Chapter 16

The Rookie – Waterfront Highway Tunnel, nineteen hours after drop.

The gates opened with a mechanical crunch, the golden light of dawn pouring through the widening gap. Alba and the Rookie rushed through the breach and out of the tunnel, their weapons drawn, ready for any Covenant forces that might be lurking on the other side.

Fortunately, there was nobody around. The four lanes of the highway extended into the distance, littered with abandoned vehicles in all shapes and sizes. The animated exit signs that towered over the highway flashed with cautions, warning that the road ahead was closed.

The ocean was to their left, and the Rookie could make out the ruins of the space elevator in the distance, the remnants of the shattered structure rising from an artificial island in the Mombasa bay. Above them, the telltale silhouettes of Covenant cruisers hovered, their purple hulls contrasting with the vibrant yellows and oranges of the sunrise. They were still glassing, glowing beams of plasma descending from their flared midsections, but their activities seemed to be mostly confined to the city center further inland. Still, it was an intimidating sight to see them flying so low, the alien ships were enormous.

“So, what is your plan, tiny man?”

Walking down the highway had seemed like a good idea when he had been making his way through the deserted city, but now that he was staring at miles of asphalt, it was somehow less appealing. He looked around as Alba waited, searching for a vehicle that might still be driveable.

It looked like the UNSC had been helping with the evacuation of the city, there were a few supply crates around, along with some abandoned vehicles. The highway was probably a good place to land Pelicans, they might have brought many of the refugees here for evac.

He finally found what he was looking for, breaking into a jog as he spied a Warthog. The M-12 was a light ground vehicle used by various branches of the armed forces, a rugged, all-terrain truck equipped with a four-wheel drive and a mounted gun. These things didn’t run on electricity, they used hydrogen fuel, which meant that this one should still be operable if its tanks weren’t drained. They could go about five hundred miles before needing to be refueled, and so that seemed an unlikely prospect.

He climbed into the driver’s seat and stowed his carbine as Alba walked over to join him, peering inside the open cockpit as he thumbed the ignition switch. The engine roared to life, and it was the sweetest sound that the Rookie had ever heard.

“Climb on,” he said, gesturing to the flatbed where the chaingun was mounted.

“I will not fit inside this,” she protested.

“Nah, hop on the gun.”

She walked around to the rear of the vehicle, then the Rookie felt the suspension sag as she clambered aboard, the Warthog threatening to tip. She spun the mounted gun so that it was facing forwards, having to crouch to use it, but otherwise having enough room to stand. Alba was heavy, but there were variants of the M-12 that were configured as troop carriers, able to seat twelve people. If it could carry a dozen Marines in full gear, then it could carry a Brute too.

He revved the engine, looking back over his shoulder to see Alba grinning down at him.

“Perhaps our people have more in common than Alba thought,” she said. “Let us drive, tiny man.”

The Rookie put the Warthog into gear and pulled out onto the highway, weaving between the derelict vehicles. Alba removed her helmet and tossed it into the passenger’s seat, letting the wind blow her hair, the Rookie laughing behind his visor. After spending so much time lurking around a dingy, claustrophobic city, it was a relief to feel the wind and the sunlight.

He put the pedal to the metal, these things could do a hundred and fifty miles per hour on a stretch, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near New Mombasa right now. The M-12 was armored, and so he bulldozed past a few of the smaller cars and pieces of debris that blocked their path, Alba whooping enthusiastically as she watched a small electric car roll onto its roof.

“Alba likes this vehicle!” she shouted over the roar of the engine. “Reminds me of a Prowler!”

They drove through one of the short tunnels that were spaced out along the highway, the lighting strips blurring into an unbroken line on the roof above them, their engine echoing. Something was wrong. The blast doors on these tunnels should not be open, the ones on the previous tunnel hadn’t been, and the Covenant shouldn’t have any way to unlock them.

As they emerged from the tunnel and out into the light of dawn, the Rookie spied something ahead of them. There was a massive vehicle occupying the rightmost lane, and it was moving, barreling through whatever cars and barricades were in its way. It was of human design, and his first impression was that it resembled an Elephant, a two-hundred-ton troop transport and mobile command center used by the UNSC. This one was different, however. Its chassis was entirely enclosed, and it had ‘New Mombasa Waste Management’ stenciled on the side of its cab. Was it a garbage truck?

