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Edited-
Fixed a version where my dumbass transposed 'Hegemony' and 'Hierarchy' because I can remember the fucking caliber of an M7S but not the name of Garrus' fucking country.
XxX-XxX-XxX
He hissed as something hard and uneven slammed into his leg, right in the slight gap above the back of his calf and beside his knee. He flinched back as he turned and his new unit's marksman chuckled, "Wake up, Buttercup."
"Hmph."
Before he could respond, the man was shoved aside by another of his new unit who shook his head and sighed tiredly as he watched the marksmen move off. Finally, he flicked a look to him and held up one of the submachine guns he was carrying. "Hey, relax, Rookie. He don't mean nothing. Besides, now's one of those times, pays to be the strong, silent type."
He wanted to argue, he really did, but… It didn't really matter.
So he just shrugged and sat up straighter, watching as the man leaned in and shoved his M7S into the drop-socket in his pod. The front of John's SOIEV hissed as the pneumatics on the hatch began to seal it and the man back away, paying him a short nod before turning and stepping up and into his pod beside John's. As the door hissed and sent tremors through his pod, its internal systems flushing air out of the seal and hard-locking it all into place, he turned to slap a hand against the M7 and check its fit in the clamp. When it didn't shift, he grabbed the suppressed barrel and gave it a gentle tug at an odd angle, to check the magnetic hold on the weapon. Satisfied it was locked down properly, he set to work tugging on his BDU harness and his drop harness, running through a list of last minute checks before the plunge.
Or, re-running through them, really - he'd checked everything but the lock on the M7 three times before anyone else had even gotten to the drop bay.
It never hurt to be careful, after all…
The muted hiss of pneumatics dragged his attention back to the pod itself as it shuddered, a dull tremor running through its entire frame and into his bones as the pneumatic harness it was locked into lifted it into the air. It turned him as it shifted, holding him out over open low-orbit air as the lower bay doors opened, revealing a distant, rumbling cloud bank and, around it, a drab, smoke-filled stretch of industrialised African terrain, already being burnt and blasted by the Covenant. The jungle stretched out beyond even that, a few kilometres out, but he could pick out smoke from there, too.
"The fighting is everywhere…" He murmured, grimacing and leaning back in his seat. "Like always."
And like always, that didn't say anything good about what was coming…
He heard the inter-squad comm-screen hiss to life and turned to listen as a woman he didn't know - Dare was splashed on her helmet, though - spoke, "Latest intel reports Covenant forces are massing under the carrier."
"They're pulling back?" Buck asked, shocked, "Why?"
"We're not going to find out way up here."
"We are droppin' into hell, Troopers!" Buck snapped out suddenly, "Time to grow a pair!"
He took a deep breath and leaned back as the pods across the drop-bay from him launched, propelled at speed by light thrust. A heartbeat, and he heard his HUD pinging gently - counting down to launch for his benefit. As the last note thrummed, he felt another rumble push through the pod and into his spine, his guts, as his pod lurched forward. He leaned back for a second, letting his eyes close as the burst of Gs hit him, and then let out a breath as his pod's systems normalized it.
At least, as much as it could…
He opened his eyes to watch a UNSC ship, broken apart and slowly listing towards Earth as its gravity generators began winking out, pass by.
"I take it back." Their marksman snarked, "Navy got its butt kicked."
"Hey Romeo, remember when I told you to shut your mouth?"
"Yeah?"
"Consider that a standing order."
The next few moments were blessedly quietly, beyond the distant, dull roar of the atmosphere outside his pod screaming against it. Finally, they passed through the rumbling cloud bank, and he winced as lightning cracked in front of him. But then they were through, and he got a good look at the broken city below, and the massive, violet carrier looming low over it. He could see lances of plasma arcing out from it, small and meant for support on the ground or aiming to pick off the tiny specks of Pelicans he could make out at the city's waterfront.
But no Banshees… And few Phantoms.
