Pact: A Tale of Brotherhood

Well, here goes. I hope this is good enough for your tastes.

Pact: A Tale of Brotherhood

Prolouge

Behind their cold, lifeless visors, six SPARTANs stared at each other in numb horror. Their hopes of killing off a Prophet and severely crippling an attacking Covenant fleet had been snatched away from them as they realized what they’d gotten themselves into. Their mind’s eye saw the Covenant laughing at them, their sickening and barbaric cries adding to the incoherency of the situation. Either the Prophet in question was on a smaller craft, and not the main flagship they’d just worked their way into, or wasn’t even there at all. Whatever the case was, it was obvious that the Covenant had this planned all along. Which only meant one thing:

“Ambush,” stated Jess-198.

Mark-316 sighed, knowing full-well what was about to go down. “That’s affirmative. How many do you spot in there?”

“Approximately 50 on first glance. Searching for sniper nests now.”

While Jess hunted for any hidden foes, using her thermal imaging system to look through the wall between them and the control room, the leader of the team pondered the situation, not finding everything adding up.

“Guys? Do you really think this is an ambush?” suggested Rodney-257.

“What do you mean, Commander?”

“Well, think about it. We’ve encountered a lot of resistance on our way over here to this control room, furthering suspicion that there was a Prophet aboard. We’ve barely made to this point alive, not to mention the fact that every single member of Teams Rapier and Xiphos are dead." He paused, reliving each of the 12's brutal demises aboard the Covenant supercarrier. Although they weren't part of the team he'd grown to be so close with, he still felt a pang of guilt at their loss.

"There just seems to be Covenant around every damn corner on this ship. I figured that everyone would just be lying in wait here, ready to blow our heads off the second we step foot in there and defend the Prophet that they should have had hiding in there. But 50? That doesn’t exactly seem like much, does it. And to boot, I’m quite willing to bet that Jess doesn’t find any snipers hidden around.” And with that, Jess turned around, bewildered.

“You’re right, there aren’t any that I can detect. And the rest of them don’t exactly look like they’re set to kill a team of SPARTANs, with an exception to the eight high-ranking Elites I can see from here. But what are you trying to get at here, Rodney? Are you saying this isn’t actually a trap set for us?”

Rodney nodded, finally gaining clarity over the situation. A plan was forming in his head, much faster than before now. “I do believe we’ve gotten here undetected, and they have absolutely no idea we’re here. That is really quite dumbfounding; you would think at least one of the squads we fought would have signaled the control room to alert them of our presence, considering the numbers we’ve faced. But that doesn’t change a thing, if we’re to get out of this alive, we’re going to have to treat this with utmost precision and care.”

Suddenly, Baldemar-216 spoke up. “But surely this still does not feel right to you, does it? These Covenant bastards are cunning, and this is their main flagship! It should be packed to the ceiling with the vermin! Where have they all gone? I do not like this.” His German accent flared as he expressed his concern to his team-mates.

“To be honest, Baldemar, I can’t say for sure. What I’m hoping is that their most prized warriors were aboard, to later be flown off to where the action is at its peak.”

Baldemar eyed his Commander, fearing the worst. “I hope you are right, my friend. For all of our sake.”

“Heh. Don’t you worry, Baldemar. These punks won’t know what hit ‘em. Or at least, they won’t if we initiate a plan effectively. Jess, give us some stats. How many of each?”

Jess fiddled with her visor for a second before complying. “Right, there’s the Shipmaster. And what looks to be a Zealot-class Field Marshall, if I remember correctly. Six Zealot-class Generals, and… 23 Ultras. 31 Elites all up, for those lacking the brain power.”

“Very funny. And the other 19?”

“16, to be precise. I’m cou-“

“I thought you counted 50?” Boris-081 interrupted, wondering how Jess could have over-counted.

“That was an approximation, Boris. I do that before I take head counts, you should know seeing I told you it was only at first glance just before. You sure you SII’s can keep up with us, and that you’re not starting to rust away there?”

Evidently unimpressed with her remark, Boris shook his head. He would've laughed, if it weren't for the gravity of the situation at hand.

“Ease up, Jess,” joked Rodney. “Continue, if you would, please.”

“Ten Jackals, six Grunts. That makes up our total, sir.”

“Thank you. Anyway, as I said before, we need a plan. Jess, can you take a sweep of the room and upload it to our HUDs?”

“Able and willing, sir.” Jess scanned the room, highlighting choke points, possible cover and positions of enemies, then fed the data to the HUDs of the rest of Team Theta.

“Damn,” commented Mark, “I gotta get me one of those tactical hardware kits.”

Rodney nodded in agreement. “To be honest, I don’t why we haven’t yet, we should all have them installed. That way, Jess won’t have to be our pack mule for data. But that’ll be later, we should focus on the situation in front of us. Gather round, Theta, I’ll hopefully be able to get a floor plan of a Covenant supercarrier here on my tac-pad.”

Team Theta gathered around their leader, eyeing him with the respect that he had earned from them over the months of war they had fought. Rodney couldn’t help but smile. Although the Covenant had nearly overrun them at every possible opportunity, they’d gotten this far alive, and it was all thanks to their skill in operating as a team. He was glad to be their leader. After a few quick button presses and a bit of searching, Rodney came across the floor plan he desired. He brought it up on the screen and held his wrist out for all to see.

The screen showed an oval room with the main ship controls at the opposite end, and nine control panels directly ahead of the entrance. There was one panel in the center and four on either side, curving with the shape of the room. Directly in the middle of the room was a large hologram of the planet they were intending to invade. Between the hologram and the main controls was a large pillar that rose out of the ground, running parallel until it came out, rising at a 45 degree angle back the way it came, like a giant other-worldly crocodile’s mouth attempting to engulf the entire planet before it. This, along with the hologram itself, would provide good cover for the Elites piloting the ship.

“Alright, here’s what we do. This control room’s a fairly crowded place, so weapons with larger areas of effect will be the most effective. Boris, you’re our heavy weapons specialist here, so you’ll be key in securing the positions we need to take cover with. Use everything you have, don’t bother reloading until we’ve got our cover locked down.”

Boris set the turret he was wielding aside, unholstering the rocket launcher magnetically attached to his back. “Don’t worry about reloading this thing sir, I’m down to my last two rockets as it is.”

“Right. Drop it once you’ve fired, then proceed to let loose with that turret of yours. Everyone else, we’ll be helping Boris secure positions with the weaponry you have left. Especially Baldemar, of course. You'll be taking point. Anyone within range of your shotgun is to be dealt with accordingly.”

Baldemar and Boris nodded, then looked at each other with a wide grin hidden beneath their helmets.

“Sounds good, sir,” acknowledged Boris. Baldemar nodded again in agreement.

“What we’ll be aiming to secure are these control panels, they look like they’ll provide good cover. Two of us to one panel, except for Henry who’ll be on sniper duty back here at the doorway. Boris can take the middle panel for himself. Baldemar, you and I will take the right, Mark and Jess on the left. We’ll go for the three middle panels seeing the outer most panels are too angled to be of any use to us cover-wise. Once the majority of the force has been dealt with, we’ll flank around on either side of the room to attack the Elites situated at the main controls. Hopefully they’ll stay there while we take care of the weaker ones. Henry, keep them pinned. If one so much as steps out, let them have it. Understand?”

Henry-204 unholstered his sniper rifle, shouldering it while placing his BR55 back onto his magnetic attachments.

“Yes sir.”

Rodney eyed him for a second, then nodded. “Just make sure you have enough range to be effective." Looking around his team, he finally felt ready. "Ok, I think that’s all we need covered. Have I provided everyone with a sufficient strategy?” The team nodded in unison, ready to storm the room.

“Alright. Remember, the positions marked previously won’t be exact, a few units will have moved. Don’t rely solely on what you see right on your HUD right now, wait until you have a clear shot before you fire. Be ready to advance on my mark.”

They all tensed, anticipating what was to follow.

“Go!”

At Rodney's command, they breached the control room. Baldemar entered first, opening the doors and dropping on one knee. He began to fire while Boris stepped forward and shot a rocket at the rather large group of Ultras reacting to the presence of an intrusion. It howled towards its enemies as if it couldn’t get there fast enough, ready to fulfill its purpose and go out with a bang. Upon detonation, five were killed, while seven more lost most of their shielding, if not all. Rodney, Mark and Jess grabbed the opportunity to pick off the unshielded ones by the throat while Boris fired his last rocket at the now spreading Ultras. It impacted where eight of them had once been, only finding the three unfortunate enough not to have evaded the rocket’s fiery demise.

At the sudden commotion, the Shipmaster lost his temper and barked a harsh command at the other Sangheili to charge forward, the anger swelling through his head and affecting his judgment. His warriors were reluctant to attack without suitable cover, but they didn't dare to disobey their Shipmaster's command, for his fury was a force to be reckoned with.

They were lightning fast, five of the seven who had lost their shields had managed to somehow avoid enemy fire with impossibly quick maneuvering and join the charge against the SPARTANs who had come to take their lives.

Boris now ducked back to the doorway to retrieve the turret he’d set aside earlier, and as he assumed his firing stance and pulled the trigger back, the murderous beast came to life with a deafening roar. He aimed the colossal weapon at the fleeing Grunts and tore each one down with relative ease, eventually turning to face the now charging Ultras.

The Covenant's constant plasma barrage was slowly melting the panels, which in turn was grinding away the hopes that they would be of any use to the six soldiers. The 12 remaining Ultras attacked at the left and center sides of the SPARTANs' position, six to the center and six to the left, while the six remaining Jackals elected to attack the remaining right side. Team Theta had their position locked down and continued to hold, attempting to keep the charging force at bay with a barrage of bullets. But, even with only few numbers, the Elites were very nearly at the terminals, their ferocity sweeping ahead like a dust storm threatening to choke the life out of all that stood in its way.

Boris managed to gun one more Ultra down before the Elites got to with close-quarters combat distance. Three leaped the panels simultaneously. The first, who leaped the left panel, received a blast from Baldemar’s shotgun, instantly cutting through his shielding. The Ultra tried to correct its landing, but ended up face-planting on the cold, unforgiving floor behind the Demon responsible for throwing him off balance. As he rolled over, howling in agony, Baldemar stepped over, crouched and fired point blank.

Quickly rising, Baldemar turned just in time to see a fragmentation grenade rip the life out of the Jackals attempting to flank their panel. Two survived, Baldemar quickly set to changing that figure. Rodney, however, had unsheathed his knife and attacked the two Ultras that had come between the panels. He struck the first one through the right side of the head, shoving his knife in as forcefully as he could, killing it instantly. As he pulled the knife out, the second one charged him and they somehow managed to lock themselves in a test of strength.

Boris dropped his turret as the Elite jumped his barricade, attempting to tackle Boris down with one fell swoop. But he had other ideas, instead grabbing the Ultra by the head and using his own momentum against him by ramming him face-first into the floor. He stooped over its body to break its neck, then picked up his turret and immediately saw the struggle Rodney was locked in.

He turned his turret around, then swung it wildly at the Ultra’s head, faulting its shielding and inflicting severe cranium trauma. It fell to its hands and knees, while Rodney picked up his BR. He felt no remorse as he fired the killing blow. The two then sought to aid Jess and Mark, who by far had the biggest problem on their hands.

When the Ultra leaped the third panel, Mark simply ducked, Jess quickly doing the same. It followed through gracefully, rolling back onto his feet. However, Mark quickly followed it, and as soon as it had regained its footing, he thrust himself forward as hard as possible, crashing against the mighty warrior and forcing it to the ground. It managed to force him off as it rolled over onto its back, but he had stopped himself by rising to one knee, and as it had rolled over, he unsheathed his combat knife and brought it down in a deadly arc, aimed straight at the alien’s throat.

The Elite, however, managed to grab Mark’s wrist before his blade could impact, and he was forced to use his other hand. He let go of his knife and it dropped from his right to his left hand, and the same thing happened as he attempted to slay the beast pinned beneath him. Running out of options, he head-butted the Elite, loosening its grip on his wrists as it yelled out. This time, the knife found flesh and happily dug in, leaving it to die a horrible death as Mark pulled his blade out again.

A thunderous crack sounded as Henry shot at the cloaked Zealot who stepped out of his cover, finding cowering back unbearable. Its camouflage failed and it roared as its impressive shielding flickered, stepping back as soon as it realized it could be seen. Then, an idea came to the Zealot as it contacted the ship they were currently in communication with, having sent them urgent news of their current situation.

Jess primed a grenade while strafing to avoid the incoming plasma bolts and needles, then rolled it forward at the final Ultras. They quickly noticed the grenade and mostly avoided it, only two of the Ultras had their shields half lowered. But with four SPARTANs constantly firing, it was not long before these two fell. The three remaining came ever closer, firing short bursts to try and disorient their foe, relieving what little they could. But still, the SPARTANs did not cease. They closed the gap, and now only two remained.

Jess stayed put, firmly believing that the Ultras would be felled before they reached her. As the snarling Covenant devoured the distance between them, Rodney realised she was risking herself. "Jess, get back here. You're out in the open."

She called back over her shoulder, "Trust me, Rod. I can do this."

"Damnit, Jess! Get back here, now! That's an order!"

The closer Elite prepared to strike as his shields fell, but was cut down before it could bring down a savage blow upon his enemy. But the last remaining Elite quickly stepped around its brother-in-arms as it fell and delivered a backhand with his Plasma Rifle harder than it ever had done before, crumpling Jess’s visor and sending her stumbling back into a sitting position against the middle panel. Her team reeled, and finished the Elite off before he could do further harm.


To the SPARTANs, the room went silent, their concentration only on her as Rodney tore off Jess’s battered helmet and helped her to her feet.

“Are you OK?” he pleaded as she struggled to stay upright. The team huddled round to tend to their wounded comrade. But she quickly shook it off and was able to support herself.

“I’ll be OK. Don’t you worry about me.”

Rodney simply nodded. Although he wanted to scold her for disobeying orders, he realized that now wasn't the time. Forcing the concern from his mind, he turned to Henry, trying to piece the situation back together again after their ordeal with Jess. “Are they still cooped up, Henry?”

“Yeah, but I don’t have the ammo to hold them back if they all decide to charge at once,” Henry replied, not letting his rifle down to face his team leader and continuing to observe the Elites though his scope.

“Just as long as you can hit their shields for us, we can finish them off for you. We've got your back. Just do what you can.”

“Yes si-”

All of a sudden, the ship violently shuddered as several plasma torpedoes struck, faulting the ship’s shielding and impacting with maddening explosions, although not doing any damage near the control room, it agressively shook the SPARTANs and threw them off balance, Henry slamming into the wall he was stanced next to.

“What the hell is going on?” Boris yelled, struggling to keep on his feet as the shaking refused to relent.

Rodney braced himself against the middle panel, having to yell to make himself heard over all the commotion. “It can’t be our guys, every ship's commanding officer in our entire fleet knows we've boarded this vessel. The only explanation I can come up with is that the other Covenant ships know we’re here and are trying to destroy this ship.”

“My God… what ruthless bastards,” said Mark, his utterance unheard over all that was happening around them.

“What I don’t understand is why they aren’t aiming directly at this room, it’s like they’re just trying to shake us up…”

The very second that the shaking stopped, the Elites who had been lying in wait for the ship to be struck bolted to where the SPARTANs were getting their bearings back, hoping the time allocated would be plentiful enough to let them advance without the Demon’s hindering sniper fire.

The Field Marshall ran first, uncloaking just as it ran past the occupied SPARTANs and headed straight for Henry at a blinding pace, only giving him a split-second to react. Its sword ignited and came to life with a bubbling hiss, which it then swung where the Demon had been a split-second ago, now ducking the strike. It quickly turned on its heel and brought the sword down with a true master’s pirouette, cutting Henry’s sniper rifle in half.

“Guys! I could use some help!”

After quickly taking a few potshots at the Sangheili in an attempt to distract it, Mark dropped his BR and quickly sprinted for him, attempting to tackle it to the ground, but the Field Marshall saw him coming and took hold of his left arm as he leapt forward. It curled his arm over its shoulder as it leant forward and twisted Mark's body, whipping him over the top of the Zealot and sending him crashing into the ground.

As it raised its sword to kill the SPARTAN, Henry stepped over and grabbed its arm, to which it retaliated by grabbing Henry by the throat and pushing him into the wall. Mark got up and gave it a solid uppercut to the jaw, allowing Henry to move again.

The six Generals who had trailed the advancing Field Marshall also uncloaked as the perfect time to strike presented itself, the four SPARTANs preoccupied with Mark and Henry's ordeal. Three stopped halfway, allowing the other three to charge the SPARTANs with swords raised. Two of them boasted Concussion Rifles, while the last shouldered a Fuel Rod Gun. The four SPARTANs turned to face their attackers, and chaos ensued as the final battle had begun.

"Go, Henry. They need you more than I do," Mark told him, realising more firepower was needed outside. Henry obeyed, getting the BR55 from his magnetic holder and starting to fire at the Generals outside, fully believing that Mark was capable of taking the Field Marshall by himself. Besides, even though the team had bonded so well, Mark had never really been anything but a lone wolf, no matter the team co-ordination he possessed. His true talents alwayed peaked when he operated alone.

He got his knife out for the second time in about a minute and a half, in his second one-on-one battle with an Elite so far in this room, quickly taking into account that the Zealot was right handed, as was Mark. The master swordsman glared at him with the hatred that only a lifetime of war could produce, and stabbed at hi,, who stepped to the left. He turned slightly, bringing his right hand holding the knife around to his left shoulder, and then brought the knife back around in a lethal arc headed straight for the Elite’s chest.

But the Zealot was no novice in battle; it used its left hand to fend off the attack, pushing Mark’s hand and using his own momentum against him. He lost balance and was now standing backwards, but before it struck with its sword, he continued to turn right and wound up facing the Elite just in time to dodge the second thrust by ducking.

Mark assumed a sprinter’s starting position, then took off with his right foot, tackling the Sangheili with all that he could muster and took him right into the wall. Not giving it any time to recuperate, he quickly stepped back, then raised the knife up and brought it down again, aiming to stab it in the head. But the Zealot gained its wits back a lot faster than he hoped it would and caught his wrist with its left hand. It pulled hiss hand left, pulling him forward, and drove its knee straight into his ribs, cracking several.

Mark winced, dropping his knife as the pain burst through him, but he had bigger things on his plate as the Elite raised his sword, ready to end him. He painfully turned right, driving his right elbow around to smash it in the "jaw". It stumbled leftward, clutching its lower right mandible and stooping down to recover. He used this chance to step towards his foe, as hard as his broken ribs would allow, and drove his boot right into the side of its skull. It was sent rolling on his shoulders, its feet slammed into the ground.

The Zealot lolled onto its back, the world in front of it starting to fade and flicker. Having to perform the kick was excruciating for Mark, he had never felt pain like it. Reacting quickly to subdue the pain, he took a canister of biofoam from his trauma kit that was compatible with his SPI Mark II armour and injected into his ribs. Biofoam started to pour into him as he retrieved his combat knife, not greatly reducing the pain, but making it bearable for the time being.

Baldemar simply shot the Zealot charging at him with his shotgun, dodging its initial attack and bringing its shielding down in two hits. The force of the blasts sent it stumbling backward, and as he went to fire the last shot, he noticed his ammo count on his HUD. He had run out of ammunition. Unable to believe it, Baldemar seethed and flung his shotgun at the Zealot, unsheathing his two knives. In the time it took for the Elite to cut the shotgun flying at him out of the air, he was at it.

The Zealot brought its sword back around, but Baldemar used his first knife to stab its forearm before the sword could cut through him. He then raised his second knife up as it howled to the sky, the pain too much for it to bear. He mercilessly brought the knife back down, impaling it in the neck, then he took his first knife out of its wrist and brought it down into the other side of its neck, ending its life instantly. Jerking his knives out of the alien corpse, he noticed Mark kick his opponent in the head, sending it to the floor. He quickly ran over and stabbed the great leader in the chest with both his knives. Looking up, he saw Mark clutching his ribs and ran over to tend to him.

“Mark! Has this monster injured you?” he asked in a rush.

“I’m afraid so, Baldemar," Mark admitted. "But I’ll live. You should help everyone else out, I’ll join you in a bit.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Baldemar reluctantly obeyed Mark. “I do not leave you willingly, but seeing you insist, then I shall go.” And with that, he ran off to help the rest of his team.

Boris raced to meet his attacker, dropping his turret and stopping just shy of the Elite as it sent its sword at him with a backhand swipe. He stepped back, instinctively predicting that it would lunge forward and bring its sword back at him, which it did precisely. Grabbing its sword hand with both of his, he pulled its towards him and drove his shoulder straight into its throat.

The Elite was winded, instantly losing air and finding it impossibly hard to breathe as it stepped back, but seeing Boris still had a firm grip on its wrist, it came to the end of how far he could move, and was yanked around and fell onto the floor. He broke its arm by bringing the elbow down onto his knee, to which it shrieked and sent its head back, never having felt such pain before. He picked up the sword and gouged the Zealot with it, ending its glorious and noble life with a death fit for an amateur.

Jess quickly unsheathed her combat knife after her BR's ammunition had run dry, dreading what was to come, for close quarters combat wasn't her greatest attribute, despite the results she had achieved in training. She hoped this wouldn’t mean her end here on this ship. The Zealot could see the hesitation on her face and a smirk slowly formed on its face as it approached its prey.

She struck first, aiming for the neck, but it raised its hand in defense and parried with ease. Jess continued to attack, but the swordsman never faltered once, parrying each strike with immense skill, as if it was just toying with her. Which, in fact, was just what it was doing. It found much amusement in this mythical Demon, supposedly able to being down entire enemies with ease and yet here it was, barely putting up a fight once its primitive weapon had been removed.

As Jess struggled to defeat the Zealot, the other five SPARTANs were being pinned down behind the control panels they'd been using for cover by the three Zealot's suppressive fire. Rodney took a glance from out beside his panel, only to see their suppressors finish reloading. He quickly took position back behind his panel as plasma continued to crash against it. His mind urgently echoed the thought that they needed to take the fight to the last of the three Elites. They needed to be taken out before they could risk going out from cover to rescue her. Frustration turned to hope as Rodney hatched another battle plan. He needed a diversion, fast.

“How many frags do we have left?” he asked desperately. Boris had only one left, as did Mark and Baldemar. Both Henry and Rodney had used the last of theirs.

“Alright. We need plasma weaponry. Mark, you and I’ll get Plasma Rifles. Now what we’re going to do is throw our last frags while you and I shoot like hell at them. We’ll be aiming to get one behind the Zealot with the Fuel Rod, and two on either side of it. Hopefully the threat of 3 grenades combined will mean it has to jump forward, then we get the last of its shielding down and finish it off. Then we’ll collectively fire on those last two, got it?”

Everyone nodded in reply. Boris crawled over to where a Zealot had dropped his sword. He picked it up, while Rodney and Mark went over and obtained two Plasma Rifles, then came back. As the three returned, Rodney then confirmed that the plan should go ahead.

“Why the sword, Boris? You want a souvenir or something?” Mark asked, not quite understanding.

“You’ll see,” Boris said, leaving it at that.

Rodney eyed Boris for a second, then held up an ordering hand. “Alright then, prime grenades, and throw on my mark.”

Each primed their grenades, pressing the button located at the top of the grenade, where pins had been used centuries ago.

“Throw!”

The grenades were lobbed through the air, lucky to not collide with the constantly incoming heavy fire from the three Zealots. They each landed at the destination required, the Zealot having no choice but to leap forward, just what the SPARTANs wanted. Boris had got up and stepped back a fair bit. As soon as it leapt forward, Boris started running.

Their grenades exploded, spreading the three Zealots apart, the two on either side having to leap away. Boris quickly sidestepped the middle panel and sprinted furiously for the momentarily distracted General, igniting the sword he had picked up. As plasma bolts were fired through the smoke, distracting the other two Zealots, he pounced. He landed atop the Zealot with the Fuel Rod, thrusting the sword through its back. It cried out its last sound, alerting the last 2 remaining Sangheili that something was amiss.

The SPARTANs came out from their prison that they’d been kept behind all this time to finish the job. They quickly approached the clearing smoke and saw the Zealots rushing at Boris. They both attempted to strike him with their Concussion Rifles, but he stepped forward and they were forced to send their blows aside to avoid hitting each other. Rodney and Mark opened fire with their Plasma Rifles, slowly tearing away their shielding.

They turned around to shoot, but the SPARTANs were already on the move, not letting the Zealots get a good shot at them. The second one’s shields dropped, and Henry fired with his BR that he’d forced to use after his brief encounter with the Field Marshall that Mark had disposed of, the 3 bullets lodging themselves in the Elite’s brain, terminating it.

As Boris killed the remaining Zealot with his sword, Mark desperately raced towards Jess. The General had grown tired of toying with the Demon and looked ready to end the battle once and for all. But before it could deliver the killing blow, he attacked. Shoving his knife into its shoulder, it suddenly turned to Mark with its “mouth” agape, its four mandibles flaring in disbelief and agony. Jess took the chance to send her knife where she had meant it to go the whole fight: its neck. As it dug in, the Elite ceased to be.

It was finally over. They had done it. Mark and Jess, exhausted and bruised, looked at each other contemptly. The other four SPARTANs remained where they were, ultimately relieved with the outcome of the battle. Though their mission was technically a failure, none of the six paid any mind to it as they silently looked to one another. However, there was something they had forgotten. Rodney was the first to realize.

But before he could voice the newfound horror in his heart, the Shipmaster who had remained cloaked for the entire battle finally showed himself, driving his two energy swords through Jess and Mark respectively. The first sword went right through Jess’s heart, killing her instantly. But Mark had the other sword go right through his shoulder, white-hot pain searing though him like the impact of a thousand plasma bolts. The pain was too much for him to comprehend, and he fell to his knees, the life draining from him.

Team Theta acted without thinking, instantly shooting at the mighty Sangheili who now charged them, its two swords blazing with the anger it felt at having to remain hidden. It neared them, swords arcing up, yearning to slay the Demons that were slowly reducing its shielding. It surged wildly at Baldemar, pushing off in one final effort, bringing its swords down with all he could muster. But the Demon dodged, and the primitive weaponry they shot it with proved to be too much. The Sangheili slumped to the floor, broken.

They approached Mark, who was staring at Jess uncomprehendingly, realizing his time had come. As his team huddled around him, they removed his helmet and what the SPARTANs saw did not settle well with them. Blood was dribbling from his mouth, and his face was ominously pale.

“I’m not going to make it…” he managed to spit out.

Rodney knelt down in front of him and looked him in the face. “Listen to me, Mark. You’re coming with us. Do you hear me, soldier? You’re a SPARTAN. And in case you forgot, SPARTANs do not die. Come on, we’re getting you out of here.”

But the look in Mark’s eyes told a different story, one that Rodney couldn’t accept. He wasn’t going to make it. Every part of Rodney's being cried out to rescue him, to get him back to a medical facility, telling him he would live and that everything would be alright. He wouldn’t let it end like this. He couldn’t. But the truth was plain to see, and no matter how much Team Theta tried to deny it, it would not leave them be. Mark would die on this ship. And it was their fault.

“I’m sorry, sir. I- I faile-“

Mark started to cough up blood, and as agonizing as it was for him, the team felt every bit of it inside.

“No, Mark,” Rodney said, “the fault was ours. We should have followed you, we should have helped. And now… now, there’s nothing we can do.”

With an effort, he got to one knee, and with Boris and Rodney helping him to his feet, he spoke to his team for what would be the last time.

“Rodney, Boris… please, take me to the ship’s controls. Then leave. Get in the Pelican we left in the docking station and leave as fast as you can. Hopefully it’ll still be working. You deserve at least that much.”

“What are you going to do?” Baldemar asked, looking his friend in the face.

“I’m going t-to crash this god-forsaken ship into the cruiser that fired at us. I don’t care if I don’t h..hit the ship responsible. If I’m going to hell...” Mark paused, trying to breathe properly, then finding that he could not. He hoarsely continued, “…then I better make sure it’s full before I get there.”

They got him to the alien controls, and they all stood to face him, not quite knowing what to do. Emotion was not common for SPARTANs, and even then, it was not proper emotion, for the heavily engineered super-soldiers had been robbed of their souls. They had been replaced with mutagens and other chemicals, ridding them of all things considered human. What they felt for Mark was as close to emotion as they could ever come.

No words were spoken. None were necessary. They slumped him over the controls, and quickly ran to get off before Mark killed them all. How fitting that would be, Rodney thought to himself.

Baldemar stopped to pick up Jess, but Mark voiced his protest.

“Leave her, Baldemar. Please… I want her to stay here with me. She would want to see this.”

"If it is your... -he could barely get the word out- final wish. Goodbye, my friend." Baldemar could not believe he'd just spoken to him for the last time.

So they ran, not looking back. Not wanting to look back. Already the supercarrier was starting to lurch to the right, aiming directly at the nearest cruiser. Eventually, the four remaining SPARTANs arrived at the docking station. Their Pelican awaited them, battered by the war outside, but still eager to fly. As they got in and started up, nobody spoke. The ship’s shields were shot down as they approached the edge of the supercarrier's bay, giving them the chance to escape. This would be the hardest journey of their lives.

* * *

The quiet, dismal lulls of space offered Team Theta no sympathy as they raced towards the nearest vessel capable of accomodating them. Indeed, space could not offer the burdened travelers anything but its infinite isolation as the gulf between the four wracked men it carried and all that surrounded them drifted ever further apart. And as they pushed on, the gravity of the situation only worsened for them. They had lost two of their team this day, along with the lives of 12 other SPARTAN-IIIs. It could have been prevented.

Their train of thought was interrupted as Rodney got in distance of a functioning ship. He sighed with relief, his entire being yearning for solitude. It was a heavy frigate, christened the UNSC Perfect Stranger. He hailed the frigate, requesting permission to board. It was granted, however, now they were nearing the main battle where the rest of the Covenant fleet had engaged the UNSC defense force placed to deter the attackers.

They avoided skirmishes large and small, eventually getting tailed by a Seraph fighter eager to claim yet more kills to add to the list. Rodney was forced to act, his muddled mind cleared of all that haunted him for the moment as he adjusted the Pelican’s thrusters to a 60 degree angle, taking it above where the Seraph flew. He then dived at it, engaging the enemy craft with the dropship’s 70mm nose mounted machine gun, aiming to take down its shielding. As soon as it had been depleted, he depressed the triggers on the control yoke, then opened two small hatches on the tips of the handles, revealing missile launch triggers.

As the internal guidance system locked onto the fighter, he pressed the two buttons down, which fired four missiles each at the now fleeing Seraph. As the missiles registered their target and started homing in, they propelled themselves at utterly incredible speeds, speeds the Seraph could not hope to match. The bombardment found its prey, and the Seraph went up in a dazzling ball of flame and plasma. Rodney cursed the now deceased pilot under his breath for meddling in affairs that it should have stayed away from.

Miles back, Mark made contact with the enemy ship who had fired at him. There was no massive explosion, nothing glorious to pass on to as the ships collided, metal scraping against metal. A horrible groan echoed throughout the two bohemiths, both ships having been seriously damaged, possibly to the point of irreparability. It was an honourable death, although he died before he could see the end result. He had passed wishing to engulf the entire Covenant in a ball of death and destruction, wishing every last one of them dead. But that would not happen with Mark’s actions alone, as much as the SPARTAN, now reported KIA, wished would happen. Dreams had been shattered this day. And the Covenant would continue to crush many more.

The four now approached their destination, yearning for the chance to be at ease. As they touched down in the ship’s cargo bay, a few Marines rushed over to inspect the ship and check who would be getting out. As they emerged, the Marines froze. They could hardly believe it as the mythical warriors walked past, one nearly forgetting the message he had been asked to give them. He quickly spoke up, halting the SPARTANs.

“Uh, sorry to hold you up, sir, but Admiral Ferguson has asked me to pass on to you that you are to report to his quarters in one hour. I mean, of course, if that’s oka-“

“That will be fine,” Rodney interrupted, “at ease, soldiers.”

The five Marines exhaled with relief, not having met a SPARTAN before and not knowing what to expect. One couldn't blame them for fearing that they'd get their heads beaten in. But the usually arduous four barely did anything towards them, as if they were trying to hide in themselves. The two groups parted company, each of the SPARTANs simply wanting time alone.

* * *

Time seemed to drag to a halt for Team Theta, the hour in their quarters passing ever so slowly. They had removed their helmets, the frustration and bitterness apparent on each of their faces. For nobody spoke, neither of the four dispirited men could even hope to fathom the words to speak. After a pained moment, Baldemar finally broke the silence and spoke up, voicing a thought which had passed through each SPARTAN’s mind since they’d settled down.

