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The Culmination - Chapter Three
Posted By: russ687<russ687@hotmail.com>
Date: 19 January 2007, 12:42 pm
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Chapter Three
"Around each corner is always a bigger facet, a larger truth—a greater reality. The question is whether or not one can recognize it, and then proceed to comprehend it."
A distant explosion.
Captain Wade Bennett didn't turn to the direction of the unsettling sound, choosing instead to continue his trudge towards the large, olive-drab tent. Ahead was the Battalion Command Post, affectionately known as the "2/5," and inside were two men he needed to converse with. After four years in this specific field of service—a combined ten years of duty in the UNSC—he had developed the mindset that little mattered between him and his objective, even threats to his life or others that were not crucial to the mission's success. Whether or not this was a gift or foolishness remained to be known.
After seeing countless operations go bad, and watching how death inevitably picks out its victims, it was all too evident just how little he could do to stop events from transpiring. The outlook was starkly similar to the belief in fate, and how no matter what you did, you always arrived at the end result. The only thing that matter was what that result was, and whether it was favorable. In a war where anything could happen for any number of reasons—random or not—caring about imminent dangers was more of a burden than aid.
He came to a stop before the two guards posted by the large tent's entrance, staring at the Private and Corporal for a moment before reaching into his poncho and pulling out his credentials. Even with the Captain's Bars on his helmet, he was not afforded the luxury of simply entering a command post on the front. Rightfully so, however, as the men inside were ostensibly the most indispensable on the field.
The Corporal apprehensively offered a weak greeting, checking his identification. Clearly, neither guard was happy to be standing out in the gray, miserable drizzle. Perhaps even more apparent was that neither man was happy to be standing still so close to the front line, especially with explosions rattling the earth every other second. After returning his credentials and checking those of his partner, Gunnery Sergeant Isidro Erskine, the senior guard motioned for them to pass.
Stepping out of the dreary gray and into the yellow-drenched headquarters of the 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines Regiment was not a welcome transition. For some reason, Bennett felt more vulnerable in a CP than he did anywhere else. After all, what single entity would be a more valuable target than the center of operations for an entire battalion? Even if it was one of the most heavily defended locations this close to the fighting, it didn't take much for some smart bomb to get through. Yet another chance for "fate" to reign.
Quickly, he spotted the man he was here to see on the far side of the cavernous tent. He walked by consoles and workstations, each manned by a busy soldier, leaving muddy boot prints and streams of rainwater running off his camouflaged poncho. Nobody even looked up from their work as the two men passed, their chattering and typing filling the air with uncongenial foreboding. Their hurried actions were sorely indicative of a deteriorating situation a mere five kilometers away, and that unsettling fact was the reason he was here.
"Colonel," Bennett called out to the man hunched over the table, his back to them.
The older man finished his exchange with another staff member before standing upright and turning around to face the two wet soldiers. His wrinkled, weathered face was that of an eighteen-year Marine veteran, and undeniably the commander of the 2nd Battalion was a seasoned soldier. Although he was barely pushing forty, the Lieutenant Colonel looked much older, causing Bennett to briefly think whether his own appearance was not far from the man standing across from him. That's what war did—it killed kids, and made young men old.
"What is it?" Battalion CO Rueben Moore asked, his tone clearly portraying his impatience and stress.
"My name is Captain Bennett," he replied in kind, briefly glancing around. "I've been sent here under orders from Colonel Mixey, of the 3rd Marine Special Operations Regiment—"
"Colonel," a man interrupted, walking over from a large digital display of the Area of Operations.
"Not now," Moore said, holding up a hand. "We've got some guests from MARSOC."
The Major stopped and looked at the two men. Bennett glanced at the nametape across his fatigues. Murray, he thought dully, Executive Officer of the Battalion.
"What the hell is MARSOC doing here?" The XO queried.
Bennett didn't like the tone of the man's voice, but he was in no place to offer a rebuke, especially considering the oak leaf on his collar. "There are some special orders from Division, orders that required unorthodox means of getting to you."
Moore was not fazed by the remark. "Continue."
The Captain reached into his poncho and pulled out a small data storage device, handing it to the Light Colonel. "Encrypted there is an update to your orders, straight from the top. I am obligated to stress that nobody aside from you and your XO are to know anything about this, and no traces can be leaked to anyone." He paused as the Battalion's CO inserted the device into his PDA. "Your current combat situation is irreparable. Division knows that you won't be able to repel the Charlie advance to Mari Crosse, and has devised a new set of orders for the remainder of your forces."
The Lieutenant Colonel and Major looked up at that statement, a fire burning in their eyes. The haunting mixture of anger and resentment spread across their faces made it look like they were about to offer a sincerely heated rebuttal, but their silence proved the truth of the statement. The situation is irreparable. Bennett almost wished that he was here on different circumstances, as he could sympathize with the commander and his deputy. These were their men, their soldiers, and they were dying for a cause he was about to quash. Yet he was here on orders that far superseded the authority of these two men, and their loss today was not on his shoulders.
