Beyond the Sea

[acts_of_gord]

There's going to be a lot of swimming very soon. Gordon's good with that. Maybe not all that enthusiastic about it, though. He's read about Irukandji syndrome. It's almost enough to make him wish for Xen leeches instead.

Almost.

It's a night swim, is the thing. The only way they could reach the Combine desalination plant undetected during the day would involve Pi portaling the Borealis directly alongside the rig and dropping them off faster than the Combine could shoot them all down. Alyx has the machine up and running again, but nobody wants to take a chance on Pi's current stability. And for all that people in the Resistance occasionally seem to think he's the Messiah, walking on water is not in his portfolio. So... they have to get to the rig under cover of darkness, through jellyfish-infested waters, and creep aboard undetected. And then pretty much put an end to the existence of anything on board with a pulse. Alyx won't be there, and the stalkers won't have any other way out.

He'll handle that part himself, if he can.

For now they've driven here from the Borealis They've got a dark equipment shed near the shoreline ready so that the handful of them who'll be going can get their eyes used to what lies ahead. They're all in their dive gear, as far as he knows. He's got his HEV suit and his helmet on. Hopefully it'll stand up to the jellyfish like it's done to the Combine. This is going to be a very short trip otherwise.

Comments

[acts_of_gord]

That, fortunately, should not be a problem. Aajay is the first to do so, calling out in grimly determined Arabic along with Nairi. The other teams are doing much the same, forcing the Combine fire to fly wide and wild. Jan is going through all that remains of his explosive supply, chucking what he's got at the Combine line whether or not it was ever meant to be thrown.

And Gordon has crouched down to one side, hoisted his rifle, and started doling out headshots to the Combine manning those damned guns like the Good Humor Man passing out ice cream bars on a New Mexico summer's day.

Bad Humor Man.

Whatever.

[boston_bruiser]

The raider's withering barrage of fire disorients the Combine, and it's showing - they're getting sloppy, uncoordinated, leaving gaps in their fields of fire.

Which leaves enough of a window for Voodoo to stand up and cut down one of the other machine gunners, alongside a shotgunner who was stupid enough to turn tail and run. Another machine gun is still alive and kicking, but not for long - one of the other Resistance members topples him with a five-round burst.

With their machine guns gone, most of the troopers left turn tail and sprint back to the landing pad - a few of the stupider ones still stay and fight, but they're shot dead quicker than a rabbit on Elmer Fudd's ranch.

"They're falling back! Push to the landing pad!"

[acts_of_gord]

The others are already moving before voodoo even has time to finish the words. There isn't a human here who doesn't want to see these half-machine monsters go down and go down hard. They've come this far; if they were to all run dry of ammo now, they'd be charging the remaining Combine with the butts of their weapons and the reinforced toes of their boots.

And since the more levelheaded ones are stopping to retrieve ammo from each and every Combine corpse they find, there is no danger of running out any time soon.

This is a bad, bad day to be Combine.

[boston_bruiser]

Oh, boy, is it ever. Voodoo doesn't even live here and he wants to see these fuckers burn.

How much of that desire is pure hatred and how much is pure adrenaline is hard to tell. Either way, it's irrelevant to anyone downrange.

One of the smarter shotgun troopers leaps out of cover and knocks Voodoo's weapon out of his hands, then brings the butt above his head for a melee attack. For a split second, there's an opening, and Voodoo seizes it, stepping aside and sweeping the trooper's legs out from under him. The effect is similar to slipping on a banana peel, only nobody's laughing - least of all the trooper, who's now staring down the barrel of Voodoo's pistol.

Voodoo doesn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

Another of the stragglers shoulders his weapon at Voodoo - he gets two in the chest and one in the head for his trouble.

Voodoo holsters his pistol and shoulders his submachine gun. The landing pad is close now - he can almost feel the tarmac under his boots. Too close to be making stupid mistakes.

This is it. This is really it.