“Hold your fire!” he called to Alba, who had swiveled her mounted gun in its direction.

He pulled up next to the behemoth and honked his horn, the tank-like garbage truck grinding to a halt on its four sets of tracks. A hatch on the top of the cab opened, and a helmeted head emerged, a hissing sound coming through on his radio as someone joined the local channel.

“What the ... Rookie? That you?”

It was Buck, his commanding officer. They had lost contact during the slip-space rupture, he hadn’t seen sight nor sound of any of his squadmates since.

“Yes, Sir,” he replied.

“Where the hell have you been, soldier? We thought that you’d kicked the bucket during the drop. Everyone else has reported in save for you. You sure picked one hell of a time to show up!”

He seemed to notice Alba for the first time, practically jumping out of his skin as the Brute peered back at him.

“What in God’s name is that?” he asked, pointing at the Rookie’s companion. “Is that a Bravo-Kilo?”

From Buck’s right, a small head emerged, patterned a vibrant blue and sporting six beady eyes. It didn’t seem to have a mouth, and its moist skin was wrinkly, almost resembling that of a sea slug. It rose from the hatch on a long, serpentine neck, weaving back and forth ethereally. The Rookie had never seen anything like it before.

“What the hell’s that?” the Rookie replied, pointing at the creature.

“Guess we both picked up some hitchhikers along the way,” Buck said, placing a hand on the curious alien’s head and pushing it back down into the cab. “If you can vouch for yours, I’ll vouch for mine.”

“We don’t have time for this,” another voice said over the radio, this one female. It was Dare, the ONI captain who had been assigned to their unit. “We need to get to the shipyard at the end of the highway, there’s a stolen Phantom waiting there to extract us. Trooper, cover the Oliphant.”

The massive vehicle’s engine roared as it started up again, the Rookie matching pace in the Warthog, Alba swinging her gun to cover their advance.

“These are your allies, tiny man?” she asked.

“Yeah, got separated from ‘em before we met up. What the hell was that thing beside him? You ever seen anything like that before?”

“That was a Huragok,” Alba replied. “We ... the Covenant, use them as living computers. They store information, repair broken machines. This one must have information of value to your people.”

“Looks like you’ve just been drafted into the UNSC,” he added, steering the Warthog around a burnt-out van. “Keep the Covvies off that truck.”

They arrived at the next tunnel, pausing while the Huragok bypassed the locked blast doors from inside the Oliphant. Whatever the thing was, it sure was useful, it had even managed to give the truck rudimentary energy shields to help protect it.

When they emerged onto the other side, they were met with a Covenant emplacement, much like the one that they had encountered at the junction further inside the city. There was a gaggle of Grunts guarding a levitating tower, with Jackal snipers and a plasma cannon mounted on top of it. They began to fire on them newcomers almost immediately, the operator of the cannon foolishly directing his fire towards the armored and shielded Oliphant.

The Rookie hit the gas, charging at the tower as Alba opened up with the chaingun behind him, a stream of tracer rounds flying over his head and harrying the guard tower. She cut down a trio of Grunts, their squat bodies shredded by sustained fire, their blue blood splattering the asphalt as their methane tanks erupted into flames. The other defenders seemed to realize the threat posed by the Warthog now, turning their attention towards the incoming vehicle, but their needles and plasma rounds could do little to harm it. The M-12’s armor made it practically immune to small-arms fire.

He hit the handbrake and spun the wheel, drifting the vehicle into a group of Grunts, sending them scattering like bowling pins. He knocked over a barricade in the process, the suspension bouncing as the reinforced tires rolled over something soft. Alba angled her gun up towards the floating platform, taking out a Jackal that was leaning over the rim, the Rookie gunning the engine before they had a chance to return fire.

He weaved and dodged, making them as hard a target as possible. While the Warthog could soak up fire, Alba couldn’t. In his rear-view mirror, he saw a bright, purple explosion. The guard tower collapsed, she must have hit its power source, the ring-shaped platform crashing to the ground along with all of its occupants. She picked off a few stragglers as they moved on, the Rookie matching pace with the Oliphant once again.

