do they?" He snarled a little, and spat again. Kibtib was starting to wonder if he'd get cleaning duty as well as his usual tasks.
Ferradus scowled. 'It matters not. They cannot fire their guns if none remain alive to man them. Where are these outcrops located?" Tenways stepped up to the holo-table and jabbed his finger. "Here and here, western side, astride the riverbed. That means Travalrus, Gorefist and-"his face flashed with a grin-"Hotblade. Enjoy yourselves, boys. Can't say I'm envious of you, but..." Sevakus hissed malevolently, hand immediately going to one of his many knives. "I'll make you envious of anyone with a working face, you miserable-"
Travalrus leaned over and smashed his fist into Mortius' mouth, wiping the smirk from it. He squawked as he fell down, spitting out blood. He made as if to lunge at Travalrus, but a plasma rifle aimed at his face discouraged this course of action. Breathing heavily, his face now screaming murder, Tenways licked his lips and fell silent. Hotblade giggled maniacally and did the same.
Their leader went on as if nothing had happened. "So be it. You three will have to fight twice as hard, but that is the Jiralhanae way. Inform Gorefist of this development, if he makes it back."
'That reminds me." Ironhead spoke up, idly polishing a fingernail on his power armor. "In the event of Gorefist's passing, who will take his place?"
"His lieutenant, Neroktus, has proven himself to be a capable warrior and far less repulsive than his superior. He will be a suitable replacement. If he dies…well, I will assign someone to the role. Do not concern yourselves with it." He cast a final warning look at his adjutants before moving on.
"We have approximately seven units until the dawn breaks. Ensure that your clans are ready to move when two units remain. We must be swift and deadly, like a striking boa. These datapads-"he waved at a pile of them-"are yours. Orders will be transmitted to these, as I do not want to risk being overheard via radio. Slower, perhaps, but safer.
"As for myself, I will be holding a position atop the ridge, where I can see all. The levies will be held on the slopes, along with our own fortifications. If the need is dire, I myself will enter the fray. If not, then I will remain there for the duration."
The entire group shifted uneasily, and Ferradus noticed. An edge came into his voice. "Is there something you find wrong with this?" he inquired calmly.
Through unspoken agreement, Ironhead (as the most senior) ducked his head. "Your pardon, Alpha-Chieftain, but tradition dictates that you must lead us from the forefront, as our ancestors would have done. That is the Jiralhanae way."
For a moment no-one dared to even breathe. Ironhead had spoken words tantamount to defiance. Who dared question the command of the Alpha-Chieftain? That in itself was storied tradition. The Jiralhanae were but a great heap, and whoever stood at the top made the rules that bound all that fought below. Kibtib only had a limited understanding, but his foot began to twitch nervously. This would not be good.
Ferradus broke the silence by letting out a great sigh. It whistled around the dimly lit cave and came back to him. "Our ancestors would have done so, yes. They would have looked for the glory and prestige that came from leading at the front, drawing upon their fathers' legacies, and their fathers before them. A simple philosophy." He paced as he said this, but came to an abrupt stop. His eyes hardened, and fists curled into balls as he stared down the whole command council.
"We are not them. They were little more than rutting savages each seeking to be king over a radioactive, desolate wasteland. Thinking no further than the next battle, the next scalp, the next conquest. Glorious ancestors? Let me tell you, they were fucking morons!" The spit flew from his mouth as he raged, eyes turning red as the blood rushed to them. "Because of them, Doisac became a barren shitpile! And they were forced to accept aid from the cursed Prophets, who took us from our culture and threw us into the Covenant. The blasted Covenant." There had never been more loathing in his voice before he said that word.
"The Covenant destroyed us. As a people, as a race. We were primitive, but we were proud. Then we started killing not only ourselves, but the world on which we evolved. To the point where we became subservient to a group of quibbling fools in floating chairs!" He grabbed Kibtib by the side of the head and slammed him into the dirt, not even stopping to see if his servant was still alive. "But their mistake was giving us access to technology. That has been our saving grace, and I will tell you all why.