“This Admiral will no doubt get to work on getting us replacements once he finds out what happened to Jess and Mark. I do not know if I speak for all of us, but I do not wish to have them replaced. My trust has been broken by the hands of the Covenant, and I fear that I will not be able to trust anyone he sends us, no matter who it may be.”

The remains of Team Theta stared at Baldemar, having laid out his turmoil to his trusted friends.

“I agree, Baldemar.” Rodney admitted.

Henry bowed his head in confession. “I do too.”

Boris stood up and looked at his team with newfound resolve. “You know what? I don’t care what the Admiral has to say to us. I’m with you. There isn’t anyone out there capable of replacing Jess and Mark. We should stay as we are.”

“And if he disagrees with this verdict?” Baldemar asked, finally feeling hope for the future.”

The whole of Team Theta stood, awaiting Boris’s answer.

Boris looked around at his team mates, weighing the words on the tip of his tongue. “I wouldn’t disagree with us if I were him,” he finally said.

“Then it’s settled,” Rodney concluded, “us four will carry on alone. Ferguson won’t argue with us. Not now. There’s nothing he can say that can change what we’ve come to agree upon.”

Smiles started to spread across their faces for the first time in what felt like an eternity for them as they nodded. This was it. The start of something completely new. A four-SPARTAN team, falling short in numerical terms of the other six-SPARTAN teams including SPARTAN-IIIs. But that wouldn’t matter. The other teams lacked what these four brothers now possessed. And only they would truly ever know what that was.

They set off to Admiral Ferguson’s quarters 15 minutes early.

* * *

Prolouge, continued

Admiral Scott Ferguson rose from his desk, setting aside the documents piled in front of him as the remains of Team Theta entered his quarters. His cluttered desk hardly matched his naval officer uniform, which was pressed and as tidy as could be, as well as his manner. No fuss, straight to the point.

He didn’t mind that they were early, in his mind there was nothing wrong with being early. Tardiness, however, he did not tolerate. They saluted their superior, to which he returned the gesture and gave then the order to be at ease. He sat back down at his desk, offering the returned victors a seat, to which they continued standing.

“As you wish.” Ferguson eyed the four with something akin to admiration. Although he was their superior, he was sure as hell glad that they were on his side. The Admiral did not fear much, and while he didn’t exactly fear the SPARTANs, he felt that such warriors deserved his respect. “Now, onto more pressing matters. Were you successful in eliminating the Prophet?”

“No, Admiral.” Rodney spoke for the team. “The Prophet was not on board. We suspected a trap had been laid for us, but we managed to catch them by surprise and eliminate them before they could get a proper strike team organized.”

“And I trust that all hostiles have been eliminated?”

“Affirmative.”

“That is a decisive victory in our favour then, soldiers. We may be able to push this fleet back now that their flagship has been neutralized." He paused, looking at a message sent over the UNSC's battlenet. "In fact, reports have just come in that the ship collided with another. Was this also your doing?”

The four SPARTANs' faces hardened at the thought of Mark’s dying actions. “Not ours, sir. Mark’s.”

The Admiral saw the team's demeanor change at the mention of their deceased team member. “I see. Let me be the first to officially offer you my condolences, losing a team-mate is hard, let alone two. I could tell you stories of my days as a paratrooper, losing members of our division. Every time you blinked, someone would be dead…” He could see that something was troubling them, and his old stories weren’t helping. He decided to offer them news of ETA of replacements for the two they’d lost.

Yet the look of hardship still remained. In fact, at the mention of replacements, they only looked more troubled.

“No.” Rodney eyed the Admiral with fierce determination, as did the rest of Team Theta.

Ferguson did not flinch under the terrible stares of the SPARTANs, now realizing what their ordeal was.

“Look. You’ll get ove-“

In protest, the four soldiers each stepped towards the Admiral’s desk. Their faces told a tale of sorrow and resolution, not wanting to replace their fallen comrades.

“I don’t believe this. You’re SPARTANs, for Pete’s sake. You are the very embodiment of the UNSC. You were bred to be the ultimate war machines, not a bunch of sooks who can’t get over the loss of a couple of their team members!”

And as Admiral Ferguson stepped out from his desk to look the armour-clad SPARTANs in the eyes, he finally saw it. There would be no arguing with these warriors, their minds were made up. Even a tough nut like himself wouldn’t be able to budge them one bit. And as his realization came into light, he noticed that it was not cowardice, or refusal to let go of their dead team-mates that was causing this. Something had clicked inside of these soldiers. Something that would no doubt prove to be considerably lethal to the Covenant.

The Admiral’s face softened as he realized what he would have to do, exhaling in defeat. “Alright, SPARTANs. I see that arguing will get me nowhere on this matter. But you do yourselves no favours with this decision. I’m warning you now, you’re going to have to be the best god-damn team mankind has ever laid eyes upon. You’ll have to be twice as good as everyone else out there if you want to prove yourselves as a successful and reliable unit. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” they replied.

Nodding, the Admiral continued, “So, that brings me to come to terms of where this puts you. We’ll have to start sending you on select missions to evaluate your performances. Do us proud, and you’ll be one of our proper top-tier units. But before we get you out there into the hell that the Covenant has wrought, you need to promise me two things. First, you will be better than any team we could call upon to perform. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they replied again. “And the second thing, sir?” Rodney asked.

“I know how you came to reach this decision. If this is how you’re going to react when someone in your team dies, then you may as well swear on your lives that you shall not die out there. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Alright, SPARTANs. You better make me damn proud out there.”

Admiral Ferguson dismissed Team Theta with his heart in his throat, his eyes glued to the SPARTANs as they left his quarters. He had either doomed the lives of four of the UNSC’s finest soldiers, or he had just created the most effective unit in military history. As the Admiral returned to his desk, he was interested to see how this would turn out.

But most of all, he just hoped that they weren’t going to get themselves killed out there.


(Alright, that's it for now. I'll try and continue when possible, but this took me freakin' ages! So if progress is slow, I'm to blame. Please, comment. Tell me what you think can be improved, and where spelling/grammar/punctuation mistakes are. I utterly despise mistakes in my work. Thanks for reading this, I really hope you like it.)

Very very nicely written. I was eager to read your prologue when we first spoke.

Very interesting read, you did a good job keeping me hooked onto it.

I'm ready for the next part.

~Nis

Thank you! I'm glad you like it so far. Now, to get on with the rest of it. Hopefully it won't take too long to get the first chapter up to my standard, I seem to be re-writing it every day... *sighs*

But seriously, thank you.

For a character bio of Team Theta, please click this link.

Chapter 1: Progress

Baldemar’s patience was beginning to wear away as he paced the length of the briefing room over and over again. The room resembled an auditorium, a large projector screen took up most of the front wall while a hologram projector stood erect in the middle of the speaking floor. 15 rows of 24 seats filled the rest of the room, and a computer terminal booth had been set up at the rear of the room. Why Rodney had elected to come early to the brief was beyond Baldemar entirely.

“Your decisions on these matters defy belief, Rodney. The mission brief will not start for another 12 minutes, why are we here so early?”

Rodney was leaning back in his chair with his hands interlocked behind his head and his helmet upon his lap, seemingly away in his own world. The smile on his face didn’t change a bit as he fixed his gaze upon Baldemar standing before him, the impatience he felt at the thought of having to wait so long imprinted upon his face.

“We’re here just to annoy you, Baldemar.”

At that, the four men lightly chuckled, improving Baldemar’s mood considerably. It was quite unusual for SPARTANs to have a sense of humour, for they were made to be the perfect soldier, bred to kill. Nothing was to get in their way or halt them from performing at 110%. And yet, these four joked around whenever they gained the chance.

Of course, the only time they ever dared to was in privacy, they didn’t wish to ruin the whole “hero” image for those who looked up to the super soldiers. After all, it seemed that they were the only thing that kept the courage of humanity lifted. After they had stopped and Baldemar had taken a seat beside Henry, Boris turned to face Rodney.

“That is a good question though, Rod. Why do you always choose to show up to things so early?”

Rodney looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. Boris always wondered what he saw up on whatever ceiling caught his attention, like it was telling him a story. “Just habit, I guess. Some people respect those who come early, some even go so far as to coin silly phrases about it. But I don't really know why, it’s always been something I’ve done. Besides, I think the Admiral is one of those people who respect ones who are early.”

The door to the briefing room opened as Rodney finished speaking. They almost expected Admiral Ferguson himself to enter the room as if on cue, but instead, three marines walked in, instantly noticing the four renowned SPARTANs seated at the front row. They fought to stay composed as four of the most legendary warriors in existence smiled at them. The stories they had heard of SPARTANs were absolutely phenomenal, striking even the most experienced veterans of the battlefield with awe. And what was even better still, was that they believed most of these stories were probably true, there was seemingly no limit to what a SPARTAN could do in their minds. Those lucky enough to fight alongside the seemingly immortal warlords soon found out why.

However, these SPARTANs were different. It had been four months since the deaths of Mark and Jess, as well as the day that they were assigned to Admiral Scott Ferguson. Since then, they had been striving to become the best squad of SPARTANs that the UNSC had to offer. So far, they had operated in five missions, defending key buildings and cities on different planets.

Their fourth mission, on the other hand, was an assault on a Covenant outpost on New Constantinople. Although the operation had greatly taken its toll on Team Theta, they had completed the task required in about three days. They had succeeded in eliminating all that resided in its confines, and as a result were really beginning to become a force of reckoning throughout the UNSC Perfect Stranger.

In fact, they were doing so well that the Admiral had three suits of MJOLNIR Mark V armour delivered to the heavy frigate for the three SPARTAN-III’s to use. An act like this was completely unprecedented, not even Headhunters, the best of the best SPARTAN-III’s were elected to wear Mark V armour, this mighty battle-suit was only produced for SPARTAN-II’s. How Admiral Ferguson had managed to have this arranged was currently unknown, for the information was classified, even for the SPARTANs themselves. Not that they had asked, either. They were merely contempt to accept the great honour of being the first ever SPARTAN-III’s to wear MJOLNIR Mark V armour, and they did so with pride and humility.

Although this meant that Rodney, Henry and Baldemar could now withstand significantly more assault and possessed much more speed, strength and other numerous advantages, their battle tactics remained relatively unchanged. Having donned the weaker SPI armour had taught the three a lot about enemy engagement, and their new armour wasn’t about to change anything the battlefield had taught them. Their primary strategy would still consist of stealth and teamwork, as was evident in their fifth mission, where they had held off a Covenant battalion from destroying a block of weapon manufacturing plants on Ballast until a bombing run could be executed.

Determined to succeed, the four had held their ground with precision strikes against the overwhelming forces of Covenant militia, thanks to the vast heavy weaponry that the workers had supplied the defense squad with. Along with perfectly executed maneuvers co-ordinated with surprise attacks from nearby buildings, the combined power of SPARTANs and Marines alike had kept the alien menace at bay until Longsword interceptors had finally arrived to strike at the very heart of the invading force.

Before they lost the opportunity, the SPARTAN-IIIs made sure to thoroughly test their new armour and get a firm grip of its capabilities on the battlefield, and were more than impressed by what it had to offer, especially at close quarters. A few times, Baldemar had been able to land a solid punch on whoever got close enough to him. He had sent two Jackals flying, killing them the instant his fist connected with their bird-like heads, and knocked an Elite off of its feet, almost rendering the Sangheili warrior unconscious.

By the time the Longswords radioed in to confirm their bombing route, the empowered three were almost in awe of what they had accomplished. They had almost been massacred out there a good couple of times, but they could withstand far more punishement than before. Rodney believed without a shadow of a doubt that he would have been killed if he’d tried anything like this wearing SPI armour.

And now, as the room started to fill with the soldiers who were to partake in the mission, Team Theta made sure to stick to their old tactics. They weren’t losing anyone again. Of that, they had sworn.

The very second that the mission brief was to begin, Admiral Scott Ferguson entered the room with a stern, yet positive look upon his face. The ongoing war was continually willing him to break, its malevolence swirled and thrashed around in his head like a caged serpent hell-bent on violence. But he did not let this inner turmoil surface, for here in this room were men and women who needed the will to oppose the Covenant as much as he did. He had to put on the bravest face he had, or run the risk having his troops doubt him. And by God, I will not let that happen, he thought to himself as he stood to face the Marines who’d be putting their lives on the line today.

His face changed visibly as his troops saluted him. He almost seemed to glow with confidence, as if he was going to lead them to victory on the front lines. He saluted in return, and then ordered everyone to be seated.

“All right, folks, listen up,” he began. He approached the hologram projector in the middle of the area and activated the machine with a simple button press, which caused a planet to spring to life above it in the blink of an eye, slowly rotating in place. The planet seemed similar to Earth itself, however it seemed more land existed than water, which was indeed a fact. Water only took up 43% of its surface, allowing more room for settlement. Another reason that the planet provided more room for humanity was its size, measuring 16,736km (11,046 miles).

“This here is the planet Atlas, located in the planetary system of 18 Scorpii. This, of course, luckily being the system we're currently in, thanks to our mission on Ducreux that we've only just accomplished. From our current position, this planet is close enough for us to jump and arrive within six hour's time."

Glancing down at a report overview, the Admiral continued. "A distress call was picked up exactly ten minutes ago that a Covenant airborne unit had spotted the Office of Naval Intelligence site HAUBERK Base, and that reports tell them that an attack is expected within 2 days. How they were able to produce this knowledge is not only classified, but also exceeds my knowledge. As far as I was aware, not even ONI themselves knew the Covenant had arrived at Atlas yet. But that isn’t relevant, what matters is that we’re being deployed to HAUBERK Base to defend it from what is expected to be a rather large attacking force. But before we get into our primary strategy, let me show you the base itself.”

Admiral Ferguson pulled a remote from the side of the projector and pointed it at the massive projector screen on the front wall, revealing a stunning picture of a mountainous landscape.

“The Vexilles. What a magnificent view one must behold from up there. And if you’re wondering why I’m showing you this mountain range, it’s because this is where HAUBERK Base resides.”

And with a click of a button, HAUBERK Base revealed itself to the awestruck Marines. Henry nudged Rodney with his elbow, and they both grinned at the revelation. This was going to be a huge advantage for them, having the higher ground to fight on. A perfect situation for one who excelled with the SRS99C-S2 AM, or in simpler terms, the sniper rifle. The base itself had been fashioned on the very tip of a mountain peak, which must have been flattened to allow the site to be constructed. The site itself was circular in shape with eight structures jutting out from its sides, seemingly securing the base to the mountain itself. But in fact, these were just facilities for specific tasks.

These structures could be retracted back into the base itself when they were threatened, and the procedure was a fascinating thing to watch as the machinery whirred and grinded, hauling the facilities back from the clutches of those who sought their ruin. Also, three landing pads extended from the rear of the building when the need arose, providing resources and supplies with a quick entrance once the landing pads started to retract. All of this information was present on the projector now, as well as building specifications and schematics fit to properly inform even the most thorough inquirers.

“En route to our destination, we will meet up with a currently undecided amount of squadrons to aid us in covering all paths up this mountain. Make note that no paths are man-made, all are natural. If the Covenant wish to climb this mountain, rest assured that they will have a very difficult time attempting to do so. Our ETA to Atlas is roughly 5 ½ hours, and from then we'll take 15 minutes to get ourselves ready. Those with tactical gear will be given the data that you see here on this screen."

Looking back down at Atlas's projection, the Admiral input co-ordinates into the keypad, and the image zoomed towards the mountain range, showing 3 key locations. The first was HAUBERK Base, and the second was a landing station located on another mountain. The third was an air base, located south of the Vexilles. Distances between the sites were displayed between the points on the projection.

"Air support will be dispatched when airborne enemy units are confirmed. The numbers are undetermined as of yet, but hopefully a mix of F-97 Skyhawks, AV-14 Hornets, AV-22 Sparrowhawks and possibly a couple of AC-220 Vultures and GA-TL1 Longswords will be saving your asses from aerial assault."

Admiral Ferguson splayed an open hand towards Team Theta as he prepared to finish his mission briefing. "And lastly, not that I doubt you noticed, but we will be accompanied on this mission by SPARTAN Team Theta. They are slowly, but surely becoming the most elite team the UNSC are able to send on short notice, seeing they reside on my ship. They will be team leaders, the highest in command will refer to them before issuing any commands. Is that clear?”

Though it only held close to 40 or so men, the room thundered with the response of “Sir, yes, sir!” as if there were tenfold the number of soldiers ready to serve.

Admiral Ferguson smiled, for he knew that nobody would be taking HAUBERK Base while these soldiers were defending it.

“Very well then. Those with the equipment capable of storing the HAUBERK Base schematics can stay behind to receive said data. Everyone else, you better be ready when we arrive. You are dismissed.”

Roughly 60% of the Marines exited the briefing room, while the rest stayed to receive the mission data and building schematics. As the four SPARTANs plugged the data into their TACPADs, except for Boris, who favoured the Universal Global Positioning System wristpiece, the Admiral approached them.

“Team Theta. You’ve done a hell of a job so far. I’m proud to have you assigned to the UNSC Perfect Stranger, for it is a tremendous privilege and honour to be able to get you four soldiers to where you are able to save the lives of the innocent. Also, it gives me great satisfaction that I was able to have Mark V armour delivered for you. I hope you use it to the best of your abilities. Now, you’ve got a mission to lead. I suggest you fellers go out there and do what you do best.”

“Yes, sir,” the now emboldened SPARTANs replied. To have the Admiral, a man of great character and a veteran of the UNSC talk of them so highly was something they felt they could be proud of.

As they departed from the room, Admiral Ferguson watched on. He now felt that he could truly depend on Team Theta. He just hoped they would be enough to make a difference in the ever raging war. And that it would not conquer them. Please, he thought to himself, stay alive out there. Folks like us need heroes.

Very nicely written Keeps (<--see what I did thar?). Very good beginning to your story.

Just one thing, in reference to your team of SPARTANs you should create a new topic in the "Characters" section and add them in there. That's where everyone has been listing their team / characters being created.

Lol.. and so that characters section isn't just for RP characters? Oh right, sorry. I'll get to work on that right away.

And thanks.

Chapter 2: What Lies Ahead

As the UNSC Perfect Stranger exited slipspace, speakers all throughout the mighty vessel crackled to life, signaling that Admiral Ferguson was about to make an announcement to all who resided on his heavy frigate.

“Attention, soldiers, this is your Admiral speaking. We have arrived at our destination. For those who are partaking in the defense on Atlas, I suggest you suit up and get your asses in gear.” The speakers, usually robbing the announcer’s voice of character and power, could not diminish the confidence in Admiral Ferguson’s voice. It almost seemed that he was ready to join in on the defense of HAUBERK Base. “We are approximately 14 minutes from our destination. I will attend your departure to give you a final run-through of what you will be doing once you land on Mt. Arphos. That is all.”

With that, the select few troops prepared themselves for battle. Not that it would come immediately, though. When ONI had predicted an attack within two day’s time, most of the Marines hoped that they would get at least half a day to get themselves properly acquainted with the mountain base, possibly even more than a day. But without the gift of foreknowledge, the Marines, or for that matter, all aboard the Perfect Stranger were incapable of determining when the Covenant would begin their onslaught.

The armoury was now bustling with activity, nearly everyone on the defense team had come to make last minute checks and preparations to their weapons and gear. In spite of the numbers in the one room, the process of 30 Marines and four SPARTANs readying themselves for battle was hardly chaotic and cluttered. They seemed to act like clockwork, although their actions were different, they all seemed aware of each other; nobody bumped into each other or took up anybody else’s space, portraying a flawless mechanism.

Checking over the M7S Submachine Gun he had selected, which he favoured as a secondary weapon due to its special operations enhancements, Rodney and his team were approached by a rather stocky Marine who had an assertive look to him, no doubt due to the reason that he would be able to fight along side Team Theta.

“Team Theta,” he began with assuredness and a salute, to which the SPARTANs returned, “I am First Sergeant Michael Kearns. I am privileged, as well as honoured, to be serving under your command on this mission. As I am the highest ranking Marine of our squadron, I will be referring to you on group tactics and orders, for you have the final say in what we do or do not do on this mission.”

“Understood, Michael,” Rodney replied. “May I call you Mike?”

Mike shrugged. “I have no preference, sir.”

“Alright then, Mike,” Rodney said with typical SPARTAN non-chalance. As a role model of sorts, he as well as the rest of Team Theta had to be careful where and when to show emotion. As his deep, blue eyes shone with determination, almost basking Mike in his gaze, his face remained impassive. “I trust that we’ll have no problems with the orders you give.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mike said, beaming. “Although your knowledge of strategy and tactics most likely exceeds mine, sir. I hope that you will make improvements where you see fit.”

“Will do, First Sergeant. You are dismissed.”

Mike walked away, melding back into the machinery and resuming his task. Concluding that the M7S that he had selected was satisfactory, Rodney looked around to confirm that the three other members of his team were also contempt with their weapon choices.

As usual, Baldemar, who evidently favoured close quarters weapons, had chosen an M90 CAWS for a primary weapon, and followed it up with an MA5B Assault Rifle. Also sticking to his usual weapons, Henry had chosen a Sniper Rifle System 99C-S2 AM as his primary, while selecting a BR55 Battle Rifle as his secondary. However, although Boris held his usual M247H Machine Gun in one hand and had selected an M19 SSM Rocket Launcher, instead of going for his traditional Spartan Laser as a secondary, he had opted to select an XM510 Multishot Grenade Launcher, possibly due to the fact that it would be more useful when fired down the mountain slope. As for Rodney’s primary weapon, he had stuck with a BR55.

All four SPARTANs were able to place two weapons upon their back, due to a custom-fitted set of magnetic blocks slightly protruding from the backs of their armour, allowing one weapon to be placed diagonally between the raised blocks, then the second to be placed upon the blocks at a 180 degree angle to the first weapon. Technically, this allowed them to carry three weapons at a time, though only Boris did so. Only in situations where another weapon was vital did the others place both of their weapons on their backs to carry a third.

Once Rodney had confirmed that the others were ready to depart, he led the way out of the armoury complex, heading for the docking bay where Admiral Ferguson would most likely be waiting. They walked with both weapons placed upon their back, helmets in their hands, although Boris still held his turret in his other hand. As they neared the hallway that would lead them to the bay entrance, Rodney voiced a thought that suddenly popped into his head.

“If we’re going to be atop a mountain, how are the marines going to be able to breathe up there?”

After turning the question over in his head for a bit, Boris replied. “I’d imagine that the base would have oxygen supplies up there." After a brief pause, he continued, "Actually, now that you've got me on the subject, we’ll probably need to refill our oxygen systems every now and then as well. If Admiral Ferguson doesn’t tell us on our departure, then he’ll probably think it won’t be that hard to figure out.”

“You’re probably right, Boris,” Rodney sighed, “I should’ve thought of that.”

“That’s why you keep me around, Rodney.”

The rather lame joke brought a smile to the four SPARTANs’ faces as they stepped into the docking bay, noticing the three Pelicans that were being checked for clearance by the bay’s crew members. The vast space of the bay was incredible, and as vehicles of all sorts were being serviced and repaired, they could hear the mechanics testing every necessary system and function of the three dropships as they approached their ship’s highest ranking officer, Admiral Scott Ferguson.

“Ah, Team Theta,” he greeted the four as they stopped in front of him, saluting as was customary. “The first to show, as usual.”

Boris tilted his head in Rodney’s direction, indicating that he was the reason why. “Blame him, sir.”

“Sorry Admiral, I can’t help it,” Rodney admitted a tad sheepishly.

“Don’t be silly, Commander. I don’t mind at all.” The Admiral’s smile slowly faded as he looked out into the vacuum of space. “However, don’t think you’re getting my respect just ‘cause you show up early. That’s what the battlefield’s for, son. Prove you’re worthy out there, as you four have been doing consistently, and you can consider yourselves in my good list.”

Turning back to Team Theta, he noticed two of the three head mechanics conferring with each other.

“One moment, SPARTANs,” he assured the four, making his way over to the two mechanics.

“Is something wrong with the Pelicans my troops will be boarding shortly?” he asked, trying to quell the fear that had now found reason to attack him once more. A lot of the vehicles aboard his frigate had sustained damage over the last few days, as he had provided orbital assistance over Ducreux (dih-crew), one of the several moons of Mariposa prior to ONI's distress call, forcing them to abandon their participation on Ducreux and begin their current trip to Atlas. He had been informed that these three Pelicans would be the most likely candidates for the mission, for they had taken the least damage.

“Oh, no, sir. We’re just waiting on Don to confirm that the third one’ll be ready for take off on time.” Suddenly the mechanic yelled to Don, “How you doin’ over there, Don? Will she fly?”

Don, who was on the other side of the Pelican, called back, “As soon as I replace this here vector pylon connector shaft and two of the pylon's thrusters, she should be good to go. You won’t have a problem with this one unless one of them uglies decides to shoot at it." He pointed down to what was left of the Pelican's troop carrier bay door, which had mostly been burned away by anti-aircraft fire. "What about your picture of perfection, is she set?”

“Sure is, Don,” Jesci answered. “I’ve got the Admiral beside me, he’s worried about whether our birds’ll be able to get down there or not.”

With a clunk, Don climbed the stepladder beside him to peer over the top of the Pelican to see if Jesci was bluffing or not. When he saw Admiral Ferguson standing there, he grinned widely and gave an over-exaggerated salute before yelling over the whine of the Pelican’s front right set of thrusters being tested, “Don’t you worry about this one, boss, a minute or two longer and you can bet we'll have her off the ground without a worry.”

The Admiral nodded with relief, before leaving the mechanics to what little remained of their work on the dropships. No doubt they would have more vehicles to sort out as well. As he made it back to the SPARTANs, he noticed they had all put their helmets on, effectively removing their identities as men, and reinstating their identities as machines of war. Although it did not give the Admiral a face to look at, he did not mind one bit. They would be of more use as SPARTANs than as men.

Over the next ten minutes, the thirty Marines and three Pelican pilots arrived at the bay, amassing themselves near their transportation. The planet of Atlas was visible now, its blue seas, dominant land and white clouds almost reminiscent of Earth itself. Some questioned how the Covenant could be so vile as to attack such a beautiful planet, as two other warships jumped out of slipspace near the Perfect Stranger. Admiral Ferguson pulled out a communication link device and hailed the Marathon-class cruiser and the other heavy frigate, the UNSC Leviathan and the UNSC Beyond The Heavens, both responding that their troops were ready to move out.

“Admiral,” one of the Marines inquired, “why do we need three warships? Is there Covenant resistance in orbit?”

“According to ONI’s surveillance, there is indeed an Assault Carrier orbiting Atlas as we speak. I have a feeling that the Covenant will send backup in once they realize that we’re going after this cruiser, so we’ve rallied as many ships as we could get a hold of out here. Hopefully they’ll arrive in time to meet whatever resistance the Covenant summon against our fleet. And it may also distract their efforts in capturing HAUBERK Base, although I wouldn’t bet on it. For the mean time, I better get my departure speech over and done with, I’d imagine everyone else is on their way over already.”

Seeing everyone so eager for battle gave the Admiral the confidence he needed to crush the fears that lurked beneath. He seemed to change before their eyes, ready to address the brave souls who were to be putting their lives on the line very soon.

“First of all, Marines, you will be split into three teams, Team Alpha, Bravo and Charlie. I will now ask First Sergeant Michael Kearns, Staff Sergeant Craig Baird and Staff Sergeant Paul Radisich to step forward.

As the three men stepped forward, the Admiral continued. “Staff Sergeant Craig Baird will be leader of Team Alpha, First Sergeant Michael Kearns will be leader of Team Bravo, and Staff Sergeant Paul Radisich will be leader of Team Charlie. Kearns is of the highest rank out of the three, so he will be your overall squadron leader on this mission. However, SPARTAN Team Theta will have the final say on Kearns’s orders, seeing as they are of a higher rank, and are now in fact officers of the Naval Commission, as I myself am. And you can bet that they’ll be the first to meet the Covenant head on when they decide to strike. Now, I ask you that remain to arrange yourselves into three teams of nine. Those on the left, stand with Baird. Those in the middle, you’re with Kearns. And those on the right, you’re with Radisich.”

Proudly, the Marines now stood in teams of ten, to which the Admiral nodded, contempt with the squadron before him. He motioned for the pilots to board the three D77-TC Pelicans, who did so with enthusiasm, yearning to be once again behind the controls of their rugged stallions.

“Alright then, men. You’ll be met by an ONI operative when you land, as will all the other troops who land with you. Once escorted inside, you’ll be familiarized with all that they deem acceptable for you to know of the base and its surroundings. When the Covenant are detected, you will be alerted, and you will get your asses outside and select a post to guard. We will have hopefully enough troops to cover the whole mountain, for the Leviathan will most likely drop off an abundance of soldiers, possibly somewhere around the 80-90 mark. Each of the landing pads at HAUBERK Base should only allow three Pelicans on, so however many Pelicans the Leviathan sends, a few of them might have to use the landing bay outpost located on Mt. Avon, approximately nine clicks from your current destination.”

The Admiral thought he was slightly veering off on a tangent, so stopped for a second, then continued once more, ready to see his men off.

“You will start off on sniper duty. One sniper, one spotter. Team up into pairs down on the mountain where you have more time. If the Covenant make it to within firing range of other weaponry, then let them have it. Do not let them claim that base, Marines. Do you understand?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” was the deafening reply.

“Very good then. You may board the Pelicans now. Alpha to the left, Bravo takes the middle, Charlie on the right. Good luck out there, soldiers. The fates of those men and that base down there now rest on your shoulders. Don’t let them down.”

With avid determination, the Pelicans’ thrusters now fiercely blasted downward, hauling the birds off the ground as all had entered had been seated. Team Theta had split up due to four SPARTANs not being able to stand together in the now cramped space of one Pelican, so Boris and Henry had gone with Team Alpha, and Rodney and Baldemar had gone with Team Bravo. The troops saluted their Admiral as the dropships took off, and Admiral Ferguson returned the salute until their faces were no longer recognizable.

He turned back towards his quarters, still smiling. He believed they had a shot at holding them off. The bland, gray walls sparkled to the Admiral as his confidence still lingered about him. Although it will soon fade, no doubt, he thought. His thoughts then turned to the assault carrier that he and the other two ships would have to take on, and as he communicated with Vice Admiral James Marks of the UNSC Leviathan and Admiral Lindsay McLelland of the UNSC Beyond The Heavens, he was once again ready for battle. On his command, the three UNSC ships moved into formation, preparing to challenge the tyrannical Covenant war vessel that was capable of destroying all three ships with ease.



(About time I finished this chapter, huh? Sorry for the long wait. Although I hate to make promises, I assure you that those who read this won't have to wait as long for the next chapter. Comment, please! I appreciate your critisism/comments. AND PLEASE, tell me if I've made a mistake anywhere. I beg you, please tell me, no matter how obscure it is.)

(Yay! Another chapter! And very well written Keeps. I'm happy that you are continuing this Chronicle!)

Thank you, good sir. I hope you're still writing your story as well...

Chapter 3: Darkness

The Marines put on the oxygen masks that hung from the Pelican’s storage space as they left the sanctuary of their Admiral’s mighty frigate and ventured forth towards the planet of Atlas. It almost seemed to lure the Pelicans over, promising them gains that went unheard by all aboard the three ships who lacked the hearing, words not meant for mortal tongue caressing the dropships and passing by those on board without a trace of revelation. As they neared the planet’s atmosphere, they were joined by 11 other D77-TC Pelicans, all packed with men and women determined to protect the mountain base with all that they had in them. But, even though the Marines wore their focus and hardiness like their finest apparels, determined to not let anything distract them from what was required from them, the rich and luscious colours of Atlas’s atmosphere did not fail to absolutely stun all those who were able to get a glimpse of it.

Its green landscapes, even from 29 miles away, looked as inviting and invigorating as a tropical island paradise, the mountainous landscapes, rolling hills and grand valleys seemed to be alive, as if those inbound with HAUBERK Base had suddenly gained a sixth sense of health, able to discern the emotion and vitality of the very planet before them. The seas and oceans, though not as vast as the ones of Earth, were still a sight to behold as their shine and spray attempted to reveal itself to the band of 112 Marines, 30 Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, four SPARTANs and 14 pilots, even from the outer reaches of Atlas’s brilliance. Their colours of deep blue played melodies on the strings of the Marines’ hearts.

Nearing the first few layers of the planet’s atmosphere, the four SPARTANs, though they were not all aboard the same Pelican, all shared the same slight smile as they looked out the cockpit window at the planet’s captivating view. Rodney looked around at Team Bravo, the ten Marines on board with him as he and Baldemar gripped the railing attached to the ship’s roof. He smiled as he said, “Men, that view there is enough of a reason for us to defend this place with all we’ve got.” Although his voice went unheard in the vacuum of space, everyone seemed to respond with a look of tenacity, as if he had spoken to their hearts and not their ears. Within minutes, they would start to pass through, into the planet below.