“Eyes to the sky, Rookie!” he heard Buck warn over the radio. “Banshees, ten o’clock high!”

The Rookie pointed to the sky, Alba turning her gun in that direction, opening up as a pair of Covenant aircraft swooped down on them. They were made from the same blue-purple material that characterized much of the Covenant’s technology, with rounded chassis, and a pair of stubbing wings extending from either side that housed propulsion jets and anti-gravity pods. They were single-occupant fighters, smaller than anything used by the UNSC, but they were better armed and more maneuverable than their small size would suggest.

As soon as the stream of Alba’s gunfire reached them, they began to dodge and roll, taking evasive maneuvers. This wasn’t a random attack, the Covvies seemed to have it out for the Oliphant. Whatever information that Huragok was carrying, it must be important. Had that been the real reason for Dare’s commandeering of their squad? Why their drop pods had been set to miss the Prophet’s assault carrier even before the slip-space rupture? The Office of Naval Intelligence to which she belonged was secretive, lots of cloak and dagger stuff. He wouldn’t put it past them to divert an ODST drop for their own ends.

One of the Banshees fired a fuel rod at the garbage truck, a projectile weapon roughly analogous to a grenade, a bright green flash of plasma erupting as it impacted the Oliphant’s shields and made them flicker ominously.

“Damn it, Rookie!” he heard Buck’s voice come through on the radio. He sounded breathless, shaken. “I told you to keep those Banshees off us!”

Alba wasn’t privy to their conversation, but she had recognized the threat, leading the offending Banshee as it swooped in for another attack run. This time she tagged it, the bullets tearing through the lightly-armored fuselage, blue-tinted flames erupting from the wreckage as it plunged into the ocean to the left of the highway.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Buck laughed. “I don’t know how you ended up with a Baby Kong in tow, but I’ll take whatever I can get right now. Feed that thing a banana from me, or something...”

The Banshee’s wingman set its sights on the Warthog, the Rookie almost tipping the vehicle as he swerved to dodge an incoming stream of plasma fire. The fighter swooped low, its jets leaving glowing trails in its wake, Alba ducking reflexively as it passed over her head. She spun around, leading her target again as she loosed a carefully-placed burst, catching the Banshee’s right wing and severing the struts that joined the engines to the body of the craft. It spiraled out of control, corkscrewing into the road below, exploding in a shower of purple sparks and blue flames.

“I like this gun!” Alba yelled. “The projectiles have greater velocity than those of Covenant plasma cannon!”

They continued on, the Oliphant smashing through any obstacles in its path as the Warthog followed behind. They encountered a few more squads of Grunts along the way, but they were easily dispatched. Alba hadn’t been a defector for more than a day, and she was already racking up a kill count that would put many UNSC Marines to shame.

After emerging from another tunnel, the distant cityscape came into view. The tall spires of New Mombasa’s buildings punctured the clouds, the shining glass and steel reflecting the glow of the rising sun. Looming over them was a vessel that was itself the size of a city, a Covenant carrier, its bulbous hull passing behind the skyscrapers and making them look like mere toys in comparison.

“Assault carrier! Look at the size of that thing!” Buck marveled, his voice crackling with static.

“It’s charging its excavation beam!” Dare exclaimed, failing to conceal her alarm.

From beneath its rounded nose came a bright glow that rivaled that of the sunrise, the ball of light morphing into a searing beam of energy that lanced towards the ground below, kicking up a rising plume of debris. After a brief delay, a tremor made the earth shake, the Rookie feeling it even through the Warthog’s suspension.

The alien vessel occupied the entire skyline, passing deeper into the city as it dragged the brilliant beam across the ground like a giant blowtorch, the Rookie watching in silent horror as one of the towering buildings began to topple over in its wake. Millions of tons of steel collapsed in on itself, creating a cloud of dust that rose to join the wall of dark smoke that marked the path of the beam, its foundations reduced to molten lava by the incredible heat.

“Damn it, no!” Buck growled over the radio. “They’re gonna burn this city and then glass the whole planet! Covenant bastards! It’s just like Reach all over again!”

“We made it out of there,” Dare said, her tone reassuring. “We’ll make it out of here, too. You can do this, Buck.”

“Right,” he muttered, getting himself back under control. “Yeah, okay.”