"So explain to me what Division wants from us," Moore said finally. "And why it required someone from MARSOC to pass it down."
"First order, pull out your troops."
The simple reply brought a look of confusion to the Battalion CO's face. "Listen, we've lost a lot of men out there, but so has the damn Covenant. In any case, at the very least we can stall them long enough to let those civvies evacuate, not to mention our reserve units—"
"Colonel, as far as you know now, you cannot effectively stop the Covenant force, and you cannot buy Mari Crosse anymore time. Consequently, you are going to pull your forces back and reposition as Regiment requires." Bennett leaned closer in, "this is the situation Division wants you to assume, outlined in your orders."
Major Murray spoke up as Moore looked over his PDA, irate probably for two reasons; his commander's talking to by a mere captain and their orders from Division. "So we're just going to leave Mari Crosse to fend for itself? There's got to be at least a couple thousand civilians left there. Does Division know what the hell they're doing?"
Bennett had to suppress a sigh. There was work to be done, and he was here, in this tent, nearly arguing with these two commanders about their orders from the top—orders that are nonnegotiable. "You have determined," he reiterated slowly, "that you cannot stop the Covenant force—not even with your reserve units—and you are going to pull back all your forces. As far as you care, Mari Crosse is a lost cause."
Murray looked unbelievingly over at his CO, as if expecting him to tell these two men off and get back to coordinating the battle at hand, but he was met with a stern expression. As Moore looked up from the authorization codes on his PDA and contemplated what he was being told, it became clear to his XO that he wasn't going to contest this. Despite the fire in his eyes, the Battalion CO was not inclined towards insubordination.
"It requires MARSOC," Bennett continued discreetly, glad that the background noise of working and talking masked what they were discussing. "Because nobody between you and Division knows—or will know—about this. Regiment doesn't know, anyone else here won't know, and things will go on as planned. Command of this situation has furtively been transferred to MARSOC." We will finish this off.
Moore stowed his personal device, satisfied with the authorization codes for this ludicrous plot, though clearly not satisfied with his orders. "Explain to me why this is happening," he said, glaring between the two Marine Special Forces soldiers. "Why are we leaving this town defenseless?"
Bennett fought to stop himself from conspicuously looking away. He was ordered not to allude to anyone why MARSOC had been placed in charge of this situation, and why these Marines were to be pulled out. The Captain remained sternly silent, making it all too clear to the commander opposite of him the silence being ordered over this situation takeover.
"Colonel," Gunnery Sergeant Erskine said, speaking up for the first time this entire meeting. "We will not divulge any information regarding the operations to commence after your fallback. We have standing orders, just as you do now, to keep all uninvolved personnel from knowing the details of this."
The Sergeant was only met with stern, vindictive stares.
"I have lost nearly two hundred men out there," Moore said at last, "and your boss wants to make their sacrifices in vain? My orders were to stop them from slaughtering that town, yet now every damn kid that gave their lives for that cause is being disgraced by some pointless order—"
"Your orders were to stop them, and you failed," Bennett countered. "There is a new plan of action, and it does not involve you stopping them." The Captain could see the dissension on the verge of his lips, and accordingly increased the stakes. "Stand down your forces, sir, or prepare to relinquish command of your unit."
The Lieutenant Colonel stared back at him heatedly, but remained predictably silent. His contempt for his orders was obvious, and his willingness to nearly outright disobey them was clear in his eyes, though this man would never go that far. Bennett almost let out cold smirk; he was outraged enough to detest it, but not enough to contravene his orders. The final resolve every soldier should have.
"This is all we have for you," Bennett concluded. "Your orders are effective immediately, and you are to report your situation to Regiment and follow their directives. How many troops do you have remaining?"
Moore remained bitterly silent, causing his XO to speak up. "One Company in reserve, and an unknown amount remaining in combat—probably less than a platoon's strength."
Bennett had to keep his eyebrows from rising. That's it? "Fifteen minutes, then."
The two MARSOC soldiers turned wordlessly to exit the command tent, feeling the animosity emanate from the Battalion Commander and his XO behind them. The Captain wasn't fazed by their abhorrence for these orders, but then again, he never cared whether they would cooperate with contention or agreement in the first place. The bottom line was that they would cooperate, or be charged with insubordination, which meant that his purpose here was more of a messenger. It seemed like he was trying to convince them, but the truth of the matter remained; orders were orders.
Granted, a town was being sentenced to death, half a Battalion's worth of lives were being nullified, but those were acceptable loses. Considering what was thought to be in Mari Crosse, a couple thousand deaths was well worth it. Besides, Bennett rationalized, odds were they were going to die even if the Battalion wasn't ordered back.
