AN: Gloria in excelsis Deo! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Keep in mind the adjusted 2.65x scale to ships according to the video by Installation 00 on YouTube. I finally finished The Flood, and also finished a lot of SW EU books. Crimson Empire I is my favorite comic of all time right now. I’m more eager than ever to get this story finished because I really want to write the sequel. I created a TVTropes page for this fanfic, go crazy on there! Also I was grievously mistaken with my book not interfering with writing this fanfic. I’ve written 25k for my book in the time it took me to write this chapter to give you an idea. This Side Up: Freighting At The Edge Of Terran Space should be out sometime between February and May. I’m tentatively shooting for a March 25th release.
Taris
The building just a scant hundred meters in front of Lieutenant Fletcher buckled under the heavy fire of what he assumed were 175mm shells, satellite guided and very accurate. And like so many other buildings he’d seen in his long career in the Airborne, it came crashing down. A great plume of dust billowed across the ground to wash over the hunkered down paratroopers.
It was fortunate the techs had gotten his helmet working again, otherwise he’d be blinder than a bat in the dust which rolled over him in the pitch black night. Fletcher lowered down from the ledge of the crater he was currently occupying. He glanced into the corner of his HUD towards the mission clock. “Let’s move it people!”
Fletcher and his section of roughly twenty men had crawled over the half-klick stretch of destroyed ecumenopolis before the commencement of the assault. Thankfully, the Republic hadn’t been able to leave much in the way of traps or any defenses at all for that matter. They’d only had to silence the cries of wounded clones stuck in the no man’s land with the business ends of their bayonets and knives. After some rather anxious waiting, the four-forty battery opened up. The 440mm railgun launched shells absolutely obliterated the first line of Republic held territory. Being so close to the bombardment, as necessitated by the tempo of the assault, had left Fletcher’s large intestine a pound or two lighter.
Fletcher and his section scrambled up from the cover afforded to them by the thick rubble. The 175mm shells had stopped falling, before quickly picking up on the next set of buildings.
His MA40K carbine hung in low-ready as he maneuvered over the precarious terrain. This new advance marked the third hundred meter interval he and his section of 20 men had covered in the past thirty minutes. The speed and ferocity of the assault was paramount to its success. If Fletcher allowed his men to stop, to get hung up on anything whether it be fatigue or enemy resistance, the pace of the guns would outrun them, allowing Republic survivors to mount a resistance. Fighting against armored clone troopers entrenched in debris, no matter how combat effective, was not something the newly minted lieutenant wanted to do.
The section carefully picked their way across the desolate ruins of a once sprawling city block. A smoldering white-armored arm stuck out at an odd angle, buried under a pile of what once had been a cafe, twitching. Fletcher didn’t waste time deliberating if it was the struggling effort of a buried combatant or their death throes and unloaded a ten round burst into the mound of wreckage. The muzzle blast sprayed over his bayonet before abruptly stopping. He didn’t even stop to check the corpse, simply carrying on with his movement.
Similar sounds of sporadic gunfire were heard in the immediately neighboring kilometers until they blended with the overall chaos of battle. The UNSC wasn’t bothering with any lengthy door to door solicitations of enemy positions today. They were dropping the heavy end of the hammer on every square inch of Republic held territory.
Further ahead, he heard plasma fire open up, answered shortly by the staccato reports of assault rifles. He rushed ahead followed by his radiotelephone operator to the two man team he’d pushed out forward of his other men. “What the hell is the hold up!?”
“They’ve got a machine gun in that basement sir!” a breathless corporal yelled as Fletcher took cover beside him. A flurry of plasma whizzed over their heads at the noise they were making. His RATELO wasn’t far behind.
Fletcher muttered a deriding comment under his breath regarding the corporal while retrieving a frag grenade. “Follow my lead, then I want you to flank right.” He chucked the explosive towards the squat opening. The private followed his example and threw his own frag. Two piercing thumps later and Fletcher bellowed, “Move!” He peered over his cover and opened fire at the squat emplacement buried under the remains of a building. His RATELO followed suit with his M7 SMG.
“Moving!” The corporal bolted from their current cover alongside his partner, a private. Fletcher could already surmise the whole drill was unnecessary from the wisps of smoke emanating from the firing port, but it never hurt to make sure.
He had to admit the corporal made great time sprinting over. Fletcher had just reached the bottom of his 32 round mag when he made it to the side of the basement opening. Fletcher and his RATELO held their fire as the corporal tossed a frag in and slinked out of the way before opening fire again to keep any possible defenders pinned down..
A murky cloud blew outwards with the explosion. The corporal peeked inside. “Clear!”
Fletcher got up from cover after reloading. This night was indeed a fun one already.
“Now, where are those ODSTs?”
000
Private First Class Feng silently admired the Spartan team moving past his squad. They were the whole reason he enlisted, why he’d tried so damn hard during ODST selection and training. It was all because he wanted to eventually become one, and here was the Master Chief himself! Even though it was his first deployment, he felt his fears alleviated by the presence of the living legend.
With all that said, it was unnerving at how stiffly precise the movements of the Spartans were. That was something you never saw in the newsreels. While Feng and his squadmates had tersely chatted among themselves as they prepared for their incursion, Spartan Blue Team stood silently near the accessway. Though Feng surmised they had private comm channels between their team, to an outside observer it was like they were communicating telepathically. They moved like networked robots, passing ammunition amongst themselves, conferring with Sergeant Higgins only at random intervals.
“Quit gawking, Feng,” his squad leader scolded him over a private channel, ceasing his idle speculation. “We’re on the move.”
Feng got up from screwing with his BR55 and loaded a pristine magazine into the bullpup. He fell in behind the other members of his squad as they made their descent into the sewers.
“Smells like shit,” Feng’s battle buddy Private Baker commented.
“You sure your helmet seals are working, dumbass?” Feng replied.
