Halo: Minorca Saga/Chapter Fifteen

MAY 2ND, 2551 
(UNSC MILITARY CALENDAR) / ALPHA CANIS MINORIS (MINORCA), 49 KILOMETERS SOUTH OF 
COLONIAL CAPITAL “NEW LONDON”
 
 
“Victor 41, this 
is Foxtrot 24. You have bandits on your six, over.”
 
“Copy that 
Foxtrot, taking action.”
 
A lot of people 
looked at a Pelican’s bulky frame and stubby wings and came to the conclusion 
that they survived on speed alone. It didn’t occur to most that small wings made 
for tighter corners, or that a dropship didn’t always need to move at supersonic 
levels. They also forgot that their thrusters could be tilted as needed, giving 
then some unique advantages.
 
Lieutenant Keller 
watched as the other dropship turned in mid air, keeping its speed and momentum 
but now flying backwards, brought its chin-mounted machinegun to bear on the two 
Banshee fighters trying to get a good angle on it, and blew them out of the sky.
 
Keller grinned, 
and thumbed the COM again. “Nice kill Ned.”
 
“Thanks, 
Lieutenant.”
 
Keller’s own 
craft, a dedicated gunship, would normally have taken care of the Banshee’s for 
Victor 41. UNSC dropships operated in gunship/dropship pairs for precisely that 
reason. But they were currently otherwise engaged.
 
“Target lock. Fox 
one, fox one.”
 
Two streaks of jet 
exhaust lanced out, the missiles just a blur as they sped through the air, 
striking their targets – the lead vehicle in a convoy of Shadow APC’s, blocking 
the road for the rest of the convoy. Keller saw Marines stand up from cover, 
firing rocket launchers and tossing grenades as the vehicles stalled. In 
minutes, the road was blocked by the smoking and blazing heaps of seven of the 
Covenant craft.
 
Keller grinned, 
dipped his wings at the Marines, and curved back to rejoin Victor 41.
 
Technically the 
UNSC used craft purposely built as Gunships. Hornets could carry in a fireteam 
of Marines and use its chainguns and missiles to support them from the air. 
Sparrowhawks packed a larger punch, and were faster, while Vulture gunships were 
called in for heavy duty tactical strikes and air support.
 
Still, Pelicans 
were no slouches, and Keller grinned as Warrant Officer Summerlee aimed the 
nose-mounted 30mm autocannon, pumped off two three-second bursts, and was 
rewarded by a gout of flame as a Wraith tank erupted, showing the others in its 
battery with debris.
 
“Target 
destroyed.”
 
“Take it easy, 
Amy. You want to leave the Marines something to do, eh?”
 
She chuckle behind 
him in the copilot seat. “Yeah, I really think they’re complaining about us, 
Lieutenant.”
 
The Covenant had 
certainly chosen the logical place to attack. The Blenheim line was the weakest 
observable part of the UNSC’s defences, and was also the source of Rhino 
artillery batteries that hammered the enemy from afar. It was naturally a high 
priority Covenant target – and that was precisely why the UNSC had constructed 
an airfield for launching fighters and gunships and stationed heavy armoured 
support nearby.
 
Victor 41 gently 
floated down over the battlefield, allowing its payload of a Marine squad and a 
Warthog transport to disembark, and hovered for a few minutes to cover their 
progress towards the enemy. Keller slowed his gunship down to wait for them, 
Summerlee scanning the area, the chaingun following the movement of her eyes.
 
All across the 
plains south of New London, Covenant forces ran headlong into prepared UNSC 
defences. Grunts and Jackals were cut down by mines and machinegun fire, APC’s 
and dropships cut down by the heavy firepower. Whatever happened tonight, it was 
going to cost the Covenant dearly.
 
“Looks like the 
boys in green have their work cut out for them,” he said aloud.
 
“Okay Tom, 
passengers are en route to the rendezvous point. Lets head back and re-arm-”
 
Keller swore as a 
flash of light brighter than any sun erupted from the north, desperately lifting 
a hand to shield his eyes-
 
 
 
“Colonel, air 
support is en route, ETA six minutes.”
 
“Thanks Major. How 
are our boys doing?”
 
