Just Before The Battle

The first fingers of dawn crept over the horizon and illuminated the barren wastes that might very well be Felo ‘Ranak’s final resting place.

The Sangheili fleetmaster drew his cloak closer around his shoulders. A mild rain heralded the morning’s arrival, and with it came a wet chill that seeped through Felo’s armor like a thousand probing needles. It would not do for his warriors to see him shivering, now of all times. He stood taller and cast an imperious gaze out across the muddy plain and on towards the distant foothills where his enemies lay encamped. Battle would be upon them soon. The Created’s loyal followers would not waste much more time before they launched their attack.

The early morning’s light illuminated the dugouts and trenches that marked Felo’s own positions. Weary Sangheili teemed about the makeshift defenses, preparing weapon emplacements, readying their weapons, or simply taking an early meal beneath the watchful eyes of their officers. Distant Ghost patrols flitted over the soaking fields while a single squadron of Wraiths—the last of Felo’s heavy armor—waited in loose formation behind the center line.

A heavy dread hung over the gathered warriors, thick as the mist rolling in from the plains. They all knew what was coming. This morning could be their last. It would certainly be the last morning for many of those gathered in view now.

From his view atop a low-strung hill Felo could make out a few dull red combat harnesses among the milling warriors. Only a fraction of the warriors he commanded today were his own Swords of Sanghelios followers. Most of the mud-soaked Sangheili below wore the distinctive green-blue colors of House Yularn, the last loyal clan left on this miserable planet. The rest of Iral’s Sangheili masters prepared to do battle on the other side of the plain. They had renounced their vows of fealty to Thel ‘Vadam and sworn allegiance to the Created and the so-called Mantle of Responsibility with which the human constructs claimed dominion over the entire galaxy.

Fewer than half of the warriors who had accompanied Felo on his expedition to reinforce House Yularn remained. The rest were dead, their corpses strewn across a dozen nameless battlefields. Felo had presided over funeral rites after every engagement, his mandibles praising the valor of the dead and promising to ensure that their glory lived on for generations to come.

His hearts told a different story.

“Fleetmaster ‘Ranak,” a reedy voice called up from the base of the hill. “A moment of your time?”

Felo’s eye twitched. “My time is a precious commodity of late. Speak your business quickly. There is warrior’s work to be done.”

Eir ‘Yularn, kaidon of House Yularn, ascended the hill but stopped a respectable distance from where Felo stood. Eir was one of the thinnest Sangheili Felo had ever seen, clad in ill-fitting ceremonial armor. That armor had been passed on between nearly four of his uncles in recent months. Eir was the fifth kaidon to lead his house since the war came to Irul. All the real fighters in the chief bloodline were dead and now it fell upon this poor excuse for a warrior, barely more than a child, to lead his venerable house in this war.

Eir was a poor tactician and an even poorer warrior, but at least he possessed the wisdom to recognize this. Usually he was smart enough to keep out of Felo’s way. Unfortunately he had chosen today of all morning’s to muster the courage to approach Felo directly.

“I understand the Outrider led a scouting expedition over to the enemy encampment during the night. I did not know you had ordered such an excursion.”

“Rora ‘Marak does as he wishes, when he wishes,” Felo returned, clicking his mandibles indifferently. “He does so with my full confidence and support.”

Eir knitted his hands together. Felo could not tell if he feared the coming battle or simply needed to screw up the courage to speak before him at all. “Then the news is true, that the traitors have been reinforced from offworld? The Outrider’s warriors saw Prometheans and strange Unggoy war machines amidst the enemy lines.”

“Our enemy has bolstered their forces. What of it?”

“Why was I not informed of this development?” Eir demanded. His voice quaked, though Felo grudgingly credited the youth for daring to speak out at all. At least there was some backbone hidden in that mess of loose armor and looser bowels.

“I did not deem it pertinent enough to share.” Felo paused. “How did you come to learn of this, and so soon after Rora’s report?’

“You may command my warriors in the field, but they still owe oaths of loyalty to me,” Eir blurted. “Do you think I am so foolish as to not wonder when my officers are summoned to war council and I am not?”

“I share information pertinent to your responsibilities, kaidon.” Felo struggled to keep his tone civil. He had little patience for Eir on the best of days and today was far from the best. “We both know you are far from a capable battlefield commander. That is not an insult, it is simple fact. If you wish to pry information from your own warriors, you are of course free to do so. But I have a battle to plan and this army to lead. What did you come here to discuss? Or did you simply wish to express your grievances against me for not immediately sharing the results of a simple scouting expedition?”

