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Beckoning of Doom Ch. 5: Crumbling Supports
Posted By: Nick Kang<digitai430@yahoo.com>
Date: 24 November 2004, 1:28 AM
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Beckoning of Doom
Chapter 5: Crumbling Supports
The HEV shook as it entered the atmosphere of Earth. The temperature inside slowly began to rise. Tesler felt tiny beads of sweat form on his neck and forehead as the Human Entry Vehicle quickly made its way down towards the ground.
Fifth squad, rendezvous at this area once you land." Tesler spoke into his mike and highlighted a section of the landing zone, sending it to the rest of his squad. Eight acknowledgement beacons quickly blinked on his HUD.
Tesler checked the temperature gauge on his Heads Up Display and realized that it was nearing ninety degrees inside his armor. That was what he hated about the new ODST battle armor. It was usually about ten degrees hotter inside the armor than it was outside. It may have been good for arctic conditions such as the one he was about to enter, but not ideal for insertions.
Snapping his brain back on subject, Tesler quickly hugged his standard-issue Battle Rifle close to his chest and snapped back the bolt. It was possible that their LZ would be hostile, and Tesler wasn't about to die when the campaign had barely begun. He looked at the optical camera-viewed monitor in front of his face, and quickly forced his eyes shut as the bright orange-yellow light flooded his vision.
The HEV once again shook as the protective skin around the small craft peeled and burned away, quickly raising the temperature of the interior. The heat almost instantly balloned on Tesler's thermometer, and strived to reach 120 degrees. Several seconds later, the atmosphere cleared, and the temperature slowly began to decrease. A light started blinking on the computer, and Tesler pulled a lever, releasing the para-canopy above the HEV. The craft bucked as the canopy suddenly stopped the flow of air, and the HEV slowly sank down to the Earth for several minutes, before jarring as it impacted the frozen ground.
Tesler waited for his eyes to focus and shook his heads to rid himself of dizziness. He grabbed his battle rifle and popped the latch on the HEV, listening to it hiss as the pressure regulated. Once out of the vessel, Tesler watched as at least fifty more HEVs landed around him, all of them digging five-foot ruts into the frozen ground. In the distance, Tesler could see scores more of the landing crafts slicing red-hot incisions into the gray sky.
Crouching behind his lopsided HEV, Tesler held his position with his battle rifle leveled and waited for the call to come in. Minutes passed. The wind howled. Nothing moved on the frozen Alaskan tundra, and, besides the hollow swoosh of the wind, the only sound was the steady pulsing of the Covenant cruiser, several miles away.
Blackness surrounded him. No sound penetrated the endless darkness. Just black. Time twisted through this other dimension, obscuring any thoughts that cared to enter his head. But quickly...something took form. Fanoon wasn't quite sure whether it was a sound or a shape...his head throbbed with such unholy pain that he really didn't care.
A light burst through the darkness. He would have had to squint, had his eyes not been closed. It wasn't like the purple-blue artificial light that was used aboard ships like the Beckoning of Justice, but a gold-silver light, one that pulsed with Holy meaning and godlike seniority. At the source of this light was a patch of blue light, however, the same shade as used on the ships, and it grew and expanded until Fanoon found himself staring at the metal ceiling a story above him. A remnant of pain still remained in his body, though it was merely a shadow compared to that which he had experienced while fighting the cloaked swordsmen.
He realized that his right hand had been placed against his side, and his left had been folded upon his stomach; a gesture that had been entitled 'The Mourning Hero'. It was given to only those with the highest recognition. Fanoon felt a surge of proudness that someone had taken the time to present him with the gesture. He moved his head, but encountered resistance as he did so. He rolled over, and saw that someone had rested his head upon the hilt of the sword he had wielded. The battery reading indicated that the blade had little power left. If he didn't use it sparingly, he would end up beating enemies to death with the empty handle.
Fanoon took a quick search around the room for weapons and ammo. The only operational weapon he found was a battered Carbine. The large rifle was weak against shields, but he supposed it was better than nothing. There was no sign of 'Henifamee's body, so the Shipmaster must have survived the attack and had been able to pull back the survivors to somewhere deeper within the ship.