“Quit your bitchin’, both of you,” Sergeant Higgins ordered, moving not far behind the Spartans. “I don’t think our iron giants appreciate you clogging up our comms.”
If the Spartans did have any complaints, they sure weren’t voicing them.
000
The UNSC had been quick to seize the storm drains, sewer systems, and underground tunnel systems running underneath their zone of control. Razor wire constricted accessways, sentry guns dominated long chokepoints, motion sensors covered wide swathes of territory, and patrols kept everything in order.
The effectiveness of this system had been proven by the fact that the Republic hadn’t bothered to send any additional forces after their initial probes had been repulsed.
The Spartans of Blue Team waded over the remains of such a team. The lifeless corpses aimlessly drifting in the knee deep pool of water mixed with viscera added an eerie silence to an otherwise bog standard infiltration mission.
The murky plash rippled under their deliberate movements, which was why they didn’t have their active camouflage modules activated currently. That, and the fact their increased thermal signatures would stick out like a sore thumb in the dank tunnel.
Accompanying them were a squad of ODSTs, whose presence would help to obfuscate the intent of the Spartans’ mission.
An ODST regiment would probe the Republic line aboveground in conjunction with those attacking from the sewers to feint an assault, which would give the Spartans the cover they needed in order to slip behind enemy lines.
Their goal was to destroy or commandeer Republic artillery pieces deep behind enemy lines, and do whatever they could to destroy the Republic ships from the ground.
“Blue Leader, this is Green Leader,” the voice of James-005 came in over SQUADCOM. “Hostile LP/OP twenty five meters ahead. Around the curve. Possible machine gun emplacement.”
John flashed a single green HUD light in acknowledgement and signaled Blue Team and their ODST entourage to double time it. Noise discipline was surprisingly kept as the infiltrators disturbed the surface of the water with armored bootsteps.
John, followed by the rest of Blue Team and the ODSTs, climbed concrete steps out of the mire onto solid ground. He glanced at his HUD’s mission clock. The assault was going to begin momentarily.
The Spartans, naturally, would go first. But John and the rest of the Spartans had concurred that using explosives in the sewers filled with potentially volatile gasses was not tactically sound, to say the least.
Red dots scurried about on his motion tracker. Nine contacts, only a single squad had been left to defend the underground junction. Blue Team and the ODSTs took up close positions behind the four Spartans of Green Team.
“Green Leader, take point,” John commanded, receiving a green wink of the HUD light in return.
The mission clock ticked on. T-minus five, four, three… two… one.
A loud crash rumbled into the sewer from aboveground, then another, then two more. It was the unmistakable impact of a barrage fired by a battery of M440 SPGs, more colloquially known as a four-forty. It was a giant artillery piece coincidentally armed with a 440mm railgun built on a modified M313 Elephant chassis. Depending on munitions type and charge level, it could fire ordinance both on ballistic and linear trajectories, giving it the ability to hit orbital as well as terrestrial targets.
Obviously, now it was hitting the former rather than the latter. That was their cue.
Clone troopers manning the checkpoint didn’t even have time to murmur amongst themselves as James-005, followed by Anton-044, Kirk-018, and Malcolm-059, rushed in guns blazing. Blue Team flowed in after them.
By the time John rounded the curve, he barely had time to sight in a target before Anton put an end to him with a cough from his MA6 rifle.
“Alright, this is our stop. Good hunting Sierras,” the ODST squad leader said. John gave him a fractional nod as the Spartans continued on with their sewer infiltration. The ODST sergeant gave a nod back and began leading his squad up a ladder into the battle now raging above.
“This new generation of ODSTs seem to like you better,” Cortana mused. “And from the 105th, nonetheless.”
John only gave a low grunt of agreement in response. “Green Team, take the left fork. We’ll rendezvous when we reach the objective.” John received three green acknowledgement lights in his HUD in return.
Blue and Green Teams split up upon reaching the fork in the tunnel, heading further and further away from each other as they made their way towards the Republic guns.
It was thirty kilometers to the nearest enemy artillery positions worth hitting, forty for the heavier ones. At a jog, they could be at the first positions within the hour, but their priority would be the heavy plasma beam pieces which had to power to cut up the fleet hovering in the atmosphere.
Doing so, and then destroying the artillery pieces, would also allow the UNSC fleet to move closer in orbit to provide support from there. Then, the Spartans would scatter to hit various command and control centers which had been identified through signals intelligence and aerospace reconnaissance.
They had their work cut out for them, that was for sure.
UNSC Warhound
Admiral White stood on the bridge, closely illuminated by the holographic tactical display.
“Four hundred bogeys and counting on the scope,” Lieutenant Portier said. “Some of them are already in bad shape.”
White glowered at the display, hundreds of red illuminated shapes dotting the projection played shadows across the creases of his face. “Admiral Trench should be hot on their heels.”
“Yes sir, they should be here within the next couple of hours.”
“The Liberty reports continued confusion within the Republic fleet regarding the chain of command,” MacArthur commented idly as he listened in on both the UNSC and Republic networks. “It also seems they’re hesitant to make a move for the planet.”
“I’d be mighty hesitant too, MacArthur, if I had to go head to head with the Infinity.” Captain Haithum commented. The Infinity had also disgorged her complement of ten Strident heavy frigates. The Infinity’s Forerunner engines had necessitated that ability as the Eternity was the only other ship in the UNSC Navy that could match her FTL speeds. Though as formidable as the Infinity was, an operational tempo matching her engines was hard pressed to be maintained by a single vessel.
“What about the ships that made it to the ground? Have they gotten any transmissions out?” White asked.
“Negative, sir. With Admiral Cole regrouped, our jamming blanket is smothering the whole planet,” MacArthur replied.
“What about our Spartan teams? Capturing their beam artillery pieces is the only way we’ll be able to put that fleet out of action with minimal casualties and collateral damage.”