Rodney slowly looked around at Team Bravo, wondering as to what their thoughts were as the sun draped him in its warm and loving glow, his black MJOLNIR armour shining as if it also showed its approval of the men sitting with him. His low profile shoulder armour gave the impression that it didn't wish to hinder Rodney's movements in battle, and his chest armour was pocked with satchels containing ammunition and other necessities. If his mighty battlesuit was not equipped with shields, it would also likely be pocked with plasma burns.

Looking at Baldemar, the sun's glow only added to the colour of his armour, it seemed to be that of rust. His large, blue visor stared into the depths of the planet below as his armour stood as an opposite of Rodney's low profile armour. His shoulder armour was large and oval shaped, three white ridges jutting out on each plate. A large knife was attached to his left piece, the sheath bolted on as a way of keeping the knife in place. Baldemar excelled at knife wielding, and the fact that he had two knives within reach at all times was a sobering thought to anyone who saw him in action. His chest had a ring of grenades around it, as the SPARTAN-III was usually the most close-up of the four and required plenty of grenades to make his job easier, clearing out rooms without fear of wasting supplies.

His inspection of Team Bravo continued as he lazily, yet inquiringly gazed around the troop bay, though his laziness turned to focus and surprise as he spotted three red arrows on a Marine’s insignia patch on his shoulder. Sure enough, as the SPARTAN directed his focus towards the corpsman’s helmet, he noticed the red cross on a white background painted on the side. That’s interesting, Rodney thought inquisitively. There’s a corpsman with our team. With him, Mike the First Sergeant here and the other Staff Sergeants over on the other two ships, these Marines could be an official platoon. He lifted his hand to his helmet, pressing in a button which turned on his communication link to the rest of Team Theta.

“Hey,” said Rodney bemusedly, “there’s a medic on this ship. With him, Mike, Paul and Craig in their midst, they have a good chance of becoming designated as an official platoon. How about that?”

All three SPARTANs replied back with a smile on their face, for they knew that if the Marines aboard the three Pelicans from the UNSC Perfect Stranger were to become a platoon, it would be a major boost to their moral. Hopefully it’ll happen, the SPARTANs thought together as they flew ever forward.

What felt like days to the soldiers passed before they started to phase into the planet’s depths of blue. And as the ships soared down towards the planet below, almost gliding over the clouds bathed in the orange of a setting sun, they could not help but gape at the majestic view of the land below. The sky above the clouds was a magnificent orange with hints of red and yellow as the sun gently flickered and spread the colours of autumn throughout the heavens.

Eventually passing through the huddled clouds and tearing great holes in them as they descended, the wondrous Vexilles appeared before them in all their glory. The abstract line of mountains seemed to never end, as if the range went in a ring around the entire planet. They stood as proud achievements of nature’s fine works of art, adorned with snow as if it were the richest material in existence. The rock they consisted of was a dark grey, withered by time and rain, yet still standing defiantly against the forces of the planet which sought their ruin. The foreseeable landscape laid in worship of the titanic monoliths, bathed in their iridescent reflection as the remaining rays of the sun still shone off the snowy peaks. Mt Arphos lay five miles north of their current destination, but the sight before them made Mt Arphos irrelevant. The tallest mountain on Atlas, Mt Vesper, towered over them at a staggering height of 9,477m (31,092ft). It served as protector of the Vexilles, watching over them as it stood to the sky, demanding respect from the heavens and the foreseeable land around it.

And as the three Pelicans passed the behemoth, maintaining a stable altitude, the radio started to pick up a call from their Admiral, Scott Ferguson. The miles between them still did not suffice to choke off the character of his voice, commanding and powerful, even through such a small speaker.

“Attention Teams Alpha, Bravo and Charlie, this is Admiral Scott Ferguson, do you copy, over?”

The pilot flying Team Bravo’s Pelican responded, “This is Senior Airman Keith Daidalos, piloting November-375 with Team Bravo aboard. We hear you loud and clear, Admiral, over.”

Each pilot responded in turn and the Admiral acknowledged them, waiting until all three had responded. Once they had confirmed their presence, Admiral Ferguson revealed the purpose of his contact with the three teams.

“Alright, you fellers in the back, listen up. From this point onward, you will officially be known as the 37th Rifle Platoon.” Cheers erupted from the Marines as the Admiral continued, “First Sergeant Michael Kearns will be your platoon commander, Staff Sergeant Craig Baird and Staff Sergeant Paul Radisich will be your platoon sergeants and Crewman Vincent Moore will be your medical corpsman. I hope I’ve made myself clear. You will be part of Sierra Company, one of three rifle platoons and one weapons platoon. Your total numbers, excluding Team Theta and the 14 pilots, will be 142. Sierra Company’s commanding officer will be Captain Rick Goodman of the Marine Corps, while your executive officer will be First Lieutenant Michelle Santoro. They are currently en route to HAUBERK Base with the 24th Weapons Platoon and the 38th Rifle Platoon from the UNSC Leviathan. Also joining you is the 145th ODST Rifle Platoon from the UNSC Beyond The Heavens.”

Upon hearing the mention of ODSTs being a part of Sierra Company, the faces of Team Theta suddenly turned serious; their thoughts turning to evaluate what the implications of this situation would be. SPARTANs were disliked by ODSTs for the reason that they still considered themselves the elite force of the UNSC. For they were, as a matter of fact, thought to be the UNSC’s most skilled and reliable units until the SPARTAN-II’s were created, kicking the ODSTs off the top of the mountain and setting the standard for the top tier soldier. As Admiral Ferguson dismissed the 37th Rifle Platoon, Rodney once again activated his comm. link to his team.

“Team Theta, report. We can’t let the ODSTs mean streak against us affect the defense of HAUBERK Base. What will our course of action be if they decide to turn this mission competitive against us?” he asked, beginning to formulate a plan.

“I don’t like this, Rod,” said Boris uneasily, “if we try to talk to them about settling down and not getting over our heads, then they’re bound to do exactly that.”

“Point taken, Boris. Henry, Baldemar, any ideas?”

Baldemar began with precise intentions. “I say we leave the hot-headed ones alone. Let us find troops we are able to communicate with on a professional and tactical level, and let them speak to their platoon on our behalf.” His accent flared as he spoke, making it rather easy to devise that he did not think too fondly of the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers either.

“I like your thinking,” Rodney acknowledged, finding Baldemar’s suggestion to be a good one. “That’ll hopefully settle any disputes they have against us.”

“I hope you are right, Commander,” Baldemar replied distressfully, “but I do not believe that our strategy will suffice for all of them. There will no doubt be a few of the troopers who will not listen. We cannot allow their goal to best us to detract them from their aid in protecting this base.”

“Don’t worry, Baldemar,” Rodney assured his team-mate, “we’ll sort them out. Won’t we, Team Theta?” he asked with a confident grin.

“Yes sir,” Team Theta replied, awaiting their landing at HAUBERK Base.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

14 blips slowly moved across the large, projected radar screen on the wall as the Colonel looked around, seeing his surveillance team hard at work at their stations. No doubt, if the Covenant actually dare to attack our station, these men and women will be on them like a cheap coat, he thought proudly, glad that such an efficient, skilled team was here in HAUBERK Base where they could be of his use. Computers and other technology hummed and small lights flickered here and there, vying for attention which nobody had for them. They'd grown to be just part of the background to the men and women stationed here.

“Have we got an ETA of Sierra Company’s arrival yet, Skerten?”

The man seated at five separate screens swiveled his chair around, looking at the monitor on the right end of his working area. After pressing a few buttons, he looked up at Colonel Thompson and replied, “Roughly four minutes, Colonel.” His Slavic accent made him sound rather relaxed, though he sat in wait for the Covenant to come, his nerves jittering with suspense.

Thanking him, the Colonel looked back up at the screen, hoping those 14 dots would be enough to stop the Covenant from reaching the top of the mountain. He set aside a few documents after arranging them neatly, and stood up from his desk, searching for anything that did not require immediate attention. Madness, he thought, the Covenant are on their way to our doorstep and I’m just sitting here looking over files. It just isn’t right. I should be up there on those Pelicans, getting ready to go out on the front lines.

Skerten noticed the Colonel pausing at his desk, his mind adrift with the coming battle. “Something wrong, Colonel?” he asked, wondering why he wasn’t heading out to the entrance lobby.

The Colonel looked up, snapping out of his self-imposed guilt. “No, Skerten, I’m fine, thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be heading out to meet our guests.”

“Very good, sir.” Skerten resumed his work as the Colonel stepped down off his platform and headed over to the stairs which would take him to the second top floor, where he would be able to leave the complex and greet the company of soldiers. Though the air was rather thin up at such a height, he would be able to get them inside without need of any voice amplification. Right now, the only problem he could think that the soldiers may cause was the matter of how much oxygen they would need. They had abundant reserves of tanks down in the storage areas, but the Colonel was wondering how it would affect the routine drop-off of oxygen supplies, and whether he would have to request more early.

His mind returned to the task at hand as he reached the entrance level, realizing that he wouldn’t need to go outside, as the Pelicans would require the three retractable landing pads. He could simply stand at one of the access ways onto the pads and speak over the intercom. Approaching the stairs leading up to the aircraft delivery bay, he quickened his pace, attempting to get there in time to extend the landing pads. But as he reached the top floor of the structure, he spotted somebody already at the controls, turning around to salute him. Colonel Thompson saluted him back, then walked over to where he was standing.

“Extend the landing pads out, would you?”

“Yes sir,” the man replied as he flipped a switch and pressed a code into the terminal. Expressing his approval with a nod, the Colonel turned to walk up one of the access ways leading up to where the landing pads would stop at once they had returned. Holes in the ceiling took form as panels retracted, allowing room for the large beams to extend out of the building. Machinery worked tirelessly, pushing the pads out for all of the world to see. The Colonel watched, enthralled, as the beams neared their stopping point. Once they had gone the required distance, they were automatically stopped by an inner mechanism, grinding the beams to a halt. Supported by smaller beams running down to the floor, which almost rubbed against the wall in front of them, the pads would wait until Sierra Company had arrived.

“Now, to wait,” Colonel Thompson said aloud to no-one in particular. But he didn’t have to wait long, for a few seconds later, he heard the familiar whine of D77-TC thrusters approach. 14 of them, he reminded himself, wondering for a second why the rocketing sound was so loud. He noticed the sun had set, looking out into the nearly darkened sky.

Three Pelicans landed on each pad, leaving five to seek out Mt. Avon in search of somewhere else to stop at once they had dropped off their troops. As everyone clambered out onto the pad, now lightly covered with snow, the other five dropships continued east, seeking out a place to land. The Colonel signaled for the man positioned at the terminal to retract the pads on his mark. He picked up the intercom transmitter connected to the wall and began to address the company outside.

“Welcome, Sierra Company. We’ll be retracting those landing pads that you’re standing on now, so don’t panic if the pads jolt or shake. We’ll have you inside in about a minute, so breathe easy. You won’t be out there in that thinner air for long. See you inside, soldiers.”

He gave the signal, to which the man responded by entering the code again and flipping the switch back to stasis mode. This would shut the control off once the pads had fully retracted. They responded immediately to the command, slowly bringing the company into the delivery bay.

Outside, two ODSTs were staring down Team Theta. The four SPARTANs looked back, imagining that the two were scowling behind their silver visors.

“Well, so far, we know two to avoid,” said Rodney with a rather blank face, trying to lighten the mood. The joke got a bit of a reaction from his team, but ultimately, they didn’t have high hopes for a stable alliance with the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers on this mission.

And as the light outside faded, that which ruled in light’s absence quickly came to take its place. The darkness watched on, uncaring, as a mass of Covenant warriors marched across the countryside, approaching the Vexilles with intent to slaughter.


(Alrighteh, that's another one done. I meant to have other parts in this one, but ultimately, they'll have to wait for the next chapter, this one's long enough as it is. Anyway, the next two chapters should be hammered out soon. After that's a tad hazy, but hopefully I'll have it planned when I get to it. So, enjoy! Comment. Make note of any mistakes you see. Keeps out.)

Chapter 4: Arrival

Sierra Company’s descent was rather painstaking, but those that were bothered by their pace didn’t dare complain. Bit by bit, they were edging into an ONI base, and the Office of Naval Intelligence didn’t exactly have the reputation of a particularly nice bunch of folks. Still, though, they would prefer being cooped up in a place full of spooks than sleeping out on the pads all night, they were at least grateful to have air to breathe and a warm place to sleep. If, of course, the Covenant didn’t attack until morning.

Around 30 seconds later, the slowly moving pads finally reached their destination, and the ceiling panels which had risen to create holes for the pads to reach out to the world through moved down to close the holes off once more, shutting Sierra Company away from the darkness outside. Coming to a halt with a reasonably loud clunk of metal hitting metal and machinery powering down, the troops took to the yellow and black access ways set up next to the pads, providing those who landed with a way off and back on again. Their striped handles were impossible to miss, which was a necessity for occupational safety protocols.

Making their way down to the cold, metal floor of the room, the company noticed a man dressed in a black uniform, with the badge of a silver eagle pinned to his chest, signifying the rank of Colonel. He had a hard-set, clean shaven face, no unusual features to his credit, but the look he had to him would be instantly recognizable. His brown, hazel eyes held no warmth, nor did his face hold any sign that he was trustworthy. ONI for you, First Sergeant Mike thought to himself as he and his platoon assembled in front of the ONI operative, as did the rest of Sierra Company. They saluted their superior, to which the Colonel returned.

“As you were,” he ordered, his face betraying nothing to the men and women before him. The company fell at ease, though most of the troops did not feel at ease around the spook in front of them.

“I am Colonel Thompson, head operative of HAUBERK Base. It is our job in this structure to research and survey the Covenant forces that wages war with humanity, as I’m sure you have already guessed. I trust that you know why you have been sent here.” The soldiers replied with a look that told the Colonel that they indeed knew the situation at hand. “Let me fill you in on what we know so far. If you would, follow me. This way.”

The ONI operative turned on his heel and walked briskly towards HAUBERK Base’s main set of stairs. While the soldiers followed, Boris quickly dashed to the side of the room and placed his turret down before reuniting with Team Theta.

"Why did you leave your turret up there?" Henry quickly asked over his team's comm, even though they were side by side.

Boris held his button down to reply. "Too many people. Thin stairwell. Besides, we'll be going back up sooner than later."

As it usually was with ONI, there was one public set of stairs, and several hidden ones. Of course, such information was classified, and nobody but the operatives stationed at HAUBERK Base were allowed to know all that the structure hid from outsiders. Dimly lit, the stair route only reinforced feelings of uneasiness in Sierra Company, as its shadowy walls gave the company a feeling that there was more to this base that met the eye.

“Where are we headed to, Colonel?” asked Captain Goodman, wondering why he didn’t just tell them when they arrived.

The Colonel suppressed an urge to turn around. Don’t, his mind commanded, they aren’t your men. Causing trouble with the company sent to protect your base from a Covenant armada is not a good move. Sighing, he replied over his shoulder, “There’s a briefing room on the 9th floor. I can use the equipment in there to transmit the data I have on this here pad,” taking the currently inert device out of his trouser pocket to show the soldiers behind him, “so you can all see for yourselves what has transpired over the last few days. Unless you and your 156 accomplices want to gather round and try to see it on this five inch screen.”

Captain Goodman would have replied with a retort of his own, but he noticed the Colonel’s scolding tone and thought better of it. “No, sir.”

Focused on determining what he wouldn’t tell the troops behind him in the briefing room, the Colonel didn’t reply as he pocketed his data pad once more, leading Sierra Company further and further into the ominous structure. His intuitive mind was working like a factory, selecting events from the reports he had made and either scrapping them or approving and adding them to the reservoir in his head that would be processed and presented to Sierra Company.

Sometimes the Colonel cursed his mind; there were times where he wished he was out there on the battlefield, taking lives in person. But his brilliance had acted as a weight upon him, dragging him down to meager tasks like reports and strategies. Although he knew that such things were vital in the war against the Covenant, that didn’t stop him from acquiring a dislike for the skill that had gotten him into the position of power he was now in. He didn’t care for promotion, which the UNSC were probably planning on giving him sooner than later, sometimes all he could think about was being out on the field and answering his call to arms. But reality eventually sank in whenever he went off into his mind, and this occasion was no exception.

They made it down to the 9th floor, where the 12th floor was the top level. The Colonel opened a dull orange door, holding it open as he walked through, which prompted each member of Sierra Company to do the same as they passed through the door frame. He led the 149 soldiers down a somewhat brighter corridor, alternating doors on either side leading to offices and other facilities. Each room hid its own secrets, and held its own significant importance to the role that HAUBERK Base played. But such rooms weren’t what the Colonel was heading for. An offshoot which led to the briefing room was his target, and he had his hawk-like gaze firmly fixed upon it. Posters of protocols and studies littered the spaces on the walls, each vying for the attention of whoever passed them by, wishing to inform Sierra Company of the information they possessed.

The Colonel picked up his pace as he rounded the corner, traveling down the small offshoot in the corridor, passing a few doors that seemed to be of more importance than the others. The white doors seemed proud of what they stood in front of as Sierra Company followed the ONI operative, stopping to obtain a security clearance card from his pocket. The automated locking machine greedily accepted the quick swipe of Colonel Thompson’s card, and allowed him to enter an eight digit code which would let him through into the briefing room. None could guess its size as the Colonel rapidly entered the code, having almost a year’s experience at entering codes which changed every three days. At last, the machine let him through, and he opened the door to a vast room that could hold multitudes of people.

From a structural point of view, the room was almost similar to the briefing room on the Perfect Stranger, although the atmosphere of HAUBERK Base made their briefing room seem a lot more sinister and secretive, its darker walls still hiding whatever it could from the company. Also, near the front of the room where a projector hung, readily anticipating the projector to be activated, there was a large wooden table that looked to be made out of mahogany. The inner craftsman of a few members of Sierra Company reached out, taking in the wonderfully made and preserved table, varnished to perfection. Around this table were exactly 36 seats, each of the same wood as if they were the table’s offspring, tightly huddled around their parent.

He gestured up to the top of the room with his hand splayed out, where seating ascended row by row. There were 13 rows in total, with 12 seats to each row.

“You may be seated. If you wish to stand, I have no objections.”

Most of the company settled themselves upon the metal seats, while Team Theta and a few other Marines and ODSTs stood. Team Theta only stood because the seats didn’t look sturdy enough to hold their weight, each individual SPARTAN weighing around 1,00lbs in their gargantuan MJOLNIR armour. And the few ODSTs only stood because the SPARTANs were standing as well.

Walking over to a small, metal booth, the Colonel pulled his personal data pad out again and flicked it on. It came to life in a glow of blue, and as he pressed it in search of relevant data, the screen flashed, and the light blue glow casting onto the Colonel’s uniform made him look pure and humble. Something, which he would openly admit, he was not. He worked for the Office of Naval Intelligence, the shadiest branch of the UNSC. It was their job to keep secrets and provide misinformation; they had committed countless acts which would put a normal man in jail. Even execute him, in times of war. ONI was, it would seem, above the law. And no man could be absolutely honest when they worked for ONI, especially someone with power. Colonel Thompson had learnt this the hard way. Though he could not afford to regret it, there were times where he wasn’t proud of his actions. He didn’t feel like the man he should be.

After finding what he wanted, the Colonel turned a console on in the booth and activated the projector. He placed his pad down onto a black square, and it immediately began synchronizing with the console, transmitting data which would be sent to the projector. When the process was completed, the screen at the front of the room suddenly flickered to life, capturing the picture that was being projected onto it with ease. The picture appeared to be taken from a security camera, although this camera pointed over the mountain range and towards the sky.

“We captured this footage a day ago.” As he spoke, he pressed a key which began to play the footage, showing snow falling and a clouded sky. But this simplicity was suddenly interrupted as a Banshee flew overhead. The purple craft slowly circled the area in a wide arc, and then took off again. “Why that Covenant unit was patrolling a god-damned mountain range, I can’t say for sure. But what matters is that we’ve been spotted. And now the Covenant are on their way.”

His curiosity piqued, Captain Goodman asked, “What kind of movements have you detected? What are we up against?”

“For the moment, numbers aren’t fully understood. An increase of random settlement attacks have significantly increased, and we’ve spent all the men we can for now trying to intercept them. But things aren’t working out in our favour. If you’re wondering how this is relevant, let me explain. My intelligence and surveillance teams and I have come to the conclusion that Covenant troops have landed at random locations, attacking whatever they find on their way over here. Eventually, a whole damn army’s going to meet up at our front doorstep.”

“Why don’t they just fly their troops up the mountain and save them the trouble of scaling Mt. Arphos?” First Lieutenant Santoro asked, puzzled by the extra effort that the Covenant were going to.

“Our guess is that they don’t think we know what they’re up to, and they’re trying to avoid radar detection. I can certainly say that they’re going the wrong way about it, with all they’ve destroyed so far. And that’s not all. We’ve installed a plethora of defense systems up and around the mountain, which will certainly kill off a good number of them while they’re unaware of the danger.”

“So what do you need us for, Colonel?”

His face started to sink, seemingly weighed down by what he was going to say next. “If our calculations are correct, they’re going to be able to get up this mountain with more than enough troops to lay waste to this base, no matter how many our automated defenses claim.” He almost looked broken, as if the realization had waged war with his body and laid waste to him. His farmer-esque accent, coupled with the grief that wracked him made the Colonel sound a lot older than he was. “Sierra Company, you and the inbound air defenses are all we’ve got to try and stop those bastards from tearing this place apart. And you’d better damn succeed. Is that clear?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” the company trumpeted in response, now more determined than ever to fulfill the mission they’d been assigned with and protect HAUBERK Base.

The Colonel’s dark eyes slowly considered Sierra Company as he looked the room over, his face starting to settle once more. “May you do us proud.” He turned to the door, fighting a lost battle in his head. As he reached it, he stopped and looked back at the men and women seated.

“I almost forgot. You’ll be sleeping in this room tonight. I’ll check back on you periodically, alerting you on any new situations we encounter. Our days on Atlas are roughly 29 hours long, so you’ll be bound to get enough rest for tomorrow. But if the Covenant attack between now and then, you’ll be alerted by an alarm system loud enough to wake the towns below us. I expect you to be up and ready the moment I open this door, is that understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” came the reply again.

The Colonel nodded, satisfied with their willingness to defend his base. He opened the door, taking one last look at Sierra Company before shutting them in.

“You heard him, people,” Rick said with an air of authority just as authentic and commanding as the Colonel’s, “be ready to kick some Covenant ass when they show up.”

“Yes sir!” the company shouted determinedly, ready to do just that.

Marines and ODSTs then stood and walked around, troops gathered into groups and started to discuss the coming battle. Higher ranking soldiers walked around, getting to know the rest of the company. Eventually, the mood started to lift a bit for Sierra Company, with smiles spreading across the room. Some started to make jokes, and some started to tell fond stories of distant times and places. Even Team Theta smiled, though one couldn’t tell as their helmets cut off all human features from the outside world.

Captain Rick Goodman walked down the stairs to where Team Theta now sat against the wall, talking to each other and getting ready to go talk to the platoon commander of the ODST squad. They noticed him as he approached them gallantly, a smile on his sculpted face and a physique forged by war. They stood to meet him, each towering over him in their armour. Rick was forced to look up as he stopped in front of them, keen to finally talk to the legendary warriors that even the Covenant feared.

“Team Theta, it’s an honour,” he professed, unable to hide his fascination with the SPARTANs as he extended his hand. “Your names?”

The four introduced themselves by name and number, one at a time as Rick shook each of their hands, able to feel the raw power in their handshake even as their grip was only gentle.

“Captain, would you be able to tell us who the platoon commander of the ODSTs is?” Rodney asked, hoping to settle any quarrels that might arise.

Pointing to a seated man clad in black ODST battle armour, he replied, “That would be First Sergeant Todd McAlister.”

Rodney stepped forward, wishing to speak to him. “Thank you, Rick.” He turned to his team, signaling for them to stay put. They nodded, and continued to converse with the Captain as Rodney made his way up the stairs to the ODST that he had been directed to. Eyes locked onto him as he approached the First Sergeant, the eyes belonging to ODSTs that didn’t like what they were seeing.

“What do you want?” asked one of the ODSTs, unimpressed by the SPARTAN in front of him.

Rodney didn’t look at him, but answered, “I want to speak to your platoon commander.” He looked over to the man in question. “Todd McAlister?”

The First Sergeant looked up at Rodney, eyeing him speculatively. “That’s me. Name and rank?”

“Rodney G-257, Commander. May I have a word with you?”

Todd stood to face Rodney, willing to accept. “Okay, SPARTAN. What do you have to say to me?”

Rodney looked over the 105th ODST Rifle Platoon, hoping to gain their approval. “I want to make sure we’re on the same page here.” He turned, and looked at some of the other ODSTs that were boring holes in him with their glares. “We may not like each other that much, but as of this moment, I will not have your dislike of me and my team affecting your performance on this mission. You saw the Colonel stand before us, and you saw just what this situation is doing to him. And he’s probably tougher than all of us put together. We cannot afford to bicker with each other, not while that man and all the ONI agent and all the other men and women in this building are counting on us to hold the Covenant off.” Looking back to the First Sergeant, he let his words sink in. “Can I count on you, Sergeant?”

He nodded, depolarizing his visor to show his face to the SPARTAN. “You’re right. Don’t worry, Commander. We’ll play nice for now. Right, men?” A few grunts of approval and other means of expressing their answer answered him. As Rodney turned away, Todd reached out and put a hand on the giant’s shoulder. “One more thing. Just cause we’re buddies now, doesn’t mean we won’t go easy on you. Leave the tougher ones to us, we’ll take care of them for you,” he mocked with a wicked grin on his face.

Rodney was thankful that he had his helmet on, for the scowl on his face would have provoked them to attack. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Todd let him go as he walked back down the stairs towards his team, who were still talking to Rick, and a few other Marines who had joined the conversation. Damn it, he thought, they’re still as arrogant as I remembered them to be.

As the hours passed, battle plans were organized. Rick and a few other soldiers stood at the front of the room, going over plans while a few others hooked up their tactical gear to the console that Colonel Thompson had used to synchronize his data pad with. Using their gear, they were able to draw out possible situations and strategies. Although, between plans, Sierra Company talked and laughed with one another, a few even eating MREs that they'd brought along. When the Colonel periodically visited them, his news was never really significant, just updates on positions and affirmations of defense systems being ready to go. When the need for sleep arose and gently lingered around Sierra Company, they each lay down or sat against the wall, still ready for action. But sleep still came to them, letting them be, lifting their burdens away as they dozed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once the oxygen tanks had been arranged for Sierra Company on the entrance floor, Skerten’s replacement headed down the stairs, making his way down to the surveillance quarters. Light would not come for a good seven hours more, so the place was still rather ominously lit with dim bulbs, lighting the stairwell just enough to see properly. Once the sky was lit, solar bulbs would begin to glow and properly illuminate the stairwell. He made it down to the 2nd floor, opening the orange door and stepping into a room buzzing with activity. He did his best to keep his footsteps unheard as he made his way over to Skerten’s station.

“Morning, Skerten,” the man greeted him. Skerten looked up from his work, rubbing his eyes and noticing the time.

“That time already, Doland?” he yawned, realizing how tired he was. “Thanks, I would’ve been up all night.”

Donald smiled. “No problem. Always happy to help. Now go and get some re-”

Suddenly, the room turned red with warning lights and worried sirens blared. The large monitor on the west wall cut to a camera feed as it showed a staggering army of Covenant troops at the foot of the Vexilles, staring up at Mt. Arphos with the hatred of a race that lived for war. They all began forward on the blood-curdling battlecry of a Sangheili, promising them the chance to tear their enemy apart.

The Colonel stood up from his desk quickly, his face set as if he was going to head down the mountain and face them on his own. “Activate defense systems, enable auto-targeting.”

“Defense systems on stand-by, Colonel.”

Colonel Thompson stared at the monitor, nearly trembling at just how many had come to take HAUBERK Base. “Good.” Fears welled inside of him, but he clamped them down with a force of will. “Let’s see how they like our welcoming gift.”


(There's Chapter 4 for you. Next one might be pretty long, so it'll either be one big chapter or two average sized ones. After that, I'm getting more and more of an idea of what I want to have happen. So sit tight, and enjoy this chapter. And comment, tell me what you think. Please, tell me if I've made any mistakes. Keeps out.)

Chapter 5: Tension

It almost seemed that the stairwell was fearing for its safety as the Colonel ascended its steps. It desperately wanted his reassurance that everything would be ok, but he didn't have the time. He charged up the worried stairwell as he left his surveillance team to size up the army that had begun its attack, steeling himself to face Sierra Company and lead them to their stations. Sirens still blared and red, flashing lights bathed the building in a bloody glow, a possible foreshadowing of events to come if the Covenant were able to get inside HAUBERK Base. Forcing thoughts of bloodshed away and trying to keep calm as he ascended the stairwell at a frantic pace, he could not help but see the malevolent army outside inside his head, imagining them climbing the mountain at a frenzied pace, every step and grab in the name of murdering humanity.

Days seemed to pass to the Colonel before he finally made it up to the 9th floor, his mind still assaulted by thoughts of butchery at the hands of the Covenant. He kept in stride as he ran towards one of the level’s doors, pulling the handle down and barging through the orange door in one swift motion. His eyes once again fixed on the offshoot that almost seemed to mock him as he ran towards it, trying to waste as little time as possible. Nearly skidding as he slowed down enough to make the turn into the offshoot, he ran for the bulky end door guarding the briefing room that Sierra Company had spent the night, hopefully prepped and ready to serve. He came to a halt as he stopped just short of the door, fumbling in his pocket for his card. Swiping the card through, he then hammered in the eight digit code which was to be changed tomorrow.

Opening the door, his hopes had been fulfilled as Sierra Company stood at attention, ready to depart.

Skipping formalities, the Colonel urgently beckoned the soldiers to follow him. “Come on, people. You’re needed topside, now!” The urgency in his voice compelled them to follow. He hurriedly pushed the door open as the soldiers neared it and the door swung until it hit a magnetic patch on the wall behind it and locked itself in place. As the last man exited the room, he gave a somewhat forceful pull to release the door from its magnetic prison and let it close as he ran with his company. God damn it, the Colonel thought to himself as he ran, why can’t I keep calm?

Suddenly, his thoughts were scrambled as Team Theta stormed past him, making their way up the levels at a ludicrous pace. SPARTANs wearing the MJOLNIR power armour were known to be able to run about 50km/h, with a few being able to run even faster. Seeing the SPARTAN team suddenly quelled his fears, and he thanked his lucky stars that he’d have such fearsome soldiers on defense.

Precious seconds ticked by as the Colonel reached the main entrance floor. Team Theta stood at attention, hardly moving a finger. Yet, they seemed ready to kill, barely anything restraining them from rampaging out onto the mountain and taking lives as they pleased. However, the Colonel didn’t stop to notice as he ran past the SPARTANs, stopping at the intercom he had used to speak to Sierra Company when they had arrived, which resided next to a security terminal. His finger traced a menu of buttons, buttons that changed the intercom’s destination. He eventually found his surveillance quarters and held the button for three seconds before picking up the transmitter, choosing not to activate the system's video feed. The Colonel wasn't sure he could look into the eyes of whoever answered him and keep from shattering.

“Speak to me,” came a voice, probably Doland’s.

“This is your Colonel, Doland. If that is you on the receiving end.”

“Aye, sir. What do you need?”

The Colonel felt the urge to lean his head against the darkened wall, but quickly suppressed it. He couldn’t be seen looking weak, not now. “What’s happening down there? Are we holding them off?”

“They’re now aware of our defenses. Our translating systems have told us that they’re getting in touch with their air units, they’re awaiting take off orders. Someone’s gone off to deliver the message in a Type 32.”

“Ah, hell,” the Colonel moaned. “What about our air units? Have you mobilized them?”

“Yes sir, take-off in three.”

“Understood.” He paused slightly, then added, “Good work, Doland.” He placed the transmitter back on the wall, somewhat relieved at the news he’d been given. He looked over at the security terminal, making sure that everything was still on stand by, waiting for enemies to show. Taking a large breath in, he turned to face Sierra Company behind him, already standing in formation.

“I’ve just heard from our surveillance team. The expected air battle’s to occur pretty soon. I was going to have you out there as fast as possible, but I can’t risk having you get decked by those damn Covenant aircraft. We are to hold in here until our flyboys show up and hopefully force the main bulk of dog-fighting away from our base. Or at least, that’s the plan. We’ll be getting F-97s in first, followed by GA-TL1s, AV-22s and AV-14s, then hopefully we’ll be able to get a few AC-220s in if need be.”

