Halo: The Wilds

Escape
Fire. The smell of burning metal still lingered in the air despite his helmet's attempt to filter it out. Even miles away, Cailean could still smell the fire from the depot as he ran as fast as he could through the forest. Had his plan worked? He had no way of knowing, though he had a sickening feeling that told him it didn't. Despite that, he had to move with the assumption that his friends and more importantly, ONI, thought he was dead, consumed with his armor in the explosion that had destroyed the depot.

But he hadn't, but others had and it was his fault. They had been told by their handler that the camp was a supply depot for the local insurrection, storing large quantities of arms and munitions. While the rest of his team had been ordered to assist Marines in assaulting a nearby stronghold, Cailean alone had been sent to plant charges to destroy the site. He had finished in record time, evading detection by the relatively sparse patrols despite his hefty suit of MJOLNIR Mark VI. He should've known something was wrong then and there, not even the rebels would leave such an important target so poorly defended, but he wasn't thinking about that.

It wasn't until after the smoke had cleared that he realized the true extent of what he had done. Inside the burning storehouses thought to contain rifles and ammunition lay dozens of charred bodies, dressed not in sloppy fatigues and chop shop body armor, but instead torn and ragged shirts, pants, and dresses. These weren't rebels, they were civilians. Families. And he had killed them all without even thinking about it. His mind raced, did ONI know, could they have known? Did they know and didn't tell him? No, of course not, ONI was willing to do many things, even abandon civilians to the Covenant onslaught on Earth, but straight up ordering the mass murder of innocent people wasn't their MO.

Despite all of this, his mind couldn't help but reach a single, disgusting conclusion, that the Office of Naval Intelligence had ordered him to murder these people in cold blood. His gut wrenched and his knees gave out underneath him, only barely reacting in time to stop himself from face planting on the hard, cold dirt. He threw his helmet off and vomited, he had seen plenty of horror during the war with the Covenant, seen entire worlds engulfed in flame, things that would outclass this a million times over, but never once had he been the cause of it. After a minute, he picked up his helmet and slowly rose to his feet, his disgust replaced with a sheer, unrelenting anger.

Someone had to pay for this, he thought, and someone would, but not now. First, he had to get away from here, somewhere safe to calm himself, to plan his next moves, which meant getting off this planet. And so he ran, into the forest and towards the nearest space port. There were only a handful of major ports on Oyster Point, all of which would be locked down by the UNSC at this point. Instead, he headed towards Sheldon's Landing, a small facility deep behind rebel lines. ONI had identified it as a possible evacuation point for the rebels when things started to go bad, and he hoped so, because that meant ships prepped and ready for flight.

He could still hear the fighting off in the distance, steady and rhythmic like a heartbeat. Artillery boomed and machine guns rattled off and men died in their droves, but all he could hear was the sound of a ticking clock, telling him how much longer he had before the UNSC broke through the rebel lines and made a mad dash towards the spaceport, hoping to cut off all avenues of escape. He couldn't let that happen, ONI didn't know he had gone AWOL yet, but if he were found this far from his last known position, it wouldn't take much before someone put the pieces together



An hour or so later, he could finally see the light from the spaceport shining through the trees. The fighting had gotten closer, if he had to guess he'd say it was within five miles of the port. He need to move fast, but he didn't want to risk just rushing it as any open confrontation would slow him down. He couldn't let his sense of urgency cause himself to be reckless with this. He skulked down the side of the hill and made his way towards the large chain link fence that separated the main compound from the wilderness surrounding it.

It took little effort for him to launch himself over the fence, the boots of his armor thudding against the ground, though he didn't worry about anyone hearing it, the ever encroaching gunfire drowning out all but the loudest noises. The port was bustling with activity, as insurgents ran to and from ships and warehouses, loading every crate they could onto their fleet of freighter craft, each being fueled as best they could. A trio of ships sealed their hatches and slowly took off from their pads, lumbering away into the air before disappearing from sight. ''That means the UNSC hasn't scrambled air defenses yet. Good,'' He knew it wouldn't last long once word got back that rebel ships were beginning to launch, he had to hurry.

He took cove behind a large group of crates, surveying the landing pads in front of him. It didn't take long before he identified a ship preparing to leave, the W. K. Alexander. The ship had a light detail guarding it and seemed to be stuffed with cargo, the perfect take. He reached for his rifle but hesitated, Can't waste a lot of ammo, going to have to conserve, instead he reached for his M6G sidearm. He gave himself to the count of three before he propelled himself around the corner, bringing his pistol to bear on the nearest insurgent.

Instinctively, he pulled the trigger, the round hitting the man in his shoulder, spinning him around before he fell to the ground. The other Innies spun towards the sudden gunshot only to lay eyes on the Spartan. Several ran away while others surrendered on the spot, he didn't care about any of them as long as they didn't stop him from getting on that ship. He gunned down another rebel standing at the front of the boarding ramp, jumping over the body and into the cargo bay. A rebel on the catwalk overlooking the bay drew his rifle, an antiquated MA2B, and fired. The rounds simply impacted harmlessly against his shields as he raised his own pistol and fired, placing a round right between the man's eyes. The dead man fell off the catwalk to the deck below and Cailean simply ran past him on his way to the bridge. After only the briefest moment of confusion, he made it to the bridge only to be met with more gunfire as the pilot opened fire on him with his handgun.

Cailean walked over to the man and picked him up by the throat and slammed him against the bulkhead, "You'll fly this ship out of here or I'll blow your head off. Understand?" The pilot rapidly nodded in the affirmative. Cailean sat him down and gestured to the pilot's chair with his handgun. Moments later and the ship was airborne, the rebels on the ground firing at it to no avail.