A Dying Breed - Chapter 1

You Know the Music. Time to Dance.

You Know the Music.  Time to Dance.

She held her hand above her shoulder, just high enough so that he could see it. All five of her fingers were stretched into the air. She curled one into her palm.

Four seconds.

Tom checked his HUD. A NAV marker pulsed somewhere off below and behind him. Lucy retracted another finger.

Three seconds.

The open maw that was the Pelican’s drop door revealed a crimson sky and gusting hot wind beyond. It blustered into the cabin and rankled anything hanging loose on the racks. Another finger fell. Another second passed. Tom shifted his weight, preparing to leap from the vehicle. The distant sound of gunfire mixed with plasma hisses reached his ears. Lucy clenched her hand and stormed forward. She leapt clean off the ramp and fell towards the inferno below. Tom was close behind her. As he fell away from the Pelican he turned his gaze around and stared at the CCS-class battlecruiser hovering over them. Its central glassing beam was active, melting the ground beneath it into vitrified slag.

“Just like the war!” he called over team speak.

“Nearly, but not quite.” she replied. “We still have no idea what they’re after! At least during the war there motivations were pretty obvious!”

“Then what say we find out what they’re up to then!”  he said.

The two of them angled down and activated their suit thrusters. The terminal descent they had been locked into slowed dramatically as they killed their velocity. Beneath them lay sheaths of cracked and broken glass, with wisps of smoke still wafting off the broken crystalline sheets. Scattered across the rolling sheets were dozens of enemy combatants, all engaged with UNSC forces.

One hundred meters. “Break right!” Lucy called as she angled off to his left. Tom shifted right and raised his rifle up to aim. He started picking targets, pulling off three bursts. By the time he hit the ground two Grunts and a Brute lay dead. He turned and selected a new target. A group of troopers were hiding behind the broken fuselage of a Scorpion, pinned down by a squad of hulking Brutes. 

Tom downed two of the Brutes before they even realised he was there. The remaining members of their squad were quick to whip around and face him, weapons hot and ready to fire. Tom quite suddenly realised that he was completely exposed, with no cover in the immediate area to  shelter behind. That left him with only one viable option.. He charged them. The Marines, seeing that a Spartan was supporting them, were quick to rally and follow his lead, breaking cover and advancing on the suddenly beleaguered Brute squad.

Plasma fire raked his shields. The energy field fizzled under the sporadic bolts of plasma and finally collapsed just as he reached the lead member of the pack.. The Brutes, seemingly confused by the sudden charge of humans rushing them, appeared  paralysed, or at least unable to decide which side to prioritise. Tom took swift advantage of their indecision, launching a punch into the face of the first Brute he met. He could feel its skull fracture beneath the blow.  Carrying his momentum forward, he  launched up and off his feet. His thrusters kicked in, giving him the necessary boost to reach high enough to  straddle the shoulders of the Brute behind.

The creature had been aiming at the Marines, trusting in its brother to deal with Tom alone. This mistake would now prove fatal. The Brute roared and staggered forward under the sudden weight increase. But rather impressively it managed to keep its feet. Tom slugged a swift three-round burst into the top of its head. The Brute promptly crumpled forward  like wet tissue paper. As it toppled over, Tom launched himself off in a back-flip and landed in a crouch on the blackened ground. All around him the Brute line was collapsing. The rallied marines were punching back hard. The fight seemed practically over already.

“Tom!” Lucy yelled. “Incoming!”

Tom turned to track her NAV marker. Underneath it he could see an armoured Prowler racing towards the marines. Standing in a half crouch on the front of the vehicle was a Chieftain, dressed in full Covenant-era regalia, and using one hand to purchase itself on the vehicle, while the other was clutched tightly around a gravity hammer. Tom lifted his rifle and fired at it, but the shots just seemed to bounce off the Brutes well armoured chest. He switched targets and aimed at the Brute riding shotgun beside him. It bellowed furiously and leapt from the side of the Prowler seeking cover from the hail of bullets.

