Halo: Minorca Saga/Chapter Ten

SEVENTH CYCLE, NINTH AGE OF RECLAMATION (COVENANT BATTLE CALENDAR) / DAEMON MOUNTAIN RANGE (UNSC DESIGNATION), JUNGLE FOOTHILLS

“Another Scarab?”

Erebus bared his teeth in anger. He had hoped to have more time. But it seemed that the Sangheili were more relentless in their pursuit of the Prophet’s relic than he had anticipated.

“I tell you only what I saw with my own eyes, Chieftain. A Scarab, bearing down on the relic’s position, brought down by mere humans.”

Erebus’ eyes flashed red. ““Mere” humans? You sound like the Sangheili, Horus. There is nothing “mere” about them. They have endured thus far with no aid but their own technology, even as we burn world after world. Even the Kig-Yar did not put up this much of a fight when the Covenant conquered them. Do not underestimate them, Horus – the Sangheili did, and look where that has led us.”

Horus bowed his head, albeit grudgingly. Erebus knew it would take a long time to re-educate his pack on the capacity for humans to endure, but he would. He had to. He would learn from the Sangheili’s mistakes, and would not make them again.

Another thought came to mind.

“You say it was brought down by humans…was there anything unusual about them?”

Horus nodded, the musk of nervousness clouding Erebus’ nostrils. “Yes, Chieftain. They were larger than the others. Stronger. And they moved with great speed and agility. If I did not know better – I mean, they fought like Sangheili, and not like “Mareens” at all.”

“Did they wear armour?”

“Yes. It was grey, but it was…I do not know. All-encompassing? It was like they fought in their skins, with fluidity and grace.”

Curses. A thousand curses on whatever deity had given him this fate.

“Demons,” he hissed.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other Jiralhanae. Uttering such heresy was not normal, but a Chieftain did not do it lightly.

“Chieftain, surely it is wise to-”

“Horus, I want all patrols aboard the Scarab at once. Rescind my previous command. It is not safe to wander through the jungle in small numbers when Demons are present. We shall reach the relic by morning or not at all. And I assure you, if we do not then it shall not be because we were too slow.”

Erebus reached into the core of the Scarab, amidst the Lekgolo worms, feeling them connect to him – the commands were unspoken, but received faster than another could have heard. In a heartbeat, the Scarab had accelerated, changing course to a shorter route.

“What of the Sangheili, Chieftain?”

“What of them?”

Horus looked torn. While he, like all Jiralhanae, held only contempt for the arrogant Sangheili, his loyalty to the Covenant ran deep. And right now, the Sangheili represented the normal hierarchy.

“Pack-mate, if we offered them our services they would send us into battle to our deaths and claim the relic as their own. If we keep our presence hidden, we can claim it ourselves. Our orders come directly from the Vice-Minister of Acquisition – where do theirs come from? An arrogant Field Master, whose grasp of the relic’s significance is inferior to even our own.”

Horus nodded, and Erebus left him to carry out his commands. In the meantime, he swung up to the ventral surface.

The sun had set hours ago, and the jungle air had cooled, the breeze blowing his fur back. Doisac’s winds were always warm, blowing down from the volcano ranges. But this air came down off snow-capped mountains, and he enjoyed the sensation immensely – better than the stale metallic quality of a ships recycled atmosphere, certainly.

The trees streamed past as the Scarab thundered through the trees. He considered giving the order to fire the mining plasma cannon – cut through the trees effortlessly, speeding them on their way – but rejected it. It was too noticeable, and the humans would see it from orbit.

In the distance, the hill loomed over the trees. Erebus could almost feel the pride at his soon-to-be accomplishment – claiming a relic in the name of his people, as the Sangheili were bogged down by the humans.

Vengeance would be sweet indeed.

APRIL 17TH, 2551 (UNSC MILITARY CALENDAR) / DAEMON FOOTHILLS

Wallace lowered his binoculars. His sigh sent a small mushroom cloud of steam out.

“Target’s heading north-north-east, towards Diyu Hill.”

“Okay corporal. Let ONI know, and then tell the Spartans. They looked like they had fun with the last one – let’s see what they do with this one.”

The Scarab had been unexpected, and under normal conditions it would have been fatal. Nobody who didn’t have a death wish went up against a Scarab. And nobody beat it with anything short of a Shortsword air strike or heavy firepower.

But he had seen three Spartans overturn that rule in minutes, almost effortlessly.

Not for the first time, he wondered just what ONI had done to the Spartans to make them superhuman – and whether they still qualified as human at all.

They were machine-like, fast as hell and moved with an ease that his instincts told him was unnatural. On the bumpy terrain of the Daemon Foothills, the other Marines often stumbled, tripped, or slid. Wallace had yet to see the Spartans even waver.

Azure Team had been redeployed from whatever combat zone they’d been assigned to as soon as ONI had pinpointed the first Scarab. So far away from the rest of the Covenant military incursion, it had to be up to something. Wallace’s battalion had been airlifted in to the Gorgon military base, abandoned for decades, to assist them.

After seeing them in battle, Wallace didn’t think they needed any help. But at least they could say they’d followed orders, and he got to see the Spartans first-hand.