“The usual – 
outnumbered, outgunned, and still racking up the body count.”
 
Verdani grinned. 
“At least I didn’t train a pack of failures,” he said.
 
“I don’t think 
failure could describe the men under any conditions, sir. Now if you’ll excuse 
me, I need to direct the mortar support.”
 
Major Mitchell 
crossed the room, leaving the tent that served as the battalion command centre. 
The other members of the battalion head quarters nodded to him as he passed.
 
Verdani turned 
back to the holographic projector that was set up in the middle of the tent, 
displaying a topographical view of the battle.
 
The Covenant were 
coming up from the south, sending their preliminary infantry and light armoured 
cavalry. Mainly just Grunts and Jackals, supported by Wraith mortar tanks and 
Ghost light recon hovercraft. He knew that the bigger stuff, the Elites and 
Hunters, as well as the twelve Scarabs the Covenant had managed to land on the 
planet, were being held back – but for what? A break in the lines? If they 
didn’t send them in soon, there wouldn’t BE a break in the lines.
 
Nevertheless, 
Verdani had ordered his men equipped with heavy weapons, mainly mobile M247 
GPMG’s and rocket launchers. If they needed them, then they would be ready. And 
if they didn’t, it would make a relatively easy win even easier.
 
There was a 
flicker of light from the corner of his eye and a deep growly voice muttered, 
“what are they waiting for?”
 
“Maybe they’re 
just testing our defences?” Verdani said, turning to face the form of a ebony 
black dragon, smoke billowing from its nostrils, eyes glowing.red. “Getting a 
feel for it before they commit the main assault force?”
 
“Perhaps, Colonel 
Forrester. But if that were the case, then the commitment of so many forces 
would be unnecessary. This feels all wrong.”
 
Verdani frowned. 
“You think it may be a diversion?”
 
The dragon nodded. 
“It may very well be, but since twelve Scarabs aren’t exactly the easiest pieces 
of equipment to hide, and they’re locations are currently accounted for, I 
cannot guess what it is distracting us from.”
 
The dragon blew a 
puff of smoke in irritation. “Whatever it is, it’s big, judging from the size of 
the diversionary assault.”
 
Glaurung was the 
battalions AI. Normal Marine battalions usually sufficed with a Commanding 
Officer and Executive Officer who handled the units operations. But the 506th 
ODST Force Reconnaissance Battalion was not an ordinary battalion.
 
Verdani didn’t 
like AI’s. It was all too easy to forget that when it came down to it, they were 
just algorithms and equations being computed by a machine, not actual 
flesh-and-blood thoughts. But they had their uses, and right now the ability to 
project the progress of the battle in real time was a useful asset.
 
A thick green band 
split the hologram, representing the UNSC’s static defences – bunkers, artillery 
batteries, weapons depots, and so on. In front of them, blue polygons 
represented the locations of UNSC forces, updated by the minute by a satellite 
uplink to the UNSC Prowler Hunter’s Arrow. Red polygons were Covenant forces, 
and right now the Covenant looked like a shoddily fielded force. They weren’t 
targeting weak spots, securing captured territory – they were just killing, and 
moving on. Throwing themselves at the UNSC.
 
This was standard 
Covenant tactics. But since nothing about the battle for this world was what 
Verdani would call “normal”, which made it unusual.
 
“Air strike has 
begun – confirmed. Alpha Squadron has hit the target.”
 
A patch of red 
that held a small town block in Blenheim changed to neutral grey, and Verdani 
knew that a squadron of Shortsword bombers had just annihilated a Covenant 
position, bombs and rockets raining down on the occupiers. It quickly turned 
green, as UNSC Marines of the 427th Marine Regiment moved in to secure it and 
capture wounded prisoners for ONI interrogation.
 
“Alright. Continue 
to monitor the battle, Glaurung, and alert me to any important events. I’ll be 
talking to our guest.”
 
The dragon nodded. 
That was another advantage to an AI – they could be uploaded with the entire 
tactical and strategic knowledge of a civilisation, and the combat histories of 
a thousand generals from history. Glaurung’s favourite pastime, to use up spare 
processing power, was reproducing famous battles from history as holographs. 
Thermopylae. Marathon. Normandy. Argyre Planitia.
 
