Oblivion, page 22
Barely.
Nizat continued to advance. Fleet Rangers were well-trained warriors, but they were not Silent Shadow. They could only do what was possible.
A thousand units behind the Fleet Rangers followed the Steadfast Strike’s complement of five Spectre light assault vehicles. Shaped like a slightly rounded arrowhead and crewed by a gunner and driver, the Spectres were swift, agile vehicles with boosted-gravity propulsion and a heavy plasma cannon fixed to a limited-mobility mount. They were excellent gun platforms, and under most circumstances, they would have been all the support Nizat needed to guarantee success.
Unfortunately, the plateau was divided by a deep, winding chasm that would prevent the Spectres from directly engaging the salvage ship. Nizat had little choice but to hold the vehicles in reserve. As soon as the enemy’s weapon turrets were eliminated, he would bring them forward to draw fire and serve as artillery support for his advancing infantry. It was not a very efficient use of such an agile gun platform, but it was the best that the unforgiving terrain would allow.
He led the way for another thousand units.
“I can no longer distinguish your form,” ‘Lakosee commed. “Shall I come forward now?”
“Not yet,” Nizat replied. “Remain where you are until we have destroyed the close-defense weapons.”
‘Lakosee’s tone grew indignant. “Until the danger is past?”
“I am sorry to ask so much,” Nizat said. “But the Beacons must be kept safe, and when the flesh starts to burn, I can trust no one but you to keep a calm head.”
‘Lakosee’s breath hissed over the comm channel. No Sangheili warrior liked to avoid danger when his cadre faced it, for esteem was won most readily in combat.
“As you command,” ‘Lakosee said, finally. “But I trust my calm head will not keep me out of future fights.”
“When we storm our first ONI base, you will lead the charge. This I promise.”
Nizat moved ahead to five thousand units, and the salvage ship loomed even larger. He began to discern the shapes of its larger appurtenances—a band of silvery dots curving along its bow, a line of dark points protruding along the inner edges of its arch, five fan-shaped silhouettes hanging between its landing struts. He could not yet identify the weapon turrets, but he was starting to make out squarish blobs of shadow and light that might have been hangar doors or external bins. When the enemy finally opened fire, Nizat’s marksmen would be able to identify the source and attack quickly—as long as they were ready.
Nizat activated his comm unit. “Have the focus rifles advance another two hundred units and set up to counterattack. They are to sustain fire no more than four breaths before changing locations.”
“As you command,” ‘Lakosee said. “What of the beam rifles?”
“They will continue forward with the rest of the Fleet Rangers,” Nizat said. Particle beam rifles had almost the same range as focus rifles, but their millisecond pulses were more effective against personnel than hardened targets like turrets and gun bunkers. “And they will limit their fire to counter sniper attacks until further notice.”
‘Lakosee acknowledged the order and signed off to relay the commands to the appropriate unit masters.
Nizat closed to four thousand units.
The salvage ship began to look more like a vessel than a monumental arch, with an aerodynamic flare as its branched hull descended toward the ground in double sterns. The band of silvery dots that curved along its bow became several rows of viewing ports, and the dark points lining the inner edges of its arch lengthened into the tips of grasping claws. The fan-shaped silhouettes between its landing struts expanded into the collars of huge thrust nozzles, and the squarish blobs of shadow and light assumed the shapes of equipment bunkers and hangar doors. Nizat even saw some splinter-sized lines that were probably quad-cannon barrels, and he began to think it might have been safe to bring the focus rifles a little closer to the target.
Then the splinters began to flash, and forks of overload static danced across his personal energy shield. He threw himself to the ground, already shouting into his helmet comm.
“Focus rifles, open fire! Open fire!”
The bushes around him erupted into clouds of flitter-nits, and fountains of stone chips rose before his faceplate. He rolled across the ground, searching for cover and watching his energy shield power level. There was no reading, only a flashing yellow crescent that meant the generator unit was working hard to raise the shield again.