"The technology we were given has kept us alive. And from whom did this technology come? The Forerunners. The Prophets squandered it, made it obsolete. But now, it will be what renews us as a people. Millions of our kin have died-against the humans, during the Great Schism, and in the final days of the war. Even now! But if we can harness it, make it our own…" Ferradus stopped, and inhaled deeply. "We can make our own mark on this galaxy. And be dependent upon nobody."
The staff was silent, while Kibtib gave a muffled groan. The Alpha-Chieftain settled his hands on the holo-table, and a devious smile came on his face. "As you may have guessed, I no longer hold to the old ways of thinking. Not those of our ancestors, or those of the San'Shyuum. They have brought us nothing but failure and ruin. I will bring our people to a better future whether they like it or not. Whether you-"he gave each adjutant-chieftain a glare-"like it or not. It is an ambitious plan, I agree." His smile only grew wider. "Well, it all begins here. Once we have won the battle for Gethrii…my plan will expand into the galaxy, among the Jiralhanae. I am not the only one who thinks like this. Be aware of that."
The warning was obvious. Ironhead swallowed, and broke eye contact. "Your pardon, Alpha-Chieftain. It was not my intention to question you. But-"
"Do you think this a debate, Ironhead?" Ferradus silenced him once again. He swept his gaze around. "Do you think, Hotblade, that war is just your private arena? Or that you are so indispensable, Tenways?" Travalrus was left unscathed, standing stiffly at attention. "It is not any of those things. It is my plan, and you all have parts to play. But only as I say! Am I understood?"
To a man, the staff nodded vehemently. There would be no questions now. They dared not speak. Each had a varying look of anxiety on their faces. Except, of course Travalrus. As ever, stoicism ruled his face.
"You all know your tasks and positions. Return to your camps. In three units, Gorefist will commence his attack. Ensure your forces are ready to mobilise by then. Are there any questions?"
There were not.
**************************************************
"Sarge! Long time no see!"
Kyle lifted his gaze from the stock of his M6G pistol and his face sagged into what might have been called a look of relief. "Well, Corporal Fletcher, it's about damn time. I was thinking I'd have to call your mother and report you missing." The sarcasm masked his pleasure at seeing his second in command, and friend, alive and well.
Len, still pale with fatigue, managed to crack a grin. "Aww, I know you loves me sarge. God knows why else you'd keep me around." He sketched a brief salute and then leaned forward to clasp hands with his CO. "Good to see you too, sir. Lazu made it back fine as well. Where is everyone?"
Kyle had been sitting in the squad's original nest of stones near the outcrop designated "Pillar" by the UNSC forces in the valley. He gestured around the area with the cleaning cloth he'd been using. "Our sentry duty starts in an hour or so. Figured I'd give them some time to relax before we head down near the riverbed and probably get our throats slit."
Len whistled at this cynical response. "And what makes you think we'll all end up like that? We're marines, we don't go down easily." He sat down gingerly, still nursing bruises. "Oorah."
"Oorah, "came the instant reply. "I don't know…just a feeling, I 'spose. We-the host, I mean- haven't seen any Covies since we made landfall. Now, of course, you hear stories spreadin' throughout the army, but that's natural. Soldiers love to gossip as much as they love filling aliens with lead."
Len laughed. "Don't all have your thirst for blood, sarge." He picked a flea out of his russet hair and crushed it.
Kyle scowled at this. "They'd better find it, and so had you. Now, some of the news is good, and some of it bad, but not seeing a single damn Covenant bastard…" He put his gun away and stretched his arms, looking pensive. "Makes it seem like they're up to something. Something we won't expect. And it won't be long, whatever it is. We'll find out first hand, I reckon."
At this foreboding statement, Len shrugged, and rose to his feet. "Might, might not. The Covenant have never been ones to play fair. But they're also bloody predictable. Not to mention they're being led by the brutes. The idea of those apes commanding an army doesn't exactly scream capable leadership."
