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The 405th
Posted By: Capo Rip<oscar.archer@adelaide.edu.au>
Date: 5 October 2003, 8:30 AM
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0845 Hours, October 12, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
Earth Orbit, Sol III
It was a bright, airless day in orbit of the sunward side of Earth. The planet turned serenely below, a coriolis patchwork of greys and whites and so much blue. Close, relatively, to the cloud-tops hung the widely, evenly spaced geosynchronous orbital MAC guns, the final line of space defence and the best that the indigenous creatures could provide for their imperilled world.
The enormous platforms, each several kilometres of densely stacked electromagnetic coils girdled by the bulge of a control section near one end, glinted in the raw sunlight. An invisible yet searingly hard microwave power beam connected each to the surface below, as if holding them aloft from the atmosphere. They were alone, the outer perimeter of superMACs and the bulk of the UNSC fleet waiting much further out in more mobile orbits, the searing points of drive exhaust swarming calmly like graceful moths around an immense light.
Their languid motion abruptly changed, drives brightening to blinding dots of motive power. They were joined by new, stationary spots of light, but these were green and impermanent. Even as bright shafts of destruction lanced towards them from the UNSC vessels, more blotches of green welled up out of the black vacuum. Huge, menacing purple shapes emerged by the dozen from the vortices, and the edges of the first to appear began to shine with a new, pulsing red light. More Earth ships manoeuvred to engage the steadily massing Covenant, and the nearby superMACs spoke, each tearing an alien vessel apart with one mighty blow. Many of the Covenant answered with bursts of searing red plasma, crippling ships and orbital platforms alike.
More of the invaders were appearing, now within the outer perimeter. The attitude jets of the geosynchronous MACs flared as firing solutions were calculated, before they began firing their massive projectiles outwards. Several kilometres to the side of one of the guns motes of green light starting appearing, dancing and coalescing. Within seconds a Covenant cruiser and destroyer were emerging and accelerating into a precarious near-Earth orbit. The MAC turned ponderously as it sensed and tried to target the new threat.
The lateral lines of the ships gleamed with red fire then unleashed twin balls of plasma towards the orbital weapon. Several thousand tonnes of bright semi-molten alloy speared from the gaping muzzle of the superMAC, flashing by the relatively slow enemy fire and impacting the lead vessel. The Covenant cruiser's shields flared brilliantly, violently, and collapsed; pure kinetic energy tore into the ship's bulbous prow, rending apart the hull and igniting the atmosphere as it vented. A second MAC round followed, moments before the mighty weapon succumbed to the destructive force of the alien hellfire. What was left of the ship's nose crumpled savagely inwards amidst a myriad small explosions, and fragments of the cruiser shattered outwards, glowing and glittering in a diffuse cloud. The crippled cruiser slewed to one side, visibly losing altitude, and followed the melted hulk of the superMAC into a rapidly decaying orbit, as the remaining destroyer accelerated towards the next orbital gun, its main weapons charging brilliantly.
1410 Hours (local time), October 12, 2552 (Military Calendar)/
405th Platoon Barracks, Diego Garcia, Indian Ocean, Sol III
"I saw it, man, it was like a ball of white fire."
"That had to be the MAC. I heard the ship actually landed."
"Is that where we're going?"
First Lieutenant Aaron Hacket surveyed his platoon as the marines assembled onto the staging area, peering into the eyrie sky, shifting from foot to foot and checking their gear. "All right, everybody!" he shouted, projecting as loudly as he could. "SATCOM has confirmed that a cruiser from the first wave put down in New Mombasa just under an hour ago. The population did have prior warning, but it's unknown how many civilians managed to get out. Intel believes that capture of this ship is not only possible, but crucial. As you know," he continued, bitterness creeping into his voice, "the western North American seaboard is already lost, and the bastards have started glassing East Asia, moving swiftly down to the Australasian Protectorate. If we can keep this cruiser grounded, there's a good chance the Covies will cease their bombardment in order to recover whoever or whatever came down with it." Hacket raised his rifle. "And we ain't gonna let 'em! We leave in two minutes, people!"