MacArthur paused for a split second as streaming lights of data pulsated up and down his avatar. “They’ve just begun their infiltration. Field Marshall Schwarz is also pushing up heavy surface-to-aerospace weapons to harass the smaller Republic vessels in the atmosphere. The Republic forces have strict standing orders from their Governor-General Tanniel himself not to fire at Taris’s surface.”
“I’d understand why they’d have a vested interest in not slagging their own planet,” White said grimly. “Too bad that didn’t extend to our own. Lieutenant Portier, make sure our bombers get rearmed and flying. Same goes for our fighters.”
“Aye sir.”
“And see what the Chief Engineer says about getting that MAC gun back in the fight. We’ll need all the firepower we can get,” Haithum added.
“Aye aye sir.”
Back in the war against the Covenant, it wasn’t all too common to have fried MACs like that other than from the EMP backwash of nearby nuclear detonations, mostly because getting hit by Covenant weaponry was almost always a death sentence. The so-called ‘ion cannons’ employed by both native sides in the Andromeda conflict had wreaked havoc on the superconducting coils of the MAC running parallel beneath the dorsal surface of the Warhound. Among other maladies inflicted by the weapons were fusing conductors together as a result of the heat generated by the charge running through it.
If they were lucky, they could get it up and running within the hour, albeit at a lower capability than standard, but running nonetheless. Worst case scenario, the whole construction would have to be removed and rebuilt. Not something expedient on a shifting battlefield.
White turned away from the tactical display and towards his AI. “MacArthur, I want damage assessments from across the fleet compiled ASAP. We need to reform our defensive posture so if those Republic bastards decide to come, we’ll be ready to greet them.”
“Sir, if I might suggest adding more pressure onto them using Admiral Kristiansen’s forces? Doing so is likely to dissuade any offensive thinking of theirs.”
Admiral White stroked his chin. “I concur with your assessment. I want the Admiral to do a pinpoint jump into the rear of their formation, hit them with a few MAC volleys, and then jump back to regroup with the rest of the fleet. Send the orders down, MacArthur.”
“Yes sir.”
“Admiral Cole is hailing us sir!” Lieutenant Portier.
“Put him on.” White nodded.
“Aye sir, patching him in now.”
Fleet Admiral Cole’s face appeared on White’s command console. “Admiral, as you’re well aware, we only have 250 ships left fully combat capable.”
“Yes sir, which is why I ordered Admiral Kristiansen to prod at the Republic forces gathered at the edge of the system to drive them off.”
“Belay that order, Admiral.”
“Sir?” White knitted his brows together. “If we leave them-”
“I’d rather destroy them here and now,” Cole’s voice came coolly through the video feed, “than have our allies deal with them later. If we force a retreat from them, they’ll be the first to attack Taris once we hand things over to the Confederacy.”
“Sir, we’ve taken nearly sixty percent casualties.” White had to do everything in his power to prevent his clipped inflection from becoming a snarl. “I won’t have any of my men die unnecessarily. Our duty is to Earth and her colonies, first and foremost.”
“I agree, which is why we’re going to permit them to attack if they decide upon that course of action. Every Republic vessel we destroy today could decide the fate of any number of battles across not only the Hydian route, but the entirety of Andromeda. Admiral Trench will be here within hours to assist us if need be. You will order Admiral Kristiansen personally to rejoin the fleet over Taris. Admiral Cole, out.”
“Admiral-” White said before the face of his superior winked out. White scowled at the now-blank monitor. He let out a sigh through gritted teeth before relenting.
“MacArthur, relay Admiral Cole’s orders.”
“He’s right, you know,” MacArthur said.
“Interesting you’ve changed your mind about prolonging the battle, considering who you patterned yourself off of. Relay the orders, MacArthur.”
The AI’s adjusted the pipe from one side to another in the mouth of its avatar. “Aye sir.”
White would have some choice words for Fleet Admiral Cole once the battle was over.
Taris
Aayla sat atop a low cargo crate, stooped over with elbows on knees, palms on forehead. The past day- or had it been two days? The past weeks had left her with a headache. The appearance of a beleaguered Republic strike force in the atmosphere hadn’t done anything to assuage her malaise, only serving to heighten it if anything. She used a Jedi relaxation technique to alleviate some of the mental strain placed upon her by the demands of her duty.
“General Secura! General Secura!” An increasingly close voice called from outside her makeshift billet.
Aayla craned her head towards the sound. The flap segregating her room from the rest of the ad hoc headquarters flew open at the swiping of an intruding hand. “General Secura?”
“Yes?” Aayla raised an eyebrow but kept a patient tone.
“There’s a ship for you, General,” the clone reported eagerly. “You’ve been ordered back to Coruscant.”
Aayla’s raised eyebrow raised yet further. “Why is that? How is that?”
“I think it would be easiest if you came with me, General.”
The Jedi Master hesitated for a moment before relenting. She dragged Force-invigorated muscles off her perch and accompanied the clone to the clearing adjacent to the impromptu command center.
Aayla found herself surprised, then annoyed, to find the area empty. “Trooper, I hardly have the time-” She could sense something there. Crewers moving about a ship, tending to their various duties.
“Right here General.” As the clone finished his sentence, the IPV-2C Stealth Corvette seemingly materialized out of thin air. The gangway extended in front of her as if her presence prompted a greeting.
“General,” a clone dressed in black armor saluted, which Aayla promptly returned. He extended his hand with a holodisk in its grasp. “Orders straight from Coruscant.”
She gingerly took the device in her hands and an image beamed to life as she activated it. Glancing over it, it left no room for doubt or hesitation, precluding both her personal concern for the men under her command as well as the outcome of the battle. It was straight from the Jedi Council.
“I suppose I have no choice in this matter,” Aayla said solemnly, keeping her gaze fixed on the message. The clone nodded in confirmation. “Who will take command? Has anyone else been notified?”