They were pulling out, not back, he realised suddenly.
Had they pushed the Covenant off Earth?
A sudden, sharp lurch yanked the hope out of his hands as his pod twisted, electricity arcing across his controls as he spun out. His comm-screens flickered and sparked, cutting him off until Buck connected to his helmet-comm directly, "Rookie, hold on! Lightning caught you on your side! You're off-course!"
"Damn it…"
"Your computers are off-line, comms too- Sat-link is down." Buck rattled out, "Initiate emergency procedures- Pop your chute."
"I'm spinning out-"
"I'm putting eyes on… Now, Dare, adjust trajectory- Plus five degrees South!" A moment passed and Buck went on, "Forty five seconds to impact, Rookie, you're spinning at… Four rotations per second!"
He could tell - his head and stomach were starting to spin. He locked his eyes on his control stick to fight the nausea and grunted, "I need to burst-fire maneuevering thrusters - reorient onto the point."
"Good head, Rook." Buck said, "Wait for my mark, I'm going to try and direct you back on-course."
"Yes, Sir."
"Okay… Three… Two… Mark!" He fired a half-second burst of his thruster, and Buck snapped, "Again!"
He hit the button and something trembled in his pod. When he looked up, through the viewport, he could see smoke and bursts of burning hydrogen. "Thruster just went out!"
"Damn it!" Buck swore, "Look, Rookie- Wait, what is the Carrier-"
"Slipspace rupture!" Dare suddenly broke in - and when had she connected to his unit? "Everyone, brace, brace, brace!"
His pod lurched again and he snapped to the side and up, against his harness. His world washed over in brilliant violets, reds, yellows and blues for a moment, and Buck's wild screaming his name was stretched and warped as his vision swam. He fought against it, for a while, before he felt something hot dripping out of his nose as the nausea spiked and, finally, his head lolled and his vision went black.
XxX-XxX-XxX
Garrus eased back against the rocky wall behind him and braced his old Viper against the rocky outcropping to his right while he watched the neat, arcing bursts of mass accelerator fire pouring out of outpost twenty three. The outpost had been built into the side of one of Menae's largest plateaus, with a roughly rectangular wall that was open at the rear, where a road had been carved into the plateau. It was one of three such bases, situated around Menae's core defensive zones, and had been afforded the heavy machine gun turrets whose arcs of fire he was watching.
It was also one of only three ways for infantry to get up easily, and the Reapers knew that.
"I understand the outpost's importance, General." He sighed, lining up a shot on a Marauder commanding a force of a dozen Cannibals and twice as many Husks who were pressing into the fire from two of the turrets on the outpost's flank. It was less than half a kilometer out, its forces almost pressed against the cliff Garrus was kneeling on, which meant the shot was an easy one.
Its head exploded and he sighed, cycling to the Cannibal beside it and perforating its torso with three shots to make sure it went down and stayed there.
"If you understand, then support them." General Victus ordered wearily, "Outpost-23 needs to hold while 24 entrenches further up the road."
"Damn it…" He growled, mandibles flicking agitatedly as he cycled over the roughly entrenched Reaper line, looking for the next Marauder. Killing those tended to leave the Husks around them confused. "How long?"
"Ideally?"
"Mhm."
"Two hours."
"I doubt that…" Garrus grunted, "Unless you don't want to pull anyone from Twenty Three."
"Is it that bad?"
"Yeah." He growled, watching a group of Brutes rush through the heavy fire at the fore of the base while a hundred Husks and Cannibals swarmed along behind it, directed by a dozen Marauders. "Shit- Coordinated assault incoming, directly in front of the outpost. We're going to need air support."
"There is none, right now."
"What?!"
"We're attempting to evacuate Primarch Fedorian in half an hour, Vakarian." General Victus reported, "Heavy-Air is trying to clear a sky-way. We've pulled everything for that."
"Damn it." He growled, leaning forward and aiming for the front of the charging mass.