“Alba has never witnessed glassing from the ground,” she muttered, the Rookie glancing back over his shoulder at his alien companion as he flanked the Oliphant. “So much destruction...”

There was a hiss of static as Buck switched everyone over to another radio channel, the Rookie listening in as he maneuvered the Warthog around a crashed truck that was blocking their lane.

“Mickey, you read me?” Buck asked. “Change of plans, you’re coming to us.”

“Sky’s kind of crowded, Gunny,” Mickey replied. The Rookie was relieved to hear his voice again, it seemed that everyone had survived the ill-fated drop, and had been able to link up in the war-torn city. ODSTs were tenacious if nothing else.

“There’s no other way,” Buck continued. “The Covenant just glassed the highway ahead of us, we’re gonna keep rolling as far as we can. Get that stolen Phantom airborne, we aren’t going to be able to make it to the shipyard. Home in on my beacon.”

“Understood, Gunny.”

“And whatever you do ... stay clear of that carrier.”

As they rounded a bend and sighted another blocked tunnel in the distance, the Rookie saw something that almost made his heart stop. From the water to the left of the road emerged a shining, purple shape, sheets of water sloughing off its massive chassis as it rose from the depths like a mechanical Kraken. It walked up onto the shore on its four, insect-like legs, the huge cannon that was mounted on its back turning in their direction. It was a Type-47 Ultra-Heavy Assault Platform, better known as a Scarab, one of the largest ground vehicles that the Covenant could deploy. At a hundred and sixty feet long, and thirty-five hundred tons, it had more in common with a spaceship than a tank. There was nothing that they could do to touch something like that, not with the weapons that they had on hand.

It clambered up on top of the tunnel that their little convoy was heading for, turning to face them, its cannon glowing green as it began to charge. It had probably been heading further into the city to join the fighting, but no pilot would turn down such a juicy target.

“Scarab!” Buck shouted. “Look out, it’s onto us!”

“What do you want me to do, take evasive maneuvers?” Dare snapped as the Huragok’s alarmed wailing came through in the background. “We’re driving a garbage truck!”

“Just floor it!” Buck shot back.

The Scarab fired, a torrent of green plasma leaving its main cannon in an uninterrupted stream, splashing against the Oliphant and melting the highway beneath its tracks into pools of bubbling asphalt. It sustained its barrage for a second or two, hosing its target, the super-heated gas almost behaving like a liquid. The garbage truck shuddered, its shields flashing as they collapsed, smoke beginning to billow from its chassis as one of its internal components was damaged.

The Rookie feared that a second barrage would finish the vehicle off for good, but the Scarab lost its bead on them as they raced into the tunnel beneath its feet, passing below its angle of fire. As the Rookie hit the handbrake, and the Warthog skidded to a stop before one of the blast doors, he worried that it would come marching down onto the highway in pursuit of them. Alba swiveled to face behind them, fearing the same, and they waited with bated breath as the smoking Oliphant ground to a stop to their right. Fortunately, the Scarab seemed to have more pressing matters to attend to, dust raining from the ceiling of the tunnel above them as its footsteps shook the concrete.

“What’s your status?” the Rookie asked, glancing over at the cab of the Oliphant.

“We’re ... we’re okay,” Dare replied, coughing into her mic. “But this garbage truck’s had it.”

The blast doors that blocked their path began to open, the mechanical rumbling echoing through the tunnel, the Warthog leading the way as Alba kept an eye on the sky. There were so many Covenant ships that it was hard to see the clouds, entire squadrons of Banshees and Phantoms flying in formation as they disengaged from their carriers and headed deeper into the city.

“There must be a whole fleet up there,” the Rookie muttered.

“They came here in search of something,” Alba replied cryptically. “When my assault carrier arrived, the Shipmaster was not expecting such resistance, the Prophets did not know that this was a Human stronghold. Whatever they seek, it must be important. Important enough to commit so many ships to the cause.”

“It ain’t just a stronghold,” the Rookie replied, “this is planet Earth. This is our homeworld.”

Alba balked at that, not knowing how to respond. She hadn’t known until now, she had assumed that this was just like any other Human colony, no different from Reach or Harvest.

“I ... I am sorry,” she replied remorsefully, “Alba did not know.”