He continued to roll until he came to a spot where the air was no longer filled with rock shards and shredded plants, then listened to the shriek of focus beams passing overhead, waiting for the sound to fade so he could leap up and resume the charge. He found himself looking at a sloping face of gray-banded stone about half the height of his body. The top had been chewed into a jagged line by enemy cannon rounds, and the surrounding area was littered with plant shards and tooth-sized lumps of soft, gray metal—presumably projectiles from the human weapons.
Seeing no more chip-sprays rising in the immediate vicinity, Nizat pushed his helmet up above the stone and looked toward the salvage ship. There were two plumes of smoke rising from each leg of the hull, and a strobe-like blinking continued to flash from the inner curve of the bow arc. To either side of him were patches of bare stone where the enemy cannons had cleared the ground of all vegetation, and in several places he saw blood sprays and shards of armor and bone—all that remained of the warriors who had died there.
A trio of bright beams shrieked through the air above Nizat’s head, converging on the source of the strobe-like flashing. Even beneath the concentrated fire of all three focus rifles, it took a full two breaths for the enemy turret to fall silent.
The beams vanished as suddenly as they had appeared, and a stillness settled over the plateau. Nizat remained where he was, waiting for another turret to open fire.
All that happened was that a fifth plume of smoke rose from the salvage ship. After a few breaths, his restless warriors began to lift their heads, peering over boulders and out of stony hollows, trying to see whether the human turrets had been silenced for good.
‘Lakosee’s voice sounded inside Nizat’s helmet. “Fleetmaster, are you still with us?”
“I am,” Nizat said. “Have the first rank resume the advance. All others, hold position.”
He rose from behind his cover and began to lead the way. His energy shield status returned to normal. He continued forward, watching for more flashing from the enemy cannons. After fifty steps, he decided it was time to confirm that the focus rifles had eliminated all of the enemy cannon turrets.
“ ‘Lakosee, have two Spectres come forward,” he ordered. “Everyone in the second rank will take cover, and everyone in the first rank will be prepared to take cover.”
‘Lakosee acknowledged the command. A short time later, a pair of Spectres sped past, reaching the twining darkness that marked the great chasm dividing the plateau. Still, Nizat did not trust that all of the gun turrets had been destroyed. Although humans employed a base-10 counting system similar to the Covenant’s, they had a bizarre tendency to cluster things in groups of twelve. His spies had never been able to explain why, but it was so ingrained in the human way of thinking that they even had a special word for twelve items—a dozen. And a dozen dozens was called a gross.
This strange obsession with twelves extended into their military. Their ships had missile pods that fired twelve or twenty-four. Their fighter craft usually operated in groups of twelve, and their large capital ships often had weapon systems arranged in counts of the same. Nizat had even seen crates of captured weapons that contained items in such multiples.
So Nizat was not ready to believe that the salvage ship had only five weapon turrets on this side of its hull. Six seemed more likely. With six on the other side, the vessel would have a total of twelve turrets. But just ten? That would be suspicious.
“ ‘Lakosee, send the rest of the Spectres forward,” Nizat said. “The focus rifles must be ready.”
‘Lakosee did as ordered, and the Spectres were barely past Nizat when a single turret near the salvage ship’s bow began to strobe. The nearest assault vehicle disintegrated beneath the withering cannon fire, fluttering to the ground in a cloud of metal shards and bloody armor fragments. A second vehicle flipped end over end and erupted into flames.
Then the focus rifles screamed again, and three beams of charged particles converged on the distant turret. The enemy cannons continued to flash for another two breaths, then finally vanished in a flash of white. The last Spectre continued forward to join the remaining two.
After the enemy cannons had fallen silent again, Nizat angled left, toward the mid-advance rally point. He was starting to feel even more confident of being in the gods’ favor now. To bring the remainder of their turrets to bear, the humans would have to launch their ship and reverse its facing, and that would take time. More importantly, it would draw the attention of the Fleet of Swift Justice, and the humans did not dare risk that until they were ready to move against the Steadfast Strike.