Eir quailed at Felo’s harsh tone. His boots slipped in the mud and a cautionary step backwards very nearly became a humiliating tumble down the slope. The young kaidon caught himself just in time. Felo pitied the boy’s father, whichever of the four dead kaidons he had been. What was it like to see one’s ancestral planet swallowed up by war, to watch the worthier heirs perish on the field and leave only the cowardly and inept behind to carry on the family’s legacy?

The greatest among us are dead. We threw the flowers of our best generations into the mud and now we pay the price. The thought dismayed Felo far more than anything Eir might say or do.

“I came to discuss our retreat,” the young kaidon announced. He made a valiant effort to hide the quavering in his voice but it was there all the same. “It may take some time to summon enough transports for all our forces, but I have faith my pilots can ensure an orderly withdrawl.”

Felo regarded Eir coldly. “There will be no retreat.”

Eir’s mandibles snapped on air. For a moment he seemed to be struggling just to breath. “Lord ‘Ranak, surely with this newest development—”

“That is Fleetmaster ‘Ranak, Lord ‘Yularn.” He would not let this child drag him down into a debate between two kaidons. This was a battlefield. Now was a time for orders and obedience. He had already made his decision the previous night when he first heard Rora’s report. “There will be no retreat. We face our enemy here. Today.”

“Fleetmaster, our position is untenable,” Eir protested. “We could barely match the enemy’s forces before they were reinforced. Now we have no chance at all. If we draw our warriors behind my keep’s defenses we can match their strength and break their army when it launches its attack.”

“Do you think we stand any chance if it comes to a siege?” Felo lowered his voice. A few warriors were starting to look up at the conversation transpiring on the hill. If Eir wished to disgrace himself by giving away his mind with those frantic gestures, so be it. Felo at least would do him the courtesy of not humiliating him in front of his own warriors. “Do you think our enemy so foolish that they would attack a fortress? They only approach us now because they see our vulnerability. If we withdraw to your keep they will simply wait until their warships return to burn your precious defenses from orbit. Or they will simply lay down their arms and wait for us all to starve to death. No. We have one choice, and that is to break them here.”

“Fleetmaster…” Eir’s voice rose to a shrill pitch.

“Enough!” Felo snapped. “I have made my decision. Go and prepare for battle. If I learn that you are spreading defeatism amidst our ranks I will execute you myself. Do not think your rank will save you. This is not some petty dispute. We are at war.”

Eir spread his mandibles to protest. The fiery look he received from Felo made him think better of it and he fled down the hill, vanishing amidst the crowd of warriors. Felo watched him go. His words were harsh but his hearts were heavy. This was war. Not the last war or the war before that, but a new war against a new enemy.

The wars never ended. They would bleed the Sangheili dry until only children like Eir ‘Yularn were left to fight on.

“I marvel at your self-control,” a voice beside him murmured. “I thought for sure you would cut the wretch down where he stood.”

“It was an empty threat,” Felo admitted. “Were I to execute one of Thel ‘Vadam’s vassals in broad daylight it would cripple our cause. Half the keeps in our fold would desert us for the Created.”

“I could make sure the deed was not done in the light.” Rora ‘Marak, the ex-pirate known as the Outrider, had appeared at Felo’s side. As always the special operations commander’s approach had been silent and unnoticeable. The warrior hardly even needed to use active camouflage to move unseen. “Accidents happen on the battlefield all the time.”

“You had better be joking. He is the last scion of a venerable house.”

“If he is the last of them then his ancestors may well thank me for killing him.”

“Or they will blame you for robbing their bloodline of any chance to redeem itself,” Felo countered. “He is young. He may well redeem himself before this battle is over.”

“I do not share your optimism,” Rora growled. Several of his special operations commandos had accompanied him up the hill. Felo recognized Izul ‘Taman, Rora’s majordomo, among them. The rest were weary strangers in battered armor. Rora’s forces had seen some of the worst fighting on Irul. It was a miracle any of them were left alive at all.

Such a waste. They should have turned the tide across a dozen battlefields. Instead Rora’s raiders were lost in protracted ground wars they had never been meant to fight.

Felo and his own guard should not have been down here dying in the mud either. He had once commanded fleets from the bridge of mighty warships. But the onset of the Created and their system-dominating Guardians meant there was less use for war fleets in this desperate war. Felo served where his lord commanded him, and his loyal warriors served where he commanded them.

They served and they died. Irul was now grave to dozens of warriors who had followed Felo loyally for years. Dead fighting a war that seemed less winnable with each passing day.