He knew people who didn’t believe in them. Super soldiers who could take on the Covenant with ease and win every time were almost too good to be true, and many still thought they were. Newspaper clippings could be faked. Award ceremonies could be staged. Records falsified, eyewitness accounts planted. But what Wallace had seen would stay with him the rest of his life as a fond memory.

He shifted the Warthog into gear, following the rocky trail along the ridge, always keeping the Scarab within binocular range. They’d tracked it since earlier in the day, making sure they kept it in their sights.

ONI didn’t want it destroyed. Not yet, at least. Why wipe out the people doing all the hard work for you? They knew there was an artefact, and that the Covenant was looking for it, but they didn’t know where it was or what it was. The Scarab was going to solve two birds with one stone – and then Azure Team would be sent in quietly, take the Scarab out like the first, and then the UNSC would swoop in and study it. Simple.

Right. And Wallace was a monkey’s uncle.

“Did you get a look at the occupants, Corporal?”

Corporal Nelson shrugged. “Not much light, and at this distance its hard to see anything. But…”

Wallace raised an eyebrow. “But what?”

“There was something on its roof, underneath the cannon. It was big, whatever it was, bigger than an Elite. And hairy. I didn’t get a good look at it, but it doesn’t match the database.”

Oh, great. Something new to contend with. Elites were bad enough, but an enemy that you knew nothing about was unpredictable. For all he knew, they could be even worse.

“Report that to ONI. I’m sure they’ll pull something up on them. And if they can’t, then we’ll just have to make our own additions to the database, won’t we?”

Nelson grinned. “Height, weight, decomposition rate, that sort of thing?”

“Exactly.”

SEVENTH CYCLE, NINTH AGE OF RECLAMATION (COVENANT BATTLE CALENDAR) / HUMAN CITY OUTSKIRTS, NEW LONDON (UNSC DESIGNATION) / COVENANT DROPSHIP “HOLY CRUSADER”

The flight in was smooth, and Tulo knew that it was a rare thing, especially here. Underneath them, anti-aircraft guns and missile launchers stood, scanning the skies, waiting for their prey to come to them.

Tulo liked to disappoint them.

He navigated his way through the packed Phantom dropship to the cockpit, setting a hand on the pilot’s shoulder.

“How is the active camouflage holding?”

“Surprisingly well, Excellency. The power requirements are enormous, and I doubt we have enough to fire our weapons, but if the humans do not know we are here, then I do not see a reason why we would need to.”

“Good, good. Alert us once we reach the landing zone. I’ll call you once we have cleared a path.”

“As you will, Excellency.”

This mission was unusual in many way. It wasn’t a frontal assault, for example. Normally, Covenant battle doctrine dictated they use superior strength of numbers to overwhelm the human defences. But since their numbers were finite and the humans’ were not, that strategy had been immediately rejected by Tulo, to the consternation of some of the more conservative members of his Council of Masters.

He had managed to scrape together an ad hoc command system, ordering his units according to species. If he had been unpopular before, his actions would infuriate the High Council, who had resisted his suggestions for “improvement” for Cycles.

He had decided that the Unggoy would be used as reserves and occupation forces. They were unfit for combat in Tulo’s eyes, and would probably appreciate not being sent to their deaths. That in turn would raise their opinion of him and in turn their loyalty. And loyalty among the Unggoy was hard to buy.

He had instead turned to his Sangheili troops as the frontline warriors. He knew for a fact that, one-on-one, Sangheili were superior in almost every way to the regular human infantry forces, the “Mareens”. They were better protected, faster, stronger, had greater discipline, and most of all, they were trained by Tulo. They did not hold the fanatical mindset of other Covenant Legions – Tulo had made sure his warriors were seasoned veterans before they even entered battle, making study of human behaviour, technology, tactics and strategy compulsory.

Oh, he was not popular at all. But he produced results, and damned good ones.

Tulo moved to the side hatch, gazing out of the window at the countryside as it flashed past. It was greener than Sanghelios, but Tulo discounted this. He loved the shifting dunes, the sparse grassland, and the dry air. It was his homeworld, and it was a part of him.

Even from this high, he could see the lights visible from below. Not many, because the humans were wise and ensured their positions were difficult to discern from above. But there were occasional specks of light where vehicles navigated in the darkness, or where warehouses took stock.

He could see them, but for all intents and purposes they were invisible. And Tulo had a very good purpose.

Commander ‘Morhekee had not been happy when Tulo had asked for two of his warriors to give up their active camouflage suits, but he had grinned when told of the use to which Tulo would put them. Now, installed in the Phantom’s engine, humming loudly, they cloaked the two Phantoms as they flew high over the human defences.

The dropships were packed with as many warriors as Tulo dared to bring. A pair of hunters in each dropship, as well as twenty Sangheili. It was not much, but they didn’t need much. They weren’t attacking the enemy from the rear – that was foolish and stupid.

They were going to go after a much softer target. And then the attack would commence.

The dropships would take many hours to reach their target, giving Tulo time to go over his plan again in his head. There were no flaws in it – at least, none that he couldn’t overcome. And come dawn, the humans would all be dead.

He did not relish the slaughter. But he could take satisfaction in a job well done.