“I don’t know, but I do know that time is of the essence, General. The longer we stay landed the greater our chances at being detected are.”
Aayla nodded grimly and preceded the black armored clone up the steps. Once the clone was aboard, the hatchway sealed and the cloak was engaged.
“I don’t suppose I was the only reason you were sent?” Aayla tentatively asked.
“No, General. We’ve been relaying messages for hours between the fleet which retreated here and those in atmosphere.” The clone shrugged. “If you ask me, they don’t have an icicle’s odds in Chaos of breaking out of here. You can turn in towards the cargo hold, General. I’m sure you’re tired.”
Finding an appropriate space for towards the aft section, she was surprised to see the clone commandos of Delta Squad already nestled as comfortably as they could in the cargo hold.
“General,” they each said simultaneously while straightening out before relaxing at Aayla’s restraining hand wave.
“Has your squad been ordered back to Coruscant as well, Sergeant?”
“Yes General, considering we were the only commando squad which made it back from the Terran system, they consider our intelligence invaluable,” Boss informed.
“Yeah, wouldn’t that be a first? Besides, this battle isn’t for us commandos anyway. Those Terrans are doing an astral job of slagging the grunts with artillery,” Scorch said with a macabre sense of humor.
“Not like they need another stoopa like you running around,” Sev said.
“Cut the chatter, both of you. We got orders, and we’re following them,” Fixer ordered.
The compartment was bathed in red as the emergency lights kicked in. Aayla felt the deck shudder beneath her feet as the repulsorlifts deactivated and the sublight drives fired up.
“We’ve broken through the atmosphere, we are undetected,” the voice of the ship’s captain came over the intercom. “Get cozy, our next stop is Coruscant.”
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Though the words were meant to be reassuring, Aayla wouldn’t let her guard down until they’d entered hyperspace. Even then, there was no telling what could be waiting for them at Coruscant if the Terrans were able to attack Taris.
“I’d get some rest, General. No telling when you’ll be able to next,” Boss encouraged, lying his head against a crate.
“Thank you for your concern, Sergeant,” Aayla replied. “Boss,” she added. She’d realized this was one of the first times she’d called him by his name. “I will make sure we depart safely and then meditate.”
Boss gave a curt grunt and closed his eyes, mumbling, “Must be one of those crazy Jedi things…”
If Aayla had heard the comment, she gave it no mind as she walked towards the cockpit. When she made it there, her heart sank at the sight which met her eyes.
They were only a few kilometers distant from the nearest Terran warship. It had been scarred by turbolaser fire but was still ready to fight, staring down the Republic fleet trying to regroup at the edge of the system. A fleet which had only just now popped back up on the stealth ship’s sensors as it left the jamming field caused by the UNSC fleet.
“Ah, General Secura,” the pilot glanced back at her before resuming his duties. “Don’t worry, we’re undetected. So far.”
“We’ll see about that, Commander.”
“I’ll put us into a slingshot orbit to the opposite hemisphere and get us out of here. Then we’re home free.”
Aayla nodded, though her heart was still pounding. During the battle for the Terran colony, no ship had gotten this close unscathed. Even from where she was standing, she could see the individual weapons mounts on the beastly vessel which filled the viewport.
Fear filled her mind, fear which she quickly dispelled through her Jedi training. Fear which was unfounded as the stealth ship made it around Taris and away from the planet without incident. Fear which disappeared entirely as the IPV-2C’s hyperdrives transformed the constellations of stars into starlines, and then coagulated into the mottled blue-white of hyperspace.
Though she didn’t know her fate if she’d stayed behind, Aayla felt as though she had once again cheated death at the hands of the Terrans.
000
“We’re taking heavy fire from machine gun emplacements, I need strikes on the blocking positions I’ve marked, otherwise I’m assaulting them in two minutes!” Fletcher yelled into the handset connected to the manpack radio as his RATELO continually scanned the environs surrounding the small shell hole. Though he could’ve broadcast the message using the comm suite native to his armor, he wanted to make sure it would punch through any jamming Republic forces might’ve set up.
“Easy 1-6, this is Easy 6. Calm down, Lieutenant. Call in an airstrike while the skies are clear, over,” Captain Springer replied.
“Easy 1-6 copies your last, Easy 6. Easy 1-6, out.” Fletcher blinked hard and shook his head. He was wired up on combat stims to keep him awake, and the human mind could only take so much fatigue.
As the artillery fire walked further along their corridor of advance, they had left some fortifications intact in their wake. Two of Fletcher’s men got cut down in the crossfire. Another two were lost in the subsequent effort to retrieve them.
The fortifications had been unrelenting in unleashing their furious lances of plasma As near as he could tell, it was a string of bunkers which had been built onto the ground floors of some of the buildings which had since collapsed. That made it all the more difficult to identify, but after some tense peeking, he’d been able to mark out the most likely spots barely a hundred meters away.
Even with their armor and shields and their good cover, it would be suicide to call in an airstrike from something like a Longsword at this distance. It’d have to be from a Hornet or a Sparrowhawk. Fletcher pulled up the TACMAP on his HUD and scanned for units operating in the area. Since the UNSC was a highly networked military force, he had real time reports from a variety of assets, from ships in orbit to supply depots on the ground. Those reports included available munitions on close air support assets.
Finding a pair of idle Sparrowhawks, he opened a broadcast. “Eagle 1-1, stand by for five-line.”
After a moment he received a reply. “Roger Easy 1-6, standing by.”
“Five-line is as follows. Type two control. Method of attack, bravo oscar tango, missiles and guns. My position is fifty meters west of Phase Line Echo, marked by IFFs. Target location, Phase Line Echo. Targets are three infantry bunkers covered in rubble, marked by waypoints. Danger close.”
“Eagle 1-1 copies. Target location, Phase Line Echo. Danger close.”
