"Purupu-pum! purupupu-pum! purupu-purupu, purupu-purupum..." The pilot of our D77 Pelican hummed to himself, guiding his machine behind a "shield-Pelican" through a zone of heavy fire.
Inside the transport, it was quite quiet and comfortable; the thick armor wasn't scorched by single hits, and the bursts hitting the hull tapped quietly outside. The lights were off, but they weren't needed; everyone had night vision in their visors. We sat, watched, and listened.
Likely, for organics, this was a very nerve-wracking moment, a point of helplessness where they couldn't kill the enemy, but the enemy, if everything went right, could kill them. However, Pelicans are sturdy machines themselves, and we were strapped in. We might even survive, if it came to that. With a certain amount of luck, one could survive a crash or a ramming.
From orbit, the heavy PKO (Planetary Defense) and the largest stationary enemy guns had been suppressed. For obvious reasons, no one started firing small twin turrets at the large ships in orbit. They lacked the range.
On four supports sat a circular turret with a pair of long cannons, the kind they also put on orbital versions of the Banshee. And it was exactly these guns that were now pounding the approaching ships and gunships conducting the initial sweep of the territory.
Useless against ships and dangerous for strike craft and drop pods. And small enough to be kept inside a building and manually carried out to positions before an attack. Which meant the gunships went in the first wave, and the Pelicans in the second. To a lesser extent, both they and we were catching it. But there was no time to wait for a full sweep for the landing; we had to leave before the Covenant retribution fleet arrived.
The mood in the fleet was upbeat. The humans were glad at how little they had lost while suppressing the enemy's vanguard. The Krogan were happy about the approaching fight, and Javik was deathly calm. I, meanwhile, was scanning everything possible to gather more information. And I was tipping off the pilots when they were being targeted from the surface—we'd stay in one piece that way. So, where were we descending?
Alright, the Covenant base was on one of the northern islands. Outside temperature -17, snow. The depth of the snowdrifts around the base should be small, humidity high. Oxygen atmosphere, the planet is habitable for humans. But in the northern regions, it's generally quite cold, and the Covenant base is located here, in the permafrost zone.
"Winter freshness awaits us outside. And enemies."
Drack chuckled, breaking the silence.
"We'll head down now and warm things up."
The others reacted silently, though I had forwarded the map of the area to them, as well as to the other teams.
The central tower, a purple pyramid of platforms, pipes, and other structures—I could see entrances, balconies, and turrets on them. Around the central tower in a single ring were large circular platforms serving as landing pads and foundations for the first circle of buildings. And the smaller platforms served as weapon platforms. Where the large-caliber guns had stood until they were scorched from the air. A standard rapidly deployable base, nothing new.
Around the first ring was a second belt of buildings and platforms. Here, they were mostly damaged, the firing points scorched. Not all, far from all. It was clear that the main resistance and PKO (Planetary Defense) fire had come from here, but the blocks from which no attack was launched remained intact.
Separately stood a scorched Scarab and several tanks. The remaining tanks, anti-gravs, and Banshees had scattered, trying to fight off the rocket-and-bomb death falling on them from above.
Double and triple tracers from turrets shot into the sky, hissing as they melted the Pelicans' armor upon impact and leaving steam trails on the liquid shields. Blue spheres from plasma tanks and simple infantry fire—not very accurate, but dangerous in certain conditions.
In response, Archer missiles from the cruisers and rockets from the Pelicans flew toward the exposed positions, along with the rocket-and-cannon fire of the assault support machines. Falling almost vertically and tearing into the tanks, cracking them open like a can with a blue plasma explosion. It was impossible to survive the multi-thousand-degree plasma torch that a burning tank became after such a hit. And the heat affected the surroundings too. The snow instantly boiled and evaporated for dozens of meters, and instead of drifts, only mud or dry, cracked earth remained.
To avoid being hit by their own troops, and by the plasma tanks as well, the Pelicans were forced to descend in a shallow spiral trajectory, constantly under fire. The shield-Pelicans tried to provide cover, but there weren't many of them. After all, the more shield-Pelicans there were, the smaller the landing force would be. As a result, the main damage was dealt by anti-aircraft fire and other rapid-fire guns. The damage wasn't critical, but it was unpleasant; getting under the tanks would have been more dangerous.
Our machine's front right engine suddenly flared when a burst of purple flashes swept across it.