“War ain’t over yet,” the Rookie muttered, “we still got some fight left in us.”

Buck’s voice came through on the comms, interrupting their conversation.

“Take the next off-ramp, trooper. I see a building, North side of the highway. We’ll hole up there and wait for evac.”

The Rookie could see it on their right, some kind of squat, commercial structure. He spun his wheel, changing lanes and entering an underground exit, the Warthog’s tires lifting off the ground for a moment before bouncing back down onto the asphalt. The Oliphant followed close behind, the damaged vehicle limping to a stop beside them as they encountered a raised barrier that blocked the road ahead.

“Out of the vehicle, trooper,” Buck ordered. “Looks like we’re on foot from here.”

He clambered out of the Warthog’s cockpit, the rear suspension springing back to its original position as Alba dismounted, drawing her trusty needle rifle and securing her helmet. The hatch on the cab of the Oliphant opened up, and Buck leapt to the ground, adjusting his helmet and shouldering a suppressed SMG as he took point. He and Alba shared a glance for a moment as the Rookie looked on, but if Buck had a problem with her, then he wasn’t about to make an issue out of it right now.

“Veronica,” he said, “wait here and keep an eye on the gasbag. Rookie, let’s secure that building.”

The Rookie nodded, reaching into the passenger’s seat of the Warthog and retrieving his carbine, checking the ammo counter. He and Alba took up position beside Buck, following him as he vaulted over the waist-high traffic barrier and made his way up the incline into an open plaza.

Before them was a kind of gazebo that was surrounded by a ring road, and behind it was an upscale visitor’s center. There was a set of four staircases leading up to the building’s lobby, decorated with ferns in planters, and flanked by two bronze statues of zebras. The sign on the facade of the structure read ‘Uplift Nature Reserve’, the logo decorated with a pair of flat-topped trees that brought to mind images of the Serengeti. There were fluttering banners displaying some of the animals that were on show in the reserve, along with visitor kiosks that featured maps and information about the park.

“Well ain’t this a treat,” Buck muttered, foregoing the radio now that they were on foot. “My gunny never took me on a trip to the zoo when I was your age, Rookie.”

They passed by the gazebo and mounted the steps, Alba covering the rear. When they arrived at the entrance to the lobby, they came across a pair of sleeping Grunts. They had probably been assigned to guard duty, and they were slacking off, in usual Grunt fashion. Buck dispatched them quietly with his suppressed weapon, then they moved through the open doors of the lobby. The interior was similarly lavish, decorated with artistic sculptures, a large map of the facility mounted behind the welcome desk. It was empty, and so Buck called in Dare, the Rookie watching from the top of the steps as she made her way across the plaza with the Huragok in tow.

The alien was even stranger now that he could get a better look at it. It seemed to float just off the ground, its slug-like head connected to a bulbous body that was made up of what looked like clusters of air sacks, a snail-like tail and several tentacles with luminescent tips trailing behind it as it glided along.

He heard a hiss of static as Buck switched channels on the radio again, contacting their ride.

“Mickey, what’s your ETA?” he asked.

“Had to reroute, Gunny, the whole damn city’s on fire!”

“Trooper,” Dare interrupted sternly, putting on her most commanding voice. “I have a Tier One asset on site, and a whole bunch of Covenant who want it dead. Whatever you’re going to do, you’d better step on it! Is that understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Mickey replied hastily.

“Heads up!” Buck yelled, taking cover behind one of the stone pillars at the entrance. “We got Phantoms incoming, and they ain’t the friendly variety!”

The Rookie ducked behind a planter as he spied their purple, curved hulls, the dropships making a beeline for the plaza. The enemy knew that they were here now, and if Dare was right about the Huragok being a Tier One asset, then things were about to get very hairy. The ONI operative guided the floating alien deeper into the lobby, keeping the fragile creature out of harm’s way.

“Hey, Covvie,” Buck added. Alba turned her head to look down at him, giving him a frown from beneath her blue helmet. “Can you shoot straight?”

“Alba can fight,” she growled in response.

“Then ‘Alba’ needs to stay on this side of the firing line, or Gunnery Sergeant Buck might accidentally plug her in the back of the head. Rookie, cover the right, and I want the Brute on the left. I’ll take the middle. Nothing gets past these steps, understood?”