“Good readback. Clear to push.”
“Pushing.”
Over the rest of the clangor, Fletcher didn’t hear the Sparrowhawks approach, but he could very well see them on his HUD.
He turned to face friendly lines from which they’d advanced. He made visual contact, barely making them out from the rest of the clutter as they popped above a building to minimize their exposure to enemy AA.
“Visual.” Eagle 1-1 said as he spotted Fletcher’s men. “Tally target.”
“In.”
“Clear hot.”
Five kilometers away, twelve A-74 Sylver missiles streaked forward, accompanied by a flurry of 25mm Gauss cannon fire from the pair of aircraft. Fletcher stooped lower into his cover as the coilgun slugs whizzed overhead and hit first, followed by a dozen booming shockwaves.
Certain the line of fire was clear, he peered over the lip of the crater. Smoldering ruins were all that was left of the squat structures he’d painstakingly located.
“Good effect. Standby for BDA.”
“Egressing west.”
“Fortifications destroyed.”
“Returning to BP Akono.”
Fletcher was grateful for the help. He sidled over the crater and beckoned his men to follow him. Upon closer inspection, the machine gun positions were toast.
“Let’s move it! Quadruple time, First Platoon!” Fletcher hurried towards the giant clouds of dust bursting into the air a few hundred meters ahead. Set to contact fuzes, the artillery ground bursts were much more effective against the various structures occupied by the enemy. It also had the added benefit of being easier to spot.
Soon enough, he came up behind friendly IFFs. Fletcher instinctively lowered himself into a crouch, he wasn’t trying to make some marksman’s job easy, and slid down into whatever hole they were occupying.
“Took you Airborne boys long enough,” one of them said, not taking his eyes off of whatever he was looking at.
“You’re the first ODSTs I’ve seen all night, Sergeant,” Fletcher responded. “I didn’t see any of you hurrying to take a plasma burst to the face.”
“Yeah, cuz we went around,” another ODST said, prompting a chuckle from the other ODSTs lined up along a makeshift dirt parapet. To Fletcher’s ears, he sounded young.
He opted to ignore his jibe as the rest of 1st Platoon arrived. “What’s the situation?”
“We’re hammering them with all we got, but that’s no surprise.” The ODST let out a slight chuckle. “I was monitoring your advance on the battlenet, it seems like running into heavier fortifications is going to be a problem from here on out.”
“Damn,” Fletcher said. “We’ve only got a klick to go. Do you have any thermobarics with you?”
“Yeah, our weapons squad has a few thermo rockets for the Spankers,” the ODST sergeant said. Fletcher joined him in his observation of the enemy positions.
It was a total maelstrom. Two hundred meters away, an artillery shell buried itself deep into a four story building and blew outwards. Fletcher instinctively ducked as a pall of dust veiled the ground in an expanding shroud and pebbles flung past.
He peeked his head up again, the top of the building had been blown apart, but the first floor was still standing. He glanced in the corner of his HUD to check the time, then noticed the hue of the sky as slashes of dawn bounced off the atmosphere.
“The guns are gonna shift soon.” He commented to no one in particular. His RATELO slid into the hole, scraping the back of the radio on the side of the ditch.
“I’ve got thermal sigs in that area. Must be their militia types, the ones without the clone armor.”
Fletcher grinned. The ‘Planetary Defense Forces’ as they were usually called were nowhere near as tenacious or skilled as the Republic clones, at least the ones on a planet which hadn’t seen any fighting the whole war. “Yeah, I know the ones. Alright. Once our guns shift east, hit their positions with your rockets and my men will advance up and secure the area.”
“Sounds like a plan, sir.” The ODST said, just now noticing his rank.
Fletcher broadcast his orders and his section, now reduced to squad strength, rallied on him. He spitballed game plans and then they waited.
He glanced at his HUD’s timer. “Let’s move!” he yelled before the last shell had yet to impact.
The ODSTs, acting as their base of fire element, began laying down a hailstorm of bullets while the paratroopers slipped in from the right through what had once been a causeway.
About halfway to the fortified locale, UNSC shells shifted further away. That was the signal for the ODSTs to launch their thermobaric rockets. Contrails followed behind the rockets until they impacted into a lurid conflagration. Perfectly aimed rockets entered the fortified areas, killing everyone inside.
“Charle 3, shift fire!” Fletcher called out as they neared the seemingly destroyed strong points. The ODSTs found something else to shoot at, or stopped firing entirely and scanned for targets.
Fletcher and his men assessed the ruins for an access point, but found none. They settled on tossing frags wherever they could and decided it was as good as clear.
“Charlie 3, you’re clear to advance.”
As smoke cleared and the dust began to settle in the immediate vicinity, Fletcher was glad that where maneuver was lacking in the dense ecumenopolis, firepower more than made up for.
000
It was dusk now. The Spartans had made it to the positions of the massive Republic artillery pieces hours ago, but were under new orders from Fleet Admiral Cole to wait.
John would’ve been hesitant about the orders if it weren’t for the fact the pair of beam pieces posed no immediate and direct threat to the advancing ground forces. The massive artillery vehicles hadn’t fired the entire time they were under observation. That didn’t mean they weren’t doing anything, however. They posed a danger to any aircraft and orbiting UNSC vessels in the area so much so that no strikes had been attempted on the Republic ships hovering in the atmosphere.
With their restricting orders from the fleet, Blue Team had to content themselves with observing and reporting. Although one thing which John always appreciated was being able to gain the benefit of better intel. After rendezvousing with Green Team, targets had been decided upon between the two teams.
John heard the unmistakable hypersonic crack of a capital grade coilgun. The ground forces had been successful in bringing up their heavy firepower.
“There’s our cue.” Cortana said, broadcasting to the rest of Blue Team as well. “Get me access to that central command post and I should be able to take control of the fire control for the entire battery.”