"Everything's fine, folks. We've still got three," the pilot reported, "we're almost there. We'll make it, and then we'll see."
"It's time," Drack grinned, gripping his machine gun.
He, like everyone here, put on a helmet. But like his suit, the old Krogan's helmet was unusual, more like the dome of a deep-sea diving suit. Otherwise, everything was standard. The standard armor design of Drack's subordinates, my armor with a mask (because of the ears), Javik in typical armor and with his native emitter. But instead of local kinetic shields, all participants had plasma ones—they were more universal than kinetics.
After the hits, the ship began to shake noticeably, and it was pulling slightly to the side. And not just ours; there were others hit—one, now two Pelicans crashed down. A tapping sound came from the hull; the shelling continued, but the armor was holding for now. A good machine.
Finally, the Pelicans turned sharply, coming in for a landing. The pilot emptied his rocket pod, destroying two tanks and a turret, and opened fire with the machine gun on the infantry. The others chose their targets.
"Ready, I'm going down!"
The rear hatch opened, revealing a view of a nocturnal snowstorm and deafening us with the roar of battle. The ship was turned nose-first toward the enemy, hosing them with the large-caliber machine gun. Time to disembark.
"Kill them all, you Pyjaks!!!" Drack roared, jumping out with his machine gun at the ready and immediately opening fire on the Jackals and Unggoy hiding behind containers, turning and spinning the barrels in mid-air. He, like Wrex, had grabbed a machine gun from an M12 Warthog to use as a handheld weapon.
They tried to fire back, but a 12mm machine gun from a Warthog is a terrifying argument; one of the containers simply exploded, scattering the enemies. Other containers were turned into sieves, as were the enemies standing behind them. Trying to run didn't help them.
Especially since Drack wasn't alone. Krogan with automatic weapons and shotguns. Javik, who in a couple of seconds managed to burn through the shield and then the armor of a blue Elite with his emitter, leaving a hole straight through the creature's stomach.
And one combat avatar, holding a hammer with her tails, was picking off Jackals in the middle of the snowstorm. A rocket whistled over us, blowing apart a balcony and the turret on it, as well as a couple of Elites. Snow, explosions, and the hellish heat of burning plasma, making everything around boil.
All of this to Drack's boisterous laughter. The Krogan was happy. The Krogan was killing.
"Mgalekgolo!"
From a nearby building emerged a pair of armored giants with spikes on their backs, closing ranks behind heavy tower shields. The Pelican immediately began to gain altitude as the Mgalekgolo opened fire on it with green grenades. One grenade tore open the transport's nose, damaging the machine gun and turning the bow sensors into a "rose" of molten, boiling metal. The second damaged the second front engine, causing the machine to crash into the snow. Judging by the pilot's cursing, he was still with us. Good.
"Take the bastards out!"
In response, the Mgalekgolo were immediately caught in a hard focus from everyone around. Grenades and bullets flew at them. One of the giants roared low and charged at the soldiers who had disembarked from another transport; they noticed and began to retreat. Drack rushed to intercept the giant.
The second Mgalekgolo fired at another Pelican, blew out its engine, and also charged into the attack, following the first. Remarkably resilient individuals, and that's without any plasma shield, relying only on thick armor and their own toughness.
The Mgalekgolo tried to knock Drack back with a shield bash to the chest, but the Krogan ducked with unexpected agility, sliding under the shield and firing his shotgun point-blank between the armor plates.
The giant roared and, dropping its cannon, grabbed the Krogan with a claw and tried to crush him. The Krogan refused to be crushed, continuing to fire his shotgun into the creature's helmet and snarling back over the external comms.
Nearby, the second Mgalekgolo fell, its armor breached in multiple places, flooding the area with orange blood and fragments of multi-meter-long worms. The one holding Drack turned to its comrade and let out a strained howl. Drack, seizing the moment, shoved the shotgun barrel under the creature's helmet, pressed the muzzle against the flexible neck of orange worms, and fired. Again and again. The second Mgalekgolo fell, its head and the upper part of its neck virtually torn apart by buckshot. The Krogan, splattered in orange, smirked, feeling the finger-shaped dents on his armor.
"Ha! He was alright! Who's next?"
And there were still plenty of targets. On the balcony, Spartans were engaged in combat with Elites and Brutes. We had burned out the vehicles for the most part, but a couple of turrets remained. A soldier had just occupied one, turning the turret against its creators. A few more moments, and the balcony was cleared, and the Spartans moved inside the building.