That meant that if 
a CO had other business to do, he could delegate command to the AI. Verdani 
would much rather be here, commanding his forces, keeping his finger on the 
pulse, as it were.
 
But there were 
some things you couldn’t put off.
 
He exited the 
tent, the cool night air hiting him in contrast to the sweltering heat given off 
by the electronic equipment crammed into the small command centre. The sound of 
crickets, owls, bats, and other nocturnal creatures may be normal for most, but 
th Verdani, born and raised on an asteroid colony where “nature” meant diull 
shades of rock and the occasional cave-in, it was just as alien as the Covenant.
 
Still, it wasn’t 
often you got to talk to the damned heathen alien SOB’s. The Marine MP’s 
saluted, and he nodded in acknowledgement as they stepped aside, allowing him to 
enter the reinforced structure that served as regimental military prison cells.
 
Its sole occupant, 
bleeding and moaning in unconsciousness, was chained to the floor.
 
It was an Elite.
 
Checking his 
ONI-supplied translation software was running, he kicked the creature with a 
boot. The alien coughed in pain, and jerked awake, straining at its chains. It 
roared in pain, and as its energy subsided, it settled for a ferocious glare at 
the human.
 
Verdani wasn’t 
impressed.
 
“Okay. I know you 
can understand me – you sons-of-bitches always take the trouble of learning your 
enemy’s languages, but make a point of not using them. And I can understand you. 
So I’m going to cut to the chase – what are your guys out there doing?”
 
The Elite coughed 
up blood, but held its silence. Verdani shrugged. “You want to do this the hard 
way? Fine by me-”
 
The boot swung, 
all his force put into it, slamming into the aliens chest. It cried out, and 
verdani could feel a crunch as ribs cracked. He hoped they hadn’t punctured its 
lungs – the last thing he wanted was for the thing to die before he was done 
with it.
 
“I’m gonna ask 
again. What are your guys doing?”
 
The Elite sneered, 
and warbled in its own language. “Heresy is being punished. The unrighteous 
shall be burned away by the undying flame, and the worthy shall remain behind!”
 
It was Verdani’s 
turn to sneer. “Spare me the religious semantics. I want a straight answer, and 
every time you don’t give me one,” he punctuated the sentence with another kick 
to the ribs, and the Elite screamed, “you get another visit from mister boot. 
Understood?”
 
The Elite gasped 
in pain, but still managed a look of haughty contempt as it snarled, “You sow 
the seeds of your own destruction. And we shall reap your bitter harvest!”
 
There was another 
kick, another scream of agony, an Verdani leaned down low. “You think we’re 
heretics? We have our own religions, boyo, and murdering innocent women and 
children is what WE regard as heresy.”
 
The warrior leered 
at him. “Your worlds shall burn, your families shall crumble into dust! None 
shall remain as our wrath passes over your heresies, cleansing the galaxy of 
your unholy existence!”
 
Verdani’s fist 
connected with the Elite’s head, snapping it back against the floor. He growled. 
“I can keep this up all night, Boyo. Can you?”
 
“The light shall 
wash across this world, burning away the unbelievers, leaving the worthy and 
righteous!”
 
“Have you ever 
wondered which of those sides you’re on?”
 
There was a 
flicker in the creatures eyes. Ah, Verdani mused. We have a doubter, eh?
 
“Have you ever 
wondered what it was we did to earn the genocide you seem to have your hearts 
set on? What did we do to earn the wrath of your gods? Maybe you could tell us, 
because we sure as hell don’t know.”
 
“Defilers! 
Despoilers! Desecrators! Your doom is written and scripture, and the Gods 
themselves have decreed it!”
 
“And how are you 
going to do that, hm?”
 
As if in answer, 
there was a blinding flash, penetrating even the tiny windows of the cell. 
Verdani winced, and the Elite began making a “whuff”ing noise. It took Verdani a 
moment to realise that it was laughter.
 
“Our judgement 
upon you has come! This world is ours, the relics it contains shall be cleansed 
of your evil taint, and the glory of the Great Journey awaits!”
 