Still, Kyle looked grim. "They said Gethrii wouldn't be a walk in the park. The battle upstairs isn't going well, by all accounts. And to top it all off, the Elites decided to send their toughest son-of-a-bitch regiment here to help us win the battle. What more evidence do you need? We're in the shit, Len, even if you won't admit it. Or realise it, like most of the grunts in this army." He scratched moodily at one arm.
Well, this was new. Len was accustomed to bouts of fatalism from Xavier, or Horatio. Not from Kyle, rock-steady Kyle who'd led them into hell a dozen times over and always got them out intact. As usual, he deflected his anxiety with humour. "Planning on making a white flag? You might have to requisition it; I doubt there's a scrap of material on this planet that isn't some shade of red." He gave a dramatic sweeping gesture, encompassing the ridge and the entire valley beneath it, now beginning to be bathed in a moonlit glow.
His sergeant scoffed a laugh at this, and shook his head vehemently. "I didn't hitch my ass all the way out here without cryo just so I could give up now. We'll fight. I just don't like being caught unprepared."
Rolling his eyes, Len offered Kyle a hand up. "You don't know what's going to happen, so what's the point in worrying?" The pair left their campsite and set off on one of the many trails, heading towards the unofficial recreation sector. Here, off-duty marines would eat, play cards, toss a ball around and maybe even play some music. As night was falling, and the heat dissipating, spirits in the sector were high. Barring the occasional cantankerous raincloud, like his CO.
"Can't help it, "Kyle said simply. "Every damn fight I get into." He looked toward the Elite bivouac on the other end of their ridge, glimmering purple and white by the glow of their fortifications. "Lazu went to report, I'm assuming?"
Len grimaced. "He wanted to report to you. But some cocky little Elite bureaucrat called Creth Base-Vicky or something caught onto him as soon as he arrived in camp, told him to go get debriefed. The bastard insisted." He kicked a loose stone. "Seems like we're not alone in the universe, you know?"
"Oh? How do you figure?"
"Humanity's not the only race that has obstructive little shits like him."
They both laughed, and then fell silent. After a minute, Len broke the silence. "Did Horatio, or-"
"No." Kyle sighed heavily, the sound unnaturally loud in the night air. "Nor Dasa or Gerun. If they're not here by dawn I'm going to have to list them as MIA."
"Fantastic." The unspoken knowledge lay between them-on big campaigns like this, the chances of a squadmate or squadmates returning to their unit after being separated decreased significantly. After a day. Both men silently, furiously prayed that their comrades were still out there on this red planet, alive and breathing.
Len thought of how uneager Horatio had been to go on this mission, and his obsession with finding this Captain Cutter and bringing him to justice. He had seemed so damn sure of himself. But now all of that had been left on the periphery. The enemy right now was the Covenant, and they would show no mercy. Although he tried not to think of his friend as a victim in all of this-being separated from the squad, alone for all he knew-Len still wished that he had deployed his pod differently, as ludicrous as the thought was. Then they might be stranded together.
Kyle thought of how ill-fated this mission had been from the beginning, and how the bad luck just kept piling up, like a sack of pigs heads on his family's cabin home back on Eridanus II. Funny, he hadn't thought of his old home in years. Not much use when it was nothing more than a smoking rock still spinning in the darkness of space. Nevertheless, part of him ached for that old, sentimental feeling, and he immediately sobered as he considered it further. It had been some time since he last lost a man under his command (Jim Setovic, Lance Corporal, blood type O-, Charybdis IX, born 11th of June 2516, died 28th of August 2533) but the message was clear. If a faint memory of home could move him like this, what would happen if more men died?
Both men pulled themselves from their thoughts, and Kyle clapped a hand on Len's shoulder. "Come on. You can tell me how you and Lazu were dumb enough to mess up a simple drop from orbit."