Below, things were lively for us too; a dozen Brutes burst out of the central building, armed with grenade launchers and crimson plasma rapid-fire guns. Three went into melee. The first took a load of buckshot to the stomach, soaking the ground with his brown blood, roared, and struck the Krogan in the head. There was a crack, and the giant fell.
A good hit, though the attacker himself didn't live long. A couple of seconds and the Brute's legs gave out; he fell, riddled with holes. After all, their rank-and-file often don't wear much armor. Or none at all, relying on striking first.
A second Brute tried to repeat the first's experience and impale the Krogan on the blade of his grenade launcher. The blow hit the side, to which the Krogan only snarled and blew the enemy's head off with a shotgun blast. The last one dodged the blow, taking advantage of the fact that the Krogan hadn't recovered yet. But he didn't live long either, caught in the crossfire and receiving new ventilation holes. The giant didn't appreciate it and died.
It wasn't easy for the human soldiers either; they were taking hits too. Но armor holds the first shot, and if it's not in the same spot, it holds the subsequent ones too. So your survival depended on luck and caution in such a dense fight.
Brutes, when you have assault rifles, die fairly easily from headshots; the main thing is to hit them and time the shots on those who go berserk and charge into melee. One Brute died from the blade of my hammer entering his neck.
The giant sank to one knee from the blow and wheezed, raising his grenade launcher:
"Should have gone for the head..."
I simply turned on the gravity hammer's impulse, and the wave blew away half of his skull, driving the blade into the flesh and nearly splitting the enemy in half. Javik sawed through the chest of a second one, his four-eyed face wearing a stony expression.
Drack was also having fun, not hesitating to go into melee with his shotgun. Brutes are large and quite fast, but an experienced Krogan doesn't lack for reflexes. He parried a blow with one hand and fired his shotgun into the chest with the other, sending the Brute onto his back, spraying blood. And Drack did all this with a mad laugh over the external speakers.
Another couple of broken heaps of meat left marks on the wall—that was Javik's sorcery at work. A "Throw" into a wall is painful and entirely unhealthy for the skeleton. I suspect that Javik, who feels emotions, was enjoying their suffering, but he wouldn't say.
"Right, that's the last of them at the main entrance," I announced, cleaning the gravity hammer blade on the fur of a nearby Brute, "the troops will take and clear the outer perimeter, then move in. We go inside first."
The battle outside continued, as did the landing, while the pockets of resistance were being snuffed out. The Covenant tried to throw the remains of their vehicles into the attack, like Banshees from one of the hangars. Но that actually worked against them. The assault craft were caught in heavy fire from rifles and rocket launchers. And then the support Pelicans quickly found the hangar, and the squads gained another entry point after clearing it. It was obvious that part of the complex was underground. We were definitely headed there.
The squad approached the door. A typical Covenant door, semi-circular at the top. Glowing red, locked. No panel to hack, just armor plates; it clearly opened from the inside.
Targeting... ready.
"Ooooooooopen up!" I announced as a rocket slammed into the door, "thank you!"
The door, consisting of three sections, was simply blown apart.
I gave a grateful wave to the rocketeer, and the squad moved into the building. Me with the hammer and carbine, the Krogan with the shotgun, the second line—Drack the machine-gunner and Javik. The snow had already begun to cover the bodies, soot, and blood. The battle was over, the flames were dying down, and winter was reclaiming its rights. Warm air billowed from the blasted door.
We had almost reached the entrance when a pair of Elites in gold armor burst out, armed with glowing energy swords. The one on the left was hit by shotgun blasts; the armor flared but held. The Elite stumbled back right into the gravity strike of the hammer. With a howl, he flew against the wall like a sack of meat, where he was crushed by sorcery—or Biotics, as the Citadel locals call it.
And I immediately had to twist to avoid being hit by the sword of the second Elite. A bright blue energy blade, making their invisible swordsmen visible. The shield made contact with the weapon and flared, dying out. The system beeped, warning of a depleted charge.
The Elite snarled and swung to strike again, but immediately dove into a roll when he was hit by bursts from Drack's machine gun; the second Krogan added a shotgun blast on the move, since the Elite's jump had moved him away from me, allowing them to fire freely. Javik glowed green, and the enemy hung in space, flailing all his limbs and finding no purchase.
