The Wrong Side of Divine Intervention

A Covenant armored detachment faces a terrifying foe during the Battle of New Mombassa.
***
Evocatus Anha ‘Marusee thought he’d been having a good day until the ossoona arrived. Little did he know that the irritating intelligence officer would soon be the least of his problems.
“My assignment supersedes your orders,” Noti ‘Kibaree said. The ossoona gestured testily at the makeshift barricade Anha’s warriors had made inside the tunnel with their Wraiths. “Withdraw your guard and let me pass! Our Scarab’s passage left the human defenses in disarray. This is a perfect opportunity for me to infiltrate their lines and observe their operations.”
Under ordinary circumstances Anha would have laughed at the spy. Perhaps he might even have drawn his blade and nicked a cut on this presumptuous fool’s arm, if only to teach him some manners. Ossoonas were the worst kind of warrior (if such a title could even be permitted to skulking cowards), traipsing around battlefields in their active camouflage, getting in the way while real warriors like Anha and his squadron did the fighting—all under the ridiculous pretense that the data they gathered for their masters back on the motherships actually held any real meaning in the Covenant’s crusade against the human vermin. But infuriatingly, the white trim on Noti’s armor marked him as an Evocati himself and thus entitled to certain privileges, chief among them protection from open humiliation.
The thought that this petulant coward might be considered in any way his equal made Anha’s hearts throb with anger. He held his temper in check and turned to the battlenet broadcaster his warriors had set up just inside the tunnel. “You may pass through once my squadron advances. Many humans took cover in the tunnels when the Scarab passed over the bridge. Your safety is not guaranteed until my warriors clear the nishum from their holes.”
Anha quite liked the thought of Noti bumbling into a human ambush, but the wretched coward had undoubtedly logged his movements with whatever taskmaster awaited him back aboard the Solemn Penance. A dead ossoona meant an investigation, which meant more ossoonas. The last thing Anha needed was more red tape slowing down his squadron’s crusade.
Anha’s spirits had soared earlier that day when the Fleet of Solemn Consecration’s dreary investigation of yet another lead on the mythical Ark had instead uncovered a human fortress world bristling with opportunities for glory. As battle erupted on the planet’s surface Anha’s mounted squadron had deployed their Wraiths and Ghosts to help secure a beachhead in this pleasantly sweltering human city. But the thrill of tearing through human defenders soon gave way to frustration. Anha and his warriors were used to tearing across open fields or encircling smaller settlements, not maneuvering through towering buildings and cluttered streets where every alley and window and rooftop hid a potential ambush. Anha had already lost two good men to human rocket-teams when his squadron had been re-assigned to serve as the rearguard for a Scarab assault platform. Human snipers had killed dozens of his Kig-Yar and Unggoy support fodder as they trailed in the Scarab’s ponderous wake.
Even that was not enough to dampen Anha’s mood. The Scarab had swept over the great bridge that divided the human city in two while Anha’s squadron mowed down any humans who survived the walker’s onslaught. But now Anha faced the irritating task of fighting in both directions at once: he needed to clear the tunnels further ahead of the human vermin harassing the Covenant’s advance while simultaneously holding the bridge from counterattacks. Anha was beginning to suspect that rumors about the poor-planning behind this assault on the human world might actually be true. The tactical coordinators aboard the Solemn Penance hadn’t even dispatched gun emplacements to help Anha erect defenses. 
And now to make things worse, this ossoona had the nerve to disrupt Anha’s work with his own pointless assignment!
Anha was almost grateful when the voice of Major Nesu ‘Socadee crackled over the battlenet transponder. “My lord Evocatus! The humans are preparing a counterattack!” Nesu commanded the squadron element holding back to defend the bridge. The Major’s Wraith held a stern sentinel at the crest of the great human bridge where its energy mortar could devastate any human force that might attempt to storm the highway.
Anha happily pushed Noti ‘Kibaree aside. “How many?” he barked into the transponder.
“Their dropship just delivered a single tank. It is advancing towards the bridge.”
Anha’s mandibles split in a cruel smile. Desperate fools. We have been here less than a day and already they do not have the strength to repel us. A series of crimson triangles coalesced upon the transponder’s tactical viewer. Nesu’s Ghosts were already moving to intercept the human attackers. “Pin them down, Major. We have Phantoms inbound with reinforcements. They will catch the humans from behind and make short work of this incursion.”
“As you command, Evocatus.”
Noti cocked his head. “Trouble?”
“Nothing that need concern you, spy. A minor human incursion, nothing more. My squadron will—”
On the tactical display two of the triangles flared and vanished. The humans had just killed two of Anha’s warriors.
Anha’s fingers tensed. “Major? What’s happening out there?”
Nesu’s voice crackled back, tighter than before: “The human tank it’s… it’s already advancing! They destroyed my outer pickets in a moment! I’ve never seen those machines fire with that accuracy!”
Clumsy fools, Anha cursed silently. He should have warned Nesu to hold his outriders in check. The ease of their advance had lured the entire squadron into complacency and now good warriors were dying. “Hold the rest of your Ghosts back, Major! Don’t waste lives!”