The two soldiers stepped out of the warm, yellow-tainted tent and into the dreary gray, their faces immediately contorting in stark reaction to the wet and cold. As they walked through the mud towards their Warthog, taking in the forested scene with silent concern, Bennett let a soft sigh break the silence.
"Get those ONI specialists on the horn and the rest of the unit," he said quietly to Erskine. "Tell them we're mounting up in ten."
They both had reasons to be concerned. After all, their next stop was Mari Crosse.
Swallowing his reservations, Lieutenant Walter Fallon pulled his arm back, stretching his muscles to throw the smoke grenade as far as he could towards the enemy. He thrust his arm forward and sent the small, cylinder shaped object out, keeping his head below the ridge of the crater and hoping that the throw was good. After waiting a second, he crept up to the crest and pulled out the mirror, looking out in the direction he had thrown the device. Sure enough, white smoke began billowing from the grenade, sweeping up into the air and spreading out, obscuring the line of sight between those Marines near them and the Covenant turrets. Now was the time.
Forty meters lateral of their position, the unmistakable sounds of the M271-Bravo suppressive machinegun erupted, nearly drowning out the enemy fire that still shot overhead. The sound surprisingly added a slight sense of hope and determination, and the two Marines next to him pushed up and peered over the crest, rifles shouldered and their eyes gazing through the optical scope. Fallon looked on in satisfaction as the two men, who had cowered in this hole only seconds before, let their training dictate their actions and began performing the primary specialty that Marines had.
The power to take lives.
Single rounds began firing out of the long barrels, the muzzle-flashes lighting up their ghostly faces. Explosive bursts from the tip of their weapons sent mud and debris forward as projectiles shot downfield towards the foes that had ruthlessly cut through their ranks when this all started. He could still sense the agitation and fear, but such holdbacks meant nothing at a moment like this. Accuracy and resolve aside, they were fighting back.
With all the will he could muster, Fallon averted his gaze from the dead Marine at the bottom of the crater and grabbed the rifle. The mud and blood spattered weapon momentarily refused to leave the clasped hands, and he nearly had to yank it from the death grip of the deceased soldier. War was hell—
War is hell.
He crawled up next to the two Marines and shouldered the rifle, looking through the scope and quickly centering the crosshairs on a small figure that continued to fire a turret from atop one of the few remaining transport vehicles. The rifle kicked back as a single round exited the barrel, the sub-projectile splitting off and covering the distance in less than half a second. The alien's head disappeared in a small blowout of blood and flesh, and the body slumped backwards and off the vehicle.
"Tomahawk One-Three, what's the plan?"
Fallon slid back at the sound of the radio, looking over to the RTO—a Corporal Pheleps—lying next to him. The soldier activated the LRFC instinctively, suppressing a stutter as he replied. "Standby."
The plan? The Lieutenant thought for a moment. While all the turrets, or at least most of them, had been neutralized, they still had quite a few Covenant infantry out there, some probably advancing on their position. He gripped the MA8 tightly as he recalled some of the bitter experiences prior to OCS, where he led a small squad of Marines into combat. The first thing they had learned quickly was never concede to the enemy; never let them trap you. In instances like this—outnumber and pinned—there were two options: retrograde or advance. Take the fight to the enemy.
This was the only real option before them, since retreating was nothing short of suicide, but suppression and advancement offered them some initiative that left the enemy reacting to them. It would be a major risk, to say the least, but death waited for them if they stayed in this crater, and that was an option he did not want to take.
"Tell them to give us suppressive cover; we're going to push forward."
A pause before the hesitant reply. "Forward, sir?"
Fallon nodded. "Forwa—"
"All Tomahawk units, this is SIMPLEX One, desist engaging the enemy and reconvene at your assigned fallback positions."
Every eye settled on the LRFC. Fallon frowned and grabbed the transceiver from Pheleps, bringing the muddy device to his ear. This was the first order they had been given before the entire Battalion made first contact, and it wasn't what anyone was expecting.
"SIMPLEX One, Tomahawk One-Three, say again, over."
"One-Three, pull out, I repeat, pull out."
Fallon looked at the two Marines who slid back into the crater, trying to make sense of the order. There was minimal cover where they were, and a good one hundred meters separated them from the tree line they had originally advanced out of. Their fallback point was just inside that tree line, but as he thought about it, getting back there was just as—if not more—dangerous than going forward. Even with smoke cover, it wouldn't be wise.
Then again, staying in the crater was just as perilous.