Nizat gave the order for ‘Lakosee and the Fleet Rangers to join him at the rally point. He would need them close by when the boarding action commenced.
It was not long before ‘Lakosee said, “The Spectres report a column of humans sallying from the salvage ship.”
“How large is the column?” Nizat did not bother to conceal his irritation. ‘Lakosee was an experienced aide. He knew better than to give an improper situation report. “Course and weapons?”
“It is too early to tell. But the enemy is not reacting as predicted. I thought you should know at once.”
“Indeed.” Nizat looked toward the salvage ship, but it was hopeless. He could make out a long line of shapes moving away from the base of the vessel, but the heat shimmer concealed any detail. “They are humans. Can we ever expect them to do the wise thing?”
Nizat switched to the vehicle communications band. The Spectre crews would have better visibility from the firing perches behind their plasma cannons.
“This is Fleetmaster ‘Kvarosee. Report what you are seeing.”
“Directly?” asked a nervous voice.
“Had I time to follow the Path of Control, you would be speaking to the First Cannon.”
“Our First Cannon is dead, Fleetmaster.”
“Then you must honor him with your quick obedience,” Nizat said. In Sangheili culture, loyalty was always personal: strong for the leader of one’s keep, but more tenuous with each step removed. The military’s Path of Control was an adaptation of that system, establishing clear lines of authority to reduce conflict and confusion. “If this attack fails because I lack the information I require, the gods will judge the First Cannon by your hesitation.”
“As you command.” The voice was not one Nizat recognized, probably that of a mere vehicle commander. “A column of at least a hundred humans is departing the salvage ship, advancing on foot behind eight of their four-wheeled vehicles. We see no artillery in the combat vehicles, but all of them have those primitive projectile weapons.”
“Destination?”
“It is too early to be certain,” the vehicle commander said. “But they may be moving toward the rally point. That would be my suspicion.”
It suddenly felt sweltering inside Nizat’s armor. He had chosen the rally point because it lay opposite a long ravine offering easy access to the human side of the plateau. His scouts had assured him that once the salvage ship’s close-defense weapons were destroyed, it would be a simple matter to climb the ravine and cross the last three thousand units to the vessel.
Nizat studied the line of humans for a moment, trying to divine what surprises they might be carrying. Finally, he decided it didn’t matter. Whatever their intentions, the humans were going to complicate his plan.
“You will receive new orders from the Master of Rangers shortly,” Nizat said. As much as he wanted to, he did not dare issue the command directly. It was one thing to seek battlefield intelligence in a timely manner, and quite another to subvert the authority of a subcommander. Such affronts were how loyalties were damaged and battles lost. “Be prepared to engage across the canyon.”
“As you command.”
Nizat switched back to his normal command channel. “You heard?”
“I did,” ‘Lakosee said. “So, the humans intend to meet us at the ravine?”
“With the right weapons, it would not be a poor strategy,” Nizat said. “They can hide behind the rim and fire down on us as we climb. The battle would go hard on us.”
“Unless we can drive them back with our cannon fire,” ‘Lakosee said. “Shall I have the Master of Rangers call the Spectres to the rally point?”
“An excellent thought,” Nizat said.
The helmet comm fell silent as ‘Lakosee changed comm bands to relay the order. The rally point was still five hundred units ahead, a ragged line of stone outcrops spread along the rim of the dark canyon. On the far side of the chasm rose the dark gash of the ravine through which Nizat’s cadre would ascend. Shaped like a spearhead, it was boulder-strewn and brush-filled, broken by sheer faces of stone and long gravel-covered slopes that would make for slow climbing under enemy fire. If he and his boarding cadre could not reach the top of the ravine before the humans did, they might not reach it at all.