Hacket's sergeants began barking at their squads, droving them into the holds of the prepped and throatily humming Pelicans. Marines in dull brown body armour over dark green uniforms trotted past him, slapping the backs of their comrades.
Staff Sergeant Banks brought up the rear. "Get yer asses in there! C'mon, move it before the El-Tee gets hungry!" He put one foot aboard and turned to the officer. "We're all set, sir!"
Lieutenant Hacket watched the other dropships fold up their bay ramps and fasten their cargo claws to the Warthogs; their exhausts brightened as they started to ascend. He slung his weapon and followed Banks in, and the Pelican followed the others into the sky.
The transports soared up and cleared the island, gathering speed over the uneasy ocean. A dire wind from the east was picking up and battered at the formation of aircraft. From the cockpit, Hacket gazed up at the eerily racing clouds, the occasional destructive flash from orbit backlighting them, briefly, in patches. He tried not to imagine what the fleet was facing up there.
"HQ has confirmed air support is inbound from the southern coast, Lieutenant," the co-pilot said. "They will try to coordinate, but can't give a definite ETA."
"At least that's something," he replied, his mouth setting grimly.
"How's it look out there, sir?" asked a marine from the front of the bench.
"Better than it could be, Perez. The Admiral's really serving it up to them."
"Least they let a few of 'em down here, I was sick of damn barracks," griped Private Parsons.
"Yeah, wouldn't want you getting bored again, Parsons," drawled the sergeant. "I'm sick of cleaning up the mess."
The Pelicans powered through the air close beneath the lower cloud layer. The afternoon sun was exceptionally feeble; the sea below was like rough slate. They passed swiftly over the Seychelles, and the African coast came into view. The pilots started to climb through the clouds.
"Contact, sir," radioed the front most pelican. "Radar shows the cruiser holding position above the north quadrant of the city. Beginning our approach."
"All right." Hacket turned from the view of the impressively huge supercity and spoke to his men. "Just remember: this is our turf. They picked the wrong species to fight; they picked the wrong planet to attack. Now they got to deal with the 405th."
The soldiers grinned at each other. Perez slapped Parsons on the shoulder. "Right on, sir," another exclaimed.
Light suddenly flooded in from the cockpit and the vehicle shuddered. The officer and Sergeant Banks grabbed handles on the bay ceiling.
"Plasma flak, sir!" the pilot shouted. Explosions rumbled around the Pelican. "Incoming surface-to-air! Lot's of it - hang on!" They banked sharply into a brief controlled dive and Hacket's knuckles went white around the handhold.
The aircraft broke formation. White-blue comets of plasma streaked up from between the skyscrapers. One of the Pelicans took a direct hit its right wing engine, plunging into a momentary spiral before exploding in a ball of burning fuel. Another ploughed through a cloud of misty flak: its nose armour seared and melted, roasting its flight crew in seconds. It veered and descended, gouging into a rooftop at high speed then falling heavily to the street below, its rear-mounted Warthog bouncing loose.
"Find an LZ near that crash!" Hacket yelled, balancing against the rapid manoeuvring. "We have to check for survivors."
The Pelican angled in towards the street. The other followed suit, saw incoming fire too late and lost a tail turbine in a gout of flame. It wobbled in beneath, its Warthog wrenching loose and crunching down on its side atop a civilian vehicle, before the aircraft touched down and skidded to a lucky stop. Below the Covenant's remote field of fire now, the Lieutenant's craft released its own Warthog and set down roughly between the two. The bay ramp opened and he leaped out, rifle ready.
"Sergeant, take three men and help Coates and his squad out of their Pelican. I want medics to get anyone who survived out of that mess, and try to recover the Warthog," Hacket continued, nodding forwards to the smoking, crippled Pelican. "The rest of you, start unpacking the med tents."
"Round the back, boys!" Banks shouted. He was skirting the vehicle's nose when plasma fire began raining down upon them, pinning them against the fuselage. "Return fire! Return fire!" he ordered. "Parsons, get that ramp open! We're gonna need more fire power!" The sergeant glanced back the way he had come: the Lieutenant an the other marines were also firing back up at the top of the wall, but with only the Warthog for cover, and several bolts of plasma slapped into the officer, sizzling on his armour and forcing him to the ground. Half the remaining soldiers sprinted to cover the medics.