As Len began a furious tirade of excuses, Kyle's inner sergeant nodded in approval. Keep them focused, no matter what. ****************************************************
The slot canyon was lit up with the glaring, halogen-like illumination from the massive beacons the Elites had set up. From above, they were stupidly obvious, but the walls of the canyon denied any chances of the light being seen from the ground. Not that it really mattered: the scout teams had been thorough and vigilant. The surrounding mess of canyons, arroyos and gorges were devoid of Covenant, for now. This would give them time to prepare.
Seated with his back resting against the portside wall, Horatio grimaced as the Phantom dropped into a swift descent, and the bitter night wind only intensified. It filled the dropship's crew compartment with a spectre's howl. The other humans aboard, including Master Sergeant Massad, all swore and shivered as it cut through the layers of their fatigues. The Elites, clad in thick armour with heating coils, were spared the worst of it.
However, even the cold couldn't best the frustration that was welling up inside him. Briefly sated during that clusterfuck retaking of Sentinel Base and the subsequent extermination of the insects therein, it had now revived as soon as the sun began to dip towards the western horizon. Radio transmissions, though patchy, had all confirmed the same information: the allied armies had converged on a place called Futility Ridge, and now awaited the clash with their Covenant foes. Their little band of stragglers was, essentially, the only major group that had not yet joined the main force. All other unaccounted companies and operations teams had been written off as MIA, which didn't surprise Horatio in the least-when you were about to go to war, you couldn't waste time and dime looking for missing soldiers. It was something he'd become accustomed to during his time in the Corps. It didn't mean he liked it any better.
On the other hand, he knew that Dasa and Gerun were alive. That was something, at least. Maybe they weren't his favourite aliens (favourite aliens? There was an odd phrase for him), but it would be nice to see some familiar faces. Not to mention they were exceptionally good at their jobs, which translated to killing brutes, and lots of them.
Though even they might be outclassed by this gathering. As the Phantom lowered itself onto one of the makeshift airpads, he cast his solemn gaze out over the canyon, some three kilometers in length. The place was awash with Elites and the squid-like Engineers, all hard at work. Repairs were being made to damaged craft, and weapons were replaced and recharged. A clutch of familiar gold and silver domes at the centre of the hubbub marked the official command centre. That was where Horatio would be bound, to hell with what anyone else said. Dasa and Gerun would be there, no question.
The dropship's anti-gravity drive shut off with a murmur, and their pilot 'Gisku emerged from the cockpit, looking haggard. "I need a drink, "he muttered, and elbowed his way through the mass of marines and Elites trying to disembark. Horatio quickly stepped off the craft to avoid being crushed by an errant hoof, and hid his amusement at the pilot's statement. Get me a double, I think I've earned it.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, fall in!" Massad bawled. "The captain has some words for you muttonheads, so do him a solid and listen!" He snapped off a quick salute and fell silent, while the twenty-odd marine complement from the dropship stood at attention. The Elites, not wishing to stand about and listen to human platitudes, quickly vanished into the camp.
Jamison still looked like shit, and probably felt like it too, but his face betrayed none of this as he looked out over his men with an approving smile. "You men and women showed exemplary conduct and courage worthy of the UNSC and its servicemen. I'm proud of all of you, and it's been an honour to fight at your sides. Because of your efforts, we succeeded in containing a threat that might have eventually overrun this whole planet.
"As for the battle to come, I cannot tell you what the future holds. There will be deaths, many of them. War is war and that's a fact. However-" he know began to pace, focusing an intense stare on all present-"I have no doubt that if we all fight as hard as we did at the base, then victory is more than a possibility. It's a goddamn certainty." A few chuckles broke out at that.
Jamison now ceased his pacing and tucked his hands behind his back. "Stay smart, stay strong and work as a unit, and we will prevail. Now, the Elites have been kind enough to set up a bivouac for us not far from here. Ensure that you are all ready to move out when the time comes. Dismissed!" The marines broke up and began to move out towards their temporary encampment. The still-comatose body of Caputo was among them. Horatio's feeling of pride at hearing the captain's speech died instantly upon seeing her. They hadn't saved everyone.