And with that, the 
Elite expired, its head going limp and falling back to the floor. Verdani 
snarled and landed another kick, earning no reaction this time from the lifeless 
corpse. He swung the doors open, passing the confused gguards, but was met by 
the Major halfway to the command centre.
 
“Sir. Something’s 
just happened…”
 
 
 
There was a flash 
a thousand times brighter than the sun. It consumed the horizon, and Keller 
knew, even through his clamped shut eyelids, that it was from New London.
 
“SON OF A BITCH!”
 
Keller shouted as 
he blinked the glare away from his eyes. He desperately set the dropship on  
autopilot, knowing that until his vision cleared of the dots swimming in front 
of it, he would just be fumbling blindly.
 
“What just 
happened?!” he demanded, switching his irritation to his co-pilot.
 
He could hear her 
furiously working her controls, so he guessed her part of the cockpit hadn’t 
caught the flash.
 
“I don’t know sir. 
I’m detecting higher than normal background radiation, and radio interference-”
 
And then the 
shockwave hit.
 
Even with his 
blurry vision, he could tell it was from the north, from New London. And as the 
gunship tumbled end-over-end, as if a giant flyswatter had caught them, all he 
could think was “damn, damn, damn, damn-”
 
There was an 
almighty crash, and the last thing Keller remembered was blackness, and blood 
trickling into his left eye…
 
 
 
 
SEVENTH CYCLE, 
NINTH AGE OF RECLAMATION (COVENANTBATTLE CALENDAR) / 57 UNITS SOUTH OF HUMAN 
CAPITAL CITY
 
 
The Unggoy around 
Cacap gasped as the flash lit the sky. And then the gasp turned into a cheer, 
one in which the File Leader joined in enthusiastically. Even the Sangheili 
joined in with throaty roars, and the two Mgalekgolo flexed their arms and let 
loose a deep bellow.
 
He waved an arm 
forward, and the Unggoy moved forward, rushing forward.
 
Ahead of them, in 
the distance, rose the tower. Cacap did not know much of it, and knew only that 
it resembled the gravity lifts of Balaho that ferried his kind off the planet 
without the need for shuttles or dropships. But even as he watched, he could see 
that it was crumpling in on itself, and that the anti-matter charge had taken 
out a whole chunk of the structure.
 
It began to fall.
 
Whoever had set 
the bomb had been a demolitions expert. The angle and trajectory had been 
precisely calculated, and now millions of tonnes of metal and carbon fibre were 
toppling down to the ground. And it was going to land on the humans positions 
like a boot squashing an insect.
 
Cacap grinned 
behind his mask at the analogy. He knew well that the humans regarded his kind 
as weak and ugly beasts. Perhaps some of the clans were, but the Yangon Tribe 
had been bred for war and battle. They were not stupid, and they were certainly 
not cowards. And right now, a thousand screaming Unggoy warriors with no 
compunctions about death in battle hurled themselves against the humans.
 
Cacap fired his 
pistol, bolts of plasma flying through the air towards the line of bunkers ahead 
of them. Behind him, one of his File mates hefted a heavy Fuel Rod Gun – glowing 
fuel rods launched out, slamming into the polycrete, and sending up a shower of 
flame and dust. The Unggoy cheered in triumph.
 
Human warriors had 
taken cover in trenches, using the tops as rests as they fired at the oncoming 
horde of  aliens. Cacap drew and primed a plasma grenade, tossed it high – and 
watched as, with a flare of blue plasma and screams of agony, his aim drew 
results.
 
Other Unggoy 
primed grenades, lobbing them high – some fell short, while others overshot 
their targets, but enough landed among the clustered humans to do damage. Cacap 
regretted that he carried only a pistol – had be access to a Sangheili plasma 
rifle, he would gladly swap.
 
A file’s-worth of 
humans had decided that waiting for death to come to them would not be their 
fate, and had clambered out of the trenches, rifles raised and firing.
 
Unggoy dropped, 
bullets piercing their tough leathery hides or puncturing their methane tanks. A 
few erupted in gouts of flame with the force of a grenade as the gas within 
ignited. Cacap took cover behind a fallen comrade, making sure to empty the 
corpse’s tank of gas, returning fire.
 