“I do not need your optimism, ‘Ranak. Your pessimism suits me well enough, so long as it keeps winning my battles.” Felo strode down towards his battle lines, beckoning Rora and the others to follow. They marched past idling Ghosts and Revenants, the lances around the war machines snapping to attention as their commander strode on by. Even in this desperate hour the warriors under Felo’s command humbled him with their discipline and devotion. “Have your warriors completed their preparations in the field?”

“We spent the night planting plasma mines around the most likely avenues of approach,” Rora confirmed. “The mortar teams have the coordinates for steady bombardment once the battle is underway. Were we facing a conventional force I would say last night’s efforts improved our chances considerably. But this is not a conventional force.”

“They have not been provided with a Guardian,” Felo corrected. “And their warships are occupied in other systems. Today we face each other as warriors on the battlefield. I could not ask for a more conventional battle.”

“And we are still greatly outnumbered,” Rora pointed out. They reached the center of Felo’s assembled force. The Wraith squadron was spread out behind hundreds of heavily armored warriors, their pilots seeing to final calibrations while Swords of Sanghelios technicians cleaned mud from the war machines’ hulls. When the battle commenced the Wraiths would fire their heavy cannons to overheating. They had only one chance to break the enemy advance, and even then they would be heavily outgunned. “I do not recommend retreat, but we may still have a chance to reposition our forces. I could lead a splinter group into the foothills. If we harass their flanks they may stifle their advance.”

“No time. We have made our preparations. This is the battle we fight on, be it to victory or defeat. The rest is in the gods’ hands now.”

Rora gave him a hard look. “The gods? I thought you did not believe in them.”

Felo allowed himself a rare smile. “Our enemies have their new gods. Perhaps we should adopt our own, or at least take the old ones back from what the Covenant twisted them into. If they exist, so much the better. If they do not, then it matters little one way or the other.”

“Such an attitude does not fill me with confidence,” Rora grumbled. “I would advise you not to spread it among the warriors. I do not want to spend my last moments in this galaxy listening to you call the army to prayer. Shinsu ‘Refum offered me a great deal in the hopes I would join his own fleet. I hope I did not turn aside such a generous offer only to die here.”

“There will be no call to prayer,” Felo assured him. “Just the battle. The enemy will be upon us soon. I suggest you rest your troops as best you can. I will need you today, perhaps more than I ever have in the past.”

“We shall see. I will rally my raiders. What remains of them, anyway.” There was a hint of bitterness in Rora’s voice as he led Izul and the others away. Felo could hardly blame him. Ever since he had spared the Outrider’s life and raised him up through the Swords of Sanghelios, Rora had been his most faithful and capable officer. He had led his warriors across battlefield after battlefield, sacrificing his hand-picked commandos for the cause he once fought against. Too many of them had died on Irul’s sodden plains.

Felo turned away from his old friend. His words to Rora were confident, but a pain rested on his hearts. He was tired. Yes, he was tired to the very depths of his soul.

He looked out over his own forces, assembled in battle array on one side of the muddy plains. He had planned the defenses himself, orchestrated the day’s battle plan with the easy skill a lesser warrior might use to plan his daily meal. A lifetime of warfare had prepared him for this. War was in his blood. The very fabric of his being was shaped by warfare.

From the time Felo was a small child his elders had trained him in the art of war. He had grown to the stature of warrior, proving himself in battle after battle against the humans, then the Jiralhanae, and then against his own people. Comrades, friends, and even family had fallen at his side, yet he fought on to claim glory for himself and his family. When his time of following was over he had become a leader, taking his own turn at raising children into warfare and leading a new generation of Sangheili into battle.

A light rain fell across the chilly fields. Soon the mud would be full of corpses trampled into shallow graves by comrades shooting and stabbing and slashing through warriors who might have been their brothers had clan allegiance not dictated a different, deadly loyalty.

There was a time in Felo’s life where he would have welcomed such a scene. He would have reveled in the carnage and the glory it promised him. He had been so young, so arrogant, so foolish. Now he stared out at the field waiting to devour life and felt only sadness.

There was no glory in violence. He recognized that now. But that recognition came too late. He was a part of the endless cycle now. He could no more turn from this path than he could will himself away from this planet. To run now was to betray the warriors who had followed him this far. It would dishonor the ones who had not made it this far. The warriors expected him to lord over the battlefield, to be unmoved by the bloodshed and wasted lives. He could not abandon them now.