And if they failed to reach the top of the ravine, they would fail to make contact with the humans; if they failed to make contact, they would fail to plant the Luminal Beacons.
Which was the only objective that mattered.
Nizat spoke to ‘Lakosee again. “Have the beam rifles fire on the column as it advances. The focus rifles are to concentrate on the vehicles.”
“As you command,” ‘Lakosee said.
“And you have spoken to the Master of Rangers?”
“I have,” ‘Lakosee said. “Our Spectres are coming—”
His answer was interrupted by the roar of enemy rockets crossing the canyon. Nizat heard the thud-thud-thudding of six small detonations, all a few hundred units behind him. With sinking hearts, he turned to assess the damage. His two closest Spectres were lying motionless on the ground, one smoking and on its side, the other in so many pieces it was barely identifiable.
The roar of rockets sounded again, and Nizat saw six smoke trails shoot out of the brush on the human side of the canyon. They crossed the chasm and converged on his last assault vehicle. The Spectre shot upward on a cushion of flame, then tipped onto its side, slid to the ground, and began to launch fragments of itself in a flurry of secondary explosions.
Nizat’s beam rifles returned fire, pouring dashes of blue plasma into the brush hiding the rocket launchers. And the human column continued to advance, its wheeled vehicles moving so fast they began to bounce and swerve across the rugged terrain.
“ ‘Lakosee, the vehicles!”
Nizat began to run toward the rally point, motioning for the rest of the cadre to follow. He could not understand why the humans were forsaking the protection of their ship to fight on open ground, but he had to admit that their tactics were working. So far, they had anticipated each of his maneuvers, holding one close defense weapon in reserve to attack his Spectres, then using that attack to cover a squad of rocket launchers to finish them off. And while they distracted his Fleet Rangers with a now-pointless artillery duel, their wheeled vehicles were rushing forward to claim the top of the ravine. It was clever planning, perhaps even good enough to save their ship—had that been what he was after.
“Ignore their rocket launchers,” Nizat said. “Concentrate on slowing the column’s advance. If we can meet them on the plateau, it will be even easier to plant the Beacons.”
Nizat had barely finished speaking before a trio of beams began to chase the enemy vehicles toward the ravine. It was not easy to destroy a moving target with a focus rifle—the beam had to remain in contact for several breaths before enough energy accumulated—but the three marksmen were the best in Nizat’s small fleet. The lead vehicle erupted in flames.
The others raced forward even faster. The second vehicle in line hit something Nizat could not see and went airborne, spinning along its horizontal access and flinging passengers and contents in all directions. The rifle beams converged on a third vehicle, and it veered wildly as the driver tried to escape.
The last five vehicles were already closing on the ravine. Within moments, they would be unloading their passengers along its rim. On the Sangheili side of the canyon, Nizat and the survivors of the first rank were just a hundred units from the rally point. But they carried only plasma rifles and carbines—both medium-range weapons that barely had the capacity to fire across the chasm, much less target the humans waiting at the top of the ravine.
Nizat checked the enemy foot soldiers. His beam rifles had forced the column to disperse, but even through the heat shimmer, he could see that the attacks were having little effect. The humans had simply spread out. Now they were hunched down in the brush, advancing in a broad wave that left the air so clouded with flitter-nits that it looked as though a fog bank was rolling in. The beam rifles were continuing to fire, but there was no way the marksmen could see their targets.
Nizat reached the canyon rim but did not seek cover behind one of the boulders lining it. With the humans racing to seize the good fighting ground, there could be no hesitation in crossing the canyon—and the best way to ensure courage in his followers was to display it himself. He stood on the edge of the chasm, looking across into the ravine, searching for a route that would not leave his cadre exposed to enemy fire for the entire climb.
‘Lakosee arrived a few breaths later. Nizat pointed to the ground behind a chest-high block of stone.
“Take cover there. The humans may have some of their snipers moving into position.”
“But what about you, Fleetmaster?”
