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This fanfiction article, Parallel Encounters, was written by Kobold Lich. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission. |
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This article, Centroid, is currently under active construction. |
Overview
Estranged from her family, Waimarie Paiwei chooses a path of vengeance even if it means her life will be one of pain. All this before her squad, Charlie-Two, is sent on a combat drop to counter a Covenant attack which threatens Operation: REMARQUE, a last ditch effort to save Jericho VII. Before she was Diamond Team's ranking NCO in Centroid, she was an ODST with a death wish.
Parallel Encounters - A Centroid Novella
Chapter 1: The Blocks
0950 Hours, December 18, 2532 (Military Calendar)/ Planet Tribute, Recon Waypoint Theta
Waimarie stood over the body of the woman, and kicked the pistol from her lifeless hand.
By the time she processed the sight of the woman's blood seeping in the carpet and pooling across the floor, several of her Marine squadmates had already cleared the rooms ahead of her. The Navy Corpsman, Kovski, pushed her off to the side as they checked the girl for signs of life. Frozen, Waimarie, felt a firm hand on her shoulder, and she snapped her eyes from the body to Sergeant Windemyre.
"First is the hardest, Private. There will be more. C'mon, now."
She played back the brief moment in her head again and again. She couldn't help feeling as though she had done something wrong. The woman was no younger than her; black hair, tan complexion—likely Mediterranean descent, fitting the ethnic standard of most on Tribute. She was almost assuredly a local "homegrown rebel" if she was living in "The Blocks", or what the locals called the low-income neighborhood packed to the brim with carbon copy, multi-story polycrete housing.
This might even be her building or, maybe, even her apartment? she pondered.
The girl was dead, though. What she was before, Waimarie could only speculate. The corpse wore a simple collared synthweave t-shirt, with a tan pair of heavily used cargo-pants, marred by holes at their knees. It's yellow shirt was wrinkled, slightly, as if the girl had pulled it off her floor, having been worn already—the insignia of a grocer stamped on the fabric over her silent heart. As far as she could tell the body had once been a normal Tributian girl. But, Waimarie also recalled the look on her face. Shock, fear...hate. Was this normal?
Again she played it back in her head.
The door slammed open, the flash-frag tossed in and popped. Waimarie entered on point, behind only the barrel of her sub-machine gun. The girl screamed madly and blindly fired over Waimarie's head, missing her by the smallest of margins. The snap of the girl's gun burst Waimarie's eardrum, and she ducked instinctively before she sprayed the girl breast to forehead in fully automatic fire. The girl spasmed as her muscles clenched in terror and pain, her lungs bursting before the sudden chaotic misfiring of nerves ended as a bullet severed her spine. The body twisted and fell, as if someone had pulled its power, and it landed onto a split face—the girl was dead long before her body hit the ground.
There was no glory, or elation. Waimarie thought she did what she had to—the girl had tried to kill her for christ sake. They had both made their decisions leading to that moment, and only Waimarie was walking away from it. She believed, or had to believe, she had chosen order over chaos, and honor over terror. The girl, tangled in something she understood or not, decided to fight against the remaining strength that Humanity had over the Covenant: Human Will. In defense of something so important, Waimarie concluded there was only one choice.
She quickly joined the squad at the end of the hallway, her mind numbed—she would try to never feel so conflicted about killing again.
Sergeant Windemyre followed in behind Waimarie, and they stacked up behind the seven other Marine Recon, two of which were standing beside a door patiently.
"What's the hold up, Pulaski?"
"Drone's coming around now, Sir—directing to the team's feed now."
As a live video feed of their observation drone buzzed the windows of the Apartment complex, Private Ellis turned back and gave Waimarie a massive, shit-eating grin.
"Nice job, Lucky! Saw those hockey moves back there! Ducked and dodged that shit—"
Ellis had always had difficulty with Waimarie's Māori name—after she told him that Waimarie more-or-less meant "Lucky", the nickname stuck, and her squad also quickly adopted what she felt was a cop out title. She was only slightly annoyed.
"It was nothing."