The Brutes wouldn't care about his lighter rounds, and were already being ripped apart by the heavy fire. But the Husks and Cannibals tended to group and move together, for whatever reason. So he sighted down on the chest of a leading Cannibal and put four rounds into it, ripping it apart and sending it tumbling in front of its fellows, who stumbled and tripped over it, dragging the momentum of dozens down with only a few shots and silencing their wild suppressive fire. Turians on the outpost's wall stood and returned fire in the quiet and Garrus smiled as he ejected his heat sink and punched another in, and then turned for the group of Marauders.
He fired a single shot, and the world roared around him, flashing in a wash of bright colors. Panic, and instinct, drove him back and down, to curl up on the ground with his back to the cliff and his head tucked up against the outcropping on his right. A second later, something ripped through the rock around him with a scream of metal on stone, showering him in debris as it sailed by.
"What the-" He coughed on the dust as he staggered up and nearly stumbled off the suddenly much shorter edge before he caught himself on what was left of the rocky outcropping to his side.
Whatever it was had shattered the twenty or so feet of uneven rock Garrus had climbed down to get to his spot, and carved down through some of his vantage point too. He followed the line of the debris that had scattered along the way and spotted where it had landed. Right in the center of the flank-wall of the Outpost…
Where it had annihilated one of the heavy turret emplacements and twenty feet of concrete and steel.
"Spirits damn it all!" He snarled, turning to look for his rifle as he reached up to activate his comms. "Outpost wall breached! What the hell was that?"
"Unknown!" An officer answered, her voice quiet and frightened. "Tracking trajectory- Directly above, rear, approximately four point five kilometers. It appeared under the Spirit of Acquisition!"
"Under?" He snapped, confused, "Clarify!"
"Unavailable!" She answered, "Trajectory tracks to just in front of its engines! Radiation anomaly was detected, which disabled its Barriers and targeting, and ground-based defences tracked it from there."
"Spirits…" He turned, expecting to see the warship going down inside a few seconds. But the Reapers still only had a handful of ships fighting in low orbit, Destroyers that were being held at bay by a dozen Turian ships. And while they held air power over most of Menae, the plateau had held so far. "What was their plan, then?"
"Sir?"
"I said Reaper forces are pushing on a breach in the Outpost's wall!" He snarled, abandoning the rifle he couldn't find and drawing his Vindicator instead. As he turned to clamber up the wall, he added, "Get air diverted now, or we lose the perimeter!"
"But-"
"We lose the perimeter, the Spirit of Acquisition isn't going anywhere!" He snapped loudly, "I'm moving to the Outpost to support- My rifle has been lost."
"Affirmative, Specialist Vakarian." The woman said, voice flanger in lower tones that told him she was terrified. "I will work on tasking support local. Artillery support already tasked, one kilometer low-ground perimeter. Anything closer is designated bad-angle, no-fire - the cliffs are blocking the arc."
"Copy, keep it up." He snapped as the distant echo of artillery cannons sounded, raining fire and fury on the grounds around the Outpost. They were light rounds, which were just about all they had now, but a moment later they were joined by something heavier.
He turned, watching the Spirit of Acquisition raining down its heavy mass accelerators on the ground more than a kilometer away from the outpost. It was inaccurate, but it was there - and everything past the plateau was Reaper territory for a hundred kilometers before you got to more Turian entrenchments.
"Spirits." He murmured, "We could use some help now…"
XxX-XxX-XxX
John groaned as he came to, surrounded by flashing warning lights, sparking electrical conduits, and gentle warning chimes. He was on his side, hanging in his drop-harness, and groaned as he reached up to pull himself back into the seat so he could punch the release on the harness. He collapsed against the inside of his hatch and against the wall beside it and groaned, reaching up to rub his shoulder as he turned and caught his breath while he ran his hands along his legs and chest, looking for injuries he hadn't noticed.
He was fine, though - aside from some soreness and stiffness in his shoulder, and ringing in his ears.