Two Phantoms swooped in over the plaza, their ventral doors opening to disgorge squads of aliens. A small army of Grunts and shield-bearing Jackals dropped to the ground, making their way around the gazebo and across the road, heading for the foot of the stairs. Perhaps they hoped to overwhelm the defenders with their sheer numbers, but they had to cross open ground to reach them, and the ODSTs were firing from an elevated position.

The attackers were met by a hail of gunfire. Caseless rounds, radioactive bullets, and glowing needles tore through their ranks. Some of the Jackals were successful in deflecting the shots with their energy shields, but the Grunts took the worst of it, the defenders focusing on the soft targets first.

The squat little aliens keeled over in piles, their fluorescent, blue blood staining the ground. One of them took a hit to its methane tank, creating a fiery explosion that caught two of its comrades in the blast. Another’s tank was ruptured, lifting the hapless creature off the ground and sending it spiraling into the air, where it exploded like a firework. They attempted to return fire, but it was imprecise, the creatures panicked and uncoordinated.

The Jackals closed ranks and used their glowing shields to form a protective phalanx, but Buck tossed a frag grenade their way, sending them leaping for cover before it exploded in their midst. The shrapnel took out several of them, the rest scrambling to their feet, their unit cohesion broken. Individually, they were far easier to deal with. Buck hosed their shields with his SMG until they collapsed, exposing the wielder, while Alba and the Rookie preferred to place precision shots through their cutouts. In a matter of seconds, a dozen Jackals lay dead, along with twice as many Grunts.

These were just fodder, however. The Covvies were only trying to soften up the defenses before deploying their more elite troops.

“We got more incoming!” Buck yelled, the Rookie watching as another pair of Phantoms drifted over the plaza. These ones began to fire on the building with the heavy plasma cannons that were mounted beneath their noses, the glowing balls of energy crackling as they arced through the air towards the lobby. Ferns burst into flames as hot plasma splashed, the projectiles exploding like grenades on contact with the ground, forcing the defenders into cover. Fortunately, they were not terribly accurate weapons. The nose guns were joined by streams of suppressive plasma fire from Brutes manning door guns, covering their comrades as they dropped to the ground below.

When the Rookie dared to peek out of cover again, the two Phantoms were flying away, and several squads of Brutes were advancing on their position. They were wearing blue armor, mostly minors and a few captains, the same rank as Alba. The Rookie remembered the last time that he had faced a Brute one-on-one, and how the thing had kept coming even after he had collapsed its shields and shredded most of its armor, more like a vicious animal than a thinking creature.

The defenders had one advantage, Buck had chosen their holdout well, and there was little cover in the plaza. The Brutes had to cross open ground, one of the squads taking refuge in the gazebo and laying down covering fire with what sounded like Spikers.

Metal nails impacted the concrete pillar that Buck was hiding behind, glowing red-hot for a moment before they cooled, the ODST answering them with a bark from his SMG. Spikers were not accurate weapons at any kind of range, but the threat of being impaled with what was essentially a molten railroad spike would keep most people’s heads down.

The rest took advantage to advance on the steps, firing volleys of glowing plasma bolts, and leaving green trails of radioactive material that lingered in the air. Their fire was imprecise, they likely didn’t know how many defenders there were, or where they were located. They were attacking an elevated position that afforded their enemies ample cover.

The Rookie rose from behind his planter and scoped in on the rounded helmet of one of the minors, whose squad was maybe two hundred feet away, loosing a couple of rounds from his carbine. The first collapsed its shields, and the second punctured through its helmet, the towering alien slumping to the ground as the irradiated projectile cooked its brains.

Buck was firing, but he hadn’t heard anything from Alba yet. He felt a pang of concern for a moment, wondering if she would have the resolve to fire on her own kind. Grunts and Sangheili were one thing, they were as alien to her as she was to him, but her own people were another matter entirely.

His unspoken question was answered as he watched one of the captains lurch, identifiable by his horned helmet. A volley of glowing, pink spikes penetrated his shield and dug into his flesh, his bellow of pain and surprise silenced as the projectiles exploded. He was torn apart, the blast catching two of his underlings, fragments of flying shrapnel sending their limp bodies crashing to the ground.