The Spartans gave each other affirmative winks with their HUD status lights. John, Kelly, and Fred stalked towards their target under the cloak of active camouflage while Linda provided overwatch.
While avoiding increasingly alarmed enemy patrols, the Spartans of Blue Team converged on their objective from the separate observation posts they’d nestled into.
The command post appeared to John to be nothing more than a makeshift instacrete shell dropped over a prefabricated piece of Republic equipment. The Spartans all stacked up on one entrance rather than splitting up so as to not leave one of the trio without a partner. John saw at least a dozen contacts on his motion sensor, and none in what would be the corners of the room. That didn’t mean he’d let his guard down, however.
“Can you get this door open?” John asked Cortana.
“Is there a door I can’t open?” Cortana replied rhetorically.
“Don’t provoke her, Blue Lead.” Fred quipped. “We don’t need an angry AI, especially a metastable one, to add to our problems.”
John was almost amused. He touched the door panel.
“Unlocked.” Cortana said promptly. Though her avatar wasn’t projected into his HUD, he knew she snapped her fingers.
John looked at Kelly’s silhouette, her camouflaged armor outlined by his HUD, and locked her gaze. He held up two fingers and made a sideways cut towards the command post.
Leading the rest, John swept in. It was a circular room, jarringly encased by the instacrete box. Clones sat at their stations, monitoring the situation. Radio chatter resounded off the walls of the squat construction.
There was no way they were sneaking around such a confined space, active camo or not. John was the first to fire, hitting the guard to his left, followed shortly by Kelly hitting the guard to his right as Fred kept watch over their rear.
Sharp booms reverberated around the enclosed space. John cut down the other two guards on the opposite side of the room with his MA5C. Kelly racked her shotgun as flechette darts sliced through plastoid armor.
Now uncloaked, John dove for cover while he reloaded as a plasma bolt splashed over his shields. One of the clones jolted from his station to find cover behind a computer bank.
Kelly pivoted and rapidly shot at the clone, who subsequently jolted back. She racked her shotgun with incredible speed. “Reloading,” she said, kneeling behind a console.
“Covering.” John came up over his cover and opened fire in short bursts, giving Kelly a chance to feed more shells into her weapon. Two more clones began to fire back to little effect. John shifted his aim and caught one in the helmet, shattering the visor in a red mist and suppressing the other.
Crouched as low as she could get, Kelly went around the side and unceremoniously put down the remainder. She flashed her green HUD light thrice, indicating all clear. John and Fred replied in kind.
“There, that’s the fire control for the artillery battery.” Cortana marked a console on John’s HUD. He transferred her over into the system and she got to work while Kelly and Fred watched the two doors.
John could hear muffled muzzle reports from outside, no doubt the work of Linda and Green Team. Green Team’s part of the plan was to take direct control over the pair of SPHA-T vehicles to hedge against any attempt by their crews to disable them from inside.
“There! I’ve got it!” Cortana reported jubilantly. Blue beams burst into existence, the Republic heavy artillery lanced towards the ships hovering in the atmosphere and soon cut down those which were in their line of sight.
John reached out to retrieve Cortana before she yelled, “Wait!”
John paused with his hand in midair. “What is it?”
“The fleet, it’s moving! They’re orienting to break orbit!”
UNSC Warhound
Blue-white actinic streaks shot out into the void, missiles filled the vacuum of space, and fighters clashed above Taris. Light emitted by coilguns, railguns, lasers, and plasma cannons all coalesced into garish nebulae.
The dithering Republic fleet had gotten their heads together, regrouped, and joined the fray. That wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t until Lieutenant Portier had called out “Contacts breaking orbit!” that the bridge was sent into a fresh frenzy of activity. Captain Haithum barked out orders, weapon statuses streamed in, and communications between the ships of the fleet buzzed about.
It was unexpected, but not unprepared for. Admiral White wasn’t sure if they’d been able to coordinate their movements with each other through the substantial jamming or if those hunkered down in the atmosphere were simply spurred on by their brothers in vacuum. White gritted his teeth, deciding to let the spooks figure that one out. The one thing which remained a constant in the back of White’s mind through all the chaos was the position of the Infinity.
With the Infinity orientated towards the enemies which had stopped momentarily in their headlong retreat towards Brentaal IV, it had been out of the equation for a moment. It was just now coming into position alongside the dozen paltry frigates left behind to deter the bottled up enemy fleet from breaking orbit.
“Hard burn to starboard!” Captain Haithum yelled towards Lieutenant Jackson as blistering plasma bolts boiled off sections of Titanium-A.
Admiral White gripped the railing which bordered the expansive tactical screen as the gravity shifted beneath his boots. “Admiral Lasky, prioritize the Venator and Imperator types, they’ll chew our flanks apart if they close in on us.”
“Yes sir,” Rear Admiral Lasky said. “Engaging now.”
The Infinity was more than up to the task against a dozen and a half Republic cruisers. White had no doubt her ten Strident heavy frigate escorts could’ve done the job, but she was the only ship in the fleet with the ability to put out a fully charged SMAC barrage every five seconds.
White turned his attention towards the battle in front of him, already imagining the Infinity unceremoniously stopping the enemy dead in their tracks. Even temporarily separated from the Infinity’s firepower, bolstered by the forces of Rear Admirals Sukenori and Kristiansen, UNSC forces were putting up a fierce resistance.
They had been outnumbered two to one quantitatively, not qualitatively. Outnumbered, but not outgunned. A cohesive UNSC force coming up against a motley group of already battle-weary fleets resulted in a paring down of Republic numbers to near-equilibrium, with the Infinity able to take credit for a substantial portion of those kills.
“Titanium Tub, concentrate your fire on that Secutor!” White exclaimed, designated the mentioned target as a Paris-class heavy frigate’s engines pulsed between life and death.