Sierra Company still seemed on edge, despite the time they’d still be able to spend indoors. Rick broke the silence that ate at their nerves. “What do we do now, Colonel?”

For a moment, it appeared that he had not heard the Captain’s question, his gaze aimed randomly out to the heavens as if the ceiling didn’t hinder his vision in the slightest way. But then, he replied with a sigh, “For the moment, you stay here. We’ll receive word from someone when it’s deemed safe for you to be out there without major risk of being cut down by air fire.” He left the next part unsaid, though his thoughts continued anyway. But that doesn’t mean you won’t.

A few soldiers winced like they had read the Colonel’s mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Signs of activity now flourished across Rolleston Air Base, as soon as they’d been told to stand by, nobody had messed around. Every pilot knew what was at stake on this flight out, so they’d made sure that this would be a run for the record books. The sun had yet to emerge from its slumber, and although darkness still ruled the land, lights strewn around the air base shone against the blackened sky, bright enough to let progress continue without fault.

Four main runways were lit with square bulbs built into their tarmacadam surface, red lights ran down their sides and blue through their middle. Technical Sergeants and mechanics were running pre-flight and system checks on all aircraft departing the numerous hangars around the air base, running over crucial programs and mechanical necessities as soon as the command had been given to stand by. Planes were rolling out, with final approvals on aircraft set to fly.

With utmost precision and care, an F-97 Skyhawk taxied onto the runway, its misleadingly sleek body hiding ferocious amounts of thrust. The F-97’s hawk-like nose stared down the runway like the bird of its namesake. Eagerly, the pilot flipped switches and looked over screens, running final checks before Flight Command asked him to confirm that his fighter was set to launch.

“F-97 3004B, is your status green?”

The pilot, Airman Gary Seymour, increased his pace in time to finish his diagnostics run, no faults showed in his hardware. This bird’ll soar without a hitch, he thought to himself while he flipped a switch, activating his radio transmitter.

“Green all over, Flight Command. We’re good to go.”

“Roger that 3004B, you’re cleared for takeoff.”

That was all he needed to hear. Almost giddy with anticipation, he slowly lurched the throttle forward, coaxing the fighter up to takeoff speed. The F-97 immediately responded, jets gently burning as it got up to speed. Gary gunned the throttle as he neared the runway’s edge and the bird took off with a deafening blast, eagerly awaiting the chance to roam amongst the clouds where it would be at home once again.

The Skyhawk’s thrusters burned brightly against the darkness above, blue flame streaked with hints of white would be visible to anyone tailing Gary’s fighter. He resisted temptation to engage the jet’s almost savage afterburners, which would open up a valve that released an extra amount of biofuel into the engines, as well as ramming as much air as it could inside to burn. The ravening afterburners increased the fighter’s thrust by almost double its standard output. He only resisted the urge for he would be flying in a formation of four craft, so he’d have to wait for them to catch up. I hate being the first out.

Fortunately, his radio started picking up a signal from two other fighters a moment later, each signaling their presence and confirming their position in the formation. Soon after their arrival, Gary’s radio clicked again and the last fighter to arrive took his place in the sky with the other three F-97s.

“Alright!” Gary was excited now, he could finally hit the nitro on his bird. “Are we ready to soar, people?” 3 hearty replies came over Gary’s radio, and now his grin spread from ear to ear. “Let’s do this.” He pushed another lever forward, letting double the usual air/fuel intake into his engines. The four Skyhawks immediately reacted to their added combustion, taking off with a violent shake. The jets soared up into the clouds, where they retained their title as kings of the sky, ready to swoop down on those unfortunate enough to be in their line of fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Restlessness scraped at Sierra Company’s patience, bit by bit, as they were forced to wait indoors. As was evident with an ODST staring at Boris, his helmet obscuring his scowl, some were handling the situation better than others. All they’d been able to do for the meantime was get their oxygen tanks set up. Those who had brought backpacks with them to store gear had made room for the tanks to be placed in their packs, while spare packs had been placed with the tanks for those that hadn't. The packs clipped on magnetically to strips present on the Marine's and ODST's Battle Dress Uniforms, or BDUs for short.

Boris hadn’t noticed the glaring ODST yet, he was too busy staring around the entrance floor. The room was round in shape, the floor above was where the ceiling took the shape of a dome, which was how HAUBERK Base looked from outside. As the structure went into the mountain, it took more of a quadrahedral shape. The eight facilities that were visible had entrances full of different equipment, entrances which also doubled as space for the facilities when they retracted back into the building. Big metal shells marked their end point, with a hole for people to enter and exit through. Boris almost smiled to himself as he now casually glanced back at the ODST who, obviously, wasn’t admiring his armour.

“What’s the matter, buddy?” Boris asked, smirking behind his golden visor. His deep, twangy accent only added to the joke he was about to make. “Is my fly undone or something?” A few Marines who weren’t paying attention to the situation gave out a great laugh before they turned around and realised just who it was that had spoken.

“What are you trying to prove with that damn turret of yours, huh?” the ODST jeered angrily. “You trying to go for the whole walking tank cliché crap or something?” More heads started to turn, noticing the imminent commotion between the two men.

Boris smiled, looking down at the weapon he had always favoured. “I use it,” Boris challenged, gently placing the hefty turret at the trooper’s feet, “because I can carry it.”

At that, the ODST flinched under his helmet. He looked down at the colossal weapon, but his bravado soon took over and he looked back up at the SPARTAN, almost thankful he had his helmet on. “What, is this some sort of joke? Huh, freak? I can lift this, no problem.”

Still smiling, Boris watched on as the ODST made a show of getting ready. He then stooped down, once again, drawing out the time by making sure his grip was secure on the turret’s custom grips. He then began to heave, trying to get the SPARTAN’s gun in the air. But the effort was in vain, he had no hope of getting the turret off the ground. Still though, he tried, and tried. Eventually, exhausted, the ODST gave up, drawing out his M7S and shooting the turret with at least half a clip before Boris surged forward and placed a crushing hand on the ODST’s wrist, forcing him to drop his gun. Almost all at once, Marines and ODSTs alike yelled at the angered solider, wondering if he’d lost it. A few even drew their weapons on him. Team Theta stood on alert, each SPARTAN in a barely noticeable crouch.

The commotion that had been created roused Colonel Thompson from the depths of his mind and snapped him back into reality once more. Reacting to what had just unfolded, he quickly walked over to the soldier, who was still staring at Boris, despite First Lieutenant McAlister’s attempts to get him to stand down. He instantly noticed bullet holes in the M247H that the bigger SPARTAN-II had arrived with. The few that had their weapons aimed at the ODST lowered then as they noticed Colonel Thompson standing in front of him.

“You!” the Colonel bellowed, and the ODST jumped in shock as he turned to see the Colonel staring him down with a look of disbelief. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

For a moment, the ODST was silent, weighing replies in his head. The anger he felt towards SPARTANs momentarily subsided as he realized how foolishly he’d acted.

“I-”

“Actually, I don’t think I want to hear it. As far as I’m concerned, nothing you can say will account for your behaviour. You’re an ODST, aren’t you? Don’t you lot parade around and proclaim to the world that you’re the best?” The Colonel waited for a reply, certain that a murderous expression would be present behind the ODST’s visor.

“That’s because we are, sir,” the ODST replied, his anger suddenly reignited.

“Oh, really? Well, from that demonstration, I’m inclined to disagree.” The Colonel folded his arms, casting his judgment down. “Name and rank, soldier.”

“Gunnery Sergeant Arthur Vienna, sir.”

“You mean Corporal Arthur Vienna, soldier,” the Colonel replied, suddenly thinking of something else as the now Corporal started to object. “And another thing, Corporal. This man walked in here with three guns. I think he should leave with three guns as well. Hand over your rifle and all its spare ammunition.”

“What?”

Did he just object to my authority? the ONI operative wildly thought as he lost his temper.“You heard me, soldier! If my memory’s correct, you’re also armed with an M6C. If you’re as good as you say you are, then you shouldn’t have much trouble stopping that entire army with it! So be the 'better soldier' and hand over your rifle!” The Colonel demanded, now absolutely livid.

Henry looked to Rodney for action, noticing he was bound still by his own anger over the situation. Sighing calmly, he walked over and placed a hand on the ONI operative’s shoulder, to which Colonel Thompson turned his head and stared. His anger soon lost its ground as he stared into an intimidating pale silver visor, masking the face of a man who knew only war.

“That’ll be all, Corporal,” the Colonel finished as Corporal Vienna handed over his rifle and all the ammo he had on him. Boris nodded, almost thankfully, as he found space to store all the clips he’d been given. He looked up once he’d stored all his ammo, casually holding his M7S by its grip as he saw First Sergeant McAlister standing before him.

“Look, SPARTAN, I-”

“Don’t bother apologizing, First Sergeant, it isn’t necessary. Just make sure he doesn’t try and pull something like that again.”

“Roger that, Lieutenant.” McAlister turned around again, noticing that Colonel Thompson had gone back to stand near the intercom again, having calmed down considerably after Corporal Vienna’s insubordinate actions.

Boris's three team mates approached the SPARTAN-II, glad the ordeal was over.

"Boris?" tentatively asked Baldemar.

"I'm alright, Baldemar. Stupid things like that don't bother me." Boris's face set as he replied, realising that the ODST might just be getting to him. Nah. He doesn't deserve such a thing, he thought as Baldemar cleared his throat.

"That was not what I was going to mention, Boris, I know you better. I was just going to tell you that if he had done that to my gun, I would have... well..." Baldemar then started to overdramatically punch thin air in front of him, bringing slight amusement to the four SPARTANs for a time.

But just as things were beginning to settle again, the building suddenly gave a slight shudder as machinery started to whirr. Everyone immediately looked towards the Colonel for an explanation, who’s eyes suddenly widened in realization of what was taking place.

“Covenant air units. They’ve reached our building’s security perimeter.” He started to look around as HAUBERK Base’s facilities started to retract. The floors in the facilities’ entranceways submerged, and walls retracted equipment as space was made for the incoming facilities to hide in. With a crash, all eight came back into the base, offered protection by panels that had flipped down to cover the spaces that had been left exposed by the facilities’ retreat.

Also whirring were the eight 70mm defense turrets that were slowly being mechanically pushed out of the base, ready to defend. The Colonel turned back to the security terminal, pressing a few buttons which brought up a radar. “Where are our air units?” he quietly asked himself, not seeing any incoming friendlies. His brain quickly started evaluating possible strategies, then found only one that might prove successful. Yet, it'll also most likely prove costly.

Once again, he turned to face the company behind him, already regretting his finality. “Sierra Company, I’ve reached a decision. Until our air forces get here, we’re going to need heavy weapons fire out there. Our defense turrets alone may not be enough to hold them off, especially if they’re able to land and drop off soldiers. Those with appropriate weaponry, on my signal, you get out there and do what you can to hold the Covenant back.”

“Yes sir,” came the committed reply.

Looking back at the security terminal, he started searching through security camera feeds, almost flinching at the turrets starting to open up on incoming Banshees. He found one built into the very tip of the base’s roof, overlooking the whole of Mt. Arphos. Satisfied, he stood back and watched as enemy ships and fighters went up in balls of hauntingly blue plasma. But, as each craft fell, more came to take their place. Somehow, they had figured out that the entrance to the building was on the west side of the dome and had concentrated their fire on that spot, only allowing three turrets to be of use. The Covenant’s advance was starting to gain momentum, and they were starting to get close enough to land their dropships. Now or never, the Colonel thought to himself.

“Alright, people. Make final checks of your oxygen tanks, then get out there and do some damage.”

“Yes sir!” the 24th Weapons Platoon and a few other soldiers chanted, heading out the now opening door. Team Theta followed right behind them as they stepped out into the heat of battle.



(Chapter 5 is done! That was a fun one, to be honest. The next ones will be too. There'll be three chapters before things get harder to write, and if things persist, maybe even four. Just stay faithful, and I'll deliver. After the next three or four chapters, I'm going to have to put a LOT of thought into my wording, so don't expect chapters to be out so frequently. I apologize, and I hope what I produce will be worth the wait. Until then, enjoy the story. I promise, it'll start to get going pretty soon. So, yeah. Comment. Point out mistakes. Tell me anything you'd think would help. Keeps out.)

Chapter 6: Cavalry

A barrage of heavy weapons fire screamed towards the nearest incoming Phantom as the now weaponless dropship slowly descended, attempting to let its passengers off in time to escape back down Mt. Arphos. At a hurried pace, the Covenant inside jumped out of the critically damaged ship, but as the wounded Phantom turned to escape, five more rockets struck, and a hail of bullets and grenades fiercely crashed against its exposed side. The Phantom slowly lurched, electricity and plasma starting to arc and leak as it started to lose altitude and fell towards the mountain. With a groan, it struck hard rock and bounced towards another Phantom that had landed lower down the mountain, ready to drop off more foot soldiers. Luckily for Sierra Company, the two Phantoms collided and went up in a plume of plasma, melting snow underneath their demise.

A few soldiers yelled out in triumph, but the platoon commander of the 24th Weapons Platoon saw the darker side of the matter. Taking off her oxygen mask momentarily, she ran up to the base and stepped inside.

“We need more ranged weapons, Captain! Their Phantoms are landing further down the mountain!”

Rick nodded and looked to First Sergeant McAlister. “You heard her, Sergeant. I want you and your platoon out there taking care of the foot soldiers while everyone else works on dealing with the Covenant aircraft.”

McAlister saluted, before looking back and commanding his platoon to move out with his arm, swinging it over his head with his palm splayed and then pointing at the door. He started towards it, with his team closely following him. It automatically slided into the wall beside it as McAlister stepped on a sensor, and he quickly broke into a run as the situation outside demanded that he take action.

Upon reaching a suitable position, McAlister and his team immediately dropped to one knee and started to fire down upon enemies that were being dropped onto the mountain with alarming frequency. The Covenant were starting to get much larger numbers safely onto ground, and it wouldn’t be long before they gained the upper hand. However, now that ground units as well as air units were being targeted, Sierra Company had a slightly better chance at holding their attackers off until air support arrived.

A large explosion tore into the ground where Marines had previously been standing, the Phantom responsible soon met its end, rocked to the core by the might of the UNSC’s heavy weaponry. Damn it, that was close, a few Marines thought to themselves as more plasma missiles hurtled their way.

Over the next two minutes, the sky started to fill with aircraft and the mountain started to accommodate more Covenant soldiers, despite Sierra Company’s best efforts to keep them at bay, eventually bringing out all of their soldiers onto the frozen battlefield. The Colonel wanted to protest against the decision, but he accepted that it was probably for the best. He kept his sight on the security terminal’s radar, pleading for reinforcements, not wanting to stare outside as dying screams of soldiers pierced him like arrows.

Wait.

The Colonel’s eyes opened wider as he did a double take. Could it be?

Sure enough, Colonel Thompson wasn’t seeing things. Four friendly blips were approaching. He ran for the door, opening it just in time to see two Marines killed, plasma burning into their skin. He recoiled in shock, then steeled himself once more.

“Sierra Company!” he yelled at the hop of his lungs, “Get inside! Fighters approaching!”

Just as people started to run for the base, Scorpion missiles rained down from above, and four Phantoms were instantly annihilated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“600ft from target. Enable your weapons systems, men.”

Screaming through the blackened heavens, four pilots flipped on their targeting systems and enabled their guns, ready to kill. Four green lights came up on each man’s HUD, and Gary smiled as he gave his next order.

“400ft. Swoop, now.”

Like comets on a crash course with the planet below, four Skyhawks fell out from the clouds, and Mt. Arphos welcomed them with open arms. Targeting systems linked to the pilots’ HUDs registered missile lock accordingly, and each pilot prepared to let loose as they confirmed their lock on separate targets.

“Fire.”

Each Skyhawk sent two Scorpion missiles hurtling towards their unsuspecting prey. The missiles reached manic speeds as two missiles each went at one Phantom, smashing into them with titanic force, instantly blowing them apart. The pilots then locked onto other targets with their 50mm machine guns, which used targeting systems also linked to the pilots’ HUDs and fired as they rocketed towards the mountain. Gary managed to down three Banshees before they passed over the summit of Mt. Arphos, and the four jets pulled up and shot into the sky, appearing to leave as fast as they’d arrived. A few Banshees gave chase, but they weren’t nearly as fast as their opposition.

Gary had ordered his squadron to loop over the mountain, then to go their separate ways and engage all the enemy aircraft they could. With unrivalled speed, they powered through the sky and came back down to face off against more aircraft. Each pilot had missile lock once more, but no order was given as their flight formation had broken off. They were free to do as they pleased.

Thundering back down towards Mt. Arphos, they shot their remaining missiles at another four Phantoms. The missiles recklessly impacted against their targets and detonated with staggering violence, utterly tearing the dropships to pieces. After their targets were felled, they split up to tear up the rest of the Covenant aircraft that were now taking full action against them.

As Gary slowly pulled up, shooting off a few rounds into a Banshee in his line of fire, another Banshee swooped down and quickly fired a fuel rod projectile at its oncoming assailant. Gary had no choice but to quickly react, banking left and turning slightly before suddenly banking right and pulling up, forcing his aircraft to roll around the sickly green projectile in an almost cylindrical motion. Gary’s Skyhawk passed over the Banshee’s shot upside-down as he continued to roll out of his maneuver, aiming for the Banshee with his cannons. By the time Gary had completed the “barrel roll”, his foe had been shredded.

More and more aircraft continued to progress towards the mountain, on the attack against the UNSC. And it was slowly becoming more and more apparent that four Skyhawks weren’t going to be able to cut it against an entire Covenant air assault. As two more Skyhawks rained down from the heavens, one of Gary’s fighters succumbed to the searing plasma that relentlessly assaulted it, going out in a triumphant explosion as it coursed into the snowy ground beneath.

“All UNSC aircraft, listen up. Longswords inbound. I repeat, Longswords inbound,” one of the new pilots notified as he proceeded to let loose on a Phantom attempting to deliver more troops up Mt. Arphos. Gary silently thanked whoever he thought would hear him as he evaded more plasma bolts hurtling towards his fighter.

But his relief quickly faded as he spotted an unidentified target on his radar. Activating his radio, he quickly asked, “Do any of you guys know what that thing is on the radar?”

“I’m not receiving any info on the bogey either, 3004B,” one of the new pilots replied. “You guys stay here, we’ll have a look. It’s moving slow, so it might be a biggun.” Gary was slightly confused at the word, but didn’t object as he noticed on his HUD that the two newly arrived Skyhawks still had two missiles each. Hopefully that’ll do.

“Roger that. Signal if you can’t take it alone.”

“Will do. Over and out.”

Flying wing to wing, the two majestic Skyhawks screamed towards their new target as it slowly lumbered through the air. Upon entering visual range, their pilots both confirmed missile lock. What they saw perplexed the pilots a little bit, for the giant aircraft almost looked to be a chimera of Covenant vehicles. Two sleek hulls protruded from its front, almost resembling the front of Banshees. Stubby wings jutted out of the craft’s sides where the hulls ended, and a rudder of sorts sat high at the centre rear. Three plasma mortars sat atop of the giant bomber of sorts, one atop of the rudder and one on each wing.

Deciding that it looked far too formidable to be left alone, the pilots decided to take action. Hammering down buttons on their flight yokes with their thumbs, they sent four Scorpion missiles blistering through the air, striking the behemoth directly on its nose. Yet, the giant bomber did not fall. As they thundered towards the Covenant craft, the extent of the damage was revealed, for it was barely able to keep aloft. Electricity arced and plasma spewed from damaged areas, but the beast refused to die as it soldiered on towards its target. All three of its plasma mortars aimed for the two fighter jets and shot three giant bolts of plasma careering towards them, but they had the skill and situational awareness to evade the mighty projectiles.

As they ever so slightly split up to pass the bomber on each side, they shot at damaged areas of the lumbering craft with their fighter’s cannons, doing further damage. Both Skyhawks pulled up until they faced the opposite direction, then rolled 180 degrees and leveled out to attack once more, dropping to meet their target. This time, as soon as they locked on to it, they immediately hosed the bomber with bullets. After seven seconds of continuous fire, it finally gave in and departed from existence in an enormous ball of plasma.

Coming back over the mountain in a wide arc, the two Skyhawks rejoined the mad dogfight and took out a couple of Banshees as they passed by other Covenant craft at speeds their enemy couldn’t hope to match.

“The bogey looked to be some sort of experimental bomber of some sorts, or possibly a building siege platform. Upon our attack, it survived our four remaining missiles, and we were forced to take it out with our guns. If any more come, we can’t let them near the base or they’ll pound it to bits,” one of the pilots reported, his voice echoing dread at the thought of having to fight more of them without missiles.

“Roger that, 3072B. Hopefully those Longswords arri-”

Gary was suddenly at a loss for words as he saw five of the larger blips appear on his radar, as well as another surge of incoming Phantoms. Five Skyhawks won’t be enough for this, he thought as ice started to form in his gut.

“Oh, shit. Anyone got a plan as to how we deal with all this?” he asked desperately, plans being tried and tested in his head. “We’re out of Scorpions, and our cannons alone won’t be enough to stop all five of those things.”

“That’s affirmative. We might have to call out the troops garrisoned in the base we’re defending.”

Suddenly, a new and powerful voice came over Gary’s radio, promising all that Gary wanted for the moment. “That won’t be necessary, boys, we can take those bombers out before you have time to thank us.” Two Longswords approached, along with the last formation of Skyhawks that had been mobilized to defend the ONI base. Relief washed through the pilots as reinforcements blazed a trail through the night sky, ready to engage.

Gary exhaled in relief, for the situation hand finally had a solution, reading off his HUD to find a designation for the voice on the radio that would appear as they spoke. “You don’t know how happy we are to see you two, 5092C.”

A hearty chuckle served as a reply to Gary’s thanks as the last formation of Skyhawks arrived on the scene, trailed by two Longsword interceptors. In shape, they resembled the flying wing design of the first stealth bombers designed over five centuries ago, except the Longsword had a large tail fin at its back to aid with stabilization and maneuvering. Also, stealth was not the primary focus of the interceptors, that role was weaponry. The Longsword could practically be armed to the teeth with different weapons, and these two were no exception, each housing two M9177 ASW/AC 110mm MLA rotary cannons, and four ASGM-10 missiles as secondary weapons.

Dipping over the base’s roof, the new Skyhawks unloaded a cluster of missiles on incoming targets and sped past the massive dogfight as two Longswords roared overhead HAUBERK Base, aiming to intercept the five larger unidentified blips that were making their way towards Mt. Arphos.

“Any defense weapons onboard these bigger types?” asked a Longsword pilot, her voice revealing only a hint of worry.

“Negative, they’re only armed with plasma mortars. Given enough time, any kind of aircraft could take it out, provided that they have the agility to dodge the mortars themselves.”

“Understood, 3072B. Oh, and by the way, these puppies aren’t just any kind of aircraft. Remember that, will you?”

A sigh came over the radio before the Skyhawk pilot replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled to herself as her ever reliable targeting systems started to get a signal and attempted to lock onto a target.

“What do we do to these guys? Should we launch an ASGM-10 at ‘em and see how they hold up?” she asked her fellow pilot flying closely beside her.

“Read my mind, ya’ did, lassie,” came the heavily Scottish accented reply. The two Longsword pilots had known each other for as long as they could remember, and although they didn’t really need to ask what their battle plan would be, they went over it anyway, for old time’s sake. It was evident that both pilots favoured their secondary missiles compared to their guns, although their guns possessed immense stopping power. And considering their two Longswords each boasted two of the mighty 110mm rotary cannons, they made for mighty dogfighters.

“Heh. I’ve got lock on the middle target, and I’m sending one missile out to go welcome those lovely Covenant bastards to our domain.

“Well, in that case, I better lend you a hand. Ya’ wanting me to fire at a separate target?”

“You read my mind,” she softly chuckled as she sent a missile rocketing towards its prey. It never gets old, does it.

She had aimed for the middle bomber, while her fellow pilot’s missile connected furiously with the left most craft of the formation. Both bombers slightly lurched, unable to power their way past such brute force. The force of the impacts ripped one of the bulbous hulls off of the middle craft, and the right most craft had its rudder decimated, leaving it with only two mortars.

Moving to counter, the formation quickly began to shoot giant balls of plasma scorching through the air, hissing as they sought to wreak havoc upon UNSC metal. One of the Sangheili pilot cursed about his experimental Type-49 Building Siege Platform’s lack of defense turrets in his native tongue.

“Is that all ya’ got, ya’ great bunch a’ pansies?” the Scot pilot heartily roared as he hammered down his cannon triggers, getting in a few shots at the Covenant ships before he was forced to swoop downward and avoid the savage rain of plasma. His Longsword slightly protested at the maneuver, but he was sure that ‘she’d’ be able to handle it. Glancing at his radar, he noticed his fellow pilot had banked left to work her way around the five craft formation and was starting to bank right once more, aiming to come round from behind.

“I might try somethin’ different, and attack them at their left. I do hope that their great bloomin’ mortars can’t swivel so I can get a decent shot at them.”

“Understood,” his fellow pilot replied, concentrating on bringing her interceptor around for another shooting run. Slightly easing the afterburners to make more progress, she eventually leveled out on an altitude above the Covenant craft, something she’d intended to do as her fellow pilot banked below her, now also bringing his craft around.

She trained her sights upon the left craft of their formation, letting her targeting systems lock on. When an icon on her HUD confirmed the lock, she sent a second missile screaming towards it. The powerful AGSM-10 missiles were apparently powerful enough to bring down one of their ships with two direct hits as her missile connected and knocked the left most craft out of the sky. Her fellow pilot let out a great laugh as he opened fire with his cannons on his closest target. But his mood quickly darkened as it started to split from its formation, as did another craft. Both pilots recognized the maneuver instantly.

Damnit, she thought to herself, that’s actually rather clever. If they start to let one or two of their ships hang back, and we go for the front ones, then we’re easy picking for the two at the rear. Quickly thinking to herself, she tried to evaluate what the best course of action would be. I don’t want to use all four of my missiles on one formation, but that might be the only way that we can take them down. A thought of later formations threatened her finality, but she waved it aside as a king would a peasant.

“I’m using the rest of my missiles. There’s no other choice, we cannot let these things anywhere near HAUBERK Base. I suggest you do the same,” she instructed, pulling her throttle right back to compensate for the slowing craft ahead.

“On it, lassie, I’ll take the other slowcoach.”

Her focus lay solely on the craft ahead of her while her Longsword’s targeting systems achieved lock on. There was nothing else in the world to her as her thumbs slowly pressed two launch buttons upon her flight yokes, launching the last two of her missiles away and into a second Covenant bomber. It passed from existence in a final show of brilliance, but she did not see its beauty. All she saw was another target’s end.

As her fellow pilot let his second and third missile scream forth and wildly impact against the other Covenant craft that had stayed behind, Designation 5092C kept her cannons roaring at the only undamaged bomber left standing. Bullets struck and struck against its unknown alloy surface, but it still persisted, unwilling to relent in its crusade against humanity. However, there was no known metal that could withstand the force of a Longsword’s cannons for more than too long, and the craft soon succumbed to its wounds, pitching to the ground in spite of all the pilot’s attempts to pull up. Plasma started to leak from the craft, and after an eternity it exploded in mid-air, long before it could hit solid ground.

Realizing it was all alone, the damaged craft took a few wild shots out at the night sky ahead, its pilot hoping he’d at least hit something before he went on to the Great Journey. After four successive fires, one last missile struck the rear of his craft, and he was engulfed in holy flame as his dreams of ascension were fulfilled. Though, what he met, nobody could ever know.

5092C let out a long breath that she suddenly realized she was holding in. “That was too close,” she sighed, the tension that had wracked her only partially loosening its grip.

“Aye.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time hadn’t passed well inside HAUBERK Base for Sierra Company since they were called in. Eleven Marines had lost their lives in the short space of time they had spent fighting atop Mt. Arphos, as well as five ODSTs. The deaths ate at everyone, promising them yet more bloodshed on their return out atop the mountain. Grief welled inside a few of the soldiers effectively trapped inside the ONI base, but was quickly dismissed as they remembered that they had a mission to accomplish. Still, thought one Marine, there were so many killed… our flyboys better take those Covenant bastards out soon. I need to shoot something.

HAUBERK Base’s sudden shaking quickly brought the Colonel and everyone else who was lost in thought back to the present as they struggled to stay upright. The building had been rocked by a giant explosion from one of the wildly fired mortars that a dying Covenant siege machine had fired. After a few seconds, the shaking stopped, and soldiers looked around in a panic before calming down as someone began asking a question.

“What the hell was that, Colonel?” Captain Goodman asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “It felt like a damn Wraith shot at us!”

Colonel Thompson quickly stared at the security terminal’s radar to see if his suspicions were correct. He was ready to head downstairs at any moment, but the fear inside him lost its ground as he saw that the 5 Type-49s had been neutralized, apparently, just in the nick of time.

“Not exactly, Captain. Although the information is currently classified, I can tell you that we were hit from a mortar of roughly the same design as the Type-26. However, from what I can tell on the radar behind me, the threat has been neutralized for now.”

He turned back to the radar to confirm his thoughts, noticing something promising. “In fact,” he continued, “it looks like two more GA-TL1s are arriving, as are the five AV-14s and the three AV-22s.” Eyes widened around the room. It sounded to them like the battle for air superiority was turning in their favour.

A couple of minutes later, Colonel Thompson ensured that their hopes had ground to stand on. He turned to face them one last time, feeling as confident as the situation at hand could allow. “Men and women of Sierra Company, it would seem that we hold the sky for now. Enemy aircraft ranges are too far out at this point in time to be considered an immediate threat.”

Despite his attempts to stay impassive, his face slightly softened as he looked the already battered soldiers over. “I understand how much of a beating you took before, but damnit, that shouldn’t be enough to stop a fine bunch of UNSC troops such as yourselves.” Faces started to pick up as he continued to rally the company before him, “If anything, it should make you want to get out there more and return the favour.”

A couple of cheers rang out, followed by Colonel Thompson nodding. “Well, people? Get your rifles ready, and get out there. That’s an order.”

“Yes sir!” Sierra Company chanted as they started to head towards the stockpile of weapons that had been arranged for them. Seventy four sniper rifles lay in wait, along with an abundance of ammunition for several different weapons. By the time they’d readied their weapons, eight rifles lay unused, due to the deceased members of the company. Thoughts of them were quickly suppressed as they stood at attention, ready to leave.

On Captain Goodman’s order, Sierra Company started to head out HAUBERK Base’s entrance, onto the mountain it stood on. Marines donned jackets with arctic camouflage to protect them from the bitter cold of Mt. Arphos while the ODSTs were protected by their BDU's thermal layers, and the MJOLNIR Mark V armour of the SPARTANs used hydrostatic gel to regulate the temperature inside the mighty suits of armour.

As people began settling down upon the snowy ground beneath them, their mood showed no signs of lowering after the Colonel’s few words of praise. Some even wore smiles upon their faces as they began to peer down the surface of the mountain, waiting for the Covenant to show.

After a couple of minutes, one or two Marines looked up at the still darkened sky, watching distant fighters swerve and roll as they evaded plasma bolts rushing at them. However, the almost tranquil scene was suddenly shattered. Slipspace portals started to appear out in space, large enough for the eye aided by VE-140 binoculars to more clearly see. Soon, at least ten Covenant ships began to appear out from them.

Jaws across the mountain dropped as people realized what was happening. Covenant reinforcements were arriving. And as a monolith supercarrier jumped into the ensuing chaos, almost discernable even from the soldiers atop Mt. Arphos, Sierra Company’s confidence plummeted into the ground.


(Chapter 6 = done. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it's just lacking a certain something. I'll be sure to edit this chapter a fair bit. So, yeah. Three more chapters will be out before things get tricky. For now, tell me what I can improve on with this chapter. And othe other ones, if need be. Comment. Tell me what I can do better, and what you like best. Expect the next chapter soon. Keeps out.)

Chapter 7: Revelation

The startling revelation above was already beginning to assault the minds of Sierra Company. Questions began to take form as men and women stationed atop the mountain looked to each other for explanations and support. But, to a few minds, conclusions were made, and the answer seemed to trouble them more then the problem that loomed overhead itself.

Rodney set down his rifle and stopped to think for a second. There’s got to be something on this planet that the Covenant want. There’s no other possible explanation for a fleet of that size to appear here. But what? He looked around, thoughts swimming through his mind as he glanced over at Baldemar, who had taken a spot beside him as his spotter. He, too, had put down his HUD-compatible binoculars, and turned his head just in time to meet Rodney’s gaze before he turned away again.

“Is there something on your mind, sir?” he asked almost jokingly, having activated his team’s comm. link. Upon hearing Baldemar’s question, both the other two members of Team Theta also looked over at Rodney, hoping that he might have figured something out about the massive reinforcements that had arrived for the Covenant.