When the vehicle was still some five meters from the Marines, who were likewise pouring fire into the Chieftain, the Brute leapt from the front of the vehicle, flying toward them and raising its gravity hammer into the air. The Marines balked and tried to scramble out of the way. But they weren’t nearly quick enough. A spray of red blood smeared itself across the ground, followed by the anguished cries of dying men and women.

Tom didn’t hesitate for a second. He dashed passed the surviving Marines, still running as fast as they could away from the Chieftain, and unloaded a full clip into the side of its arm to get its attention. That did the trick. The Chieftain hefted the hammer around like a maul, carrying it by the end of its haft, swinging it around in an arc intended to crush Tom sideways with its weight. Tom killed his run and used his thrusters to burst backward. The hammer swung by, mere inches away from his chest. Tom clunked a new clip into his rifle and opened up again at close range. Again they just seemed to ping off the goliath beast, no more annoying to it then gnat flies would have been to Tom. All it seemed to achieve was further enraging it.

It lifted the hammer over it head and crashed it down toward him. Tom dodged, blasting himself a few feet to the side. But the sheer concussive shock wave produced as it smashed into the vitrified earth was enough to knock him backward and off his feet. Tom could see the feral grin on its face. It had its prey cornered. It hefted it’s hammer back up and advanced on him, preparing to deliver a killing strike.

A hail of gunfire suddenly began ripping into the side of the Chieftain as the regrouped Marines began lightning it up. It turned and roared at them, preparing to dash at them. It took a step towards them and abruptly halted. It dropped its hammer and scrabbled at the back of its head. A moment later it became clear why as a knife sprouted out the front of the tree trunk it called a neck. It gurgled for a moment, blood rinsing around its mouth before it finally toppled over forward, quite  clearly dead. Lucy lay crouched on its back, her hand still pressing the knife into the base of its neck. It seemed to take her a moment to realise that it was actually dead before she released her grip on the knife.

She got back to her feet, standing on top of the fallen Brutes back. “I’ve told you before.” she said. “You don’t get to die before me.” He grinned beneath his helmet. “And I’ve told you before. You’re not allowed to die first either.”

“Guess we’ll just have to die together then.” she replied. He pressed his fingers in the form of a V over the lower portion of his helmet. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” She jumped down and extended a hand to help him up. “We Betas stick together.” she said as he took her hand. “No matter what.” She hoisted him back to his feet.

“Don’t really have a choice do we. We’re practically an endangered species.”

Lucy replied with a V smile of her own.

“Spartans. Status?” barked Commander Wanzay over the radio. “Insertion successful sir.” Tom replied immediately. “We’re on the ground and rendering fire support.”

“You were not inserted to support the local ground forces.” he said. “There job is to keep the enemy busy while you accomplish your mission.”

Tom noticed the slight shift in Lucy’s head at the instruction. She hated this part of being a Spartan. She would never say as much, but Tom knew it. Prioritising the mission over saving lives. It was a grim reality of war that she had never been able to fully accept.

“Sir.” he replied dutifully. “Understood sir.”

“Good. Now that we’re back on board with the programme, you’re mission directive is being altered.”

“Sir?” Tom asked.

“Whatever there digging up is no longer your concern. ONI have identified the leader of this fleet as a San'Shyuum. They want that asset secured as a tier one objective.”

Tom and Lucy shared a glance. “A Prophet sir?” he said.

“Affirmative. Now acknowledge new command imperative Spartan.”

He noticed Lucy’s grip on her rifle tighten slightly. “Acknowledged sir. Secure the Prophet.” Tom said.

“Good. Wanzay out.”

Tom looked at Lucy. Her visor was glued to the ground. Her thoughts inscrutable to all but him. “Lucy.” he prodded.

“We have orders.” she said. “The sooner we get on board, the sooner we can stop the glassing.” Tom simply nodded. She turned towards the light of the excavation beam. “Let’s move.”

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