The Titanium Tub fired, but it was too late. A furious broadside fusillade from the Secutor cleaved through the delicate looking engine nacelles, pierced into the reactor, and blew the ship into smithereens. The Warhound herself fired one of its MACs to finish off the Secutor.
White stepped back from the tactical display for a moment to get his situational awareness readjusted. What he had originally thought at a glance were a pair of Imperator-types hammering away at a Marathon and its escorts were actually Tector-types. The so-called Tector-class star destroyers had the same silhouette as the Imperators, but lacked the ventral hangars of the latter in favor of more armor around its ventral side and reactor.
Their combined fire gnawed away at the Marathon’s port face. One of them received direct hits from the heavy cruiser’s MAC pair before getting finished off by salvo after salvo of naval coilgun slugs and missiles. The last Tector orientated itself to bring even more firepower to bear.
“Swiftness, cover your cruiser!” Admiral White broadcast to one of the Strident heavy frigate escorts.
The frigate’s thrusters gained a new intensity to its blue-white hue as it tried in vain to cover the Marathon. It didn’t make it in time. The already weakened Marathon was unable to withstand the savage bombardment of the Tector. Fireballs blossomed across the heavy cruiser’s port until they congealed into one massive inferno which engulfed the ship in its entirety. Republic bombers swarmed in to take advantage of the newly created gap.
As a trio of vibrations shook the deck beneath his boots to take another Imperator down, White realized they were trying to pry open the tight UNSC defensive formation.
He was about to issue new orders before Admiral Cole beat him to it. “Admiral White, move your forces into position at these coordinates.”
“Yes sir,” he said without hesitation. “Cruisers, maintain clusters and form up around the Warhound at these coordinates.”
White’s forces moved up from the rear of the UNSC formation closer to the fray. Plasma splashed against the Warhound, which was near-constantly rotating to even out the damage to its armor plating. Fire from point defense guns filled the void with glowing streaks of light, tracking targets in pirouettes of death. White thought Lieutenant Portier’s voice would break before the alarms warning of missile launches did.
Venators, Acclamators, and various other smaller ships were tearing through the frigates left without their Marathon cruiser at close range. Two salvos from White’s battlegroup put an end to their attempt at a breakthrough. He turned towards MacArthur. “Get me firing solutions for our remaining nukes and concentrate-”
“New contacts dropping out of hyperspace!” Lieutenant Portier shrieked.
Admiral White whirled away from the projection of MacArthur’s avatar to the tactical display. They weren’t Republic contacts…
A series of clicks broadcast over the fleet, not mechanical or electronic, but organic, sent a chill down White’s spine. The appearance of an image of a gargantuan spider creature made White’s heart skip a beat.
“This is Admiral Trench of the Confederacy of Independent Systems,” the spider creature chittered again. White only now realized it was half covered with cybernetics. “I am ready to assist.”
Cole was first to reply. “This is Fleet Admiral Cole, I’m transmitting orders to you now, Admiral.”
“Confirmed,” the alien clucked. “I will move to hit their flanks, we shall taste the fruits of yet another victory today.”
Realizing they were now sandwiched between two hostile forces, the Republic line began to falter. Some ships broke off their attacks and tried to make a break for it. Others seemed to be confused, hesitating between advancing and fleeing. Their time for a decision was getting smaller and smaller as Admiral Trench brought the Separatist fleet around, cinching the noose tighter and tighter.
“MacArthur, get those targeting solutions and concentrate them on their central clusters,” White ordered with his attention glued to the display. The CIS forces were still a few minutes away, giving the Republic fleet time to disengage and retreat, but White wanted to make sure as few ships got away as possible.
The Infinity had finished mopping up the fleet which tried to escape Taris and was now rejoining the rest of the UNSC forces.
“Infinity,” came Admiral Cole’s voice, “move to the coordinates I’ve indicated to the edge of our formation.” It was plain to White that Admiral Cole planned to cut off, or harass at the very least, the Republic retreat.
The UNSC fleet was hot on the retreating fleet’s heels, lancing out with bolts of metal and plasma. Shunting all surplus power to their aft shields, the remaining hundred fifty vessels were able to shrug off more MAC rounds than usual. Though against the Infinity’s SMACs, they resisted to no avail.
Eventually, single ships began to jump out of the system haphazardly. As the last ship jumped out of the Taris system, it was as if a veil had been lifted from the bridge and across the fleet as cheers erupted briefly. Relief replaced tension. It was time to regroup, repair, and rearm.
White let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. The bridge crew sat at their stations. Out of the roughly five hundred ships that had retreated there, only one hundred made it out. Those ships would be replaced, of course, at an alarmingly faster rate than could be matched by the UNSC. They’d come into the system with hundreds of ships, but only 171 remained combat capable.
A part of White was almost appalled by the bloodshed, mainly due to the fact it was violence carried out against his fellow humans. Unlike the almost three decades of war against the Covenant, this wasn’t a war of survival. At least, it didn’t seem so.
He suppressed that scruple, they were the enemy. The enemy had carried out an act unmatched in brutality but by the aliens who had killed billions of humans. The enemy wanted to subjugate Earth and her colonies, to bring her under the thumb of an uncaring galactic monolith. White, and those under his command, couldn’t let that happen.
That was what they were fighting for.
Taris
“There! Hit that squad in the open!” Fletcher yelled. “On that marker!”
The enemy hadn’t even bothered to evacuate their ground forces before fleeing the planet. They were assaulting UNSC positions with such ferociousness that Fletcher wished someone had given them the memo to surrender. The Republic was throwing everything against them. Infantry, armor, whatever aircraft hadn’t left with their fleet. It was madness. If he had to bet on it, he thought they were trying to get to the spaceport captured all the way at the start of the invasion. Fat chance of that happening.
Fletcher held his carbine tightly as it barked out a burst towards a squad maneuvering between lanes of fire. His men had dug themselves into the rubble alongside a string of buildings and waited until the Republic forces had decided to press the attack.