Rodney held in his comm. link activator and began to reply in a deadly serious tone of voice. “I don’t like this, men. There’s got to be something on this planet that the Covenant want, otherwise this planet would be a molten wasteland by now.” He paused for a moment, his mind furiously working on producing answers. “If I were to guess, I’d say that Colonel Thompson might know what they’re looking for.”

“Not that he’ll be likely to tell us what that is,” Boris quickly added.

“Likely or not, Boris, I’m going in there and asking him. The more we know about this situation, the better chance we have of stopping the Covenant from getting what they came for.”

“You are forgetting our priorities, Rodney,” Baldemar replied, standing up with Rodney as he turned for the base’s entrance. “Our current mission is defending this ONI base. If the Colonel wants-”

“I’ll be damned if I let what the Colonel wants get in the way of saving this entire planet, Baldemar! If he’s withholding vital information on what they’re here for, then we need to get it out of him in order to create a plan for keeping what they want here away from them. Am I understood, Lieutenant?”

Boris and Henry had also risen as the three were left stunned by Rodney’s outburst. Baldemar gravely nodded before replying, “Yes, sir.” As Rodney headed towards the base’s entrance, Baldemar added, “Do not be too hard on him, Rodney. After all, he may not even know why the Covenant have amassed on Atlas with such numbers.”

“He’s ONI, Baldemar. He’ll know what they’re here for.” With that, he was let into HAUBERK Base, leaving the rest of his team to ponder the situation by themselves.

Colonel Thompson stood by the door, having deciphered the SPARTAN’s reasoning for having returned indoors. But, of course, he couldn’t reveal that to him, nor would he. Instead, he set to leading him on a different route.

“I guess you’re here because you want to know why those Covenant ships have arrived here. Our best guess is that they-”

“I know why they’re here, Colonel. Now tell me what they’ve come for.”

“We haven’t figured that out yet, Commander,” he lied.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know damned well that you know what they’re here for. Now tell me.”

The Colonel sighed. I guess I’m going to have to play hardball with this one. He looked the giant before him straight in the visor as he rallied all of his authority in preparation. “Look, SPARTAN. Not only does the Intelligence Protocol A4-092 prevent me from discussing classified matters to non-ONI personnel, I also outrank you. Therefore, my orders overrule yours, and I order you to desist in your efforts to interrogate me immediately. Got it, soldier?”

Rodney wore a menacing scowl under his helmet as he persisted. “Colonel, the entire planet is at stake here. I don’t think you understand-”

“Damnit, SPARTAN, look here. I’ve been at this game a lot longer than you have, so don’t tell me what I do and don’t understand! We are well aware of the situation at hand, and unlike you, demanding action without using your damn head, we are critically analyzing every piece of information we have at this point in time to make sure that we’re making the best decision possible.” The Colonel folded his arms in finality, wanting Rodney out of his sight. “My orders stand, Commander. Now get back out there, and don’t even think about coming back in until you’ve dropped every last Covenant soldier on this mountain.”

After a moment of bitter frustration, he willed himself to be calm.“Yes sir,” replied the fuming SPARTAN. He made his way back out onto the mountain none the wiser, his thoughts lashing out as he did so. ONI. The guy pulls a nice guy act over our eyes to keep us loyal, but he’s no different then the rest of them. As he lay back down beside Baldemar, he looked over to see his worried companion staring back. Am I so different? he suddenly thought to himself, shamed by his earlier outburst.

His thoughts were cast aside for the meantime as Baldemar activated his comm. link. “Status report, sir. What does he know?”

Rodney looked up, his mind suddenly free to think again. “He knows something, Theta. But I get the feeling he’ll tell us when hell freezes over.” His team slightly chuckled at the joke, pleased their leader had calmed down. But Rodney didn’t join in with them, for his mind was already at work again on the Covenant’s objective.

After a while, Henry spoke up for the first time since the Covenant had attacked. “Forget ONI for a minute. What do you think they’re here for?”

Rodney’s already racing mind didn’t have much answer for his teammate. “I don’t know, Henry. Atlas is your typical Inner Colony world, no more or less defenses than most. From what I’ve been able to read about it on my tac-pad, there’s really nothing of importance on it whatsoever. However, the fact that there’s obviously something top secret here goes without saying.” He paused for a moment, trying to select possible candidates. “But as to what that is, I just don’t know.”

Henry waited a moment before asking a second question. “How do you suppose the Covenant know whatever ONI is keeping hidden is here? They’re too good to make a blunder like this.” Henry’s question startled Rodney. He hadn’t thought of that. “Do you suppose that the Covenant have hacked into our transmissions?” Henry asked, trying to rule out possible occurrences.

“Well, there’s no proof that there is. They would have hit us a lot harder than they are now. They’d have sent up all their troops by dropship instead of having them climb this mountain and risk fighting through all its defenses. Plus, they would have called in much more air support to take our guys out and hold the sky.”

“Good point. But that doesn’t mean that all their other available units are off somewhere fighting us. The UNSCDF on Atlas didn’t have any spare troops for defending this mountain, seeing they’re all spread out in different battles across the planet. Couldn’t the Covenant run into the same problem?”

“Possibly. I’m not sure. That assault carrier looked set to hold enough troops for a serious assault. But now that reinforcements have shown up, your idea seems to hold itself up.”

At the word reinforcements, Boris suddenly thought of a potentially disastrous possibility. “What of this place, men? The Covenant just showed up with more than enough numbers to turn this battle into a turkey shoot, how many more will they send to destroy HAUBERK Base?”

This was also difficult for Rodney to answer, but not for the lack of information at hand. “There’s a good chance that they’ll increase the numbers in their assault against us. If they do, then there’s also a good chance that this base won’t make it out of the battle. I’m hoping that all the newly arrived Covenant don’t treat this as a target of great importance and concentrate on finding whatever it is they want on here.”

“And if what they want is in this building itself?” Boris retorted, dread seeming to swoop out of the air and drench his words as they reached Rodney’s ears.

“Then our chances of accomplishing our mission, yet alone surviving, are slim.” Although Team Theta weren’t usually bothered by odds, the thought of the entire newly arrived Covenant fleet attacking them at once wasn’t an easy thought to think.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite all his attempts to think rationally, Colonel Thompson had begun to feel afraid, for the new arrival of Covenant ships greatly troubled him. His earlier confrontation with the SPARTAN had forced him to act like a true ONI operative. He knew that he wasn’t able to discuss the matter with him, but it still ate at him. He’s right. Damnit, he’s right. I’m more concerned about this damned base than the entire planet it sits on. He only realized now that he was turning into the agent ONI had always wanted him to be. Stepping over to the intercom system ashamedly, he keyed into the surveillance unit’s end of the line.

“Speak to me,” Doland instructed, expecting the Colonel to have keyed in sometime soon.

“Anything deciphered about the Covenant’s tactics, Doland? What are the new ones here for?”

“In all honesty, Colonel, it’s almost as if they have no tactics at all. Their engagement patterns are… highly erratic, at best. Either this is some brilliant move that will take us completely by surprise, or they’ve all lost their minds.”

“What will we be getting here?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that either, Colonel. At the most, we could be getting three battlecruiser’s worth of fighters, dropships and soldiers, but their patterns aren’t readable enough. The units being sent this direction may be split up numerous times before they reach our location. And as for everywhere else on Atlas, we’ve set up a defensive perimeter around everything that might be of their interest. When we’ve confirmed for sure what they’re here for, we’ll bring as many of our soldiers as we can from other battles to that sector.”

“I thought we’d concluded that they’d be here for-”

“I said when we’ve confirmed for sure,” Doland snapped back, the pressure of the new situation starting to get to him. “There’s a high chance that they’ve come for that, but until they arrive over there with their entire army, we’ll continue to track their movements.”

“Understood, Doland.” Colonel Thompson hung up the receiver, sighing in frustration. For once, the Covenant were engaging in ground combat with the upper hand. This time, they held all the cards, for even ONI’s top surveillance and intelligence couldn’t be sure as to their intentions. All they held was a slight clue, and although the Colonel wanted to grab at it, ONI were far too methodical to jump to conclusions without sufficient evidence.

Yeah, that’s the logical choice, he thought in bitter acceptance. The ice forming in the pit of his gut told him that ONI was making a big mistake, but the true effect of his worries didn’t hit him until the corner of his vision caught a glance at the security terminal’s radar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What felt like days for Rodney had passed since he had rejoined his team out on the mountain. His mind wouldn’t relent, despite his attempts to dismiss the currently answerable questions that echoed continuously throughout. He lay with his head gently resting on the snow underneath him for a time, unsure as to when answers would make themselves known.

Team Theta had stopped their brainstorm on the Covenant’s intentions almost half an hour beforehand, due to the fact that they were getting nowhere. The complete and utter lack of information on their subject made it almost laughable that they had continued to dwell on it for so long. But, even though they had stopped discussing what was to happen, none of the four had stopped thinking. I almost wouldn’t mind it if the Covenant showed up about now, Rodney mused to himself, then I might beat the information I need out of them.

It was the same for the rest of Sierra Company, alone atop Mt. Arphos. Tension had formed around the thin air that lingered around, tension due to the suspense of waiting for their foe to arrive. Roughly two hours of the cruel wait hadn't been good for them. And because of this, a few men and women jumped as HAUBERK Base’s speakers came to life, the Colonel’s voice coming through strongly.

“Sierra Company, be on alert,” he gravely warned, “Covenant reinforcements are inbound. Expect the airborne firefight to be brought back much closer to your general area. 24th Weapons Platoon, you are to immediately report back to base and reequip your standard heavy weaponry, in case our air units are in need of assistance. Also, expect ground forces coming up the mountain to be within firing range in a few minutes. That is all.”

At his command, the 26 Marines left in the platoon stood up from their snow-crafted sniper bunkers and trudged a short distance back up to HAUBERK Base, while the rest of Sierra Company stayed on alert, now more focused than ever thanks to the Colonel’s announcement. A few moments later, the company was once again whole, but those in sniping positions paid no attention to the return of their weapons platoon.

“Targets sighted,” almost all of Sierra Company’s spotters announced in unison a couple of minutes later. Marines wearing oxygen masks had used the intercom feature built into them. Those armed with the SRS99C-S2 AM weren’t at exact optimal range as of yet, the hordes of Elites and Jackals were still just a bit too far out of range for precise shooting. But that didn’t stop a select few from selecting targets and opening fire.

Out of the nine bullets that were fired, six hit their targets. One Jackal was hit clean through the head; an incredible shot at such range. The second Jackal was also caught unaware, the bullet crashing into its body and sending it back into another Elite, who took the brunt of its impact and then swept it aside in bock shock and anger. Three Elites were hit in the chest with the force of a punch from a Jiralhanae, and all three of their shield systems immediately failed. The fourth took a speeding bullet straight in the head, killing it instantly.

A Zealot-class General cried out a resounding battlecry, prompting the rest of its noble race to quickly respond and charge up the mountain. In its native tongue, the Zealot marveled at the range of the humans’ accuracy as it led its noble warriors at the helm of their formation.

In the time it took for the surging wave of Covenant soldiers to enter the SRS99C-S2 AM’s maximum effective range of 2.3km, a few expert soldiers, including Rodney and Henry, had fired off a few shots. Aiming such a shot was a difficult task, and despite lack of such an exercise of downhill, mountainous, out-of-max-range sniper training, most of the shots connected.This would make for an interesting sniper drill, Henry said aloud to nobody in particular as he carefully set up his next shot.

As he slowed his breathing once more and prepared to make small adjustments to his trajectory to compensate for the length of his shot, he brushed his reticule over one of the charging Elites in case they’d come close enough to register as a target on his HUD. He smiled to himself as his targeting crosshairs lit up red. They were finally in range. Nobody would be missing any shots now. And sure enough, a hail of bullets rained down upon the coming wave of Covenant as everyone noticed their crosshairs turn red.

Firing off his fourth shot and retrieving a spare magazine chocked full of 14.5x114mm APFSDS bullets, Rodney reloaded his rifle in deep thought. Something wasn’t right about the Covenant’s battle tactics to him. And though he tried to push the nagging feeling aside so he could concentrate on aiming, the thought would not let him be. He let go of the trigger grip, bringing his hand up to his comm. link and holding the button in. The small sound the device gave off alerted his team that he was about to speak.

“Theta? Does something seem… off to you about the Covenant’s tactics?” he hesitantly asked, not knowing what to make of the situation.

“You mean the fact that they’re charging us from one direction and walking straight into our bullets?” Boris replied, a puzzled tone in his voice.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I meant, Boris.” He started to talk a little bit faster as a fear he couldn’t place crept along the strings of his mind. “I don’t like this at all.”

“Maybe you should go see the Colonel. If they’re planning something, then he and his ONI magic might be able spot something out of the ordinary.”

At the mention of Colonel Thompson, Rodney started to scowl again. “Right now, I’m the last person he’ll be wanting to see. But it seems we have no choice,” he sighed. However, as soon as he had got up on one knee, the speakers came to life once again, except the voice emitting from them seemed far more worried than the voice that came through last time.

“Sierra Company,” the Colonel ordered, his voice almost shaking with realization, “you need to split up now, on the double. We’re being flanked from every direction. I want at least 30 men to each quarter of visibility. Go, now!”

“Shit,” Rodney cursed under his breath. He held in his comm. link activator and quickly started dishing out orders. “Alright, team, we’ve got to be quick about this. Henry and Boris, you two stay together. I want you on the east side of this mountain for one minute, then you are to quickly relocate to the north side and continue with suppressive fire. One minute on the north quarter as well, then back to east. Go.”

The two SPARTANs quickly took off after saluting while Rodney continued. “Baldemar, you’re with me. Same deal as the others. We stay here for a minute, then relocate to the south quarter for a minute before coming back.”

“Yes, sir,” Baldemar replied as Rodney quickly lay back down in search of targets. The blackened sky above looked far more sinister and concealing than it did before. For a solid minute, Rodney calmly aimed his shots, trying not to let the rising panic of Sierra Company’s situation affect his aim. But despite his complete and utter stillness in firing, the allocated time didn’t go by as slowly as he thought it would. Baldemar quickly activated his comm. link, the small beep bringing Rodney to attention.

They both stood up, bounding through the snow as they made their way over to the south quarter of Mt. Arphos. Just as the routine was starting to become engraved in his mind, a beam of accelerated plasma from a Covenant beam rifle whizzed past his head, quickly bringing him back to flexible thinking.

“Hit the deck!” Rodney quickly yelled, and the two quickly dived into the snow as another shot barely missed him. Rodney didn't dare move a muscle from where he had fallen, but he had guessed they were only a few feet from cover that had been set up. Also not wishing to peer out from the large imprint he’d made in the snow, Baldemar began assessing the situation.

“From the second shot’s trajectory, I would estimate the target is somewhere between a 165 to 175 degree field. As quickly as he could, he looked up with his binoculars and scanned. He brought his head back down just in time to avoid two shots coming in from different directions. “Our first target is 41 degrees down, and 9.6 degrees left from true south.”

Rodney heard a few shots from UNSC snipers as he slowly got his sniper rifle in line with Baldemar’s reporting. He rose up onto his knees in an instant and took the Jackal down with almost no time to spare, for as soon as he ducked back down, another shot buzzed overhead. A hail of sniper bullets followed Rodney’s down the mountain with astonishing speed and impaled themselves in other Covenant snipers as Baldemar signaled that it was time to move again. They got up with inhuman pace and quickly bolted back towards the west quarter of the mountain.

Baldemar wasn’t really needed once Rodney lay back down, thanks to the innumerable amount of Covenant climbing up the west side of Mt. Arphos. He wouldn’t have much trouble finding targets. Baldemar looked up to the still darkened sky, counting off seconds in his head as he noticed that the dogfight in the air had indeed moved closer to HAUBERK Base.

Two AC-220 Vultures were slowly hovering backwards, heading towards the base as two AV-22 Sparrowhawks and two AV-14 Hornets escorted them, protecting their three and nine from being attacked as the second Vulture watched their six and led them forward, having turned around in search of more targets. F-97 Skyhawks and GA-TL1 Longswords swooped and dived through the air, although the latter were much less nimble. Other Sparrowhawks and Hornets maneuvered around, evading enemy fire and returning fire when able.

However, by the time Baldemar had counted off 40 seconds, he had noticed that the UNSC aircraft above them had begun to group together. And what they did next shocked him to the very core.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Colonel Thompson stood perfectly still, finding that he couldn’t look away from the security terminal’s faintly glowing radar in front of him, as if his gaze had been held in place by an unseen hand. The Covenant were getting closer, now that they’d spread out their forces. Now I understand why they didn’t do it sooner. They’ve completely caught us offguard, although their losses must be somehow beneficial to us. But as he stared on at the screen in front of him, it almost seemed that the Covenant’s numbers were limitless, and their assault on his base would never end.

Damnit, he thought in futility. “Damnit!”

The fear welling up inside of him was far more devastating than the army closing in outside. He tried his best to quell his rising terror, but it would not be so easily swayed. And as he noticed that the UNSC air units were grouping together, his fear of losing suddenly caught him in a death vice. He immediately assumed the worst. No. No, they can’t be leaving. Not now!

But despite his desperate pleas, every UNSC fighter, save the two Vultures, two Skyhawks, two Hornets and one Sparrowhawk took off to the south, leaving the Colonel and Sierra Company to their doom. He looked around wildly, his hopes of survival shattering deep inside his blackened heart.

Suddenly, as his panic escalated, the intercom system buzzed. The Colonel quickly grabbed at it, almost dropping it in his sheer panic as he lifted it up to his mouth. “What the hell is going on?”

“You are needed in the surveillance quarters. Get down here immediately, Colonel.”

Not even bothering to reply, he dropped the receiver, forgetting to hang it back up as he raced over towards the building’s main set of stairs. Thoughts of total annihilation chased him down the stairwell as he made his way down the stairs, his adrenaline surging through him, laced with dread. Time seemed to stand still, allowing him no refuge on his way down before he finally made it down to the 2nd floor, violently opening the obstructive door that stood in his way. He rushed in to be greeted by Doland, who saluted his superior.

“Don’t bother, Doland. Just tell me why all our air units have packed up and left.”

Doland merely gestured to the room’s main radar screen upon the wall that he faced, instructing the Colonel to turn around. On the screen was a bitter man, one who looked like he’d seen war his entire life. His alert and menacing stare almost made it too difficult for the Colonel to look at him, for he knew this man well, and he knew all too well that crossing him wasn’t a very smart move.

Colonel Thompson saluted before quietly acknowledging the man dressed in a green, Army-commissioned suit with a three-starred insignia upon his breast. “Lieutenant General Wolfe.”

The Lt. General looked him over before saluting back. “Colonel Thompson. I’d imagine you have questions.”

Despite his fear of the man, the Colonel couldn’t hold his fear, which had turned to anger, back. “You’re damned right I have questions! Without that air support, this base is doomed, as well as the company outside who just happens to be defending it! What about us, Wolfe?”

Wolfe’s face didn’t waver in the slightest. His younger appearance gave him a look that suggested he could be out there on the battlefield himself, and turn anything that stood in his way into dust. “I am aware of that, Colonel. But there more urgent matters that need attending to.”

“Like what?” the Colonel shot back, infuriated by Wolfe’s calm state. How can he be calm knowing he’s left us to die?

For an instant, Colonel Thompson thought he saw a flicker of dread in the Lt. General’s face. But he dismissed it as Wolfe calmly began to speak once more, his quiet, yet utterly commanding voice effectively masking what the situation was doing to him. “The Covenant have found ONI Excavation Site JL-32C, and are pouring their entire army in towards it.”

As if it was made of lead, the Colonel’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t hide the shock he felt as he tried to summon the rest of the fleeing courage he had left, just so he could utter a reply to the revelation that could potentially spell the end of humanity as they knew it. “You… you mean…”

“That is correct, Colonel. They have found the artifact site.”


(As another chapter is finished, the mystery begins. What have they found, you ask? Well, I'm afraid you'll have to wait and see. As with every other one, this chapter will get mass edits. So, if you spot something wrong or dumb, hopefully I will too. Expect Chapter 8 soon, sooner than this one came in. Comment. Critique. Tell me where I've made mistakes. And stay sharp, kiddos. Keeps out.)

Chapter 8: Getaway

To Colonel Thompson, it felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. For a moment or two, he was speechless; his mind unable to fathom even a single word to speak as the hope he had in humanity's survival started to seep out of him. Dark entities roamed free, deep within him, as a thought of bitter truth continued to scold him. I was right.

Wait. A realization hit him almost as hard as Wolfe's shattering news, despair once again turning into anger. I was right!

Looking up from the floor, straight into the Lt. General's eyes, he let loose all that he held within. “I was right, Wolfe! The Covenant have come for whatever is in that site! You didn't listen to me as I practically pleaded for additional reinforcements to be stationed there, and now, we'll lose far more men than we should have because of it! They might even get inside there because of it!”

Calm as ever, almost as if the Colonel was nothing but a mistaken pupil in his class of war, Lt. General Wolfe patiently gazed back at him, waiting for his anger to subside. However, after a few moments, naught had changed. He was still breathing heavily, his eyes almost dancing with flame as they burned a hole in the monitor he fiercely kept them on. “We are aware of the risks you name,” Wolfe lectured, deciding to reply, “but you and I both know that we aren't the kind of people who act out on a whim. That would be foolish. The fact that you were right is irrelevant, Colonel. We could have lost a great deal many more men if we'd chose to send them all out to the artifact site and it turned out that the Covenant were seeking something else on this planet.”

While he didn't want to admit it was true, Colonel Thompson had to face the fact that Wolfe was right, and that the risk he'd been aching to take may have cost the UNSC dearly if he'd been wrong. But I wasn't wrong, he thought to himself, misery and anger warring each other for supremacy in his head as the jagged, broken thought echoed without remorse. But as he felt he couldn't argue any longer, he finally let a bitter sigh of defeat escape him, looking up once more. “Your orders, sir?” he asked, misery finally taking hold.

“Whoever you have left defending your base will stay for as long as they can hold out. The minute that enemy numbers become too much to deal with, they will immediately depart to the artifact site. Pilots will be notified as such.” He paused for a second, recalling the layout of the Colonel's building. “I'd imagine you will purge all data and escape when the time arrives, Colonel.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well then.” As the Lt. General raised his hand to order for the feed to be terminated, Colonel Thompson quickly spoke out.

“Look, Joshua.” Wolfe faintly reacted to the use of his first name, but stayed a hand to someone off-frame, signaling for the feed to continue. “I'm sorry. I acted completely out of order. You were right,” the Colonel solemnly admitted, feeling rather foolish at his earlier outburst.

Lt. General Wolfe's gaze softened for a fraction of a second, but he quickly regained his hardened composure and betrayed no other reaction. “That will be all, Colonel.” The feed cut, and the screen returned to its usual business of displaying tactical information with an overwhelming sense of finality, as if it had slammed a door shut on all the hopes and dreams that humanity had of surviving the Covenant's unending onslaught. For a while, all the Colonel could do was blankly stare at the screen that Wolfe had spoken to him through.

“Sir?” Doland quietly asked, trying to gauge the Colonel's reaction to what he had just heard. He didn't immediately respond, for he was busy trying to stop his mind from shattering. Not wishing to hear or feel the sickening cracks form inside, he almost groaned, knowing he'd have to answer Doland eventually. With an effort, he tore his vision away from the monitor that had foretold their doom, but despite his efforts, he couldn't bring himself to turn and face the man. His gaze crashed to the floor, and his now fragile mind bore the new strain of presenting a response.

“Doland? What does a man do when all his hope gives way?” Donald once again tried to gauge what was happening in his CO's head as the Colonel continued to stare down into a pit of utter despair. “What does he do when he has to face the possibility that all he's ever known could be wiped away from existence?”

A tinge of sadness made itself known to Doland as he stepped over to stand beside the Colonel. They stood together, side by side, in total silence for while before he responded. “He stands firm, Colonel.”

At that, Colonel Thompson slowly lifted his gaze from the floor and weakly looked up at one of his top surveillance operatives in total awe. To say such a thing now, in the face of all that threatens our very survival. He smiled for a moment as another thought entered his mind. Hell, he should have my job. As Doland noticed his stare and turned to face him, he did the same.

Neither man seemed to have the words to say as they continued to face each other. The feeling in the air was surreal to them; the tide of the moment had turned, and hope that should have perished at the hands of the Covenant was now burning brightly. To all who were down in that surveillance operations facility, it felt to be an unconquerable force, the very thing that would fend off their savage enemy. And although it was not something they could wield in battle, their new-found hope seemed to promise that it would carry them on beyond their mortal limits, until every last foe that stood against them had perished.

But, although it felt that nothing could disperse his hope, a sense of urgency suddenly struck the Colonel as he realised where he would be required. Knowing he couldn't embrace the moment any longer, he stepped back a pace and turned for the door. As he neared it and placed a firm hand on its handle, he stopped for a second, momentarily overcome once again. Searching his corrupted soul for the right words to speak, he turned to his crew one last time, looking Doland straight in the eyes with the gratitude he'd never properly expressed before.

“Thank you,” he said, the simplicity of his words completely overshadowed by the resonance of his gratitude. And with that, he left his crew to inform the soldiers up on Mt. Arphos of the crushing events that had transpired without their knowledge.

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“Captain, we're getting hammered out here!” a Marine shouted as he and the few others left in his squadron leapt out of the way of yet another sickly green projectile screaming towards them. It crashed into the ground, searing snow and rock beneath as it dispersed into a seething pool of plasma. They barely had time to regroup before another projectile hurtled their way, forcing them to clear out once.

“Don't remind me, Sergeant!” Captain Goodman yelled back as he picked himself up from the icy clutches of the mountain. “Now that we've been left without air superiority for God knows what reason, we may as well present ourselves on a silver platter to those split-lipped bastards!” He, too, instantly put his oxygen mask back on. Despite the mask pumping a safe mix of oxygen and small traces of other gases for safe breathing without side effects, there was still more of a percentage of oxygen in the tanks that had been supplied to Sierra Company than in Atlas's regular atmosphere at sea level. But, even with this in mind, they had been advised to only take them off in periods of inactivity, for the thin amount of oxygen in the air around the peak of Mt. Arphos allowed very little stamina without the proper breathing apparatus. Even ten seconds of unaided running in such an environment would leave a regular Marine breathless.

“What about the Colonel? Shouldn't he have an explanation for why we've been left here?”

“Apparently, he's gone and left us as well! I suppose he thinks We can't get into the main entrance without his permission, and seeing he's not responding, we're all on our own!” Despite putting on a brave face, the Captain nearly choked on his words as he finished his sentence. Have we really been left to die?

Rick wasn't alone in his thoughts. The morale of Sierra Company was quickly fading as the realization hit, and as the Covenant continued to press onward towards them, they now found themselves pinned, unable to shake their assailants free. Those without heavy weaponry suddenly went in search of other soldiers who did, resulting in eight bands of men and women evenly spaced around Mt. Arphos who had each transported all available cover to their final holdoff positions, now determined to hold their enemy off until the bitter end. Despite the lack of solace that the thought gave, it would do for them.

HAUBERK Base's defence turrets picked up once more as Covenant aircraft decided to try their luck on another forward movement. The two remaining Skyhawks screamed past in yet another hit and run attempt, puncturing the hull of one Banshee and tearing the wing from another, sending both vehicles to their deaths upon the mountain below. If the overwhelming feelings of dread and anxiety weren't so commanding, the manoeuvre would have become boring after a while. But it was all they could do to hold the enemy back; two Skyhawks and a few other UNSC aircraft against an entire Covenant armada was hardly a fair match.

Closer and closer the Covenant came, the final kill just within their reach. In retaliation, Rodney got up from his position as something within him clicked and addressed his team. “Alright, Theta. Tangos have come in past optimal range, time to change up. Rendezvous at HAUBERK's entrance, now.” Baldemar nodded as Rodney glanced his way, and all four SPARTANs now dashed towards the western side of the building in a last, dire effort to accomplish their mission and survive.

Arriving at their destination within a matter of seconds, Boris immediately stepped over to his team leader as Theta was reunited once more. “How are we going to play this one out, sir?” he quickly asked, awaiting further orders. The fact that the Covenant were in their sights, advancing towards Sierra Company's now ragged defences, and yet Rodney wasn't gunning them down gave him a feeling of suspense; the likes of which he hadn't felt in a long time.

Rodney looked over to him, waiting a couple of seconds to sort the words on his tongue in order. “We hold here until Colonel Thompson lets us in,” Rodney ordered, a gravity to his tone. “We cannot let the Covenant breach this entrance. Once we're let back in, we are to help every last soldier capable of fighting get inside. As soon as everyone's in, we'll set up and resupply ourselves. From there, we wait it out. If the worst comes to be, and they do make it in there, then we'll be forced to retreat into the floors below, taking out as many as we can as we go.”

“But, Rodney, what if we are not let in?” Baldemar hesitantly asked, not really sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“He has to let us in. We're done for if he doesn't, and I am not losing any of you here today. That was our pact to the Admiral, remember?” Rodney's voice was without fault. He meant what he had said. I won't lose you, his mind echoed the words again.

“I remember, Rodney. I just do not like the situation we have been placed in. Besides, I thought that the Colonel does not trust you. How can you trust him with your life? With our lives?”

“I have no choice, Baldemar. The ball's in his park now. He's in there, and we're locked out. All I can ask is that he chooses the smarter option and saves his men.” A call to arms in the form of thunderous defence turrets made Rodney aware of his inaction. In one swift, fluid motion, he lifted his rifle up to a firing stance. His vision, aided by the BR55's scope, scanned the mountain side below in search of targets, and he was presented with an abundance of Covenant warriors to choose from.

Seeing Rodney ready his weapon, his team did the same. Finally, thought Boris, reinvigorated with purpose. The pause hadn't been good for any of them, for there was no logic to inaction on the battlefield, especially in such a situation as desperate as theirs. And as they began to pick off the massive force of Covenant, one by one, so too did the last of Sierra Company begin.

Bullets rained and explosions danced their way across the mountain; a spectacle as dazzling as it was deadly. Plasma raced back up in retaliation, and those in the way were forced to take shelter behind their cover; those not quick enough earned themselves an agonizing death as burning streams and bolts impacted flesh. And to the soldiers' horror, their teammates were dropping left and right. Sierra Company's efforts and pace immediately grew to try and compensate, but it seemed that the inevitable would finally catch up to them like time on an aged soul.

Emotion was swirling and bubbling as frustration grew. A few soldiers even started yelling out as the Covenant fell before their frantic defences, savouring what little courage it gave them. But, regardless of how many they could kill, the numbers advancing on their position weren't dwindling. The horde of Covenant warriors almost looked to be endless, and it was playing havoc with Sierra Company's minds. Even the most calm of soldiers were starting to become anxious.

“God damnit, sir, where the hell is the Colonel?” Boris asked, a trace of impatience discernible in his voice as his XM510 Multishot Grenade Launcher spat grenade after grenade down towards the seemingly unstoppable legion heading their way, each round going up in flames as it impacted against a solid surface. Unlike the M319 Individual Grenade Launcher, this weapon utilized a revolving chamber reloading system, allowing six grenades to be shot in multiple succession before any reloading was required.

“He'll be here, Theta. Don't you worry,” Rodney replied assertively, although even he was starting to lose his tentatively-placed faith in the ONI operative who had the choice of either saving or sacrificing their lives.

Boris was about to acknowledge his team leader, but was abruptly cut off by the almighty impact of a Skyhawk crashing head-on into the mountain, straight into a large group of the attacking army. The force of the collision aggressively shook the mountain as a massive fireball erupted from the wreckage, incinerating all within its fiery radius. The devastation was breathtaking, it was almost as if their gods had swept every living being within the vicinity of the crater off onto the Great Journey itself, freeing them of their burdens and promising them salvation everlasting.

But, as miraculous as the disaster was, the event had Sierra Company looking up to the skies, and the war up above seemed to be the final nail in their coffin. Covenant aircraft were amassed around the mountain, darkened skies behind them only adding to the chilling sight. UNSC air resistance was a rarity around Mt Arphos now, everything save a Skyhawk, a Sparrowhawk and the two Vultures had either left the air space with the initial fleeing before or had been gunned down in an almost suicidal attempt to keep the tremendous enemy air force at bay. And with every kill added to the tally, the Covenant gained an inch of ground closer to their target.

All seemed lost. Any hopes that they would make it out alive had ruthlessly been crushed. Any enemy that fell had more to take its place. The only light still flickering was Team Theta's pact, for they had sworn to Admiral Ferguson that the battlefield wouldn't take them. But keeping such a pact was a true test indeed, for now, the insurmountable odds against them still hadn't ceased their growth. The blackened skies above only added to the shattered last hopes that they had dared to have.