"A bit of luck then, eh?"
She frowned at Ellis, and he turned back, chuckling quietly to himself.
The drone feed finally steadied out on Waimarie's tactical eyepiece, and she could now make out the IFF "Friend or Foe" markings of her squad inside the complex. Beyond their building was another extensive apartment block, also full of transponders: first squad. Pulaski again piped up on their communications channel.
"Feed is up—drone is scanning now for explosives residue…" he paused waiting for the data to come in, "We're clear, but some of these buildings are getting major feedback, sir. I can't clear Complex 14."
Windemyre cursed under his breath, then brought his chin to his chest, breaking radio silence.
"4-1, 4-2."
"4-1, over."
"4-1, buzzer is getting major feedback from sensors. Recommend you switch to ETD's."
Waimarie's ears perked up at that suggestion—Explosive Trace Detectors implied that Battalion really was expecting booby traps if they were having them double check the drone's sensors.
"Roger—go ahead and call it off for overwatch. I'm going to make the call for extraction shortly; we'll be done here soon, over."
"Understood." Windemyre looked back to his squad, and began giving orders. "Alright Marines, we're gonna be moving topside for the Hornets once 4-1 has cleared their complex. The Battalion is already GTG and waiting for our all-clear. Once we dust off—"
The squad's radios crackled to life with a warning call—a burst of static.
"Buzzer's down! I've got nothing, sir!" Pulaski shook his tactical pad angrily.
Suddenly the room echoed from a distant thud; an explosion. It was clear what had happened: the drone was gone. Windemyre pinged the other squad leader's HUD—the code for imminent contact was out. He looked over at the young Private still shaking and tapping the pad—his helmet off in an effort to make sense of the lack of signal. Pulaski missed the code, and he hissed at him angrily.
"Pulaski, get your stupid ass to the window, start scouting, and put your goddamn bucket back on!"
The Marines in the small apartment began nervously peering from the center room out whatever window they had a clear view from. They were all young—17 to 18 years old at most. The onset of the war against the Covenant had laxed the rules for enlistment, and even saw to reduce the time for Boot by a quarter. None of the squad, with the exception now of Waimarie, had yet fired their weapons with the intent to kill. The eldest among them was Windemyre, at 20, appearing to the green squad a grizzled ancient. Waimarie, from a family of service members, knew this was naive. Windemyre was only on his second deployment, and the only individual Waimarie knew, beside her older brother Nico, who had faced the true wrath of the Covenant. Such experience, though prized, was far and away common these days.
Pulaski gasped and fell back from the window, and scrambled back on his hands and knees to Windemyre. "Large movement a block over." he croaked unable to catch his breath, "I made out—Christ, like, two hundred armed Innies and about seven technicals? Ah, fuck, Sarge, this is bad!—"
Windemyre yanked Pulaski's collar, clunking their helmets together.
"Hush up, charge your rifle, and get your shit together, Marine." Windemyre released and shoved Pulaski into Ellis. Ellis brought his palm onto the spooked Marine's shoulder, and gave him a wide grin.
"Buck up, Pulaski, not every leatherneck gets to battle Innies anymore. You're gonna' miss all this inna' couple months when the Covies are burning your fuckin' skin off."
"Same to you, Ellis." Windemyre growled. Ellis gave a sly salute, and winked at Waimarie. She elbowed him, and he scoffed.
Windmyre sidled to Pulaski's former window and glanced out. He cursed under his breath. The next complex over from them echoed with the rattle of engines and yells from a radioless foe. The first squad's indicator lights flashed red in their eye-piece. Windemyre snapped a fresh magazine into his assault rifle—shredder rounds.
"They're entering the campus. They might know we're here...Hey! Lucky!" he looked over to Waimarie. "Take Ellis up to the roof to get a better look of things, will ya?"
"Aye, sir."
"Pulaski," Windemyre studied the nervous figure of his tech, "go help Private Mariano set up the SAW on that table a couple meters back from the window and set up to cover for our guys in the other building."
Waimarie looked back momentarily to see Pulaski wipe his brow and nod silently.