And Javik's emitter, Drack's machine gun, and the buckshot reached the Elite, piercing the shield and literally tearing his armor apart, throwing him against the wall. There he remained, wheezing and flooding the snow with purple blood. We moved inside, requisitioning the swords; they'd come in handy.
"The Spartans are already moving in; we need to hurry. Javik, keep providing cover with the sorcery. Forward, before they kill everyone in there."
And thumping along, we moved deeper into the complex.
It was quite spacious here. Halls resembling those on ships. Purple corridors with rounded walls and ceilings. Three-leafed doors that had to be breached by connecting to them programmatically.
The corridors were interspersed with halls filled with strange mechanisms. And enemies, of course. Jackals are extremely unpleasant enemies in defense—snipers on parapets and those with large circular tower shields. Elites, Brutes.
Once, Mgalekgolo appeared on a parapet. And just as we took cover, the Mgalekgolo were swept away by rockets coming from another part of the walkways.
"Hey, tail-girl! Clear!"
I looked around carefully, and having made sure there were no enemies, nodded to the Spartan.
"Thanks, Yellow."
Kitty came out behind him.
"We've cleared the tower; squads are now moving through the main entrance, behind you, through the tower parapet, the hangars, and the warehouse. The enemy has gone into defense, retreating deeper into the complex. We need to check if there's a bomb there."
Drack, covered in blood, waved his machine gun.
"We're making good time. Come on, you take the upper level, we'll take the lower. It'll be faster."
The squads moved deeper into the complex. More enemies, more Elites and Unggoy. Only corpses remained behind. And then we found another hangar.
A circular transport ship about a hundred meters long was parked here, and there was a large vertical shaft, clearly leading to the surface. It seemed the ship was meant to rise carefully and fly out. But for now, the shaft should be covered with snow.
"So that's where they've been retreating all this time. They want to escape. Not good."
And right now, a large group of Elites and several lizards were loading Covenant containers and unknown mechanisms into it. A pair of Mgalekgolo stood bored at the ship's entrance. Too many enemies for just us.
"Khaela to command. We've found another dock, and there are nearly fifty enemies here, including two Mgalekgolo. They're loading containers onto a ship; I recommend capturing the ship before takeoff."
A few seconds later, Yellow patched in. He was already close; I could see them on the edge of the radar.
"There are protruding walkways on the second level. See them?"
I looked around. The layout was fairly standard for a Covenant hangar. A spacious lower level; on the second floor along the wall was a balcony with terminals controlling the power suspension for transports, currently empty. Separately, on a protruding platform, there was a console for controlling all of this. If we took control of it, hm.
"Locking the airlock, right? Might work. There's an Elite and a couple of Jackals there now."
"We'll be there in a minute," Kitty reported.
Meanwhile, we scattered behind containers. It wasn't hard; The Covenant was busy loading, and there were masses of crates by the door. Strange containers—circular, but with struts giving the crate a square shape. For now, an attack didn't seem possible; there were too many enemies, and they had heavy weapons.
With Yellow and Kitty, the analysis said we had to play from defense
"But first, the hunters must be taken out; with them and this many people, we'll simply be overwhelmed."
A short meeting, and the plan was ready.
On the second floor, a pair of Spartans popped out by the panels with carbines, simultaneously putting a bullet into the heads of the Jackals. They fell with a loud "hasssssh," and the Elite at the console turned toward the sound—only to receive a massive armored boot to the chest and tumble down with a howl. At that sound, the entire hangar turned around.
But it didn't end there. The Avatar performed a "snap" with all her tails and from both hands, while the rest of the squad simply threw grenades. Kitty, who had snatched up a rocket launcher while Yellow was busy kicking, sent a projectile into a Hunter. One flew back against the wall with a ruptured chest plate; the second took a hit as well but closed his shield and survived both the impact and the subsequent barrage.
The Covenant, caught in the open under heavy fire, panicked slightly. This was partly because, after the grenades, captured Brute grenade launchers, Drack's machine gun, and fire from the rest of the team came into play.
In defense of the Covies, it must be said that their moment of confusion was short; after about three seconds, everyone had scattered into cover. Some even returned fire on our positions without hiding (especially the Jackals with shields). As a result, we found ourselves under heavy fire from all sides, and even the grenade blasts didn't particularly solve the problem. Moreover, it quickly became apparent that some of the enemy were continuing the loading process.
"I have an idea," Javik suddenly spoke up. "Use the containers."
"Do it," the Avatar grinned.