A wayward plasma grenade soared through the air, its trajectory altered by the explosion of a carefully aimed rocket that had hit the group it had been thrown from. A marine helplessly watched as it headed towards their fortifications, almost mocking him as it glowed a radiant blue against the night's sky. It made a soft thud as it landed just beside the barrier that protected him. It quickly began melting snow around it as the grenade reacted to its landing and prepared for detonation. But the Marine would have none of it.

To him, in that one moment, that single grenade represented all of the alien bastards that had been taking humanity out, world by bloody world. It represented all the bloodshed and murder that they had inflicted, it represented all the helplessness that humanity had felt as it was systematically attacked and overpowered, able to do nothing but escape and watch as their world was turned to molten glass. In the instant it landed, he snapped.

“I won't stand for this anymore!” he yelled as he quickly scooped a hand deeply under the snow that the sizzling grenade sat upon, seconds away from going off. He hefted the pile of snow up from the mountain, and with a triumphant cry, threw it back. His words were muffled by his oxygen mask, but his sudden ferocity wasn't.

The grenade didn't make it back to the Covenant front lines, instead igniting in mid-air. His group stood stunned by the marine's act, suddenly grasping what he had meant when he threw the sticky back. All that he had felt was now shared by those boxed up at his placed cover. And with a yell, they took the fight back to the enemy before them, ready to go out fighting for their race's survival.

Sparked by a sudden rush of resilience, the squad came out with guns blazing. While still behind cover, the Marines and ODSTs were now spending far less time hiding, as if what spurred them on would disapprove of cowardice and abandon them. Within a matter of seconds, their effectiveness had dramatically raised; the squad no longer intimidated by Death's presence before them as they continued to deliver more and more firepower down to their now alerted foe.

A few crack shots answered the squad's challenge, instantly killing off four soldiers who didn't get down in time. More plasma seared through the air, seeking out anyone who dared to stand up to the Covenant again. The squad was aghast, their added bravery extinguished almost as fast as it had come to them. A few more bodies fell as they continued to reel, suddenly finding themselves on the receiving end of a massive retaliation.

They weren't alone. The Covenant's advance had been rather slow-paced, as if they were gathering to watch the gods sweep their heretical enemies from existence. But now, they'd shifted gears like a predator who'd caught a trace of wounded prey. Sierra Company could barely hold them off even before they'd begun their final assault, now it seemed that there would be no chance to survive.

But, without warning, a counter-blow arrived. Over the cries of death and agony, Colonel Thompson's voice prevailed, calling Sierra Company to action. “Inside, now! Do not stop for anything, or anyone! As soon as the last able-bodied soldier is through this door, I'm locking it tighter than a camel's ass in a sandstorm, and the only way you're getting out is via the birds you flew in on. Move, people!” His voice rang with urgency, trying to make up for as much lost time as he could.

The timing couldn't have been better. Without a moment's hesitation, Sierra Company disbanded their cover setups, took all necessary equipment and bolted for HAUBERK Base's entrance, cheering as they ran. Where they had all but lost the hope that they were going to make it out alive a few seconds ago, now their hopes had risen from the ashes of despair, drawing power from the Colonel's return. But while they celebrated on one hand, they knew that the risk of being gunned down on the way over to freedom was still a very real possibility. Out of desperation, soldiers took shots as they ran, hoping it would slow their hunters down.

As those who'd been spread out around Mt. Arphos started nearing the entrance, Team Theta fanned out, doing their best to keep it as safe as possible for anyone entering. They were now the last four who had their full attention fixed on the Covenant, saving everyone else was a higher priority on their list than saving themselves.

“It seems you were right, Rodney,” Baldemar remarked, impressed by his leader's faith in someone he himself didn't trust in the slightest. “He did indeed make the better choice. But how could you have known that he would do so?”

“I didn't know.”

Theta's awe for Rodney went unspoken, yet it was discernible to him as if it were a presence standing at his side. Ever since the fateful day where the team lost two of its members, they had changed for both the better and the worse. While their raw, almost unchallenged effectiveness had made them a tremendous asset to the UNSC, the team had grown more and more secluded, slowly losing the ability to trust anyone outside of their team. Their deaths had hit Rodney the hardest, as he still blamed himself, even now. And as a result, while he was a formidably capable leader, his ability to put the lives of him and his team in the hands of others had been deteriorating over time.

His team-mates had been noticing this gentle decline, as it had been affecting them as well, albeit at a slower rate. The fact that Rodney had been able to trust the Colonel to come back for Sierra Company stunned them, for it may have been that if they had been asked to do such a thing, they weren't so sure they could last as long as their leader had. But the thought quickly passed, for there was no time to spare. And so the SPARTANs continued to defend HAUBERK Base's entrance, their aim scarcely off as shot after shot continued to find its mark.

Despite their significant losses, there were still a lot of soldiers around the mountain, leading to a constant stream of Marines and ODSTs trickling into HAUBERK Base. And although the tension in the air was thick, Sierra Company's mood had brightened drastically. But, as Rodney glanced over at the entrance, he saw a lone ODST crouching over a fallen comrade just out of the line. Worried that he too would be killed, Rodney yelled a command at him, urging him to carry on. But the ODST gave no response, not even so much as a flinch.

Driven by urgency, Rodney sped over and crouched beside him, placing his BR55 onto one of his magnetic attachments and grabbing him by the shoulders.

“You in there, soldier? Get a move on!” he insisted, not wishing to leave him to the wolves. But once again, the ODST gave no response. He didn't firm up in the SPARTAN's grip, lolling as he was shaken, too far gone in his grief to acknowledge the shaking he'd been given. Even over the tired cries and cheers around him, Rodney could still hear a faint sobbing.

Although he understood the trooper's pain, pushing away the memories of his own team-mate's deaths as they came to him, there was simply no time to waste. Rodney hefted him up onto his feet, and then ran towards the entrance, dragging him by the arm. The ODST kept pace to avoid falling down and being dragged through the snow, but he still looked to the body, his arm outstretched to it in yearning. They made it to the entrance quickly, and Rodney quickly whipped him into the inflow. He immediately turned around, joining the fight once more as he reselected his BR.

Fortunately, by the time he had begun to fire, the majority of Sierra Company had made it inside. And after a few more soldiers reached the entrance, Theta departed from the battlefield, killing off as many as they could as they stepped back into the ONI facility. As soon as Boris had made it through, Colonel Thompson immediately closed the heavy entrance door remotely from his terminal. It almost shook the building as it slid over, giving hope to those inside that it would hold the Covenant off.

Everyone was exhausted. The battle had been ruthless and demanding, and as soon as they'd gotten inside, most of Sierra Company had seated themselves upon the floor, gasping for breath as their rest craving bodies finally getting what they had been needing. Even Theta, who'd been the people to moved the most around Mt. Arphos by far, felt the effects of the battle, which gave them a sense of scale in how big their mission had been.

The Colonel stepped to the middle of the room, surveying what was left of the company that had put their lives on the line for all that HAUBERK Base held within. A quick headcount put the total figure left at 88, minus the nine pilots who'd stayed indoors and Theta. They had suffered staggering losses, and the rest of Sierra weren't a pretty sight to behold either. Total fatigue shrouded them as if it were a cloud of fog, and injuries weren't rare. Some had even been burned by plasma, gaping wounds left as a remnant of the Covenant's untamed violence.

Disheartened by what he saw, guilt eating away at him, the Colonel couldn't help but feel responsible. While he'd been down in the depths of his base, the soldiers lying around him had been getting slaughtered by an army of thousands, perhaps even more. The fact that they had even survived, let alone racked up such a kill count was an extraordinary feat. And if I'd been sent a lesser team, I would be standing here with nobody to thank, he thought, thanking his lucky stars that Sierra Company had done as well as they had. But still, it was justified. I had no choice. They have to understand.

Wars still raged within his head, and even though he did his best to keep himself composed, what'd he felt in the surveillance operations facility had dispersed as a broken company made their way back into his base. It seemed that he just couldn't keep his hopes alive, even after all the support he had been given. But nevertheless, the Colonel had received his orders, and he had no choice but to see them through. Summoning every last bit of resolve he had left, he addressed Sierra Company for the last time.

“I have been in contact with one of ONI's highest ranking officers, who has informed me of an urgent matter that has come to the attention of our personnel here on Atlas. Although the details are highly classified, I am able to tell you that we have learned of the Covenant's reasoning for attacking this planet, and that you will be sent out to hold off their main army as soon as possible.” His tone was matter of fact, almost emotionless, which was the near opposite of how he felt inside.

Sierra Company couldn't believe it. Although they made no audible protest, how they felt about having to fight an even larger Covenant force was plainly written across their faces.

“We are redirecting every possible soldier we can afford to take from around the planet to the site, and as we speak, we are amassing a main army of our own to counter their advance. This mission is of vital importance, far surpassing even this base in terms of worth to them. You will not let them get what they came here for, and that order is to be followed above all else. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Sierra Company replied wearily. Their bodies may have been broken, but their will to fight had not, even after all they had been through the last couple of hours. However, some injuries around the room were rather impairing and in need of medical attention. One of the company's corpsmen asked the Colonel for a quick moment to treat only the most serious of wounds, which the Colonel allowed.

While they worked, everyone else began to check their gear over. Extreme environments like the mountain outside were infamous for causing faults in weapons, and despite the rugged tenacity of most UNSC weaponry, some had indeed succumbed to the cold. Slight tremors were able to be felt as Sierra Company collected themselves and prepared for yet another mission, this was due to plasma impacting HAUBERK Base's exterior. This wasn't a good sign to the Colonel, for the tremors were becoming more and more frequent.

A few minutes later, most of the soldiers around had been treated as well as time constrictions would allow, and though the relief was not permanent, it would have to suffice. They were as ready as they could be to fight again.

As the coprsemen stood at attention, signalling that they had done all they could, Colonel Thompson nodded and asked Sierra Company to follow him up to the aircraft delivery bay, not wishing to take a look at the security terminal. He already knew what he'd see. As he led them towards the stairs up to the top floor, he continued speaking.

“By now, the rate at which we are able to defend this base will have significantly lowered due to your departure from the battlefield. As a result of this, our defence turrets and aircraft will have had to compensate by shooting at ground units as well as air units. This will likely mean that enemy units have closed the gap to a fairly close distance, and will be gaining more ground every second we waste. Also, this means that extracting you via D77-TC will be extremely risky.” He motioned for everyone behind him to go forward without him once they arrived at the ramps leading up to their Pelicans up on the landing pads.

“The instant that you are able to exit this base, you will need to form up,” he continued as he walked over to the activation terminal. At that moment, he was the only ONI operative in the building that wasn't standing by at a station deep within Mt. Arphos, at the very bottom of HAUBERK Base, where they would be escorted out of the mountain via a network of passageways that eventually took them down to ground level, so he had to extend the landing pads himself.

“Your pilots will have nine angles to cover, they will be using their dropship's armaments to clear a path large enough for you to escape without meeting impassable resistance. Once you've made it out of the immediate danger area, your pilots will instruct you on further details. They know only what we've legally been able to tell them, so critical matters will not be discussed with you. But you will be told enough to give you an adequate idea of what your mission will consist of.”

Sierra Company made their way up to the faithful Pelicans that had brought them to the mountain that had nearly ended them all, and the Colonel watched on, trying to stay detached and indifferent. But the sight before him had the power to pluck even his old, numbed strings and produce haunting melodies of pain and atrocity. Here was what was left of the surviving company that had saved his life. Just over half of them remained, barely any of whom were fit to run another mission. And yet, they would not stand down.

It had been an interesting morning for the Colonel. His courage and his hope had been built up and broken more times than he could ever remember, just over the past few hours. But if I lose hope again, even after seeing these soldiers survive against all odds and keep their stride, then I may as well hang up my insignia and abandon my role in this war altogether. His train of thought continued as it came to Team Theta's turn to ascend the aisle up to their mad dash at escape. His eyes fell upon their black armoured leader, the one who had dared to defy him over his orders. It pained him to see such a warrior, one that was willing to do anything and everything for the good of his team and their mission. You should know better by now. If you weren't listening when they taught you to fight, then you'll learn soon enough. There are some forces in this world that won't break, no matter how good you are. You have to fall sometimes.

As if he'd said it aloud, Rodney glanced his way, unsure what to make of the man now. It was clear to him that the ONI operative didn't hold him in very high regards, and although he couldn't bring himself to respect the man, he had to acknowledge the fact that he owed Colonel Thompson his life. But, even though that fact was irrefutable, it didn't have any power over the opinion he'd decided upon of him. In fact, Rodney found that he almost resented having being saved by the Colonel, as if he feared that he might use it as leverage against his team and discredit their effectiveness as a proper unit.

Before his mind got too deep into that scenario, Rodney snapped himself back to reality. With a hand signal, he instructed Boris and Henry to take the middle platform, as was their usual custom of fireteam transport. Rodney chose the catwalk that lead to the platform on the right hand side, seeing it was the last one that had a craft with any sitting room left, and Baldemar followed tensely, awaiting their order for takeoff.

By the time that everyone had settled themselves into their dropships, the pilots were ready to lift off, and each one sounded off via their coms. The Colonel was standing by with a transceiver tuned to the frequency of the Pelicans, and acknowledged each pilot as they sounded off. Once he had confirmed that all were ready, he gave the order to start engines. All nine Pelicans came to life with an ear-splitting roar, and the Colonel started counting down to the moment when he'd extend the landing pads.

Colonel Thompson and the nine pilots had gone over their orders multiple times, and the pilots knew their escape plan to the core. Once the pads extended up to the exit shafts, the pilots were to immediately take off and head straight for their destination, cutting down everything in their extreme vicinity and only worrying about targets that were close enough to pose a significant threat to their dropships once they'd made a gap in the Covenant force large enough for them to escape.

The Colonel reached the end of his countdown. “Extending pads now. Assume your formation.”

As soon as the ceiling panels started to slide down and the pads started to lurch forward, the nine Pelicans each lined up at a certain angle, creating a semi-circular formation in which there would be one of nine angles for each dropship to fire at. The pads had almost extended halfway by the time that the Pelicans had touched back down in their formation. Nerves were tightly wound, and everyone was on high alert as the pads took them inch by inch towards their only chance at escape. Where as the time hadn't mattered on their descent into the base, now the thirty second wait for the journey back up was insufferable. After what felt like years, the pads finally peeked out of their shafts and stretched out into a hellish night, and the pilots were sweating bullets as they proceeded to open up on the massive Covenant formation that hung in the darkened skies like a demon in black clouds.

Chapter Nine: Nightrun

A roar of screaming engines and frenzied gunfire completely took the Covenant by surprise; before they could even react, the Pelicans had devastated nearly half their minimum surroundings. But the element of surprise didn't remain effective for long, and soon the pilots were evading vast amounts of plasma fire. The pads retracted just as the Pelicans took off, allowing the ceiling panels to slide back down and protect HAUBERK Base's interior from any plasma damage. Their actions were flawless, all their planned processes had happened within split seconds of each other. The plan couldn't have been executed better.

But that didn't mean Sierra Company were in the clear just yet. Suddenly, the difficulty of their task presented itself to them in the form of a massive retaliation akin to that of a swarm of hornets protecting their nest from an intruder. The pilots were doing all they could to avoid any incoming fire while they kept on the task of clearing a gap and escaping, but, as was evident with how powerful the Covenant's return fire was, it was starting to look like they'd bitten off more than they could chew. No matter which way the pilots manoeuvred their dropships, their assault was simply too forceful to completely avoid.

The light at the end of the tunnel was growing brighter and brighter, but Death's damning touch was snapping at their heels as they worked to make a dent in the impervious armada that surrounded them. But as they traded blow for blow with the Covenant, it soon became clear that they needed to escape immediately, or they would perish.

“We can't hold up to this kind of ass-kicking much longer, men!” Senior Airman Daidalos shouted over his transmitter, trying to rally his fellow pilots for a last, final effort at breaking through. “18° west from true west, that's our most viable chance at breaking through. Converge on that point, now!”

His fellow pilots hailed in reply, and all nine dropships swiftly lined their sights on the point that Keith had marked; exposing all craft to additional plasma fire, but providing the struggling pilots with their only feasible means of freedom. Despite the risks it brought along, there was no other choice, and no time to second guess their chances. Their autocannons roared out to the night beyond, slugs being spat out at a blistering pace. The fighters and dropships that blocked their path couldn't bear the combined strike, and individually succumbed, one after the other.

Daidalos was beginning to see a real chance for them to slip through the cracks they'd formed. “That's the way, men! Keep the pressure on! Don't let them lay any more plasma into you, we'll be needing these birds to fly us all the way to Sierra's destination in one piece!”

He wasn't sure if he was seeing things, but it seemed that the Pelicans were firing harder in response to his encouragement. He leant forward in his seat, fingers tightly gripping the yoke's triggers. This is it, he thought triumphantly. The engagement had only lasted around twenty seconds so far, not enough time for the Covenant to form up on their enemy and bar their escape for good. But it was going to either take more firepower than they had, or a distraction to make their way through the blockade. And, according to the distress call that Keith was receiving, it seemed that they would be relying on the latter method.

“Attention, all pilots, this is Charlie-029, my bird is hit and I am going down, I repeat, I am going down.” Warning klaxons blared over the transmitter, fighting to be heard over the pilot's message. “I'm going to provide a distraction. You get out of here while I see how many I can take out with me.”

Every pilot who had heard was fighting to keep control of themselves, but ultimately, it was Keith's decision, and while he would take any other possible option to save the pilot's life, he realised that there was no other option, and that no matter how badly he wanted that Pelican with them, it had taken too much damage, and the distraction was the only thing it could hope to achieve that had the best chance of getting everyone else out alive.

“Very well,” he replied glumly, “it's been an honour flying with you, Paul.”

“Likewise,” the pilot replied over all the commotion in his cockpit as he banked hard left, aiming to do as he had said he would. The Pelican bulldozed its way through three Banshees that hadn't anticipated the manoeuvre and crashed straight into a Phantom, crippling both dropships past the point of flying. The Phantom was dragged down with ten soldiers and a pilot, paying the price for attacking Atlas.

Almost as quickly as they had appeared, the Pelicans darted through on Keith's order and quickly sped out of range, although only eight of the nine dropships made it past the Covenant's defence. They were not pursued; the wells of human information were too important to turn away from, so they let the ragged assortment of troopers escape.

Sighs of relief escaped the eight pilots who remained, and cheers muffled by oxygen masks and helmets went up throughout their Pelicans. It felt good to be alive, but the deaths of almost half their entire company put a sodden dampening on their silver lining. Keith contacted his fellow pilots to make sure that everything was still functioning and that they'd be able to make the trip safely. He didn't bother to mention the downed Pelican, he had seen it fall to let everyone else through.

Trying to console himself, Keith isolated his thoughts to keep his head clear. He needed as much focus as he could muster for the mission ahead, and he wasn't about to let a death deter him from his service to the UNSC. Slowly, one of the thoughts unfurled in another place, where it wouldn't interrupt any vital strands of concentration. The thought was of the deceased pilot, Airman Paul Koger. Of the ten soldiers who had been aboard his Pelican. They had died a tragic death, a death that they had no power to prevent, sitting back in the Pelican's blood tray.

The thought made Keith want to do a lot of things, but mainly, it made him want to bow his head and close his eyes. It was only human nature to mourn a death, but his mission expected more of him; to rise up above those who weren't capable and achieve the desired outcome. He had no choice but to continue, but he allowed himself a moment to flourish the thought as a means to honour those who had fallen. But, almost too quickly, his thought called to arms, hatred for his enemy quickly attempting to poison him. He instantly put the thought to rest, sighing a heavy sigh as he realized how hard the journey ahead would be for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is a sight I didn't wish to ever behold again, the Colonel thought to himself as he stood before a solid door that looked as if it would freeze his hand in place the very second he placed it on the handle. He almost feared that the door would have such intentions, as the door stood in way of an escape route through the mountain, down to a station that would provide the operatives of HAUBERK Base transport from the mountain to the nearest intact outpost, in which they could continue their work. Although the outpost was much smaller and would be more easily destroyed by any passing enemies, it was one of the only surviving facilities that would be of any use.

This escape route had been well hidden, requiring some intuitive thinking on the Colonel's part, almost forgetting the systems that needed to be activated and the code words that needed to be remembered, not to mention the almost archaic placing of the keypad that finally opened the door, as if it was alluding to the older days of hidden mechanisms; it was almost too well hidden. Archaic... that's a good way to describe it. He also considered the complexity rather ridiculous, but despite the problems it had, it was a near-foolproof way of eluding the Covenant menace forcing their way inside.

Expecting to recoil as soon as he touched its handle, Colonel Thompson tentatively reached forward and opened the door. It opened with relatively little effort, and while the handle was certainly cold, it wasn't as bone-chilling as he had thought it would be. Well, that's a start, he thought. But what of the passageway itself? He stepped through the door, letting it shut as he ventured forth into the last way out of HAUBERK Base, not particularly relishing the idea of having to leave. But still, I'd rather run the outpost than be executed.

To his surprise, the passageway surprised him in the same way that its door had: the relative lack of icy temperatures. Sure, it was cold, but it was considerably warmer than being outside on the mountain itself. There was little life support regulation through the dark hall to save power, but it appeared that systems that kept the rest of the base in ideal living conditions had been activated in there too for the time being. Although, without much surprise from the Colonel, it felt to him that they hadn't been on for very long, so while the conditions in the passageway were at least bearable, he found that he had started hugging himself, tucking his hands under his armpits to keep them warm.

Thankfully, for him, the cold kept him occupied. His mind had been through a lot this morning, and for once, it was only dealing with a minor annoyance. It kept repeating the thought of the temperature, and how joyful some warmth would be, but he welcomed the thought with open arms as he trudged along, nearing an elevator that would take him to the station level where the rest of his operatives would be waiting for him. As he stopped before the elevator doors, he tapped a button that opened them and stepped inside.

At his command, the elevator closed its doors, hiding the Colonel away from the cold and warming him back up again. But in doing so, it thawed his mind, releasing his thoughts of the slaughter above from their icy prison in his head. And yet, there was only one dominant thought that came to him: Team Theta. And despite their large part in the base's defence, his thoughts of them were critical, almost overly so. They have to be.

Ruthless in their judgement, his thoughts continued to toil and turn over Theta's performance in their mission. He could feel indifference forming against their motives, preferring effectiveness over better reasoning. Suddenly, the plight of Sierra Company didn't concern him in the least, he was too busy forming a conclusion. And as the elevator suddenly came to a halt, several hundred metres below HAUBERK Base, he found that he had reached it. So much for ONI's plan for a “perfect unit”, he thought. Let's hope the other one follows orders better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So far, they had only spend four minutes outside of the Covenant's blockade, drifting along the early morning sky in a haze of fatigue and battle-shock. While UNSC soldiers were expected to face strenuous tasks and live to fight another day, Sierra Company had taken an almost unfathomable beating up on the mountain that watched them go, pleading out for a saviour. And now, as they had the time to rest, the true effects of their suffering began to surface.

Now that the adrenaline from war had died away, a great, raw wound of defeat began to throb. The most that humanity could take from their war against the Covenant was that while their inferior technology resulted in mass losses of ships, they usually took victory in ground engagements thanks to superior tactics, even though their victories were not only scattered and costly, they were usually in vain, due to the Covenant glassing any planet they considered unworthy to live on. But this day had proved to be devastating to the troopers that had survived their earlier encounter, and their morale wasn't exactly in high spirits on the matter of their new mission.

Above all else, though, was the physical stress and trauma that had been inflicted upon them. As their mental punishment made itself known, so too did haphazardly healed wounds and a fatigue akin to that of days of combat. But, weary as they were, their Pelicans flew on towards the artefact site, indifferent to their pain. And while their progress was by no means slow, it felt all too slow for Sierra Company as the memories of those that had perished on Mt. Arphos played on in their minds. And for one soldier in particular, he found those memories inescapable.

Ever since he had boarded the Pelican, he had found himself lost within his own mind, hiding away from the bitter truth inside his memories. The events after his comrade's death had been a daze to him, people had been trying to communicate to him on the outside while he was searching for an answer on the inside. It had been like this from then onward, and it was only now that it came to him. Up to the surface he rose, as if his mind was an ocean, with the answers he wasn't sure if he was willing to accept.

She's... she's dead. The thought floated on, nothing to interrupt it as the waters around it were completely devoid of activity. That part he would have to deal with sooner or later. But other thoughts soon cast out to sea alongside it. I could have been with her...

Suddenly, the sea was no longer calm. Waves began to churn, foam seething from their tips like the anger that had now taken over. For a moment or two, he merely sat, riding the rapids of his thoughts. He looked down towards the Pelican's troop bay floor, but he did not see it. He was still too lost, the waves crashing and resounding through his head, dragging him away from peace. Bringing him back to reality, and rekindling the hatred and hopelessness he had felt at HAUBERK Base.

“I loved her,” he murmured aloud. The ODST beside him glanced over, for he had not heard his squadmate talk since Sierra Company's retreat into HAUBERK Base.

“Repeat? I didn't catch that,” his squadmate asked, not sure whether to be concerned or not. For a time, he did not reply. His squadmate fell under the impression that he hadn't heard the question. Just as he was about to ask again, the ODST stood up, his sights directly fixed on Theta's leader, yet his ambitions and emotions hidden by his visor. Rodney and Baldemar both tensed, even though they weren't sure if there was going to be a situation just yet.

“I loved her,” he repeated, although this time, he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear him. Rodney wasn't phased by the ODST, but his seemingly random comment puzzled him for a second. “You took me away from her. I wanted to be with her, but you took me away.” Suddenly, it made sense. Rodney's mind quickly flashed back to the mountain, where he had helped the ODST inside. Now he knew there would be a situation, and casually readjusted his posture so that he would be able to leap up and defend himself if necessary.

“Look, soldier. I was only tryi-”

“Why?!” the ODST suddenly demanded, his hand shakily moving up to the hilt of his combat knife. Everyone in the Pelican's troop bay now had their attention fixed on him, worried that he was going to do some damage. The two ODSTs on either side of him stood up to restrain him, but he took off before they could lay a hand on him. This was a mistake, for there was barely any distance between the two sides of the Pelican's troop bay, and he didn't even have time to draw his knife before he reached the other side and came face to face with Rodney. The SPARTAN merely raised a hand, grabbing the ODST's hand and holding it firmly in place, preventing him from removing his knife and leaving him incapable from causing any harm to anyone.

Rodney put a hand on the ODST's other shoulder, and walked him back a couple of paces, despite his attempts to resist and break free. He yelled and screamed, not able to forgive the SPARTAN for taking him away from the mountain. “I could have saved her! You never gave me the chance!” Rodney sighed, pushing down so the ODST was forced back down in his seat. He glanced at the two ODSTs on either side of him, who restrained their squadmate with a nod in reply.

Rodney sat back down, eyeing the frantic trooper with a sort of sadness. He sat like that for a while, waiting for him to stop resisting. It took a while, but eventually, he calmed down, his anger slowly washing away in his head. “What's your name, soldier?” Rodney asked, although he had a feeling that he already knew the answer.

“Vienna,” he replied bitterly. “Gunnery Sergeant Vienna.”

Rodney nodded. I thought so. “Listen, Vienna. Despite our differences, I still know how you feel about losing your squadmate.”

Vienna looked up, his helmet obscuring a scornful grimace. “Like hell you do, freak! I know your kind, you don't feel a goddamn thing! I'm not some lab-engineered conscienceless supersoldier like you, so don't tell me you know how I feel! You wouldn't know the first thing about what it's like to lose someone close to you! I bet you go through companions every other day, and you couldn't care less if they die or not!”

Rodney did his best to try and restrain himself from busting a wall through the Pelican's troop bay and tossing the ODST through it. He wasn't even sure if he'd be able, but he hoped that he wouldn't have to find out. But even still, his hands started to clench at his sides, slowly denting the bench he was so tightly gripping. The occupants of their Pelican noticed his sudden change in demeanour, as well as the dents he was making in the metal he sat upon, and alarms started ringing in their heads.

The black armour-clad SPARTAN slowly stood up, and Vienna found himself unable to move, as if Rodney's intimidating presence was a tangible force holding him in place. Even still, the ODSTs started to apply more force in holding him back. Two steps was all it took for him to reach the other side of the troop bay, and suddenly, Vienna found himself staring up at Theta's leader. Rodney looked to those holding Vienna back for a few seconds each, as if he was trying to send a thought to them. Then, as slowly as he had made his way over, he reached out for Vienna's right shoulder, gripping it fiercely and lifting him up until they were eye to eye. Rodney reached out with his other hand, slipping it under his left shoulder and holding him in place. The ODST struggled, twisting and writhing, but there was nothing he could do to break the iron grip he had found himself caught in.

“Our team was once sent aboard a Covenant supercarrier on a mission, with two other squads of SPARTANs.” His voice was deep and menacing, hints of distant thunder rumbled as he spoke. This time, Vienna didn't interrupt him. “Not only did we lost both of the squads that came with us, I also lost two of my own team that day. To this very day, those memories have not faded one bit. I feel certain that they will not leave me until the day I am taken from this life. My team are the same. I know this because it was all of us who agreed to continue on without them, and not have their places filled in our team. That is how we have continued on since then, and we will do so until this war is decided.”

Vienna could do naught but listen as Rodney bared what remained of his soul, his anger towards the SPARTAN diminishing with every word. He eventually stopped struggling against his grip, and succumbed to the warlord's tale. “I may not be what is considered human,” he continued, his voice resonating with offence and outrage, “but that that doesn't mean I don't feel for your loss. I've been there. I know how hard it is. But you don't become an ODST by yelling at officers and losing the will to live after your friends fall. They picked you because they saw something in you that others didn't have. I'm sure they must have at least hardened you up somewhat with all that extra training that ODSTs receive. Let's see you put it to good use, Corporal, and deal with it.” Rodney lowered him back down and stepped back again, returning to his seat beside Baldemar. Vienna stared at him for a while, then nodded.

Those in Keith's ship, November-315, at least, had something else to ponder on for the duration of their flight. Everyone else onboard the formation of Pelicans could only sit and deal with all the hurt that they had suffered. It made for a very long flight, and when it had been announced that they were only twenty minutes away from their destination, Sierra Company could at least take some happiness from the thought that they wouldn't be alone with their thoughts much longer. But it was what would meet them at the artifact site that troubled them the most.

It was this announcement that started them up again, however, for soldiers started to casually check their gear over without even realising they were doing it. News of near arrival had begun to bend the obstruction of idleness, and scrape the pain away from their minds like the rust from an assembly. Gears began to turn once more, and simple tasks such as maintenance and repair were performed, almost before the soldiers were aware of it. Guns were disassembled and cleaned, damaged parts were replaced, and tactical gear was looked over and scrutinized.

Their preparation proved to be a reassuring sign, for when the announcement that they were merely ten minutes away from their destination came about, there was much less dread than when they had first been assigned to the artifact site back at HAUBERK Base. At first, their time by themselves up in the skies of Atlas had done them little good, for dark gates had opened and set free thoughts that would likely drive a man to his knees if he ever had the misfortune of thinking them. But this had allowed Sierra Company to overcome their sorrows, and the mental wounds of near-annihilation had ceased to become an immediate problem.

After the announcement, Sierra Company's pilots began going over their mission, each pilot informing the passengers of their ship. The brief was fairly short; since there was so much classified information, they had only been told the bare minimum of what the mission assigned to their company entailed, and that wasn't exactly a lot. All they were allowed to know was there was a highly classified site in need of protection from the Covenant's amassing army, and that the UNSC were amassing their own army in an attempt to hold them off.

The artifact site was located in a great crater-like canyon named the Jacinto Canyon, measuring miles in its expanse. The canyon had dried out after millions of years, so all that remained on its floor was dust and sand. Many offshoots ran along its walls, and Sierra Company were heading along one of the narrow passageways as a means of eluding any Covenant patrols that may have been set up to watch the natural paths that snaked in and out of Jacinto Canyon.

Deciding to satisfy his curiosity, Rodney stood up and walked over to the cockpit, instantly noticed by Vienna as he moved. He wasn't sure if the stare was still from anger, or now from sympathy, but that didn't worry him too much. Before he entered, he engaged his team comm. link and asked Boris if he knew which Pelican he had chosen to fly aboard, and Boris replied with the designation that their pilot had informed of during their brief.

“Could you point out which aircraft of the seven in front of us is designated Charlie-076?” Rodney asked, having stepped up just beside Keith's seat.

“Charlie-076? That would be...” He paused for a moment, his finger moving across the windscreen on the hunt for the aforementioned Pelican. “The one on the second right there, the one with the busted troop bay door.” And sure enough, after another hail over his team comm. link, Boris poked his head out of the hole and saluted to his officer.