He ducked as a plasma bolt struck his shields, a following stream of plasma fire boiling the air where he’d just been. “If that tank platoon doesn’t get here, we’ll have to blow that building ourselves!”
They were continually taking heavy fire from a two story building which dominated the vast fields of rubble for a few hundred meters. Fletcher couldn’t get ahold of any air support, so they were stuck sitting next to a building of their own.
Fletcher beckoned the rest of his men to follow him as he crawled low away from the company HQ, going through a mousehole knocked into the side of a building and further down the breadth of the line. Relocated, he popped up again and began firing at likely targets in the distance.
He glanced over at his motion tracker, no contacts within 150 meters. At least, no moving contacts. He peered over the lip of the trench to see a sizable cloud of dust being driven up off the ground. Switching his HUD to thermals, it was a cluster of over three dozen Republic recon walkers making a mad dash for the defensive line.
Their long, loping strides carried them over the rough terrain with a nimble grace the likes of which Fletcher had never seen before.
After a split second of awe, he instinctively began firing at the targets. Coming head on, they weren’t much of a challenge to hit even with their blinding speed. Killing them, however, was another matter. As they closed the distance to 300 meters. A rocket shot out to catch one in the frontal arc, blowing the driver to bits.
They were closing even faster than Fletcher had initially thought. In about six seconds they halved the distance between them, and more Republic armor was pouring in. As one made it to within a hundred meters, he was able to shoot out its exposed driver, causing the walker to crash to the ground. He desperately emptied a magazine at one striding even closer towards him.
The walker leaped into the air over the trench, seemingly ignoring Fletcher. By the time Fletcher reloaded, he had more pressing things to worry about. He looked up to see an enemy hovertank speeding in.
Another rocket flew out of a third story window to narrowly intercept it as it sped past, penetrating the more thinly armored top to send it careening into a nearby storefront as the infantry who’d clung onto whatever available surface of it got thrown off.
Suddenly a boom came from behind him, followed shortly by an erupting gout of flame on the enemy controlled building.
He twisted his head around to see a platoon of M820 Scorpions unloading their 150mm cannons towards the enemy. The armor had finally made their way around all the obstacles inherent to urban warfare and joined the frontlines. As they tore a Republic beetle walker to shreds, Fletcher mentally shrugged away his concerns regarding their proximity to the front instead of at a distance where they’d be less susceptible to enemy AT weapons.
A near miss from what he presumed was the underslung plasma cannon of one of their recon walkers frazzled his shields and drove him to cover, snapping him out of his admiration of the armor. Before he was clear of enemy fire, another bolt hit him, popping his shields and slamming him against the wall of the trench.
He sat waiting for his shields to recharge, arm aching madly. Glancing at his motion tracker, he saw a red blob approaching rapidly. In fact, it was practically on top of him.
His peripheral vision seized his attention. Fletcher whirled his head around in time to see his RATELO’s midsection caved in by a walker which had leapt into the midst of the trench. He recoiled momentarily in shock. The last time he’d seen something like that had been back on Reach after his other platoon leader had caught the business edge of a Hunter’s shield arm.
Fletcher brought his carbine up, but not before the underslung cannon blew out his shields and vaporized his leg at the kneecap. He let out a grunt as gravity brought low what was no longer supported. Blood flowed freely from the not entirely cauterized wound. Yelling out, he brought his carbine up with one hand, his other having long since gripped the dirt in pain and for stability.
He felt another bolt stitch a line up the dirt towards his support arm. Armor plating gave way under the intense heat. Flesh and bone fared no better. Screaming in defiance, he shot wildly while racked with pain. Some shots missed, but enough found their mark in the white armored driver to cause him to slump over the controls of the walker.
It wasn’t long before a medic attended to his wounds, but Fletcher gritted his teeth at his tough luck. After they jabbed him with painkillers and sprayed biofoam, he got dragged out of the trench in a stretcher towards a casualty collection point.
Weaving low between decrepit buildings and piles of rubble, he caught only short glimpses of combat. As it receded from his vision, even if he wasn’t quite in the clear yet, he knew the battle had been won.
000
John stared out, down towards the planet below. During the war against the Covenant, he’d stared at many planets not unlike this one after a battle. The difference now was that he wasn’t being forced to retreat and watch it be burned to cinders. This time, they’d won. The UNSC’s first major operation in the Andromeda galaxy had been a resounding success.
John and Fred stood side by side in silence. Kelly and Linda were still at the armory getting the MJOLNIR checked out.
“Fleet Admiral Cole will be ready for you in a moment,” one of the guards said. John gave him a fractional nod.
“Still not used to all the attention?” Cortana teased.
“It comes and goes,” John said, turning his focus back onto the world below.
“Not unlike some of the colonies, minus the planet wide city, of course,” Cortana observed about the planet.
“There’s a lot of things in this galaxy similar to our own,” Fred remarked.
“Humanity among them,” Cortana said wryly. “Though I have my own theories regarding that.”
Humanity, John thought. As he gazed down at the world, he couldn’t help but remember what Cortana had told him years ago on Requiem. Metastable or not, she still didn’t, and never would, know what it truly felt like to be human.
“You know, John,” Fred broke the momentary silence, leaning against the railing bordering the window. “After we took the Long Night of Solace, I felt like we’d just won the whole damn war. Of course, I knew better than that.” He let out a chuckle before the smile creasing his face dissipated. “I can’t help but feel the same way now.”
“No,” John said knowingly. “We’re just getting started.”
AN: At least this arc of the story didn’t take 3 years to complete… Next chapter will be letters home (I’ll release it the same day I drop my book as an announcement of sorts). Then more politics and reactions come in the next chapter. Garm Bel Iblis, Padmé Amidala, Bail Organa, Mon Mothma, et. al.