He glowed green again, directing some very potent space magic (tm) at the containers standing near us. Then he sent them flying at the enemy with a throw, causing them to roll into the opposition with a deafening clang.
The first one simply swept away an Elite and a couple of Jackals pushing a crate onto the ship. The second took out a pair of Unggoy. Everyone scattered. The second Hunter was taken out by a rocket under the cover of the chaos. The hangar was large, cover was scarce, and stopping a crate flying at you like it was shot from a cannon was quite difficult.
"Forward, into the ship!"
We would take it; the Covies wouldn't dare destroy their own means of evacuation. Besides, the ship had turrets; we needed to knock out the gunners if there were any.
Javik grabbed and kicked crates as he moved; we fired, and I crushed a couple more heads with the hammer in passing. Even without a gravity strike, it was extremely dangerous in the hands of a strong fighter. Taking advantage of the confusion, we disappeared into the ship's hold, gaining reliable cover. We had to clear out some neighbors, but otherwise, it was a good spot. Though it was far from the crates—no more throwing those.
The Spartans from above continued their sharpshooting, while we fired from below. As long as the Spartans held the terminals, the hangar above us would remain closed and the ship wouldn't fly anywhere. Our task was to use machine-gun fire to keep the Covenant from poking their heads out, while anyone trying for close combat met the hammer. Yes, the Covies weren't exactly dying in droves, but that wasn't our goal—just to stall for time and prevent them from taking off.
"Target found. Hey, down there, hang on!"
The shake was so violent it stunned everyone. Debris fell from the roof with a loud clang, increasing the Covenant's desire to stay down and opening a hole in the ceiling. Then rockets and shells came flying down. And snow, of course. It was everywhere here.
"The drop has arrived, you bastards! Wrath of the heavens!"
Explosions rocked the hangar, and we began the attack. The Spartans stayed to provide cover from the parapet, while we and the drop-pod troops focused on destroying those still alive. Javik fired a couple more containers found in the hold and stayed under the cover of the airlock to continue his dark work, while we moved into close combat.
The terminal was ours, the ship was ours, the enemy was surrounded. Anything that could have reached us had been taken out by the Spartans with the rocket launcher after the Hunters were dealt with.
Another group of soldiers arrived from the rear, from the main entrance, and then another from the far part of the complex, entering through other hangars. Now that the Covenant was surrounded by three Spartans, Krogan, and heavy weapons, the outcome of the battle was a foregone conclusion.
"Objective captured, enemy completely neutralized," I informed the Vice Admiral boredly, wiping red, green, and purple blood off the hammer.
Margaret Parangosky nodded, reading the report.
"Results?"
The hologram of the combat Avatar standing on the table shrugged.
"We're sorting and loading everything possible for now. We captured a transport ship and numerous devices of unknown purpose. This was definitely a laboratory, and the Covies were trying to move Forerunner devices and their own developments. That's why they didn't blow the ship. It's ours; I suggest using it for our own interests. Give me an hour, and I'll override the controls so it obeys us easily and doesn't fly off where it shouldn't."
Margaret Parangosky thought for a moment and nodded.
"Permission granted, to speed up the evacuation. We have twenty-four hours at best, and we shouldn't be here. Help with that."
The Avatar nodded.
"Executing."
We cut, pried, and unloaded everything we could. We even landed small ships to load everything directly onto them. Containers, equipment, weapons, unknown mechanisms. Trophies.
Drack and the others didn't put on airs and easily transitioned from warriors to loaders. So did the paratroopers. I couldn't say anything here, as I don't possess the gift of intuitive understanding of technology, and Forerunner devices without hacking are just Forerunner devices to me.
And then there was snow, lots of snow.
The Krogan collected helmets for themselves; one found a white Elite officer's helmet somewhere. And Energy Swords too. Of course, they lose charge quickly, but a weapon that cuts through everything and that no one else has... I'm almost certain that upon our return, we'll have a line of Krogan warriors waiting for the front. And once Clan Nakmor learns how to charge them, a line for them too.
In the end, as we flew away, the ravaged base was being quietly buried in snow. Right up until the moment the UNSC Apollo, aiming its beam weapon vertically down, traced a blindingly bright line from the heavens to the earth, vaporizing the entire base and turning night into day. The flash erased the complex itself and turned the entire surrounding area into a burning sea of plasma.
"Our turn to glass your bases. How does it feel, hm?"
***
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