Returning the salute with a grin behind his helmet, Rodney turned back to the pilot and thanked him for his assistance. But, just as he was about to head back into the troop bay and resume his wait until they landed, a voice over Keith's intercom urgently warned of a Banshee squadron coming over the cliff to their left. The narrow canyon had boxed them in to the point where evading would likely result in a collision; it had been a gamble, but Sierra Company's pilots had chose to favour a stealthy entrance in favour of flying out in the open. Running into an enemy patrol group was a scenario they had hoped to avoid, but now they were left with no choice but to angle up and attack their assailants hard and fast before they could receive any damage.

“Son of a bitch! Pull up, open fire! Neutralize them before they can damage these Pelicans any further!” Keith ordered, his voice amplifying a build-up of panic. On his command, the eight Pelicans reared and quickly set themselves to work on eliminating their potential slayers as the Banshees sprayed them with searing plasma fire. Rodney was forced to hold on to the cockpit entrance to keep himself upright, the magnetic soles in his boots chained him to the troop bay's floor and kept him from slipping back.

The two formations charged at each other, the Pelicans out of sheer necessity, the Banshees out of their orders to let no other humans reach their army and add to the infestation. Plasma and lead sped past each other, and both sides bore the brunt of each other's attack. Almost as quickly as it had began, the battle ended. Not a single Banshee escaped the combined targeting of such heavy weaponry, but the price they paid was all too much for Rodney.

Sierra Company's transport had survived the encounter; scathed, but still in working order. One Pelican had lost one of its four propulsion nacelles, mildly destabilizing the craft's flight behaviour. It flew like a dog or cat would walk with a limp in one of its legs. But, what had Rodney concerned the most was the fate of the Pelican that Boris and Henry resided in. It had been hit directly by two fuel rod rounds; unable to hold itself together, it had exploded and scattered its occupants across the canyon below. All Theta's leader could do was hope they had locked their armour as he stood, immediately attempting to get in touch with the two SPARTANs via their team comm.

“Boris! Henry! Report! Can you hear me! I repeat, can you hear me?” But all that answered him was the abyssmal emptiness of static.

(Next chapter inbound. Or at least, some of it.)

Chapter Ten: Detour

For a moment, Rodney could feel his world beginning to crumble. His team was the foundation upon which he had built his immense set of skills. The deaths of his first two team mates had swept through his being like a raging storm, leaving him with a battered mindset and unrelenting determination to rebuild, erecting new in place of old. But this was too much for him to take. Such a toppling thought was akin to an otherworldly beast laying waste to the world that he had made for himself and his team. It simply couldn't be. And thus, the destruction ceased, and he was free to think rationally once more, albeit with a vice of fear clamped around every thought to register within.

However, just because he had staved off the mental devastation that had so nearly levelled the surface of his mind, it did not mean that the strain of such an exertion would leave him in a flexible state of mind. His thoughts folded together, merging into one lane that met at its destination with no obstructions or offshoots, closed off from any alternative outcome. He paced the length of the Pelican's troop bay a couple of times, unable to shake his decision. Baldemar stood to met him as he strode past, and Rodney stopped to acknowledge his team-mate, but it was obvious to both of them that no words would suffice.

Frantically, he approached the cockpit, Baldemar at his shoulder. Nearly unable to restrain himself, he reached a hand out, gripping their pilot's shoulder and stooping down to speak on his level. “Please, you have to go back! I need to check on my team! They're somewhere down in the wreckage!”

Keith slightly turned his head towards the SPARTAN, keeping his eyes fixed on the skies ahead. “I'm afraid I can't do that, sir, this mission takes priority over any other matters. I apologize.”

This was not an answer that Rodney was willing to accept. Without realizing it, his grip on Keith's shoulder became tighter and tighter, as if gears of instinct were pulling his hand closed beyond his consciousness. “You don't understand, my team is down there! I have to get down and assist them! Hell, even their vital readings are on the fritz after that explosion, I can't even tell if they're alive or not! Please, you have to go back!”

The pilot began to explain yet again of his constricting orders, but was cut off as the grip on his shoulder became too painful for him to tolerate. A gasp of pain escaped Keith's mouth as he flinched, attempting to bat Rodney's arm away, to which the SPARTAN became aware of how tight his grip had become, and removed his hand meekly. “Look. My orders are to be followed otherwise, and as badly as you want off this ship, you just don't have the authority to overrule my orders. I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be.” Rodney could tell that the words spoken to him attempted to appease his pain, but his wounds were cut too deep into him to be healed by a mere apology.

Pacing the length of the troop pay as would a caged predator, he debated madly with himself as to what his course of action should be as everyone else watched on. I can't leave them there. I can't! And so, he decided, he would not. He wildly turned around, arms about him as if he'd lost his way amongst a crowd and his gaze fixed on Baldemar. At this point, his team-mate knew that Theta's leader was going to do something drastic, but not even he could foresee what Rodney had in mind. Rodney paced towards the troop bay door, allowing Baldemar to stand and trap his leader in a confined space. But as he attempted to calm him down, he found himself being gently pushed back. He found no threat in the action, so he did not choose to retaliate with force. Rodney walked him back into the cockpit, and when they came to a standstill, he spoke. His voice was dampened with absolution, and Baldemar had to strain to hear what was being told to him.

“We have to save them, Baldemar.” And with that, the SPARTAN turned around in a heartbeat and sped for the door. He braced himself for the impact, gaining an unconquerable momentum in just a few mere steps. Metal collided with metal, and before anyone except Baldemar had time to react, Theta's leader had crashed through the Pelican's troop bay door with a thunderous crash. The door flung wide open, and despite the robustness of its build, it was not meant to withstand such punishment. The door snapped from its hinges, plummeting to the world below. Baldemar stopped just short of the edge of the cargo bay, staring out into the canyon below as he caught sight of his leader. “Follow me. Lock your armour,” he heard over Theta's comm. link, and without another choice to take, he sighed and leapt after his Commander, every thought in his head protesting the decision.

Through the night they tumbled, both SPARTANs having locked their armour to survive the fall, the hydrostatic gel layers within the suit pressurizing to withstand the impending collision. The Pelicans had flown back down into the canyon once more after their surprise engagement, so the fall was not from a truly dizzying height. Even so, Baldemar had greatly hesitated upon the Pelican's ledge, for the idea of jumping from a dropship to meet the canyon's surface below did not particularly mix well with his sense of logic. Wind and air blasted past them as their velocity increased, roaring in their ears and distracting them from any coherent thought, just as it had been for Rodney back on the Pelican.

With the momentum of a freight train, Rodney slammed into the ground, the collision jarring him to the extremities of his limits. His armour groaned and screeched as it grinded against the rocky canyon floor, and he shortly came to a stop, rolling onto his back and staring up into a world that wavered and distorted. The effort to stay conscious quickly became herculean, but Rodney was spurred on by an almost instinctual drive to rescue his two team-mates, and he resisted the serene invitation for rest with every last bit of his resolve.

His armour unlocked, and as he felt his body fall limp, he attempted to sit up. Upon doing so, his bearings shifted greatly, and he was once again unable to keep his grip on the world around him as it swam before his distant gaze. Slowly, he forced a rigidity down, and like an anchored ship, his presence came to a halt, the night returning to its previous manner. Securing his posture by resting his arms behind him, he studied the environment around him, methodically checking over the inner systems within his heads-up display and making sure that neither he nor his suit had been damaged.

Looking in the general direction that Sierra Company had flown towards, he spotted Baldemar groggily rising to his feet; a reassuring sign that challenged Theta's leader to stand also. As he rolled over onto his hands and knees to lift himself up off the rock he rested upon, Baldemar approached his Commander, worried sick that his impromptu decision may have cost him greatly. Neither man seemed injured upon their initial inspections of each other, although the way that Rodney wobbled on his hands and knees had Baldemar slightly concerned.

Extending a hand out for Rodney to grasp, Baldemar helped his leader to his feet. After a second spent composing himself, he gave a curt nod of thanks and turned to begin the journey towards his fallen comrades. But as soon as he attempted to move out, a hand clasped his shoulder. He turned to meet a blue visor fixed on him, and he could now see the concern etched on it, as if it projected the worry from his face.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Baldemar asked, his tone of voice suggesting that he was on the verge of an outburst.

“Permission granted.” Rodney braced himself for an onslaught.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I am well aware of the situation at hand, and I am ready to do whatever I can to help our team, but I will not have you potentially risking your life on such a needless and reckless plan! Not only are we disobeying orders, but you have also forced the door off of the Pelican we had boarded! Damaging UNSC property! What we're doing isn't going to do us any favours in terms of where we stand, you must know this!” He would have continued his rant, if it were not for Rodney interrupting him by brushing the grip off of his shoulder.

“Look,” he started, an air of finality about his words. “We're down here now, where we need to be. We're alive, and we're unscathed. Let's worry about the repercussions later and go save our team. Understood?”

Baldemar hesitantly nodded, still wracked with concerns despite Rodney's attempt to alleviate them.

“It'll be okay, Baldemar. This isn't something we can't justify.” Rodney turned, not wanting to delay any longer. Taking a couple of steps forward, he suddenly crouched and took off, launching into a sprint that would carry him across the canyon. Left with no choice but to follow, Baldemar repressed his fears and took off after the black armoured SPARTAN, forcing aside the worries that Rodney had shrugged off.

Across the canyon they raced, each powerful stride bringing them closer to the crash site. The frantic rhythm put their burdened mind at ease, for such a pace was not easy to maintain, and the distraction from castaway worries snapping at their heels was welcomed with open arms. Neither could be sure exactly how far away the rest of Team Theta were from their current location, for their optics suites, even at their maximum range, could not pick anything out from the obscured canyon, regardless of what spectral field they observed in. Both had concluded that distance was to blame, and so they kept running.

While they ran, Rodney weighed their endurance versus the distance of their team. We can't have flown too far away from them. I'm still surprised that we're too far away from them to pick anything up. While the endurance of a SPARTAN was next to none, still he questioned whether they would be able to make it to the artifact site in time to make a difference in what he surmised to be a battle of staggering proportions. Whether they would actually make a difference was another matter, one he didn't wish to linger on.

Above the clashes of rock and metal, the two suddenly became aware of a faint whine approaching from over the cliffside to their right. You've got to be kidding me. “More patrols?” Rodney asked over their team comm, mentally punishing himself for not anticipating any more resistance.

“So it would seem,” Baldemar replied warily, actively searching for any means of hiding from what they guessed to be a Spirit dropship on the prowl. A hand signal from his leader made him aware of a cluster of loose rock, and both SPARTANs quickly made their way to the rocks and scrambled into their midst, effectively burying themselves and removing them from the watchful searchlights of the passing Spirit.

Although the wait was not an extensive one, it still troubled them greatly; the rest of their team was likely on the Covenant dropship's path, and even though there was no other sensible choice but to let the Spirit pass and follow cautiously, the fact that they would not be able to reach their team-mates before the Covenant sneered at them, fraying their already weary nerves. Rodney peered out of the loose rock after checking his weapons over for any damage from the fall, spying down the canyon with his helmet optics.

“I can see the crash site now. That must mean we're at least a kilometre from their position,” Rodney nervously reported, scraping together a plan. “It'll take us at least approximately a minute and twenty seconds to get over there and intercept them, so we have to time this down to the dot. Fire from range, we don't know what sort of infantry that ship is holding. How many clips do you have left for your assault rifle?”

“Only two, and my second has but fourteen bullets remaining.” Baldemar could sense that he was the weak link in his plan, and even though his close-quarters skills were sufficient enough, he didn't want to take the risk of getting in close. In response, Rodney handed him the M7S he had been using as a secondary weapon up on the mountain.

“That should do the trick,” Rodney said as he handed over all his ammunition for the silenced SMG. Clambering out of the rock, he set his sights on the Spirit ahead as Baldemar stepped out beside him. Already, both SPARTANS had their optics locked on the dropship, and anticipated its drop-off as a beast would anticipate the chase after its prey. The very second that signs of slowing and descent showed themselves, they began to run.

Critically analysing their timing, Rodney felt fairly confident that they had taken off at the correct moment, and that all that was left of their rescue mission was to eliminate whatever emerged to inspect Theta's crash site. “Hopefully, we can catch them as soon as they've been dropped off and take them by surprise.” Though the statement was more of a reassurance to himself than it was advice to Baldemar, it still served both purposes well enough, and both soldiers sped with purpose driving them past the limits of mere men.

Ahead, the Spirit gracefully levelled out a couple of metres above the canyon floor, opening its doors to release a search party intent on inspecting the human crash site and finishing off whoever remained. Soldiers nimbly hopped out, as one stayed behind to speak with one of the pilots.

“You are sure that you do not wish for your transport to linger here while you inspect the human ship, Girugus?” the pilot asked, not sure what to expect.

“I am sure. You speak as though you sense a trap,” the Brute Captain replied, his tone suggesting he thought little of the Sangheili's courage.

“I know not of what lies within those remains. Humans are tenacious and cunning; this situation resonates with a foreboding as such.”

“Do you not believe the received reports of the fighter pilots that you read to us? A clean kill was confirmed.” Splaying a hand over to the Pelican's wreckage to reinforce his point, he continued. “The scattered metal before us implies this. You truly believe humans are capable of withstanding such devastation? Even if they could, they will be in no condition to offer any worthy resistance.”

“I merely interpret what my intuition tells me. My brothers of old have fallen victim to such attacks before. I would not risk this squadron's safety without at least some means of superior firepower at hand. If not here, than at least some small distance further on from here.”

“I would expect no less from your kind, Sangheili. Leave us be for now, while we recover what we can from here. I would prefer such firepower up overhead, on watch for any more humans wishing to reach what the Luminary has discovered. You would at least be more useful then, rather than as you are now; whining in fear of what could be.”

The Sangheili pilot muttered in disgust, almost hoping that the Jiralhanae would meet their end in an ambush from the human wreckage as he prepared to take off again. “Very well. I will circumnavigate the canyon and return at a later time.”

Girugus leapt from the Spirit's bay doors, letting them close as their transport ascended to the shrouded skies. “Sangheili,” he spat to his pack that stood before him, “cowards! Why we have not arose past their status by this point is a mystery to me.” His pack roared in agreement, and the other Covenant accompanying them stiffened at the blood-curdling yells.

As the Covenant squad maliciously approached what remained of the Pelican, so too did Rodney and Baldemar, watching as the Spirit took off once more. Both SPARTANs let out a heavy sigh of relief at the sight; neither of the two had any idea how they were going to take the Covenant ship down. Still though, it won't be gone forever. He quickly lifted a hand to his comm, relaying his concerns to Baldemar. “We're going to have to work fast, otherwise they might get hold of Boris and Henry before we do, and that Spirit may return while we're still fighting.”

“You voice my own thoughts on the matter,” Baldemar replied. “We should be arriving at optimal range approximately... now.” He unlatched one of his three remaining grenades, priming it and leaping into the air as he tossed with all the necessary might in order to propel it towards his target. Rodney took that as a cue to begin lining up his shots, and he skidded to a halt in order to lower himself to one knee, waiting for Baldemar's grenade to detonate.

Both SPARTANs watched as the grenade soared through the air, hissing ferociously as the chemicals mixed inside. Girugus's keen hearing picked up the sound, and he turned alertly to check his surroundings. To his surprise, a frag grenade bounced a few metres ahead of him and settled beside his feet. With a rumbling growl from deep within his chest, he kicked the grenade away and ordered his squad to be on alert. He could almost hear the Sangheili pilot mocking him as he scanned the general direction where the grenade came from.

Damnit. In reply, Rodney signalled to begin firing, to which Baldemar began shooting at one of the two Jackals, aiming for the small gap in their defence gauntlet. His small burst of bullets struck the Jackal's hand, causing it to flinch and recoil from the sudden, blinding pain, allowing him to aim for its body and finish it off. He moved his crosshairs over to the second Jackal as Rodney quickly took out all three Grunts, the last to die barely having time to question his faith as a burst of three bullets sent him on.

As they both fluidly moved their aim over towards the four remaining Brutes, they found that all four had taken cover behind the Pelican's wreckage. Both SPARTANs quickly found themselves to be prime targets as returning fire blazed towards them. They quickly split up, coming to the realization that the only cover around the immediate area had already been taken over, and that neither of the two had anywhere to go. If we even try to get near enough to use any of the other wreckage, we'll be shot to bits, Rodney thought as he strafed and ducked, only able to dodge so much of the shots being taken at him. His shields quickly flared up, protesting the abuse they suffered at the hands of the Brutes in cover.

Taking quick shots every time they found the chance, they occasionally forced one or two of the murderous Jiralhanae back behind their haven, lessening the barrage they had to withstand just enough to let their shots ring true, and within a few more bursts, Theta had the advantage back on their side of the field. The Brutes tried to wrench it back from their grasp, but every time they rose from their cover, they were forced back down again once more, lead smashing into their shields, denied the killing blows they wished to inflict.

Near the edge of his vision, Baldemar saw his leader snaking his way towards the repurposed wreckage, drawing closer with each successive strafe. Hoping he was reading the situation right, Baldemar slipped away to the left with the finesse of a veteran infiltrator, deflecting all his attention to Rodney. A quick glance from his leader confirmed his hopes, and Baldemar began a crouched run towards the Pelican's remains, watching forward in case his vanishing tactic hadn't succeeded.

Up ahead, a Brute emerged from the wreckage, its expression manic and its eyes bulging. Sick of hiding from its prey, it launched itself forward with as much fury as power, marauding towards the black-armoured Demon with the anger of an entire bloodline surging through its veins. Bullets struck its shields instantly, faltering with every impact. They soon gave way, abandoning the Brute in his darkest hour. Another three-round burst followed suit, and it fell forward, thumping into the ground and rolling over, its life quickly spilling from its wound.

As Rodney finished off his assailant, Baldemar reached the main bulk of the Pelican's fuselage that the Brutes had taken shelter behind. He slowed his run down to a crawl, then stopped, poised to strike like a coiled viper. Taking his last grenade from his belt, he primed it to fire and lightly tossed it over the hunk of metal that separated the two opposing forces. It landed with a resonant thud against the rocky floor of the canyon, and all three remaining Brutes instantly sought to escape the impending blast.

While his pack brothers dove to either side of the human grenade, Girugus took a chance, hoping the gods would approve of his bravery. He leapt over the Pelican with unrivalled power, spotting the Demon as he sailed overhead. You have rewarded me, oh, gods, he thought as he swooped down to crush the Demon beneath his boots, and I will repay your kindness with the blood of these heathens. But, as he soon saw for himself, this would be no easy task. Inferior human weaponry fired up at him, meeting his power armour head-on and disposing of its shields before he had even met the ground below.

Baldemar quickly leapt aside, gracefully following through and pushing himself back up onto his feet as he turned around to meet the Brute Captain charging him once more. The sight almost caught him off-guard, and he only just avoided having his gun swatted from his hands as the Brute raked at him with its monstrous paw. He lowered his gun for a moment, ducking under the strike, then launching himself forward and attempting to knock the Brute backward in an effort to give himself room to fire the killing blow.

Girugus refrained from changing his fighting stance, even at the sight of a Demon warrior attempting to collide with him. Instead of defending and using the Demon's own momentum against him, he strode forward once more and brought his behemoth leg up, forcing his knee out and into the Demon's defences. He noticed his opponent had managed to react fast enough to bring its arms up and somewhat deflect the blow, but Girugus knew that at least some damage had been done. Not even an opponent such as the one before me could present itself unscathed after such an attack.

While Baldemar saved himself from meeting the Brute's knee with his helmet, he was still flung back as thought he had been hit with a wrecking ball. His shields dissipated under the immense impact, and sparks flew as he grinded along the canyon floor, a horrific screech of metal clashing with rock echoing along with him as if his suit had found a way to vocalize its suffering. Just before he came to a halt, Baldemar rolled backward, using his last momentum to right himself once more so he could rally his defences as quickly as possible.

Baldemar's mind flashed for a second as he lifted his hand away from the grip of his gun, up to his team comm. “Sir, on me,” he quickly spoke over their line, his eyes firmly locked on the charging Brute before him, watching the shields on the monster flicker back to life. His hand left the comm. and flew back down onto the shotgun's rugged grip, and, Baldemar quickly fired another shot, leaving it susceptible to their weaponry once more. He immediately entered a defensive stance, stepping to the left as a paw swiped upwards at where he had been standing a second ago. Three bullets struck the Brute in the skull, and it fell forward on its own momentum, crashing to the floor below with a resounding impact.

Having knocked off the proverbial head of the beast, Rodney brushed his sights back over the Pelican, watching for the two remaining Brutes to show themselves once more. But as he kept watch on their last known position, they did not surface to meet the challenge. His HUD recognized Baldemar as Rodney watched him sneak back up to the Pelican, and as Baldemar inquired as to the plan with a simple look back over his shoulder, Rodney began strafing around to the side of the wreckage in a wide arc. “On my mark, jump the wreckage and engage the contacts at point blank,” he ordered over their comm., hoping to create a distraction that Baldemar could act upon.

Both SPARTANs tensed as Rodney neared a point where he'd be able to see behind the Pelican, and as soon as he got to that point, Spiker rounds immediately tore through the air towards him, driven on the bloodlust of the Brutes. “Mark.” Rodney continued to fire, while Baldemar nimbly leapt up on top of the wreckage, careful as to not land too loudly and alert the Brutes of his presence. Sensing an opportunity, he carefully laid down his shotgun and drew both of his combat knives, moving up to strike like an assassin from days long past.

Pushing off from the Pelican, he sailed through the air, legs forward and body poised for the kill. He landed between the Brutes, deftly bringing both of his knives down into the necks of either Brute. His inertia brought the Brutes face-first into the ground beneath them, and were it not for the unfathomable pain of the blades, they would have immediately tended to their broken faces. From an outside point of view, it would have seemed that the time for tension had passed with the lives of the Brutes, but Rodney and Baldemar didn't take a moment's rest after the immediate threats to their team had been neutralized. In their eyes, the gravity of the situation had only worsened, for now, their uncertainty as to the fates of their team-mates would stand the test of reality.

Without even stooping down to retrieve his knives, he quickly set off around the wreckage, searching desperately for a sign that Henry and Boris had landed near their encounter. Wounded metal laid scattered like the lost souls of a ravaged city, and he knew that his comrades could be anywhere amongst the remains. Thoughts of incertitude wracked his already fragile hopes of finding them, and he almost had to stop his search to calm himself. If only their tags were visible, he thought, concerned by the fact that he couldn't pick up any signals from either suit. This implied that both suits had taken serious damage in the fall, possibly to the point of irreparable fault.

Rodney's voice quickly brought the fleeting Lieutenant back to attention. “Baldemar, here. I've found Boris.” Baldemar took off at once, arriving beside his Commander as fast as he could. Rodney was clearing debris from on top of the unconscious SPARTAN, and it was obvious that getting him out would not be an easy ordeal. But with both men feverently working to set him free, eventually they managed to release him from his prison. His body was rigid, telling Rodney that his armour was still locked. And yet, he still wasn't receiving any data from his suit.

Thinking quickly, Rodney opened up a compartment in his right forearm gauntlet, revealing two black wire jacks. He flicked his wrist, swinging the wires around and catching them in his hand. With the other, he selected two adapters, sliding them out of their pre-determined slots and attaching them to his wires. Stooping down to one knee, he reached down with his free hand and opened the same compartment on Boris's gauntlet. Reeling out the same two wires from his suit, he gripped them with his free hand and inserted them into the adapters from his own suit.

“Are you sure your suit will be able to restart his?” Baldemar asked, taking a seat beside his Commander who now sat cross-legged, his stare gripped by the sight before him.

“I can't count on it, Baldemar.” He spoke without turning towards him; it seemed that he was completely immersed in his work, though all he did was watch and wait. “But we've got to at least try. It shouldn't take much power to get his suit running again, but whether it only needs a reboot or a constant external power source is yet to be determined.”

Reawakening Boris's armour was an eerily silent process, and the many layers of tension hanging in the air around them only amplified the nausea deep within either man's knotted gut. With only the slain Covenant around them for company, Theta watched on, hoping against hope that they could get their friends out of the mess they'd found themselves in alive. After a few minutes, Boris's service tag appeared over his suit along with an ally indicator. His suit was online. Rodney and Baldemar exchanged a glance of relief, either SPARTAN beaming beneath their helmets.

From his TAC-PAD, Rodney was able to access the suit mechanics of his team-mate's armour and unlock it once more. With a button press of confirmation, the SPARTAN fell limp before them. Now, it was just a matter of waking him up. Accessing his vital readings, Rodney made sure that he was alive and uninjured before he decided to properly handle him. He rose to one knee and delicately raised Boris up to a sitting position, then lifted his arms up and slightly pulling them back, applying pressure to his chest and trying to force some stimulation into his system. Within a few seconds, Boris awoke with a groggy start, which prompted his leader to drop his arms and assess the man.

“Name and rank, soldier,” Rodney ordered, beyond relieved.

Boris slowly looked around to his leader, a smile inching its way across his face as he recognized the man before him. “Boris-081, Lieutenant. Sir.” Rodney offered a hand up, and Boris clasped it gratefully. After a few seconds of blissful silence, Rodney pressed on with his assessment.

“From what I could read on you, your electronic systems seem to be operating normally. Can you confirm this?”

After a few seconds of silence, Boris searched his whereabouts for a gun. Realising that all of his were either missing or wrecked in the fall, he had to quickly borrow the M7S that lay at Baldemar's feet. Picking it up, he assumed a firing stance, checked over his systems once more, then fired a burst over at the canyon wall opposite them and replaced the magazine with a fresh one, placing the minimally used one back into an ammo pouch, where four other M7S ammo clips lay dormant. Everything seemed to be in check, and he reported as such.

Rodney nodded in reply, letting his relief about their situation speak for him. Boris held out the rifle for Rodney to take back, but Theta's leader held up a hand, insisting that he keep it. “You don't have any weapons for yourself. You should probably keep that, so you can keep your distance from any other enemies we might encounter.” Baldemar pulled out three more clips from his pouch and handed them over, to which Boris graciously accepted and slotted them away.

“Right. Now that we're sorted, we better find Henry,” Rodney said, his pleasant tone falling away in place of a stoic, serious voice. One capable of commanding such a team as his. Taking a couple of seemingly leisurely steps around the wreckage, he spied the deceased Brute Captain's Carbine, and with a split second's approval, he ventured over and scooped it up, placing it upon his weapon attachment and looting all the ammo he could find upon its former bearer.

As his team followed, they passed the other bodies that had fallen against Theta's mettle. Baldemar stooped down to withdraw his blades from the two Brutes they had been impaled into, and after wiping the alien blood off onto their matty hides, he resheathed each blade back into his armour. They paced towards each other, settling in a position between either of their necessities. Not wishing to spend any more time on anything but their last objective, Rodney turned his attention back to the SPARTAN-II, wishing to extract all the information that he could.

“Can you give us any clues as to Henry's path from the ship compared to yours? Did he land close to you, or did you lose him in the explosion?” Rodney sounded a lot calmer now that he had at least one of his two missing team-mates rescued, but the lightest trace of anxiety made it clear that all was certainly not well.

After a few moments of fiddling with his helmet, Boris looked back up at his leader. “I was pushed back from the explosion, but according to the glimpse of him from my helmet feed, he was sent that way,” he answered, pointing towards the canyon wall on their left. “Either he's landed up on the ridge, or he hit the wall and came back down.”

Rodney processed the remark for a while. Thoughts of leaping out of Pelican, unassisted save for his armour, didn't bother him at all. It had been a necessary action. He'd had no fear. But the sudden thought of Henry smacking into an unforgiving wall of rock and tumbling all the way down forced a wedge of doubt into his confidence. It was as if the helplessness of it all had channeled into him, recounting every blow of his fall with a pang of dread.

But he had no time to think suck things. Besides, if he came off the cliff, he'd be closer to it than the wreckage here in the middle. He's got to be up there. Wrenching his gaze away from the cliffs and back to his team, he prepared to give the order to move out. “We would've found him by now if we were down here. There'd be too many signs to miss. I'm certain he's up on the cliff.” As he spoke, a new fear crept along his train of thought. It'd be a lot easier to spot him up there. Especially by air.

With a sudden burst of fear driving him forward, Rodney took off, bounding and winding through wreckage to get to the canyon wall. Quickly, the ground beneath him began to steepen as he neared the wall, and as his team followed closely, he jumped at the wall, grabbing hold of one of many erratic ridges. He began to race up the canyon, the thought of Henry at even higher risk of danger snapping at his heels and determination driving him upward.

Theta could almost hear the wall asking them if they were hoping for an easy climb as they ventured on, grip by aching grip. Their armour didn't add to the brighter side of things either; though it gave them a tremendous boost in climbing power, its weight put a tremendous strain on the rock they ascended upon. Shaped and moulded from ancient rivers no longer rushing through, the most it was used to accommodating now was the wind passing through. And as a result, the three SPARTANs quickly found that they had to move as fast as they could, for fear of hanging on too long and coming loose with the rock that faulted underneath them.

Around the halfway point of the climb, foot and handholds were becoming trickier and trickier to pass over. The SPARTANs found themselves having to try and avoid hugging the wall, for the dips and jutts of the ridges they scaled were becoming too irregular to properly get past. This put extra strain on their bodies, and as they progressed further, the climb started to take its toll. Bit by bit, they could feel a dull ache loom closer, like dark skies on the horizon. But the reassuring sight of the top of canyon wall above them cast the thoughts of fatigue away, and they carried on at a pace no man could ever hope to achieve.

Before long, Rodney thrust his arm out and gripped the very top of the canyon wall. Reaching out with his other arm and getting a secure hold, he powerfully launched himself up, landing on the tip of his feet as he haunched on the precipice of the canyon. Quickly, he spotted an object in the distance, but as he zoomed in for a closer look, his horrors leapt out at him, revelling in their fruition. What he saw was a Spirit dropship, nestled upon the ground. And its pilot was advancing towards the stirring Henry.

As his team made it up, Rodney unholstered his BR and went on the offensive. Burst of bullets coursed into the Sangheili's shields, and the sight of three Demons forming upon the canyon's edge struck a bolt of fear deep within its heart. Honour quickly crumbled beneath superstitious horror, courage gave way under paralysing terror. No other answer beat through its head, no other demand cried to be heard. All it could do was run, and so it ran. Turning back towards its dropship, it prayed to the gods above that its shields would absorb enough of the death being hurled towards it.

But the damage suddenly multiplied, and before he could pray for acceptance onto the afterlife, he fell to the ground, punctured and lifeless. Henry attempted to stand as his team rushed to his aid, but as soon he put pressure on his right leg, a malevolent pain seized him as if the very ground beneath him had struck him. A gasp of pain escaped his clenched teeth as he fell back down to the ground, quickly surrounded by the rest of Theta. At last, they were reunited once more, but the joy of the occasion was lost on the other members as they assessed Henry's condition.

“How bad is it?” Rodney asked, gesturing to his leg as he knelt beside him.

Henry shook his head as he attempted to sit up. “I think my femur's broken.” Boris stooped down on his other side, and with the help of his team, the injured SPARTAN was at least partially able to stand. With his arms around their shoulders, he continued. “Not to mention my optics suite's kicked the bucket. My HUD isn't showing.” At his observation, Rodney suddenly noticed the lack of the service tag reading.

“Well, in your condition, we're going to have a lot of trouble reaching our destination unless we board that Spirit,” Rodney said, indicating it with a quick glance. “Does anyone object to us travelling via Covenant aircraft?”

“I can only think of one problem with the plan,” Baldemar began, “but I consider it to be a serious one. Will we be able to communicate with any UNSC personnel from the Spirit? If we can't, then it's likely we'll meet heavy resistance upon trying to enter the battleground.”

Rodney appeared to mull the point over before replying. “I guess we'll find out once we're inside. In our current situation, we don't really have much of a choice. If our luck is out, and we aren't able to contact our forces, then we'll just have to think on our feet and try to sneak in.” With his free hand, he signalled to move out.

Theta covered the short distance as quickly as they could, but the amount of time it took hammered in the fact that they needed the Spirit if they were ever going to make it. Passing the burden of assisting Henry over to Baldemar, Rodney ducked under his arm and approached the Spirit, finding that the former pilot had left its cockpit entrance in its “tuning fork” wide open. Stepping into the alien craft, he seated himself at the controls, skimming foreign dialect until he found a function that seemed to fit the bill. With a light tap, the troop bay doors folded out like the wings of a bird of prey gearing up for its hunt.

Supported by his team, Henry managed to get inside the Spirit's bay door, and took his time getting seated, making sure he didn't aggravate his injury any further. Once they'd all boarded, Rodney tapped the function again, and the doors retreated back inward, like birds huddling towards their parent. He'd spent the time waiting for his companions deciphering the ship's controls with his TAC-PAD's translating systems, and with a few more precise taps, the ship began to hover.