His thoughts turned to the enemy massing in the hills beyond the plains. Felo could not bring himself to hate the warriors preparing to kill him and all his host. Could he really blame them for seeking an end to the violence? The Created promised peace and prosperity. An end to all wars everywhere. All they asked was obedience. Were Felo not bound by his oaths and his pride…

…but no. For all his doubts and sorrow, he was a warrior. His forefathers had been warriors. He would not disgrace them by laying down his sword for some human constructs who thought they were gods.

Beyond this muddy battlefield, far from this chilly morning on this small planet, great powers moved the galaxy. The Created bent their powers towards shaping the galaxy to their will. Thel ‘Vadam and other high lords commanded fleets and armies to move here and there, playing out the great stratagems on a massive scale. Felo wondered if his commanders spared even a thought to him and his diminished force, fighting for their lives far from the corridors of power. Did Thel ‘Vadam think of him now, wherever he was?

It was not a warrior’s place to question why his master sent him one place or another. Felo’s warriors would march to their deaths at his command. He could only do the same for his own masters.

He thought of the Ranak Keep back on Sanghelios. His craggy childhood home was far more beautiful in his mind’s eye than it was in life. For all its faults, it was certainly more appealing than this wasteland. His wife, Tari, waited for him there now. What time was it on Sanghelios now, half a galaxy away? Tari was probably sleeping now. Felo did not wish his wife anxiety, but a part of him hoped that at least she was thinking of him today.

When was the last time he had given her something more than reports of wars and battles? When was the last time he had spoken to her as something other than a kaidon or fleetmaster? Affection did not come easily to him. Raised as a warrior amongst warriors, he spoke clearer to killers like Rora ‘Marak than he did to his own wife.

A deep regret washed over Felo. Had he really done right by Tari? Had he at least done his duty by her and given her children? If he had succeeded in that small task, she had not told him. There was never any time for such things. And now there might be no time left at all.

The pain this thought caused Felo was too much to bear. He breathed deeply and purged himself of emotions not befitting a commander. His warriors could not see him break down here of all places. They needed him to be strong.

He spent another moment collecting himself. Then he turned and set off to find Eir ‘Yularn.

Felo found the young kaidon arming himself behind the lines. The warriors of Eir’s bodyguard detachment rose respectfully at Felo’s approach. Eir flashed a hard look Felo’s way and offered only a grudging acknowledgement. “Fleetmaster.”

“Kaidon.” Felo gave the bodyguards a meaningful look. “I would speak with you again. It regards the coming battle.”

The bodyguards bowed and withdrew to a safe distance. Eir looked Felo over with distaste, then set aside his plasma repeater and rose. “If this is about my earlier advice, I would rather not discuss it.” He did not quite meet Felo’s eyes. “I was out of line, and spoke in haste. I will do my duty, along with the rest of my warriors.”

“I may have been too harsh in my earlier response. It may still be possible for you to withdraw to your keep before the battle is joined.”

Anger flashed in Eir’s eyes. “Do you mock me, fleetmaster?”

“You were correct before, at least partly. If I am defeated here there will be none left to coordinate the war on this planet. You are the last surviving scion of House Yularn. If you survive other warriors may rally to your cause.”

“If I survive because I departed the battle line moments before a crushing defeat, my house will be shamed for generations,” the kaidon hissed. “I will be lucky if my own warriors do not rise up in mutiny. I know you think I am weak and foolish, but do not insult me this way.”

Felo held the youth’s gaze. “Are you wed, kaidon?”

“What?”

“Are you married?”

Eir looked away. He clearly thought Felo was still mocking him. “No.”

“Do you have an intended, then?”

The kaidon was quiet for several moments. “There is one from a vassal clan that I have known since childhood. I would win her favor through valor in battle.”

“You are kaidon of a venerable house. I would assume that would be more than enough to win any maiden’s favor.”

Eir snorted. “The entire planet knows I am only kaidon because this lunatic excuse for a war killed the rest. I am not blind to my shortcomings, fleetmaster. I gain nothing through my title. Any honor I possess will be what I win for myself.”

He had a point. Felo’s estimation of the kaidon rose, if only slightly. “You win nothing if you die here.”

“That is a far different attitude than you took on the hill.” Eir shook his head. “I do not want to die. That much is true. But if this is to be my fate, so be it. I will not disgrace myself by running when better Sangheili then myself die behind me.”

“You have not lived at all and yet here you are on the verge of sacrificing your life.” Felo raised a placating hand when Eir’s mandibles parted in anger. “At least you recognize it. There are many young warriors who will die today knowing nothing of all the happiness they might have known. I feel that in some respects I have hardly lived myself. Yet I have spent my life sending the young to their death. I am weary of it.”