He handed the transceiver back to the RTO and crawled to the back of the crater, peering over the crest to look at the area leading away from the Covenant. Burning tanks and APCs dotted the scene, with the occasional upright tree standing over the many flattened ones. The grim scene, tainted by the gray drizzle and ascending black smoke, was etched into his mind as he thought of a plan. The only way would be to hope the smokescreen was enough and run. He scanned the area one last time, looking for any significant cover—
What was that? He squinted at the slight movement that caught his attention. A good seventy or so meters off, several figures crept along deliberately. He couldn't count how many, but the various sizes of the silhouettes told him one thing; they were not human. The enemy was behind them.
"One-Three, Two-Six, did you copy Batt's order?"
Fallon turned his head and looked in the direction of the other group of Marines, only seeing the muzzle flashes from their weapons amidst the mud and debris, the cracks echoing around them. After pausing for a moment, he dropped back to the bottom of the crater, a grim look carved across his face.
"Tell them we got the order, and to cease fire and get low," he said sternly. "We've got some Charlie behind us."
Pheleps' eyes widened slightly, hesitating a moment before speaking into the transceiver. "Roger that, Two-Six. Cease fire and get low," he paused. "We got enemy forces behind us."
Wiping the dirt from his forehead, Fallon sighed heavily, looking between the three soldiers with him. "Let's stay low and keep tabs on the front and back. Do not engage."
They nodded, obviously more anxious now that they were surrounded—if it was even possible to be more of anything. Even though they all knew it didn't make much of a difference in this situation, something was inherently demoralizing with being cut off by the enemy. Fallon didn't know if waiting here silently would be the best course of action, but he needed a second to think. Either way, it wouldn't help to keep drawing the enemy's attention with return fire.
Time seemed to slow down as he contemplated the situation, and with every second that no one fired back, he felt as if the enemy was getting one step closer. His mind told him that firing back was the only thing keeping those cads from overrunning them, but his gut said to wait for a moment. Never had he been in a situation like this, and he had never heard anyone live to tell about it, which left him only with his instincts.
It was unnerving to just be waiting with only random plasma charges sizzling by. Moments before they had been pinned in this crater, yet now they waited fretfully in silence, the sounds of war eerily subsiding as the battlefield that had claimed so many lives became a silent killing ground, only distant shots and explosions filling the void. The sudden stillness—relative to the shattering noise that existed mere minutes ago—proved to him that, aside from the group they had made contact with, no one else had survived.
Hundreds had come in, dozens of vehicles had torn up dirt getting to this battle, yet now all that remained were a mere dozen soldiers? He couldn't understand how a Covenant force could do such damage in the short amount of time. Yes, they had been up against superior numbers, but ground combat between them and their enemy was not as suicidal as the space warfare. Weaponry advances, such as the small SABOT rounds used by the MA8—capable of defeating shielding technology in three well placed shots or less—took away the near "invulnerability" of the Covenant's best. Though today, in a field that soaked up the blood of the fallen, none of that made a difference.
Perhaps it was fate that sent them to this grim end. It had to be something bigger than them all, because he couldn't accept that their efforts were simply nullified by a "superior" enemy. Granted, the Covenant were known to have better technology, but on the ground they were susceptible the UNSC's best. Fallon was not normally superstitious, but he couldn't help but feel that all along they were never going to stop this Covenant force. That darkness known as "fate" was his only possible rationalization for this.
Too bad he didn't believe in fate.
He turned and crept up to the crest again, looking back towards where he spotted those figures behind them. More of them met his eye, but they weren't advancing towards them. Rather, they were moving along the tree line, continuing in the direction of Mari Crosse, that godforsaken town. He quickly slid back and peered over the top of the crater towards the remaining Covenant vehicles. As the smoke began to clear, he could see the outlines of those transports, along with a considerable amount of enemy troops. While some remained fixated in their direction, weapons up and ready, the rest cautiously continued their advance towards the community.
"What the hell…" he whispered curiously.
"Sir?"
Fallon looked back at the Marines. "Looks like that town is more important than we are."
Pheleps looked at the two Marines, then back at the Lieutenant. "So they're not advancing?"
"Not towards us," Fallon replied, descending back to the bottom. "What would cause them to not finish their fight here? They've got to know we're not dead."
One of the Marines, PFC Mueller, cracked the first hint of sarcasm Fallon had ever seen out of him, though his face remained etched with apprehension. "Maybe the reason for the fuckin' war is there," he said unevenly.
The Lieutenant looked away, not appreciative of the remark. But as he gazed into the gray sky, rain dripping off the rim of his helmet, he couldn't dismiss the nonsense he had just heard. What if something big was there? It was ridiculous to think that something so big as the reason for the Human-Covenant War was in that little town, but he had never heard of any Covenant discontinuing a fight until either side was entirely destroyed—that was just the nature of their proud warriors. What if there was truly something there, something important?
This is bullshit, get it out of your head, he told himself. But even as he fought to deny the feeling growing in his gut, initiated only by a cynical statement, the curiosity grew.
What if?
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