As she and Ellis made their way to the hallway, Privates Hawk and Lima came with them to make sure that their squad maintained the stairwell. Waimarie knew they would be the first to contact any Innies coming up, so she encouraged them to stay sharp. Something about the looks in their faces changed, now, as they took in her words with a new fervor answering with a simultaneous "oorah"— it seemed that their training was kicking in. When the four of them had entered the stairwell, she could hear the Innies out back through an open window below. The recon squads were in the thick of it, now. Carefully, she slung her SMG across her chest and unholstered her M6C sidearm. The hatch to the roof was already loose and unlocked, so she carefully eased the pistol up and used it to push it open slowly.
"Stay low." Ellis reminded her. She glanced about the roof of the complex, and with the exception of some strewn garbage and a few spent rounds, it was desolate. Waimarie crawled out and was careful to keep her boot in the metal hatch so that Ellis could follow her without making too much commotion.
The two crawled across the roof until they reached the rear of the building, overlooking a courtyard between the complexes. Peering over with a fiber optic cable Waimarie could see the extent of her enemy. Roughly a dozen Insurrectionists were now shuffling all across in the courtyard, and extraction would presently be impossible without drawing their fire on their ride out. Worse, even more were now pouring into first squad's building. She pegged her mic.
"4-2, Paiwei."
"Go ahead Private."
"Sir, they's tramping about second squad's block. We need to get creative if we want to get out of here, acknowledge?"
The other end was silent; she assumed to assess the situation with the other squad leader. Ellis, clearly contemplating the same thing, tapped her boot to grab her attention. She peered backward as they lie still on their bellies, giving him a look of faux annoyance.
"Somethin' tells me we're about to become the tip of the spear, Lucky." he whispered sternly. Waimarie blew the dust on the ground in front of her in exasperated agreement. Their COM alleviated any speculation when Windemyre returned to relay their orders.
"Alright, team, good news is that Battalion is moving up the fireworks to 1000 hours so we won't need to extract by air. Bad news is that first squad is moments from contact. We're going to engage to get a leg up on the Innies. Weapons free on the tangos in the yard once we open with the SAW."
"Aye, sir."
Waimarie's heart rate skyrocketed. They were sorely out gunned, but as she checked her combat feed, she saw that it was 0959 hours— they would only need to stay in direct contact for about a minute before the Armored Cavalry rolled in. She was thankful, now, that they had painstakingly ensured the area was clear of anti-tank mines— the haste of the Marine Column was likely to be their only saving grace.
And not a moment too soon, a clatter broke out beneath her as Private Mariano's light machine gun sheared into the adjacent building where he had had a clear view down the hallway the Innie's were searching.
As quickly as the shooting began, all hell broke loose.
The floor was suddenly engulfed in flame and smoke as one of the Innie's triggered a vest packed with plastic explosive. All the windows for what seemed like a kilometer shattered, and the first squad's building was enveloped in a thick cloud of dust created by the atomized polycrete, dirt, and subsequent fire from the explosion. Waimarie's COM went haywire as Battalion and Squad leaders chattered over one another in a frenzy to figure out the status of first squad. Waimarie and Ellis peaked over the side of their roof and saw that the group of Innies below them were stunned. They had begun taking cover from the unexpected explosion which now covered them in a thin veil of dust. Waimaire didn't hesitate.
She stood and took aim at the closest target below her: another inconspicuous individual who carried a rifle and was clad in everyday clothing, and what even appeared to be sandals. The SMG dropped them quickly, no armor protecting their body. Ellis also stood and began to scan the confused Innies. They both began to call out targets as the courtyard became frenzied as the Insurrectionists realized they were taking fire. Ellis's turn was next, his rifle catching a woman in camouflage slacks and a brown jacket emblazoned with a red fistagon. She fell screaming from the wound in her abdomen and he fired again, her pained expression now released as she sprawled silent. Waimarie called out the next, and they both fired on a man with grey hair, clad in reconnoitered Army BDU and a bandana across his mouth. The man fired on them, but missed widely as Waimarie connected with his arm and then head. He fell over lifeless.