Anha opened a new frequency, ordering another team of Ghosts out of his reserves and onto the bridge. The hovercraft sped away from the tunnel entrance, engines burning bleu streaks across the faded concrete. But the reinforcements were not even halfway up the sloping bridge when yet more markers on the transponder went dark. From where he stood at the mouth of the tunnel, Anha could see Nesu’s Wraith lighting the cloudy sky with great balls of fire. Yet even as the Wraith fired down upon the unseen humans more Ghosts vanished from the tactical display.
“They move as they fire!” Nesu’s gravelly tones scratched over the battlenet. “I’ve never seen such movement from the humans!” A burst of static disrupted the transmission before Nesu cried: “I’m hit!”
“Pull back, Major!” Anha barked. “Pull back and use the curve of the bridge for cover!”
The order came too late. Nesu’s Wraith erupted in a flash of plasma-fire. The cruel calculations played out in Anha’s head unbidden. Nearly a quarter of his warriors, dead. Impossible. No human they had ever faced had wielded weapons with such deadly precision.
Anha, of course, had no way of knowing of the veteran soldier behind the oncoming tank’s controls, a warrior who so calmly picked off one target after another as his AI construct fed targeting data into the tanks computers.
The expected air reinforcements arrived then, too late to save Major ‘Socadee and his forward outriders. The human tank didn’t so much as slow down. Its cannon raked the column of Phantoms that soared over the bridge, demolishing the Wraiths and Ghosts they carried beneath them. The Phantom pilots, spooked by the unexpected resistance, peeled off and fled rather than deliver the plasma barrage that might have halted the solitary advance.
“Cowards!” Anha bellowed at the retreating Phantoms, all sense of composure lost. He rounded on one of his aides. “Get us support from the Solemn Penance. Banshees, Phantoms, Seraphs, anything! Blow up the bridge if they have to!” He rounded on the rest of his warriors. “Mount up! Avenge our brothers!”
The Sangheili raced to obey. Noti ‘Kibaree watched the attack play out with a sense of detached fear. The ossoona knew his own life was in danger and yet the novel horror of what he witnessed roused his interest. His superiors had committed an entire armored detachment to hold this bridge. Now a single human tank demolished it before his very eyes. This was vital intelligence indeed.
The human tank demolished the last of the Ghosts that flung themselves into its raking cannon fire. The coordinators aboard the Solemn Penance, hard pressed on hundreds of fronts across the embattled city, spared only a single wave of Banshees—more than enough firepower to quell a single armored vehicle. The measured, deadly intelligence behind that lone tank picked the fliers off with impossible accuracy.
The squadron’s Wraiths hummed to life now. Anha offered a prayer to the gods and to his ancestors as he clambered into his own tank’s cockpit. He would stop this assault or die in the attempt. There was no other way he could face his warriors in the hallowed halls of the dead.
When the makeshift barricade rumbled to life, Noti ‘Kibaree finally realized just how desperate the situation was. He looked to the Wraiths, then at the approaching human tank, and back again. “May the gods be with you,” he called up to Anha. “But I must think of my mission. I must continue to observe this battle from…”
He spared one last look at the oncoming humans. “…Somewhere else.” With that he sprang down the now-open tunnel. His active camouflage flashed on and the white-armored ossoona disappeared into the shadows.
Anha bit back his fury. He wanted to gun his engines and run the wretched coward down. Already the last of the squadron’s Unggoy broke ranks and fled. Even some of the younger Sangheili broke and ran as the last of the Ghosts fired their engines and tore ahead of the Wraiths towards their human tormentor. Anha paid the cowards no more mind and drew his head back inside his Wraith. The cockpit sealed over him and the light from the tank’s instruments lit the darkness.
Cannon fire tore into the first Wraith’s chassis. Anha had no time to mourn the brave warrior dying inside. Instead he made use of the Wraith’s sacrifice. He pushed his own Wraith’s engines to their limit. At range such as this the human’s fancy driving meant nothing. All they needed was one good hit to burn the nishum scum to ash and avenge their comrades.
“Cut around behind them!” he called to his last remaining Wraith.
The other pilot made a bold effort. But the concrete around the tunnel entrance was strewn with the ruined Ghosts and Banshees, the carnage this solitary human left in its wake. Its passage hampered by the debris, the Wraith was easy prey. Two blasts from the human tank cracked the Wraith’s hull like an egg.
But Anha used this last comrade’s sacrifice. He flared the engines once more. His Wraith roared alongside the human tank outside its firing arc. Anha raked the enemy’s hull with plasma fire from the Wraith’s twin plasma repeaters. He lined up a shot with the main plasma cannon. One shot was all he needed to avenge his warriors. Nothing else mattered.
Then and only then did Anha see the human soldier huddled atop the tank’s hull. The human braced a large tubed weapon on his shoulder. A dark terror closed over Anha’s hearts. He knew that weapon all too well.
The rocket scored a direct hit on Anha’s Wraith. The tank sped off course, just far enough that its plasma mortar fired well off its mark. Blinding sunlight filled the cabin as the hatch was blown away. Anha knew he had no time to throw himself free from the doomed tank. He wouldn’t have done it even if he could.
The tank turret swiveled. The last thing Anha ‘Marusee felt before his Wraith exploded was the hope that the humans continued their rampage through the tunnel. If they hurried they might put an end to that wretched coward Noti ‘Kibaree.
Good hunting, human, Anha thought bitterly. The tank cannon fired and sent Anha ‘Marusee to join the rest of his squadron, left in flaming ruin across the great bridge.
Category:The Weekly