Location: New Mombasa, Grid Kilo-23
Date: October 20, 2552
Time: 07:50
"Chief," Cortana's voice crackled in my helmet. "The gravity lift is still operational. We need to disable it before more reinforcements arrive."
I tightened my grip on the rifle, looking ahead through the smoke and chaos. The towering pillar of light that marked the gravity lift stood out amidst the burning wreckage and ruined buildings. It was pulling Covenant forces down to the surface like a beacon of destruction. If we didn't take it out, the city was lost.
"Let's move!" I called out, rallying the Marines who had survived the initial landing. Their faces were covered in grime and sweat, but their resolve hadn't wavered. We still had a fight to win.
The street ahead was a battlefield, littered with bodies—Covenant and human alike—and burning vehicles. The roar of war was deafening, a constant barrage of gunfire, plasma bursts, and the distant explosions of Warthogs battling Ghosts in the distance. The air was thick with the acrid smell of charred metal and smoke, and the ground trembled under the weight of artillery strikes.
As we advanced, I could feel the gravity lift's pull on the battle, a constant reminder that more Covenant were pouring in by the minute. The closer we got, the more intense the resistance became. Plasma rounds hissed past, forcing us into cover behind a burning Warthog. A lance of Jackals lined the rooftops above, their energy shields gleaming as they took potshots at our exposed flank.
"Snipers!" one of the Marines shouted. His voice was barely audible over the chaos, but I spotted the threat immediately.
I aimed my rifle and squeezed the trigger. One of the Jackals crumpled, its shield fizzling out as it dropped from the rooftop. The others scattered, but a burst from a Marine's battle rifle took another one down before it could reposition.
"Chief, we've got movement ahead!" one of the Marines called out, pointing toward the intersection where the gravity lift's light cut through the smoke.
I peeked around the edge of the Warthog and saw them—an entire Covenant strike force emerging from the lift. Grunts, Jackals, and at least two Elites, their armor glowing in the dim light. Behind them, a Phantom hovered low, providing aerial support and peppering the street with plasma fire.
"Weapons hot!" I barked, already moving toward the nearest cover as plasma fire rained down.
The engagement was immediate and brutal. Grunts rushed forward, spraying the air with plasma rounds, while the Elites barked orders, coordinating their troops. I fired into the charging Grunts, taking down three before they could get into range. The Marines followed suit, pouring fire into the advancing Covenant.
The Elites, however, were a different story. Their shields absorbed the incoming fire, and they moved with tactical precision, using the Grunts and Jackals as cover while they closed the distance. I tossed a grenade into the fray, watching as it bounced once and then detonated in the middle of a pack of Grunts. The explosion ripped through their ranks, sending bodies and debris flying. But the Elites kept coming.
One of the Elites, armed with dual plasma rifles, rushed forward with a guttural war cry. Its shields flared under the concentrated fire of the Marines, but it didn't stop. I sprinted toward it, my rifle blazing. The Elite swung one arm toward me, spraying plasma fire wildly, but I slid beneath the shots, coming up on its flank. I emptied the rest of my magazine into its side, and its shields finally gave out.
Before it could react, I slammed the butt of my rifle into its head, the impact sending it crashing to the ground. I didn't stop—before it could even register the pain, I fired a burst into its chest, finishing the job.
"Chief!" Cortana's voice snapped me back to the moment. "The Phantom is dropping more reinforcements—Banshees inbound!"
I turned my gaze skyward and saw them—two Banshees streaking toward us, their engines roaring as they descended. They weren't here to support the ground forces—they were targeting us.
"Get down!" I shouted, diving for cover as the Banshees unleashed a volley of plasma bombs. The ground shook violently as the bombs detonated, sending chunks of debris and asphalt flying into the air. One of the Marines wasn't fast enough—he was caught in the blast, his body tossed like a ragdoll across the street.
"Medic!" a nearby Marine screamed, rushing toward the fallen soldier. But I could see it in his eyes. He knew it was too late.
"Chief, we've got to take out that Phantom!" Cortana urged, her voice cutting through the fog of war. "It's dropping troops faster than we can handle!"
I scanned the battlefield. The gravity lift was still operational, pouring more Covenant into the fight, but the Phantom was the immediate threat. Its plasma turret was already lighting up the street, cutting down Marines left and right. If we didn't take it down soon, the entire push would collapse.
I looked toward the remaining Marines. They were holding the line, but just barely. I needed to move fast.
"Cover me!" I ordered, darting toward a downed Warthog that was still partially operational. Its mounted chaingun was intact, though its engine was dead.
"Chief, you're not seriously thinking—" Cortana began, but I was already climbing onto the Warthog's turret, swinging it toward the sky.
The Phantom loomed overhead, its side doors open as more Covenant soldiers prepared to drop. I squeezed the trigger, unleashing a torrent of gunfire into the hovering craft. The chaingun roared, spraying rounds into the Phantom's underbelly. Its shields flared, struggling to hold against the barrage.
"Focus fire on that Phantom!" I yelled to the remaining Marines, and they complied immediately, pouring everything they had into the air. Plasma bolts and bullets tore through the smoke, hammering the Phantom from all sides. Its shields flickered, then failed.
"Direct hit!" Cortana exclaimed as the Phantom's engines sputtered.
The Phantom lurched sideways, struggling to stay aloft, but it was too late. With a deafening roar, its engines failed completely, and the massive dropship careened toward the ground, crashing into a nearby building in a fiery explosion.
The blast knocked me off the turret, sending me tumbling across the asphalt. I landed hard but quickly scrambled back to my feet, my eyes on the gravity lift in the distance.
The real fight was still ahead of us.
"We need to move, now!" I shouted, rallying the surviving Marines. They were battered and bruised, but their eyes were filled with determination. They knew what was at stake. So did I.
As we pressed forward, the ground shook again—this time from something far heavier than a Phantom.
"Cortana," I said, my voice low. "What is it?"
Her response was grim. "Scarab, Chief. And it's heading straight for us."