The sharp reports of MM55 battle rifle fire echoed up the street, and Banks fired up at the aliens with his M10R submachine gun, otherwise known as the "bullethose". "Get a move on, Parsons!" he ordered.
The bowed bay ramp finally gave under the leverage of the marines' rifle stocks, releasing a dozen angry shouting soldiers just as a similar number of Jackals rounded the corner not twenty metres behind the crashed Pelican. The intervening air was suddenly filled with an exchange of sizzling plasma bolts and armour-piercing slugs. Several marines fell, their body armour charred and smoking; the aliens planted themselves on the street, confident that their energy shields would render the humans' weapons useless.
Parsons knelt, sighted his battle rifle on the foremost Jackal, and fired a four round burst. The 9.6mm HE splinter rounds were armour piercing on contact with exposed hide or flesh, but detonated upon anything harder. The creature's shield overloaded under the focused explosions and blinked out, and the last shot tore through its scrawny neck and killed it. The other aliens were similarly subdued, with the last two attempting to flee. Four marines ran after them, spraying them with 7.15mm SMG fire.
Back up the street the marines were still under heavy fire. Several medics were down, and only one man had been dragged alive from the wreckage of the first Pelican. The second, its engine smoking and sparking from multiple plasma hits, was providing less than effective cover, as was the Warthog immediately behind it. Corporal Perez loosed a few shots then ducked down; he watched the private next to him break cover to similarly attack, momentarily staggering then crumpling under combined plasma fire. "Medic!" he cried, "Get those medics back here!"
He gritted his teeth. "Cover me!" he called to his squad mates behind the Warthog. They aimed up and as one lay heavy fire on the Covenant still on the wall, picking off Grunts and a few Jackals. The corporal vaulted onto the vehicle's rear tray and activated the LAAG system, rotating to take a bead on the most vicious alien there, and opened up with "Old Faithful". Hot 12.7mm AP slugs thundered up the wall and chewed a hole through the top within seconds, literally tearing apart the aliens behind it. Perez raked gunfire over the rest of them, and the enemy plasma bolts finally abated. He released the firing studs and the weapon whirred to a halt.
"Report!" Banks barked.
"Goedecke and Loffler're dead, sarge," replied a medic, "and we got a lot of wounded, including the El-Tee. His signs are weak."
Banks walked up to Perez's position and surveyed the wreckage-strewn street. Marines were covering each end, and several guns were still trained up on the wall. The first Pelican had been left to burn. "Right, this place is too crowded, get the tents set up around the corner. You men from Fireteam Bravo secure these Warthogs. Millingen! Pascoe!" he called to the sniper team. "Go find a good spot."
"Think I saw a good one on the way in..."
The Sergeant called his communications specialist over. "Get HQ for me, Cheung."
"Yes sir."
The first 'Hog was already manned and rolling, creeping around the corner the Jackals had appeared from. "Clear, sarge!" reported the marine in the passenger seat.
Cheung handed Banks the mouthpiece. "Online, sir."
"This is Sergeant Banks." he spoke, "Enemy contact on grid kilo 2-4 New Mombasa, we have heavy casualties and need immediate reinforcements."
Static hummed for a moment before an unfamiliar but rather pleasant female voice said. "Understood. Do what you can, sergeant, we're on the way right now."
"Roger that. Proceeding to the objective. Out." He stepped past Cheung and addressed the men. "Charlie and Delta teams, you're with me. Unload the stationary guns. Perez, co-ordinate the medical teams and secure an LZ. And get these other Warthogs running, people!"
Two of his men had each retrieved a self-contained 9.0mm stationary gun pack from the Pelican, slinging them on their backs. He waved them on. "Rickards! Take point!"
Ten marines rounded the corner and jogged along the foot of the wall, covered by the first Warthog's gun. The daylight filtered faintly through the dark, red-tinged clouds. They came to the building's entrance, opposite a broad ramp leading to a rooftop. His men nodded that the coast was clear. "Perez, set up the medical and evac point here," he radioed back. He signalled Rickards to proceed.