Another explosion in the first squad's building caused Waimarie to duck into Ellis, both tumbling to the roof as debris clattered about them. Even with her hearing dulled by the sound of gunfire the metallic crackle of buckling steel and shattered concrete rang Waimarie's eardrums like a gong.
"Technical firing on the second squad's building!" an unrecognizable voice called out on the COM through static haze. Waimarie pushed off Ellis and scrambled to the other side of the building. There, across the street, a utility truck with a recoilless rifle in the bed was reloading and turning to take aim at their building.
"Mariano! Suppressing fire on technical bearing 172! ASAP!" Waimarie bellowed into her headset.
A painful few seconds passed as she waited for the SAW's response. The technical, now reloaded, began to position the gun towards them. Unable to wait any longer, she stood up straight and took aim. Dozens of Insurrectionists immediately saw her silhouette as she steadied and took time to compensate for the small calibre of her firearm. She heard the buzz of several bullets scurry by her as she fired a short burst which clanged across the side of the truck. Unexpectedly she was thrown down hard—the world turned to dust around her. She had felt the shockwave of the round connecting against the building and exploding not far from where she was standing moments earlier. Shrapnel skittered across the ground and clattered against her armor. Although the breath had been knocked out of her and she was sure she had involuntarily soiled herself when she was slammed to the ground, she was otherwise only a little dazed.
Ellis yelled out as he slid to her side and began to tap her helmet to elicit a response. Waimarie could barely make out the worried words he mouthed as her ears rang. She waved him off, and he seemed to relax. She pointed to her ears, and he nodded in realization before exaggeratedly motioning towards the hatch which led back to the stairs. They both crawled across the roof and slid into the hatch where Hawk and Lima, still keeping guard, helped bring them down. The full squad had already appeared to have gathered in the stairway as they hopped off the ladder. As she glanced down the hall she got a glimpse of what she nearly had been on the receiving end of.
There was a gaping hole, nearly a meter wide in the wall where the round connected with the building's facade. A helmetless Pulaski was sprawled dead on the floor next to the stunned Mariano who, although his BDU was riddled with dents and his face was bloodied, was merely shaken up as he looked on while Kovski dragged Pulaski's body to the squad.
Windemyre approached her and Ellis and slapped Waimarie on the shoulder. His muted smile said everything she needed to know: she had apparently landed her shot on the gunner of the technical. Ellis tapped on her helmet and nodded out a rear window on the well. She cautiously peered out and could see why everyone appeared to have become somewhat relaxed.
The courtyard was crawling with Marine Infantry and Scorpions; a column of the tanks had moments earlier rolled into their complex sending the remaining Innies running farther into The Blocks. The infantry were still fresh, and a lot of them seemed anxious to get in on the action— but, she knew it was over, now. By nightfall, the uprising would be quashed and they would all be quickly shuffled back into the War effort. The sprawling residential area was nearly entirely under UNSC control, and Recon had already done their part to ensure the remaining areas were to be steamrolled without any surprises.
As she wobbly exited the building, Waimarie sat and exhaled. Her hearing was beginning to come back, and her heart rate normalized as her adrenaline wore off. Soon, though, she felt her head throb with each beat of her heart — a spell of dizziness overcame her and she felt faint. She grabbed at Ellis's arm and he immediately waved over Kovski after stating that she looked as "pale as a ghost".
No sooner had the skirmish ended, Kovski loaded Waimarie, Mariano, and the surviving injured members of first squad into an APC heading back to Camp. As the APC closed it's rear hatch and chugged it's way back towards base, Waimarie went through concussion protocol with Kovski while the other Corpsman began to bandage and apply biofoam to the more gravely injured among them. She stared blankly down at the bulging olive drab tarp in the center of the vehicle. Beneath it was the lifeless body of Pulaski. Kovski, recognizing her gaze, paused his check to reassure her as best he could.
"Ah, see how 'Lucky' you actually are though, eh?" He chuckled, "Don't feel bad. He didn't feel a thing. It was instant. Okay?"
She nodded silently.