Jamison looked about, and saw him still standing there. "Zerba? Something the matter, marine?"
Horatio nodded crisply, mind back on the present. "Sir, two members of my squad were reported being here. I'd like to accompany you to the command outpost and inquire as to their whereabouts." Usually he wouldn't speak so formally, but it neither did he usually stand privy to a gathering of the higher-ups. It couldn't hurt to be polite.
Jamison pursed his lips at hearing this. "I don't see the harm. Provided you only speak when spoken to. These are high-ranking members of the Xonnel we'll be meeting, understood?"
"Crystal, sir."
'Good." He saw Massad urging the last of the stragglers on, and called out. "Sergeant Massad! Private Zerba here wants to accompany us to the command meeting to find his squadmates. Does that stand alright with you?"
The burly sergeant cracked a grin. "Of course not, he's more than welcome." He quickly strode back to the dropship and pointed inside. "Just so long as you help pull your weight. Or to be more accurate, Vine's." He laughed at this, as if it were the most erudite piece of humour he'd ever heard.
Horatio groaned inwardly as he saw the lanky Ossoona stumble out of the Phantom, who groaned outwardly. They'd given him some painkillers and a bunch of stimulants, but these were temporary measures only and he couldn't stay on his feet much longer. Medical attention was needed, particularly for the cruel gashes the Ether queen had left on his arms. They might become infected.
Vine glared at each of them in turn. "I respect your right to be at this meeting, Captain, as the ranking human officer here. But these two cannot be accorded the same privilege! They are mere foot soldiers, and insolent ones at that." He folded his arms stoutly. "They will disrupt the proceedings. There is no doubt."
Massad's face darkened, and he was about to spit out a snarling retort, but Horatio beat him to it, who scoffed at this little speech and folded his arms in mockery of his detractor. "Vine, in the short time I've known you, you've proven yourself to be a complete asshole. Arrogant, self-centred and a tool besides. So tell me, what makes you think you're any better than us?" He threw his hands up in despair. "Hell, your bosses might prefer someone who hasn't got his head up his ass twenty-four seven."
The golden-eyed alien hissed like a cat, and stalked forward. "You dare-"
"Belay that!" Jamison shouted, loud enough for some other Elites to glance over. He swiftly stepped between the two quarrelers. "Private, put a latch on your tongue or you won't be coming at all! Vine, as the ranking human officer, the disposition of my men is within my authority and mine alone." He gave the Ossoona a final glower. "This is how it's going to be. So get used to it."
Vine, to his credit, leaned back and adopted an emotionless mask of consensus, mandibles drawn up tight. "Very well. But the consequences are yours to reap." He shoved past the humans, and limped into the crowd, heading for the tents.
'Noted, "Jamison muttered sardonically to himself, and together the sergeant, the private and the captain followed the hot-headed alien, to go discuss how the hell they were going to be of any help to their respective armies before the Covenant slaughtered them.
I'm getting too old for this shit, Horatio thought glumly. I need some goddamn shore leave. Proper shore leave. Not that little siesta in Russia. Something with a bar and women who have all their hair.
I'm getting too old for this khara, Massad thought tiredly. Should put my feet up after this campaign. Work a desk job at HIGHCOM, drill instructor or whatever they offer to old lags like me. It can't be that hard. I'm getting tired of this shit, " Stupid humans,
Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter-so awesome, it can only be handled in three pieces! Unfortunately, this puts an end to my writing for the next 3 weeks, as I shall be undergoing a pilgrimage to Africa, where the beast known as the computer is much rarer than it is here in Australia. So please, enjoy this little appetiser for the future, and please, please, PLEASE: rate and review! It shall pleaseth me. Have a good one, everyone, and wish me luck!