Just as he was about to depart on the search for 'Henifamee, a quiet beeping caught his attention. It was continuous and almost nonexistent, but it was definitely there. It sounded like the alert for a radio system. Fanoon tracked it up the command ramp, careful to avoid his comrades' bodies and careful to trample the enemies. The beeping was coming from the main command platform personal speakers, but the body of a headless enemy Elite covered it. That was why it had been so quiet. Fanoon picked up the body and cast it aside, paying no heed to the clank that the body made as it impacted the hard floor. He punched the 'Receive' switch, and sound instantly flooded the control platform.
"This is Ramma 'Krominee, fifth Battle Group leader under Prophet Jarock' Toth. We have been holed up in Detention Station Three, and his Excellency is growing impatient as to when we may be able to receive reinforcements to help quell these Heretics. If anyone is receiving this, respond."
Fanoon winced. He had completely forgotten about the Minor Prophet onboard. Had the Heirarchs had condemned him as a Heretic as well? He depressed the Transmit switch.
"This is Veteran Fanoon 'Farnasee, Second Battle Group Warrior under Late Juroo 'Darmsee." He spoke into the transmitter.
"'Farnasee, let me speak to your Next to Commander. Is it possible to do that?"
"Negative, Excellency. I'm all that's left."
Interlude
Covenant Holy City, High Charity
Ninth Age of Reclamation
Private Attendance of the Heirarchs and leading Elite Masters
Several Human weeks earlier...
The Elite Master slammed his fist into the floating table. "I will not condemn those of my kind and those of other races to death because of a gut instinct, albeit one that was developed by the almighty Heirarchs!" His gold armor seemed to flare with his anger. On the far side of the table, several dozen meters away, The Prophet of Truth shook his head sagely.
"There is proficient evidence that these individual warriors, though many of them are treasured Instruments, will, sometime or another, break from the Covenant empire to join Heretic bands and Rebels. We cannot allow those events to take place. Action against them must be taken. Heretics are already a big enough problem about this Heirarchy. If we hadn't been enticed to reserve nearly a third of the Covenant warriors to handle rebellions, the Humans would have been crushed long ago. So if you are looking for a specific individual to divert your anger towards, Heretic leaders would be much better targets than me or the other Heirarchs." His voice never rose above a calm drone. The Master sat back into his seat and became silent. The Prophet of Mercy steered his throne in beside Truth and spoke.
"We too regret sacrificing nearly fourty Battle Groups of every species, but if you look at how many warriors have been slain by Humans since the war began, a mere shipful will not tip the numbers drastically. Besides," the Prophet glanced at the Elite Master and leaned back in his throne, "it will give your Warriors a good name for themselves, 'Coranee. Charging into a ship full of heavily armed Heretics and slaying them all will certainly give you the recognition you deserve. Am I right?"
The Master looked down at the table and clicked his mandibles for a moment before responding. "Yes...Excellency."
Mercy retreated back into the Shadows cast by the four artificial lighting conduits in the ceiling. Only the glow of the contra-gravity jets on the belly of his throne gave hint that he was present anymore. Truth continued the briefing.
Tesler peeked over the snowdrift and was instantly captivated by the gargantuan Covenant battlecruiser. The thing was easily three times as big as a UNSC carrier, which was really saying something. The shiny purple armor that coated the vessels guts reflected every bit of light from the Alaskan sun. The deep purple grav lift was needle-thin at this distance, driving from the belly of the ship into the ground, where the Covenant had set up a reciever dock to absorb the gravitational forces.
Tesler withdrew his binoculars and focused them on the dock. Around the black slab was at least a platoon of Grunts and maybe ten rookie Elites. Those warriors presented a small threat to the large ODST force that now occupied the region. But as Tesler watched, a gold-armored Elite, flanked by twin veterans, walked out from behind a pair of command tents that had been set up. Following the trio were several Hunters, walking in double file. Tesler counted three in each line. Six walking tanks. Those might be a problem. Unless swift force was used, attacking the behemoths on foot would be useless. It also exluded hitting them with a Scorpion, since the tanks were bulky and slow, and would be easy to hit by the Hunters and their powerful fuel rod cannons.
Tesler looked back at the eight other Marines in his squad.
"Radio back to HQ. Tell them that the Covies have reinforced their position with armor and an inflated platoon of infantry." He said to Corporal George Faines, the long-range radio operator.
"Hoorah, sir."
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