They were both quiet for some time. In the distance the battle preparations continued unabated. The rain fell down over their lines. It would continue to fall throughout the battle to come, uncaring, unconcerned. Many would die today, but this planet would go on turning its predetermined course around its sun. Countless millions died miserable, pointless deaths every day and the galaxy went on turning as if nothing at all had happened.

“Are you going to send me away, then?” Eir’s voice shook when he finally spoke. “Will you dishonor me to soothe your own conscience? It will not matter if I survive because of your order. The shame will stain me regardless.”

“I will order you to survive,” Felo said quietly. “But I will not disgrace you. Fight at my side today. If we win, we will share the victory. And if we lose you will take command of the retreat. Lead the survivors back to your keep and withstand the enemy until reinforcements arrive from Sanghelios. We need more kaidons like you, Eir ‘Yularn. Perhaps if more such as yourself had been allowed to flourish in the past we would not find ourselves marring your planet with murder and carnage. You will gain glory as a commander in today’s battle. Or you will win glory for saving lives a foolish fleetmaster would have spent needlessly. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.” Eir spoke slowly. “But we will triumph today, fleetmaster. My house has sacrificed too much to embrace defeat now. I will make sure of that.”

“But you will not throw away your life needlessly? And if defeat is certain you will lead an ordered retreat?”

“Yes, fleetmaster.”

“Then there is nothing more to say. Prepare your warriors, kaidon. Battle is upon us.” Felo drew himself up. He turned away, command cloak fluttering in the cold air, and strode back to the front line. There. He had found a constructive outlet for his momentary doubt. If nothing else he had accomplished something today. He was ready for whatever else this bloody day held.

He found Rora waiting for him with the rest of his headquarters staff. The Outrider gave Felo a curious look as he took his place in their makeshift command center. “I hope whatever you said put some backbone in the young kaidon. We cannot afford for House Yularn’s warriors to break and run now.”

“He will not run. Not without my order.” Felo lowered his voice so only Rora could hear. “If the battle goes against us, I have ordered him to lead the retreat back to his keep. You and your warriors must go with him. Sanghelios cannot afford to lose more noble blood. He will need you at his side if he is to survive the siege that follows.”

“Such little faith in victory, fleetmaster,” Rora chided. “If I hadn’t prepared this battlefield myself I would start to doubt our chances.”

Before Felo could reply an alarm chimed from the communications suite. Felo’s signal officer looked up in alarm. “Fleetmaster! The enemy advances!”

Felo dropped a hand beneath his cloak and retrieved his spyglass. A dark mass emerged from the foothills. Many shapes moved in the mist: darting infantry, flashing Ghost formations, and there in the center, a looming rank of stocky, bipedal war machines.

The Unggoy machines Rora’s scouts had reported.

“All lances, prepare for battle!” Felo shouted. “Wraiths and plasma mortars will commence bombardment as soon as the enemy is in range! Strike them down before their own artillery is in place!”

“They will have sent advance teams forward to prepare their own plasma mortars,” Rora growled urgently. “I will take my warriors forward and make sure they never fire.”

Felo nodded. “Do it. But take care, commander. I need you alive.”

Rora leaped over the embankment. A shout from him summoned Izul and another dozen warriors. The Outrider and his commandos vanished into the mist.

“All ranks, hold!” Felo called back to the signal officer. “Advance on my command!”

Behind him the Wraith cannons fired and mortars thumped. Streaks of fiery blue soared up into the rain and arced toward the enemy line. Their impacts only hastened the Created line’s advance. The bipedal machines jogged forward with an almost comical gait, their movement stifled by the mud.

One chunk of the enemy line vanished behind a wall of fire. They had reached Rora’s mine emplacements. But the advance did not halt. The Created forces spilled through the fire, charging onwards through the storm of mortar fire.

They might serve a spineless cause, but these warriors were certainly brave. They would be on top of Felo’s warriors soon. Plasma shots rang out in the midst as Rora’s commandos traded fire with the oncoming charge. They would not last long. Not on their own, anyway.

Felo activated his energy sword. “Vanguard lances, to me!” he roared. “Meet them head on! Second rank, hold the line! Support us from the embankments!”

He glimpsed Eir ‘Yularn a few positions away, ordering his warriors to adjust the angles on their heavy plasma turrets. There was no more time for planning or orders. There was only the battle engulfing them now and the will of the gods or whatever sovereign intelligence governed this mad galaxy.

Felo ‘Ranak leaped from the embankment and charged forwards across the muddy fields. Hundreds of warriors ran with him on either side as plasma fire cut through the air and death spread across the barren plain.

The galaxy went on turning.