But he didn't have time to check on either… He could hear rounds pinging off his pod's hull. He couldn't tell what kind, but he could hear iit - and feel artillery landing somewhere nearby, too.
He'd flown off-course, and apparently right into a battlefield - because of course he had.
Rolling onto his feet, he stood - or more squatted - in the inside of his pod and reached up, tugging his M7S free and laying it on his thigh while he retrieved its smaller Magnum companion. He had a few magazines for either, too, as well as a pair of grenades on his hip - but he didn't bother checking the grenade box under his seat. He kept it empty, thanks to more than a few horror stories from his training sergeant about rough landings, crushed bottoms, and incidental explosions.
Even if it wasn't entirely true, it was better to be safe than splattered across the inside of your SOIEV.
"Okay." He sighed, leaning against the wall behind him and punching the secondary, emergency releases. "Here goes nothing."
The ejection charges worked, blowing the lid out and into the ground underneath the pod with enough force to roll the SOIEV onto its side a bit, which left a foot or so of open space he'd have to crawl through. He didn't like it, but without any other, better, choice…
He threw himself down and crawled through the rocky soil like he was back in basic - complete with live fire pinging off his SOIEV and cracking around him.
His shoulders made it out before a hand grabbed the back of his harness, dragging him away on his belly while he kicked through his surprise. Whoever it was hefted him bodily a few feet away and turned him, hurling his back against a rock.
Which let him finally look up, at the alien standing over him. It was lithely built, smaller than an Elite, but with a similar head. Its armor, though, was heavier - more rounded on the torso and almost blocky everywhere else. It waved for him to stay down in an obvious gesture - palm down and waving - before it raised the long, blocky rifle in its arms and let out long, short bursts of fire.
Ballistic fire - not plasma.
Another alien, this one in white, suddenly slammed into the cover beside him and grabbed him, yanking him down onto his back and leaning over his head, eyes hard and sharp.
He panicked, snapping up and out with the stock of his M7S and rolling away and up, onto a kneeling position. The alien clutched at its jaw and fell back while the first turned to him, mandibles flicking, and chittered something at him.
"What- What did you say?" He snapped, shaking his head. It snarled and flicked its head, then took a step toward him and he snapped his submachine gun up. Anxious, he murmured, "My helmet has to be damaged… The translator isn't working."
Something in that seemed to register, and the silver-armored alien knelt, leaning back into cover and looking over his shoulder. After a moment, he looked back at him, pressed a taloned hand to his chest and hissed awkwardly. "Vakarian. Tyurian Heg'rky."
He didn't know what that was, but he understood whatever it was - Vakarian, apparently - it was trying. And the contacts shooting at them were only firing rounds a few feet to his side. If one got an angle…
He grimaced and, as anxious as it made him, lowered his M7S. After a second, and a look to the side, where more of the 'Vakarians' or 'Tyurians' - he couldn't be sure which just yet - were falling into cover behind scattered bits of rubble. Rubble from what seemed to be a wall, judging from the shattered section a few feet behind and to the side of where his pod had landed. And the rubble had been thrown in an arc past his pod, which meant…
Ah… Well, that was awkward.
"Human!" The alien hissed loudly, jerking his gaze back to it. It gestured for him to get behind the rock with him and rasped, "Rip'rs.
'Ripper' or 'Reaper', or something else entirely, he couldn't tell. But what it meant, he realized a moment later as the other aliens stood and opened fire, pouring whatever they fired - he couldn't see any casings falling - out through the hole. For a moment, the fire held whatever was coming back. But then, one by one, they had to duck into their shoddy cover to reload.
And the things rushed through when they did…
They were vaguely human-shaped, with grey, veiny skin and metal protrusions, and howled, shrieked, and bellowed as they came in. Some of the large aliens reloaded in time and stood, backing away and putting bursts of fire through the monsters that threw them back into each other. Others abandoned their weapons and stood, lashing out with their claws as the creatures leapt for them. A few managed to stay standing, but most collapsed under the weight of several of the monsters who ripped and tore at them.