Metnat fell beside 
him, his breathing apparatus pierced, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come. 
Cacap set his pistol down beside him, holding a hand against the hole, and 
fumbled for some sealant pads on his ammo belt.
 
By the time he’;d 
found them, his friend was dead. Cacap snarled, but had enough sense to empty 
the dead body’s tank of gas as well, and holstered his weapon, a Needler. 
Hefting both weapons, he fired at the humans.
 
There was a flash 
of green, and the humans vanished in a cloud of plasma and atoms – the Hunters 
that had finished them off lumbered forward, shields deflecting human 
projectiles, as Unggoy and Kig-Yar took cover behind the Lekgolo forms, some 
leaning to the side to fire shots of their own. Cacap hurried forward, moving to 
take cover behind another corpse, human this time, firing his weapons – he 
tossed the pistol away after its charge count read empty, and reloaded the 
needler, screaming in rage all the time.
 
He must be some 
sight, part of him thought. A “mere” Unggoy slaughtering humans, fighting with, 
if not the skill, then the tenacity of a Sangheili warrior. He had trained for 
this moment his whole life – let the battle consume him until he was follow, war 
and death and rage filling him.
 
Against the 
berserker, there was no defence. He had sworn to fight to the death, but not 
necessarily to HIS death. As Cacap felt the bloodlust rising, filling him, 
forcing everything out, all he could do was bask in the feeling of power.
 
 
 
Through his 
digital optical enhancement device, equivalent to a human “telescope”, ‘Kotarqee 
could see a few human aircraft struggling to remain airborne, only to be brought 
down by the Wraiths he had been holding back until this moment. The Covenant 
forces surged across the battlefield, pressing on towards the city.
 
Even as they did 
so, He could see the space elevator falling, flames licking its ends as the 
friction built up. The far ends, he knew, would be vaporised before they reached 
the ground. But the base would be intact for hundreds of kilometres, and would 
fall right across the humans defences.
 
It had been partly 
luck, partly the Gods’ blessings, but mostly the technical expertise of Anoho 
Ritoru Yanate and Hekika Ritoru Nomoku, half of the Lekgolo pair he had smuggled 
into the human city. Their oddities were precluded by their genius with 
explosives and weapons of devastation, and Lekgolo could make calculations in 
seconds that would take a Sangheili warrior hours.
 
The charge had 
been set on the far northern face of the elevator, ensuring the pressure would 
force the tower down to the south. Even with the planets coriolis effect drawing 
it eastward, it would still strike the human line of defences. Tulo had 
specifically planned for this, his forces attacking from the west, further from 
the elevators impact site.
 
Spirit and Phantom 
dropships swooped overhead, laden with troops and escorted by Banshee flyers and 
the few Seraphs that had made it off the fleet. Unlike the human equivalents, 
Seraphs were not aerodynamic and performed poorly for fighters in an atmosphere, 
making sluggish turns and responding slowly. But their speed and the power of 
their plasma torpedoes and high-precision laser turrets made them excellent 
bombers.
 
The human city had 
already been lit up when the antimatter charge had detonated. The city skyline 
was lit by the fires that raged, and towers had begun to fall. Flashed of 
brilliant blue marked where plasma charges had been dropped by the Seraphs, and 
Tulo knew that the attack had worked just as he had planned.
 
It was almost too 
easy. But he knew taking the city from a startled and unprepared enemy would be 
nothing compared to holding it.
 
There was a 
tremor, and Tulo looked to the south. The earthquakes were small and 
insignificant, but they had begun to increase in frequency. And they were 
emanating from the south, where the Forerunner relic was buried. He wondered 
about Commander ‘Morhekee and his Lance of commandoes – he had taken two files 
with him, and dedicated the rest of his sixty-strong crèche to the Field Master, 
to do with as he wished.
 
Right now, they 
would be flying in, dropped near high priority targets, and conducting 
assassinations, quietly eliminating the local human leadership. They would be 
setting charges in human armouries, and capturing figures to glean information 
about the humans’ battle plans and the reasons for their presence here.
 
He had many 
questions. And they all had answers. He had only to look in the right places.
Category:Specops306
Category:Minorca Saga