Halo: From Ashes

"They ennobled all of us, and they shall not be forgotten."

The sun hung low in the vast equatorial sky. It was empty except for a single alien warship, sleek and almost aquatic in appearance, with a bulbous, hook-like head. The hillside was bathed in the warm orange glow of the approaching dusk, and high above, thin, wispy cloud half-glowed in the light's swansong. The shadows lengthened by the moment. A gentle breeze, almost imperceptible, ran an invisible tendril over the photographs and rank slides tacked to Voi's hasty memorial, and cooled SPARTAN-050's bare cheek where the tears had rolled down.

The memorial was makeshift, ramshackle, but undeniably sacred. On the shipping crates that passed for a plinth, the naval officer replaced his service cap solemnly. His arm snapped crisply up in a salute. Six deep, the crowd, immaculately turned out in all types of service dress, did likewise. The silence hung thick and palpable in the air. The marines raised their rifles in unison, ready for the gun salute.

Jack-050's eyes fixed on the upright aircraft wing, embellished with mementos of a hundred lives lived, lost and remembered. How could it be that not one of them had a photo of John? Fred-104's roughly hewn carving was all they could manage.

Crack. The marines' volley cut through the silence.

It would do for now. In time, there'd be something more permanent. For now though, there was far too much rebuilding to be done.

Crack. The shots echoed across the barren hillside.

John-117 was gone. Humanity had lost its last, best, hope, and the SPARTANs had lost a brother. They were the only family Jack-050 could remember. So few of them stood with him on that barren hill in the gathering dark that more tears welled up as the faces of those absent flooded his thoughts.

Crack. Beyond, a thick mist concealed the vast alien structure below.

The war was over, but there was no elation. Too much had been lost, too much mourning postponed until this moment. A wave of despair washed over Jack, so great he thought it would crush him. It it occurred to him that his own messed-up cauldron of emotion- guilt, anger, inconsolable grief, relief at having survived, disbelief that it was over, crippling uncertainty about what the future held- was just how the others felt. After all, what would happen to the SPARTANs now that existential struggle was at an end? Was it, in fact, over? Were they needed any more? Was being needed better than the alternative?

But SPARTAN-050 was just plain old Jack Hansen, he had to remind himself. While the SPARTANs wore the immaculate white dress uniform of the UNSC Navy, Jack was instead clothed in the dress blues of the Marine Corps. Whatever the UNSC did with the SPARTAN program, Jack thought, it would have little to do with him.

The crowd had already begun to disperse. The SPARTANs, a head taller than the crowd even without their powered assault armour, began down the hill, saying their goodbyes. It had been a decade or more since Jack had seen some of them, and the years were etched in the lines on their faces.

"Got time for a drink, folks?" said one SPARTAN. It was Leon-011. Jack hadn't seen him since they fought at Arcadia, twenty years prior. "I think it's fair to say we've got some catching up to do." He nudged Jack's shoulder, a wry grin on his face.

Kelly-087 furrowed her brow. "We shouldn't really. We get our assignment orders tomorrow at ONI. Zero eight hundred."

Maria-062 shot her a quizzical look. She, like Jack, was no longer a SPARTAN. "Assignment orders?" There was something more than curiosity but not quite disbelief in her voice. Jack was suddenly struck by how much the others were all still a team, how they kept in touch with what they were doing and where they were. He and Maria weren't part of that. He was surprised at how much it upset him, and felt stupid for not realising before this moment.

"Yeah," replied Fred-104 matter-of-factly. "Gotta get back out there, into the fight. Loads of us deployed at the moment, Rob, Roma, Gray Team. We need to go and join them."

Bridget-049 had pulled a thick cigar from seemingly nowhere in her dress whites, and it glowed in the half-light. "Can't argue with that, but we've got lost time to make up for. Besides, who knows when we'll see each other again?" Jack watched the cigar dance precariously as she spoke. "What, this? Don't you worry, Fifty. Special occasions only, promise." She must've seen him staring. He would've listed Bridget as among his best friends, yet he had no idea that she smoked.

Jack chuckled. The years seemed to melt away, as though they'd never been apart. "Well, you guys are going back to ONI tonight, right? I hear there's a pretty decent bar in the mess there."

Linda-058 tapped the officer's bars on the shoulders of Jack's dress blues. "Yeah, the NCO's mess is generously stocked." She grinned mischievously. "Not so sure we can let you in, sir."

Fred laughed. "Hey, you're right, there is. I'm up for that- one or two, for old time's sake?"

"Perfect," Leon declared. "We'll pay the ONI NCO's mess a visit."

Bridget removed her cigar. "Except Fifty. He's barred."