Whatever these aliens were…
They weren't monsters - he'd blown a hole through their defences and they'd pulled him to cover anyway.
He raised his M7 and advanced on a pair of them clambering on a black-armored alien who struggled with the one on his front while the other clubbed and tore at his head. A short burst of fire ripped through its head and threw it off and another burst cut down the other. Then he turned and knelt, peppering more of the monsters coming through with bursts of automatic fire. The silver-armored alien stepped to his side and joined him as more of the aliens arrived, coming down a road behind him in a sleek, silver tank with a twin-barreled turret that swivelled around, spraying heavy, automatic fire through the gap.
"Changing!" He snapped, stepping back and hoping the aliens would understand. He seemed to, stepping in front of him and covering him until he stood and tapped his shoulder. Then the alien stepped back and did the same.
But when he was done, he tapped his shoulder and rasped, "Beck!"
"What?"
The alien flicked its mandibles and turned, pointing along the wall at a ladder and then up at the catwalk along the wall. "C'ver!"
He nodded and turned, following the alien as it ran, slipping through more who came, loaded down with folded up barricades they unfurled as the grey-things were finally pushed back. A heavy machine gun was added, and with the tank, formed a sort of perimeter inside the wall, around the breach.
The alien stopped him at the ladder and turned, chittering something at another who was working on a damaged heavy gun beside the ladder. It flicked him a look, nodded, and undid the armor on left arm. Then it pulled off a soft of… Sleeve and reached for him.
He flinched, and the silver one said, "Hlps."
He grimaced but nodded and held his arm up, to let it wrap the thin fabric around his arm. Then it backed up and tapped the side of its head and mimed removing a helmet. When John finally slid his off, it held up a little patch of grey-ish fabric with a small circle inside it, then stepped in and pressed it against the skin behind his ear.
Which… Was hard to tolerate.
Then it lifted his arm and made a gesture-
"Fuck!" He grunted as bright orange light lit up along his arm. It didn't burn, though, and both aliens waved for him to calm down.
He grimaced but did, letting the alien tap at the orange thing - which summoned a keyboard. The keys were alien, both in their words and the layout, but the creature tapped away quickly. After a moment, they changed, displaying in German until the alien turned and he shook his head. They repeated the same for French and then Spanish before trying English. Finally, he nodded, and the creature typed out a word in English.
'Initialize.'
A moment later, the silver one spoke, this time in English. "We replaced your Omni-Tool, since yours wasn't working. Easier to just slap a new one on than fix it out here."
"You're…" He shook his head and pulled his helmet back on with a sharp sigh - it felt so much better to have it on. "You're speaking English."
"No." The alien said, mandibles flicking oddly. "I'm speaking Hierarchy-Basic. The… The Omni-Tool is translating for you. How do you not know that if your Omni-Tool was broken?"
"I didn't have one." He grunted, tapping his helmet, "My translator is built into my helmet. Understand all basic Human languages and all basic Covenant ones."
"Covenant?"
"How do you not know what that is?" He asked, before something exploded against the tank and it had to back away, smoking through a hole in its front that trailed a column as it withdrew. "Forget it- What the hell is happening, Splitjaw?"
"The Reapers are invading." He sighed, then chuckled and added, "Name's Garrus. Garrus Vakarian. Not 'Splitjaw'."
"Ah." He blinked, "John Doe."
"Oh, c'mon…"
"I'm serious." He sighed, shaking his head and turning to grab onto the ladder, "Explanation later, we have a wall to hold."
"Fair."
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So, I was bored, and kinda always wanted to revisit this. With the new ME coming, figured… Fuck it. Let's see where we go, eh?
Note for readers of the old version - this will have a lot of similar beats, but I am going to change a LOT. And generally go for a slower approach. For those that dislike that, the old one will stay up. No worries, lol.