[acts_of_gord]

Somewhere along the way Gordon ran out of pulse rifle ammo. That's fine. That's fine. He's seen that happen a thousand times before with a thousand other guns. That's what the shotgun is for, and he's got enough ammo here courtesy of the late unlamented Combine shotgun soldiers to take down several more. The ones who have survival instinct left are taking aim at the other humans. It's not helping.

Someone else would be shouting battle cries as they lunged through to the landing pad at last, but someone else wouldn't be Gordon. As far as he's concerned, these soldiers aren't worth any more oxygen than it takes to ignite the powder in the shells.

[boston_bruiser]

That someone else wouldn't be Voodoo, either. As the last Combine soldier falls and he sets foot on the landing pad, the only talking he does is engaging his weapon's safety.

He looks over to the beach. Somewhere out there, waaaay out there, is the Sergeant-Major's contingent. Voodoo grins - a real toothy, loopy grin - and waves. Do they see him? Maybe. Not that he cares.

He digs a flare gun out of his combat webbing and turns to Freeman. "Here," he says, tossing him the gun. "You do the honors."

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon picks up the gun, offers the very faintest of smiles, and glances skyward. There were a few clouds scuddering across the sky before, but they've cleared out now. He can make out the Southern Cross from here, and the pointer-stars above it, Alpha and Beta Centauri. That'll do.

Paff!

[boston_bruiser]

As the flare rockets into the sky, Voodoo's all smiles. The shakes are creeping up on him, sure, but it doesn't matter. They've done it.

"Otter, this is Voodoo. Clementine, over."

[hecu_marine]

"Well, shit my ass, y'done pulled it off without me after all," drawls Shephard in reply. "Nice work, Voodoo. What's your status?"

[boston_bruiser]

"We have...wait one, Otter." Voodoo looks around at the raiders, who're now policing up useable weapons and ammunition. Jan's got a bad cut on his arm, but it's nowhere near anything major. Logan's pretty messed up all around, but he'll make it. As for the rest, they're in one piece and happy to be.

"Otter, we have two WIAs. Both are still combat effective. No KIAs or MIAs to report, over."

"Hey, Voodoo!" Brandon shouts from a nearby doorway.

"Yeah?"

"You're gonna wanna see this!"

"Wait one, Otter," Voodoo says, then follows Brandon into the room.

And stops dead in his tracks.

"Holy shit."

It's what looks to be the command post for this rig - more importantly, it's an intel goldmine. Radio receivers, encryption algorithms, maps - whatever the Combine war machine needs to control this rig, it's in here.

"Otter, this is Voodoo. We just hit the jackpot. This place's CP has intel out the wahzoo. Maps, radios, codebooks, you name it. Even got a map of Combine positions all over the continent."

[hecu_marine]

"Say again, Voodoo?"

"You heard the man," interrupts Freeman, who's come over to have a look himself. "He's not exaggerating."

There's a whistle from the other end. "Mother pus bucket," says Shephard. "Tell you what, soon as I git off the horn with you I'mma go see if Manny can't raise Beatrice on the horn back Andamooka way and find out what they got in the way of beer, all right? Sounds like you fuckers earned it."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo grins - it's beer, how can he not?

"Roger that, Otter. We'll be here. Out." He turns to the raiders. "Police this place up. Search it top to bottom for any materiel or intel we might've missed. Debriefing will be held in the galley soon as we get back on board." He looks over them again and nods. "You've done a goddamn fine job tonight, but this is far from over."

[acts_of_gord]

"We know. But thank you," says Aanjay, and the others murmur their agreement.

Jan, who has been mostly poking at his arm to see why he didn't notice getting hurt in the first place, glances up and over Voodoo's shoulder. It's Gordon, who was quietly surveying one of the maps a moment ago. "Thank you," Freeman says. "This... goes a long way."

He's going to go find somewhere to sit down while his ears stop ringing, but for now, he's managing.