Rodney took hold of the rather cumbersome flight yoke, needing both hands to swing the Spirit around. He tapped a few more functions until a bar showed up on its panel. He slid his fingers forward over the bar, and the dropship suddenly lurched forward as if it was whipped by a cruel higher power. Once he felt sure enough of his ability to fly the ship, he re-accessed the movement panel and slid the bar fully forward, and the ship responded with a jolt as it took off into the last few moments of the night. Rodney could see hints of the sun's return in the sky above; the black of night had softened, now showing hints of swirling blue and grey.

Finding himself idle, Rodney skimmed over the alien languages once more, searching for a way to contact his allies out at the site they sped towards. After a painstaking ordeal, he eventually found the function that switched the ship's transceiver on. After a few more deft taps, an input screen showed itself, and Rodney stopped short. Who am I going to contact? He searched the screen over, his mind actively working over any possible solutions to his dilemma. An icon stood meekly in the corner of the screen, and Rodney pressed it anxiously, finding that it read “search” in his own language.

For a moment, the screen stood still, as if it was now aware of the intrusion of humans and refused to help him any longer. But the screen flickered back with a view of the canyon around him, and to his relief, a mass of icons dotted the map before him. He was instantly able to determine the different symbols, and soon learnt their meaning. He tapped one of the three "enemy" signals, and requested to hail them. A lump of ice grew in his throat as a reply boomed through. "You've got a lot of guts hailing this firebase here in the middle of all of this, scum. This better be a message of surrender." The tone of the responding voice carried acid, and though there seemed to be a lack of accumulated hatred associated with veterans of war, the man's voice sounded bitter enough to send his message across.

"Sir, this is SPARTAN Rodney-257 of Team Theta, en route to your location. My team and I experienced some... complications on the escort over here, and we've been forced to board an enemy craft to make the rest of the journey. Am I understood?" Rodney asked authoritatively, hoping whoever was on the receiving end didn't suspect anything out of the ordinary. Not that their situation was at all ordinary.

"SPARTAN, are you in any danger?" came the reply, visceral tones changing on reflex to alertness and lucidity. "Are there any immediate threats to you on board your vessel? Have you been taken hostage?"

"No, sir," Rodney answered, hoping that their situation was at least believable enough for them. "All hostiles were eliminated prior to boarding this ship. Our only immediate concern is a wounded SPARTAN of my team, but that will have to be dealt with on site. I request that you spread the message to your men, or whoever's in charge, if you aren't in position to do so. You'll spot our service tags before you spot our vessel. We don't want to be taken out by anyone on our side."

"Understood," the voice replied again after a couple of seconds. "I just hope you realise how this sounds to me. Your arrival will be anticipated." With that, the frequency was terminated, and Rodney sat a little easier. After informing his team of the conversation, he began going over their course of action once they arrived.

"We're going to be inhibited by Henry's injury, so we'll have to quickly set him up at a sniper post," he instructed, to which Henry replied with a small, apologetic grunt. "Once we're sure that no harm will come of you, Henry, then we'll move out and restock ourselves." His team acknowledged their leader's orders, and for the rest of the journey, all was quiet, save for the whine of the Spirit as it glided over the canyon below.

A short time later, Rodney banked left, remembering the battle placements on the Spirit's frequency layout map, hoping to avoid any Covenant resistance. He didn't trust their cover enough to try to sneak behind enemy lines. They flew over a squadron of M140SPR Mobile Artillery Assault Platforms, better known to the UNSC as Fox Cannons. Used from range to bombard enemy forces with 175mm shells, the squad rained hell on the attacking Covenant armada from the protection of higher ground. The squadron was largely numbered, and Rodney guessed it wouldn't be the only one up on the lip of the canyon.

The artifact site came into view as they burned through the distance, and the battleground below raged with malice and desperation. The UNSC had fortified themselves within the crater-like canyon, positioned mainly towards the rear, but a large number of front-line forces ventured further out into the canyon, and the expeditionary forces seemed to be positioned in front of a large, metallic grey platform, unlike anything he had seen before. Also, he noticed a similar looking structure built into the wall behind the UNSC's embankment. This must be what everyone's here for today, Rodney mused.

But the wonder of the spectacle quickly passed in place of a returning fear that had been pestering them ever since they had boarded the Spirit; though they had been assured of their safety upon their arrival, Theta still tensed as they glided over death and hatred, fearful of their own men. It was not a pleasant thought, and the SPARTANs clamped it down into the festering pit of other thoughts they had no time for.

Coming around the rear of the UNSC's position, they managed to avoid most of the monolithic battle waging all throughout Jacinto Canyon. The Covenant charged headlong into a thoroughly fortified UNSC defence force, meeting strategy and rugged determination with brute force and religious fanaticism. Almost all of Atlas's planet-wide might had congregated on a single point, and a vast variety of vehicles and soldiers alike stood their ground as plasma and blood-curdling roars swept towards them like a force of nature, wishing to purge the land of the heresy of humanity.

They landed near one of three firebases which had been set up in anticipation of the Covenant's assault, and a few officers gathered around as Rodney gently descended, unseen signals ordering a platoon of soldiers to stand guard with them as the alien craft descended before them. Landing the ship with a quickly learned skill, Rodney opened both the cockpit door and the left troop bay door, allowing his team to exit. Rodney quickly darted around to the side, where his team was helping Henry off, and where the officers stood to greet their new arrival. Theta quickly snapped to attention and saluted their superiors, to which the salute was returned.

On an order scarcely picked up by anyone else watching, the platoon raised their weaponry, instructing Theta to move aside as they inspected the outside of the Spirit from head to tail, running a number of technological scans to minimize the doubt of their commanding officers. Once their outside inspection was deemed satisfactory, another order was given to search the inside of the ship.

Having looked over the already open troop bay door upon their first inspection, the platoon divided into two groups. The first ten strode around the vessel, intending to inspect its middle and cockpit, while the other ten positioned themselves around the right troop bay door, weapons at the ready in case of Covenant stowaways or masterminds.

The leader of the platoon walked back over to Rodney, beckoning him over to his team and addressing him by name and rank. As he met back up with his team, he gestured to the open cockpit door and looked back up at the armour-clad giant.

"Sir, please open the other door," he instructed, his awe at the SPARTAN concealed by duty and mistrust. Rodney hopped back into the cockpit, and without the need of any translation, tapped the function he recognized to be the other door. As soon as it began to open, the platoon met back up again, rounding on whatever might be inside. But, to their relief, not a thing was visible to any eye or scan.

Peering around the ship, the officers assured themselves that there were no Covenant aboard the Spirit, and that the SPARTANs weren't the victims of an ambush with the potential to end the lives of as many UNSC infantry around as possible. As Rodney rejoined his team, three officers briskly stepped over, unfazed by the cries of war all around them as they looked up at Theta, expecting the salute they were given. Returning the salute, the head officer spoke up, and Rodney immediately recognized his voice.

"Looks like you're the real deal, son," the man replied, sounding far warmer than he had before. "You gave our logistics and surveillance units a hell of a scare." Theta smiled under their helmets, but the man showed no humour in his impression. "We better let you get to the front lines then."

Satisfied with their approval, Rodney prepared to move his team into one of the firebases for a proper rearming, but was stopped short by an alien humming emanating far below the rock they stood on, as deep as the melodies of giants. Theta looked to the officers, but they, too, wore the expression of lack of understanding. Wordlessly, the canyon watched as the platform behind the UNSC's main force began to split in two, making way for whatever resided below.

Chapter Eleven: Dawning

For the past couple of weeks, Professor Sheldon Tunnug had grown used to the underground, alien corridors he'd been studying since the site's discovery. While discomfort and anxiety of the drastically different environment still loomed about, the feelings no longer jumped at him around every grey and blue bend. The further he and his colleagues ventured into the underground passages, mixtures of fear and anticipation pulsed in their vision, as if the space around them was alive and watching.

But this day, war had begun. Screams of the dying and exchanges of earth-shaking weaponry could only be perceived as minuscule tremors, and while its effects were muffled by the earth between them, the implications met no such resistance, assaulting those below with full force. They understood that time couldn't be wasted in wonder now, and that any advantage they could extract from what technology remained throughout the site needed to be extracted with utmost speed. While Sheldon indeed understood this, it made no imprint upon his excitement of the discovery he'd made last night.

The team of professors halted at a junction only found a few days beforehand, and while the rest of his colleagues turned right, he chose the other direction, parting company with a brief farewell. Sheldon immediately upped his pace, wishing to get back to his work as fast as he could.  A new day of discovery had come, and he could think of no better way to start it than to get cracking on what he'd found. Rounding another corner, he came to the door that had filled his dreams the previous night.

With a boyish glee, he slipped off the light backpack he'd been carrying with him, and sat down to retrieve what items he proposed he'd need. He lay the backpack out with a routine method, and uncovered his datapad. An abundance of smaller accessories littered his pack, and he selected two that possessed the requirements that he judged necessary for his task. Zipping his bag up, he hopped back to his feet and took a moment to take in the door before him.

Its shape resembled a spade, as did the others, but this door appeared sturdier than its brethren, as if it had a more important purpose to fulfill. And where its grey alloy surface matched the others of its kind, it lacked the small windows that other doors like it housed in their middle and along the edge of their sides, flowing with its shape in an angled pattern that matched its surroundings without fault. Only its importance separated it from its surroundings. Hiding its secrets from outsiders, it only riled Sheldon's curiosity. And where other doors shone green in a small bulb below its middle window, the door before him featured a much larger bulb, dominating its centre.

A small terminal stood on the wall beside it, and Sheldon spent a few seconds examining it. Glyphs and readings flashed across it at random intervals, and he could only begin to guess their meaning. Jittering, he poked a finger up to the panel and lightly tapped the interface, and a small pad manifested onto it. Ten keys awaited to be tapped, and he smiled as his suspicions were confirmed. But the smile quickly left his face as the panel showed no signs of being able to link up with one of his own keypads, housing a small screen at its tip. Sighing impatiently, he pressed a few buttons, and aimed his keypad at the panel, hoping to connect the two devices, regardless of the monumental technological leaps between the two.

In the blink of an eye, the two connected, and Sheldon's keypad powered down not a second after. Just as I thought. Working quickly, he connected his pad to his bigger datapad, and laid out a sequence of events that had transpired upon its encounter with the panel in a strip of information. Although he expected the alien systems to be effective beyond his initial knowledge, the wealth of raw data before him made him gasp. He quickly realized that not even his datapad alone would be enough to analyze the data that continued to load, and he fished an external storage device out of his pack to bear the load.

Skimming the data before him, it appeared that he'd only nicked the proverbial tip of the iceberg that was the security powerhouse of whatever he'd been working in for the past couple of weeks.His mind wandered at the thought of such incredible systems, but he soon returned to focus once more. He, nor his colleagues, recognized the symbols adorned around the site, and couldn't hope to translate them into a language they knew. Sheldon realised that he'd have to think outside the box if he were to come up with a solution. Spending a couple of minutes looking over what had been recorded within his keypad, a vague idea formed within his mind.

On a hunch, he studied the symbols on the alien panel before him. Ten of them stood alone, barring his passage through in ways that eluded his understanding. Maybe they weren't so different from us after all, Sheldon proposed to his mind, wondering if they used the same base in numbering. It's worth a shot. Opening up another program on his datapad, then going back to the data readings, he searched for symbols that matched those on the panel. After finding the ten, he fed to the next program: a housing for the decryption pads.

Once he had the process ready to transfer, Sheldon searched his coat pocket and dug up his other decryption pad, holding it before him as he questioned its capabilities. His gaze flickered back to the pad connected to his main datapad, and he decided it alone wouldn't be enough. He unconnected the now malfunctioning decryption pad, and replaced it with his second one, giving the process a better chance of success. But not by much. It's going to be like trying to cut a girder in two with a twig. The thought unsettled him greatly, so much so that he found himself with no choice but to call in his last resort.

Pulling a small, slender communicator from his pack, he held in one of its two buttons, which put him through to direct communication with the AI of the main firebase above him, Dunjey. He knew it would be busy analysing enemy battle plans and deciphering code, but he was Sheldon's only means of a feasible attempt to gain access to whatever lay in wait behind the door in front of him, adamant in its halt of progress.

“Dunjey, it's me, Sheldon,” he lightly said, as if he were speaking to a sick patient in some hospital. “Do you have a minute to spare?”

“Certainly, Professor Tunnug,” the AI replied, the heavy Gaelic accent at odds with its sophisticated vocabulary. “What need do you have of me?”

“I have a security system that I can't shake. I've managed to learn the required symbols to communicate with the panel here, but it'll take me years to try all the different combinations possible. I'm going to connect you via this link to my datapad, where my decryption sequence is ready to run. When I tell you I'm ready, I need you to try every combination you can before the security system in this thing takes action against you. Think you can handle it?”

“Certainly, Professor Tunnug,” Dunjey replied again. “Do you know the exact  number of entries that the code is composed of?”

Crap. “No, I'm afraid not. But I suggest you start at seven digits and work your way up; this system's pretty advanced, and it doesn't beat around the bush.”

“Your word will suffice, then, Professor Tunnug. Please, connect me to your datapad, then inform me when you wish for me to begin.”

Without replying, Sheldon extended a port connection from the communicator's tip, and wirelessly linked it to his datapad. The two devices registered with each other like friends of old, and Dunjey took in the decryption sequence, arming it within his neurons. Sheldon held his datapad up to the alien panel, fears of what could go wrong running wildly through his mind. If Dunjey fell to the might of the security residing within the ancient site, then the UNSC's main defence force would be left without its powerhouse tactician. It wasn't something he wished to risk, but no other choice was conceivable. “Now!”

The unseen battle before him lasted only a couple of seconds, but the blue hue of the door quickly turned to green, and as fast as his reaction allowed him to move, he jammed the port back into his communicator, terminating the connection and saving Dunjey from whatever meant to do away with him. As the door began to split open, Sheldon thanked the AI and let him return to his duty, pocketing his communicator once more and preparing himself for what could well be the most important discovery he'd ever make. The thought made him giddy with anticipation.

Before him, a vast room was revealed, shrouded by darkness as if it shied away from the new arrival. Taking in what little he could see in the absence of light to keep himself clamped down and whet his appetite, his hunger for discovery only made the wait for his eyes to adjust all the more unbearable. But his impatience to seek soon got the better of him, and he tentatively moved forward into the compelling dark.

A sudden urge to run headlong into the joys that awaited him wrapped its arms around his heart, and he almost toppled as he grappled with his surging glee. Bringing his foot back down in front of him, Sheldon continued blindly forward, losing perception and trusting only in the hope that the room he had gained access to would find him worthy and not seek to misguide him. Step by step, he stumbled further into the mystery of it all as his mind overflowed with wild, ecstatic thoughts. Here, in a distant land beyond human understanding, his imagination met no limit against its constant spread, taking position at his helm and driving him forward. As his foot met ground once more, his speculation met its first anchor.

Lights seemed to pass through from another realm, spreading a mystical blue haze throughout the room and revealing what Sheldon had been unable to perceive when he'd first entered. At its other end lay a massive panel, draping over most of the wall it floated over. Sheldon found that he no longer desired to take in his surroundings, magnificent as they were, for his focus now rested on the panel. This has to be some sort of command centre, he thought, his mind turning back once more to the wars of humans and Covenant. Perhaps I can be of use here and now, and not later, if this place has any sort of war capabilities to its credit.

But, as he approached the looming panel, second guesses and alternatives began to spool out. Grey walls infused with blue light and channels stood guardian around him, impassive in their watch. War seemed irrelevant and pointless to such long-standing might. No, it couldn't. Not a place like this. Sheldon was lost, once again, in the spectacle of such an alien world, lodged deep below the surface of their human world. Or perhaps, it isn't ours? What if there are still other beings here? Will they come if I activate this place?  The prospect of intruding upon another race of life suddenly felt unaccomplishable to him. Such a thing isn't for the likes of me. But who else will later if I don't now? The thought of the Covenant defiling such a place sickened Sheldon to his stomach, and without another obstructing thought of peril or his colleagues, he strode over to the panel, his heart hammering within his chest and threatening to burst out at the possibilities of what could happen next.

Sheldon approached the panel as if he was a fearful subject to a cruel and ill-tempered god, and stopped dead in his tracks before it, his hands clammy and cold with sweat. Nausea dissuaded his sense of wonder as a lone glyph formed before him. With his heart in his throat, he held up a shaky, dripping hand; the weight of so much history and ancestry that seemed to live and thrive in the very air around him falling upon him and compressing the air out of his lungs. Gears seemed to click in his head as he felt fate bind him to some extravagant destiny, pleading to be set in motion by the activation of whatever stood before him. As if it would be his dying action, he touched the glyph.

Momentarily, the panel before him faded as if he had not been worthy of its activation, and the lone glyph still hung in the air, accusing him of failure. A massive space hid behind the panel; a tunnel over fifty metres wide seemed to stretch from the very heavens above into the core of the planet below. But the panel soon returned, cutting short Sheldon's view of the immense structure. Now, instead of a solid blue wall, the panel returned as if it had gathered its weapons in its absence and meant to serve until its dying breath. Charts and graphs streamed and spiralled their way around the screen as the dominant blue faded from opacity to a translucent, colourless vessel.

Once the chaotic eruption of information and awakening lost its fire, Sheldon stood face to face with a wealth of technological might, the depths of which he was not yet ready to grasp. Wisdom of ages past stood at attention, ready to share any resource it possessed. As he stood bewildered, he almost thought that something within him had awoken, and that the glyphs and patterns before him somehow seemed familiar. It was as if his ancestors had stepped into his mind, humbling him with their accumulative learnings and stirring potentials that served a purpose here and now. But that can't be, Sheldon pondered, at a loss to explain how such a thing was possible. Only a few seconds ago, I was using an AI to cheat this system, simply because I didn't have the faintest idea of how to translate these things!

But, the feeling that he recognized the language from deep within his memory grew harder and harder to shake with every passing second. Confusion swirled about him like the rapids of a river, and his inability to retain a grip on his situation threatened to pull him under. For a time, he did not see that the screen before him had undertaken some new task, but his thoughts soon parted and allowed him to see. Sheldon couldn't exactly interpret the exchanges of information that danced before his eyes, but some inner instinct that he did not recognize told him that something was being released.

As if in response to Sheldon's intuition, the screen pulsed, new glyphs found their place among the intricate display. And faintly, subtly, a small hatch opened above, hiding in plain sight until Sheldon finally spotted an object emerging. It couldn't have been any longer than his hand, and it seemed to be about as wide as two of his fingers held together. But there was no mistaking the aura of command that seemed to rip his gaze away from the screed and fixate it upon the object. Whatever it was, it was obviously important, playing some vital part in what grand role this place stood in.

Sheldon held his gaze upon the small rod as glyphs frantically vied for his attention; their increasing growth and change foreboding some great change. But his fixation did not relent, and his mind turned to the task of discovering the object's purpose. Ideas came and went, shot down as they presented themselves. Hmm... perhaps it's some sort of motion sensor? Although he presumed none of his colleagues would find him where he was, the thought of jumping around to trigger the sensor made him grimace and moan in embarrassment. But the idea lingered, sustaining against the battering of his mind. Alright then. Awkwardly, as if he were afraid that he would be ridiculed by a watcher in the shadows, he raised a hand above his head and waved. “Hello?”

A flat expression spread across his face as his actions provoked no further action. Dropping in momentary defeat, his gaze moved back down to the screen; alive and mad with activity. Commands and protocols passed him by in flashes, and yet, his instincts no longer could guess as to their meaning, as if the arrival of the rod had barred him of any capability to understand. But for a time, he lost himself in the maddening crescendo of information, and he almost failed to realise that the screen stood still a moment later. But a quaint, metallic voice suddenly brought him back to the very tip of readiness.

“I have been awoken? For what purpose? For what purpose have I been awoken?” Despite the lack of emotion present in the voice, its choice of wording seemed to imply that it panicked; that it feared its own awakening. “Do we face another outbreak? Should I summon a defence? Wher-” The voice cut off for a second, like it had been a captive silenced by its watcher. And although the pause was only brief, Sheldon felt the voice learn of his presence, the very air around him seeming to come alive with haste and point him out. Words caught in his throat, held back by a fear of what he may have unleashed. The room started to spin as he found himself trying to think too many things over at once, and he ground his running mind to a standstill for a moment in time.

“A... a Reclaimer? Now?” The voice paused again, but this time, its reasoning was deductible. It recognizes me. I think. Am I a Reclaimer? While Sheldon now had a piece of information to focus his thoughts at a point towards, he still found himself unable to speak, his mouth refusing to open until it had the right things to say. “Oh my,” it gasped. “Perhaps I have locked myself away for far longer than I originally thought. A system check should verify my query.” As it paused again, a small portion of the screen started to buzz once more, fetching the voice's requested information. “It is as I feared, Reclaimer. Time has well and truly left me in its wake.”

Without warning, the voice's train of thought veered into another route entirely. “And yet, it pleases me to discover that my actions did not rend my maker's plans entirely asunder. You have come back to take the Mantle upon yourselves, as was intended. Perhaps through this knowledge, I will be-”

At the second mention of the designation “Reclaimer”, Sheldon found himself finally talking.“Listen, I think you've got the wrong idea here. As far as I know, I doubt I'm part of whatever a... Reclaimer is supposed to be doing here. I-”

“Folly,” the voice retorted. “There were no other species ultimately chosen to bear the Mantle. In the absence of my makers, I answer to your kind and your kind alone.”

While it was obvious that the voice somehow knew him as a species, the implications of the notion staggered him. He couldn't comprehend the concept of him not only being recognized by some other species, but also regarded as someone of title. All his previous excitement and anticipation of discovery had been unable to endure the magnitude of what he had uncovered, dwarfed by its sheer scale and potential. Words retreated further and further from his mouth, and he was forced to eclipse his mind and belt out his underlying question: “Look, who are you?”

“Who am I?” The reply did not come for a moment, and its question lingered for a moment more. Its question carried resonance, even without the emotion to properly articulate it. Sheldon found himself wondering if there was any truth to his previous wondering of whether whatever spoke with him truly wished to be awoken. “I am Mendicant Bias, the last hope of my makers. And their great betrayer.”

Without the knowledge necessary to truly comprehend the greater effect of what he had heard, the revelation merely glanced off him like a stray bullet barely grazing its target. But he now had an idea of the voice's plight. “Mendicant, listen. I hope you understand how much I'm struggling with all the information you've told me here. But, you said you answer to... my kind. Is it possible that you can help us now?”

“Of course, Reclaimer. Long have I awaited the day where I may assist once more. What aid do you require?”

Taking a moment to condense an entire war into a few small sentences, Sheldon proposed his dilemma reluctantly. “Well, there's a full-on war taking place above ground as we speak. My kind is up there, fighting to protect this place from an alien collective of aggressors. Is there anything you could send up there to boost our defences?”

“Certainly. Though in order to determine the necessary amount of force required, I will need to send a few units to survey the area. One moment.”

Briefly, Sheldon could feel inner machinations of the structure whirr for the first time in eons, and he almost mistook the feeling for the distant rumbling of the war above. But the shudderings became more profound as he felt something great above him shift, and he became aware that the structure he stood within was answering his pleas. Through the translucent panel, he saw massive creations rise from the deeper sections past his level, ascending toward the surface by Mendicant's authority. Though he only caught a brief glimpse of the behemoths, he gauged one to stand on par with even a D96-TCE Albatross. And as he thought of what these giants might be capable of, his awe quickly turned to hope as they rose to cast judgement upon the Covenant.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soldiers yelled out, attempting to rally the bravado of all who were fighting to protect the artifact site, and everywhere brave hearts rose and bold spirits surged. They also hoped such cries would deter the attacking Covenant, yet whether they challenged the cry out of necessity or honour was not known to them. All that mattered was that the Covenant still advanced, and despite humanity's deep enrootment into the canyon they so desperately fought to defend, their assailants were beating against their defences like gnarled hands against a war drum. Might clashed against might, and the UNSC were forced to show their full hand just to hold their line. Shells from all around the canyon rained down upon the Covenant and swarms of aircraft were released like falcons that sensed an opportunity for a hunt in the wind.

Superior technologies and infallible brute force mocked tactics as the Covenant pushed closer to their goal, shrugging off the blows they met and returning fire with such devastating force that it turned aside even the most grounded rules of how war should be won. As if the lack of better strategies were a chink in their armour, the overseeing commanders of their armies demanded that no weakness was to be exploited, that no rest was to be presented to the heretics. And with almost innumerable forces pushing forth into the face of inferior resistance, worries of defeat were for only the unfaithful.

Either side had found themselves in a battle that they could not afford to lose. Focus would be the key, and held by the the nightmarish stare of impending death, no man could lose his nerve. The faint tremors began rolling up throughout the canyon, but they were missed by all except those who held their concentrations elsewhere. However, as the tremors started to rumble alarmingly beneath them, even the most disciplined of soldiers momentarily let themselves be distracted from the all-demanding battle on their hands. Those in command quickly set to spreading the word, and within a short time, everyone out on the front lines was informed of the underground outpost's awakening.

Those near the rear of the UNSC's defensive position watched as their defensive objective began to part from itself, two great doors retreating from each other like quarrelling lovers and revealing a deep, expansive tunnel. A few soldiers approached cautiously under orders from their command, and were astonished to behold just how expansive it really was. Though its entrance was around fifty metres in width, the tunnel had to be at least double that, if not more.

And as their gaze searched down lower, they found that they could not discern its bottom, for it seemed to be without an end, as if it went through the entire planet. Faint hints of the sun's arrival stood outmatched by the still reigning night up in the sky, and even with their different spectrums of vision, the poor light around refuted their attempts to peer down too far. One soldier nudged a rock off the edge to its doom, but they could not hope to hear its impact over the commotions of war around them. It's not like I'd expect to hear it anyway, though, the soldier thought to himself.

Tensions screamed in agony as orders to stand down upon first contact. Adrenaline coursed through the  veins of the frayed soldiers throughout the canyon, raging and frothing and bubbling against its restraints, fuelled by the relentless battering that the Covenant kept up. An entire armada, or at least all it could divert. Poised to kill, weapons twitching with the ever-insatiable urge for bloodshed. And yet, beyond their dwindling patience, most of the soldiers around knew that opening fire on whatever emerged from the earth could potentially be a bigger mistake than even letting the Covenant capture Earth's location.

Just when their humming cords of tension threatened to snap, eyes all around the canyon finally fell upon the surfaced automatons. Such was the awe of all whose eyes fell upon these survivors of a lost empire that, for a moment, it quenched even the strongest desires for bloodshed. Even the sun, hiding from their war behind the world, peeked over the south rim of the canon where it rose to get a glimpse of these ancient machines. The veil of darkness hanging overhead lost a portion of its totalitarian grip on the sky as a result, and a soft, warm glow trickled its way over the battleground, casting an almost mythical spell on its occupants.

Even now, in awe of such wonders rising to meet them, the most devout of the Covenant's faith could only accept what they beheld as a message from the distant past, ensuring that their Great Journey was close. Though their information was scarce and their Prophets withholding of all but promises, most knew it to be true. They would meet their transcendence on this world, regardless of what faithless opposition stood against them.

Their messengers were of five, watching over the ravaged canyon with piercing, single red eyes, judging who would be worthy. Angular, hulking bodies hunched in perpetual guard over four scything legs that first jutted inward, than outward again, allowing them to meet below the centre of their body. Save for the air units above, circling the area as they waited for their orders to strike like trained birds of prey, not a sound dared to be heard, lest it be vanquished by the guardians of old.

These automatons seemed to revel in the silence, as if they wished to draw it out indefinitely. But after a surreal moment, a single voice boomed throughout the canyon with the force of innumerable eruptions.
"Identifying species." The monochromatic, guttural voice was almost pitched too low to be understood. "Unggoy. Kig-yar. Jiralhanae. Yanmae. Lekgolo. Sangheili. Reclaimer." The voice's implication puzzled a fair portion of the devout. Why does it refer to the heretics as "Reclaimers"? A moment more passed in silence as the machines seemed to confer with one another in an unspoken language.

"Analysis: Reclaimers must be protected." The silence had been shattered as the beliefs of the Covenant threatened to follow suit. Then, as one, the five gazed down to focus on a point somewhere with the lines of human forces, and only the most keen observers were able to witness the golden rings of light that appeared, enveloping at least four of the wretched Demons that lurked throughout their ranks. Is this our transcendence? some wondered. But the majority of witnesses were beside themselves in abhorrent disbelief. Demons? On the Great Journey?

"No wonder these blasphemous machines were left behind!" one Sangheili roared. "They know nothing of our devotion, nothing of our birthright!" Soon, his brothers aligned their bewilderment and fury with his, having learned of the unthinkable. This didn't go unregarded.

"Hostile intent confirmed," the giantish voice thundered, with tone to match the gravity of its judgment. In unison, two flaps slotted back on the tip of each of the guardians' armoured frames, and two formidable looking weapons arose to level at the Covenant's masses, implying for them to stand down. But the furious devouts would not take such blasphemy lightly. On command, a hailstorm of plasma scorched through the new morning air, carrying the seething hatred of the Covenant along to strike the Sentinels down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tunnug had to shield his eyes as a radiant ensemble of golden rings materialized just short of the room's control panel. Cascading down from a point at least eight feet in the air, they soon made up a cylindrical presence that almost seemed like it would take shape of what lost race had built the place he stood in now themselves. But to his surprise, when the figures were visible, they were units he recognized. SPARTANs. Hovering roughly half a foot above the floor for a moment, it made their arrival all the more unbelievable.

One was injured, he guessed, from the way the soldier was supported by two others in the squad. As he gaped at the team of almost mythical warriors, gravity finally broke through whatever had sent them here and pulled them down to his level, though it did nothing to lessen their sheer size in comparison to his. As they suddenly dropped, their reaction speed alarmed Tunnug; he hadn't even blinked in the time it took for them to adjust their landing so the injured SPARTAN wouldn't bear the brunt of the fall. The other soldier immediately had his rifle fixed on Sheldon's head, and he dumbly raised his hands in the air, at a loss on what explanation he could possibly give the squad.

"Who brought us here?" he demanded, indicating that the soldier was around about as clueless as he was. Sheldon began racking his brain for an apt response, but was cut from his train of thought as the voice of the betrayer began to speak.

"That would be I, Reclaimer," it said, revealing yet another presence to the four. Immediately turning to face the location of who had spoken, the SPARTAN hesitated for a split-second as he realised what was communicating with him. Still unable to gauge the situation's threat level properly, he kept his rifle taut on the core as it were capable of fighting back.

"You have to take us back. Now," the soldier ordered. "There's a war going on out there with a number of different threats, and we-"
The AI cut in with an assumed authority, "That is no longer a matter of your concern. I am capable of protecting your people. Besides, I have plans for you." It was a lot to take in, and for a moment, even the incontestable mind of the SPARTAN was drawing blanks.

"You'll fight our war alongside us?" he eventually asked.

"In exchange for your co-operation, yes." Anxiety hung in the air with the striking absence of trust. The team of armoured warriors sought each other's approval wordlessly, then faced their newfound ally once more, wondering what could possibly happen now.

"Alright then." Lowering his rifle, he calmed himself and agreed to its unrevealed terms. "What do you want?"

"Atonement."

A great roar shook the room as if some imprisoned beast could wait for its release no longer, and reverberations shook the adjacent tunnel as power seemed to build like a great wave growing in size as it surges forward. A low thrumming slowly entered their audible range, and little drops of light looked to be materialising as if this strange place could manufacture even light itself. Soon, the thrumming drummed their ears, and the brilliant light overwhelmed their eyes; a dizzying assault on their senses that even the SPARTANs couldn't fend off.

A thought occured to Sheldon, even in the midst of the chaos. If this is the same method that brought the SPARTANs here, but amplified to a much, much higher degree, who knows how far he could send them? Suddenly, he felt a shift in the room, and became aware that the attention of the mysterious AI was fixed solely on him. It was as if even his thoughts weren't safe from its prying nature.

"You may join them if you wish. A suitable armour skin will be fitted to you accordingly." He couldn't speak. Go? With them? A multitude of voices in his head called for power as if there were a court debate of universal importance raging inside. Before he even realised what he was doing, he shook his head dumbly, finding that he had settled on staying where he was and continuing with his studies. The beckoning of distant lands held no sway over his passions, regardless of what lay in wait. This was closer. This would do. Realising that the AI might not be able to see, or even interpret the gesture, he started to voice his response. But once again, it cut in.

"Very well. Farewell, Reclaimer." In an instant, the power around them rose to an unbearable crescendo, and dispersed in a devastating wave that rocked Sheldon to the core. When his senses recovered, he quickly searched the room to see if he could be of assistance to the injured soldier, forgetting what he'd heard just before. But both the team of SPARTANs and the AI core had vanished.