The interior lighting was out. They came to a shallow stair well. Rickards was halfway up when two Grunts appeared at the top and began immediately spraying him with plasma.
"Get 'em!" Banks bellowed.
The humans charged up the stairs and the Grunts fell. Parsons propped Rickards up, but he breathed one last time then died. The marine took the ammo off the body and handed out the clips as they continued up to and along a landing. There was a rumble then a burning roar that got rapidly closer.
Banks dove. "Incoming!" The side of the building blew out and fell away amidst a deafening explosion. There were pained exclamations from a couple of the men behind him. The sergeant looked up, saw a doorway. "Cover that exit, Parsons!"
"Yes sir!"
He crawled back, past a marine lying on his back and breathing with a rasp, and peaked through the newly made hole. Brightly coloured Covenant infantry filed past below. "Two of you cover this side," he whispered to the soldiers behind him. "Set up that gun here. Everyone else follow me."
They headed to the bright doorway. Parsons glanced back, saying, "You need to see this, sarge."
The marines exited, stopped in their tracks, and looked up. A curved, purple, gigantic gun rose above the buildings across the junction below, swivelling slowly.
"The hell is that!?"
"Below!"
Plasma fire sprayed up from the street. The marines dropped, some trying to return fire. Banks spotted a terrace further down the walkway and yelled, "Stay here, Parsons! If we can get to that area we can dig in and hold them off! Go! Go!"
The five soldiers sprinted, crouching and firing back down at the frenzied Grunts. The huge Covenant turret turned, charged up and fired, blowing the side out of the building above them. At the end of the walkway a ramp led down to the left; Banks identified the entrance points, pointed a marine at each. He and Cheung shuffled to the side overlooking the junction and began spraying methodical submachine gun and battle rifle fire at the advancing Grunts. The other soldier unslung the remaining stationary gun, slammed one end onto the ground and slid the casing off. Stand supports rotated down and self-riveted to the paving as he released the barrel lock and chambered the first round. He took a bead and started sweeping the street below.
More Grunts appeared, and Jackals. The marine guarding the street level ramp was flanked and fell under sustained fire; the stationary gunner swivelled to take out the dangerously close aliens, but then plasma bolts raked his exposed side and he slumped with a groan. Cheung emptied a clip at the Jackals, cleaning them up, then shouted, "We can't hold this position, sarge!" He put a hand to his helmet, listening to the open freq, as the huge alien weapon again fired like thunder in the distance. "The corporal says reinforcements have arrived!" he reported.
The other marine at the underpass entrance cried out and collapsed backwards, his chestplate smoking and blackened. Cheung stood for a second to toss a grenade in, laughing at the dying alien screeches before plasma splashed over his armour and he too fell. Banks leaned over to take out the closest Grunts down on the street, then rolled back around in time to see a surviving alien hobble out from the underpass. It fired erratically, taking the sergeant in the upper leg: the armour glowed hot as it ablated the plasma, sizzling like a brand, and the marine could smell burning flesh as he fired a burst back at the Grunt, killing it.
He crawled back to the corner of the terrace, his leg numb but for the burning pain. He was breathing quickly and his movements became sluggish as he tried to cover both entrances. Despair never touched Sergeant Banks' mind: he would kill any alien that came into sight, until they stopped coming or he was dead, as his duty demanded. There was nowhere to run or hide, after all, not like the rest of the war up until now. This was Earth; there was nowhere else anyone could go.
The animal-like sounds of the aliens approached beneath the din of the nearby firing siege weapon. It was getting dark; he fired at a moving shadow, wasn't sure if he hit anything.
Then the unmistakable 'punt' of MM55 fire also approached and a tall black human shape suddenly ran past him, crouching at the top of the street ramp and firing down on the surprised Covenant. A grenade went off around the corner; more welcome human shapes followed.
Something else came down the ramp. It approached him, and even crouching it was huge. Dully translucent green armour, a battle rifle held ready, confidently, in its hands. Banks looked up into the pale gold visor of the being's helmet and saw himself reflected: his mouth was hanging open in surprise.
"I asked for reinforcements," Banks told the giant. "I didn't think they'd send a Spartan."
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